#Sansa is going to meet up with the Manderlys though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkdevasofdestruction · 2 years ago

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My Innocent Snowdrop ~ Oberyn Martell x Stark!Reader

Summary: The eldest Stark girl is forced to marry Oberyn Martell as a political alliance made by Cersei, but what she does not know is that the Prince of Dorne is a very loving man who easily falls in love with her and cherishes her deeply.

The wolves never strayed away from the North - Y/N told herself, staring up at the head of her father, rotting on that wretched pike. He should have rejected the spot as the Hand of the King - Look where it got him and all the men that came with them. Septa Mordane’s head was also there, staring up at the Sun... And poor Jayne Poole, being imprisoned and... Lord knows what is being done to her.

Lady was dead, Nymeria and Meria, Y/N’s direwolf, were long since away from their premises. All the Stark wolves were very much dispersed all over Westeros, with Sansa and Y/N the only unfortunate souls licking each other’s wounds in King’s Landing.

Y/N would think hard, if there was any good memory she had of this forsaken place. Perhaps the time that she saw Arya being taught how to ‘dance’ by the master. The castle, the courtyard... Maybe everything except for the flower gardens was completely awful - Just like the stench of Flea’s Bottom. A good memory would be when she cheered for Sandor Clegane during the journey for Prince Joffrey’s name day... While he was still Prince, at least. He was such a good man, despite that rough exterior he puts out - Though Sansa was afraid to even look at him, Y/N always felt safe around him. Ironically, the same could be said about Tyrion, the Lannister dwarf with that silver tongue and cheek to match him. She could could count on her fingers the amount of times he had saved her and Sansa from danger - And she wouldn’t have enough hands.

She missed the North so much. That harsh cold was soothing, and the whipping wind was a caress. She wanted to hear the lullaby of the forest and the beauty of the fauna and flora around. She wanted to feel the fluffy snow under her feet again, and see her North lights with her old friend, the bastard of Dreadfort. She was glad that her parents had no idea she would meet up with Ramsay Snow every fortnight, in the Wolf’s Woods - He might have been the craziest psychopath, she thought, but she hadn’t felt more alive than when they were running with their canine companions through the frozen forests.

“Alys, do you think we will ever see home again?” Alys Manderly was Y/N’s best friend since early childhood, they have been inseparable, just like Sansa and Jeyne. They were closer than sisters - She would call them soul-sisters, or something. She remembers Theon one time telling them to marry twins, so they would never be torn apart. For a while, they actually pondered that idea. “I hope so, Y/N. I hope so.” the dark haired girl hugged her friend dearly.

But perhaps there was room for celebration - King Joffrey’s name day approached again, and a another tourney would take place. Though Y/N encouraged Sandor to participate, he merely barked at her - One win was enough for the old dog.

This time, the festivity was even greater than before. There were many houses that wouldn’t join anymore, being at war with either Stannis or Renly - But at the same time, there were a few houses from down South that were going to arrive in grand maniere. Royal, noble houses from Dorne.

“Y/N, you are so beautiful!” Alys complimented her friend, who looked down bashfully and shook her head. “Please do not jest so. You are far more beautiful.” Y/N went to fix her friend’s hair, before they went to the the stands. Sansa was to stay next to Joffrey and the other Lannisters, unfortunately for her, but the two friends were glued to the rails of the stands. They saw many a great knights - Until Alys gasped, and blushed powerfully. “Y/N, look - That is the Prince of Dorne! Isn’t he so beautiful?!” Alys’s voice was chirped with glee - And the Prince proudly strutted by them - And then he stopped, right in front of them, with a beautiful deep pink rose into his hand, and grinning charmingly as every lady was cheering and chanting his name. Y/N didn’t dare, but Alys was almost bent over the railing, wanting to get closer to the man. “A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady.” the man said, and though Alys melted, his arm went directly past her, and in front of the Stark girl, whose eyes were wide. Her hands trembled, unable to reach out for the flower - And the man approached her, ripping the stem and putting the flower in her hair. “Much better.” his smile was so gentle and sweet, Y/N thought she would die on the spot. Instead, she reached out to the ribbon in her hair and tied it around his palm. “I pray that you will win, My Lord.” the Prince’s smile widened, and Y/N could swear that he, in that golden outfit of his, was radiating brighter than the morning Sun. “For you, I will. sweet rose.” with a wink, the Lord trotted away to end the grand finale of the tournament. “You’re SO lucky, Y/N! Prince Oberyn himself chose you!” Alys shook Y/N’s whole body, and the girl couldn’t help but let out a weak, amused exhale. “Calm yourself, Alys. It is just a flower, nothing more. He will not even remember that I exist.” the girl smiled gently at her friend, reassuring her - But she had missed the envious look in her eyes.

Just as he had promised, the Red Viper of Dorne had won the tourney - And for the remainder of the day, the Dornish retinue drank and cheered and sang songs - And many more other things that were only for adults to speak of. Y/n smiled, watching Oberyn kissing the woman she found out was named Ellaria Sand, the Prince’s paramour. She was a tall and slender lady, with sun-kissed skin, black hair like ebony, and dark, warm, kind eyes. They seemed to be very happy - And so was Y/N. A happy couple always made Y/N happy as well - It meant that there was still hope for people out there, even if she, herself, couldn’t see it.

Alys was more of a party person, whilst Y/N wanted nothing more than to run away and hide in her room, now that she knew Sansa was safe in her room, and people were actually enjoying the feast - But Alys was insistent, and she dragged her friend forcefully to the Dornish table, pushing away some of the drunker men so that her and her friend could sit down and pretend they belong there.

Lady Ellaria gave them a weird look, while the Prince seemed to be smirking in amusement - Not only for the evident desperation of the Manderly girl, but the way the Stark girl was hiding her face with her hands. “Alys - That was rude!” Y/N whisper-yelled at her friend, who outright stared at the Prince with starry eyes. “Let us return to our chambers, Alys - It is far too late for us to be out.” but Y/N’s pleas were in vain. “It is not every day that you get to meet a Prince, Y/N! Lighten up, it’s a party!” the comment made not only Y/N, but the two lovers look at her perplex. “You... Do realise that... You are in King’s Landing. And you have met two Kings, a Queen, a prince and a princess... Right? And you see them every day.” the timid lady pointed out, shocked about her friend’s absolute moment of dumbness. “Well - Yes, I know - But none of them are so exotically beautiful, are they? The Prince’s skin is sun-kissed, and that smile was painted by the Gods.” hearing these affirmations made Y/N’s head spin in vertigo. Her eyes were cast down in shame, and her cheeks were pinker than the flower in her hair. “What an interesting pair we have before us, my love. An innocent and timid little snowdrop, accompanied by a bold and fierce rose. How intriguing.” the Prince was now focused on the two new-comers, though his arms were still snaked around his lover’s waist. “We are undeserving of such compliments, Your Grace.” Y/N spoke softly - Oberyn was so used to all the strong-willed and strong women of Dorne, that he completely forgot that shy little fawns like her existed. Shy, and very much traumatised, by the looks of it. His heart was almost swelling with dear, just looking at the girl. “Don’t be rude, Y/N - The Prince is giving us compliments, you have to accept them.” Alys grunted at her friend, before turning at the Martell Prince, batting her eyelashes dearly. “I, uh... I just think that Her Grace is far more beautiful than I am.” her voice was like that of a little mouse - It amused the woman, but also, made her feel protective of her. “Ellaria Sand is my name, little one. I am no noble, just a bastard of Dorne.” the woman smiled kindly at her. “Noble or not, it does not take away from your beauty.” Y/N retorted quickly - Ellaria and Oberyn shared a look, before looking back at them with mischievous smirks. “What are your names, sweet flowers?” the woman asked them. “I am Alys Manderly - And this is Y/N Stark. It is a pleasure meeting you.” though Alys looked at the Prince with lust in her eyes, but she did not once look at Ellaria. “Beautiful names, just like the ladies having them.” Oberyn nodded. “Then, would the ladies wish to share our chambers tonight?” Y/N almost fell backwards off the bench from complete shock and fright. “A-Ah, n-n-no... W-We, uh... W-We were just, uhhh, retiring for the night! Yes -- G-Goodnight, Your Grace. My Lady.” Y/N shot up to her feet as if electrified, and though she jumped to the other side of the bench, her wrist was caught by Alys, and she was roughly pulled back on the seat. “Don’t be such a bore, Y/N! Let’s have some fun~! Lord knows, we need some distraction after everything the Crown put us through!” Alys’s mouth got slapped by the Stark girl, as she was given a warning look. Y/N was looking around for unexpected onlookers and eavesdroppers, like a skittery bunny during a hunt. “Watch your mouth, Alys. You do not know who is listening in. If you are not careful, your head will end up on a spike, next to my father’s.” Y/N had seen enough for a life time. The last thing she needed was to see her best friend being killed. There was only so many family members she could see dead, before she’d lose her mind. “Come on, Y/N, loosen up a bit!” but Y/N snatched her hand away, and rose to her feet, looking down at her friend with a simple look. “I will be seeing you tomorrow at breakfast, Alys. Sweet dreams.” Y/N spoke curtly. “May you have sweet dreams also, Prince Oberyn. Lady Ellaria.” with a quick courtesy, the terrified beauty went rushing back to the castle and hid herself in the safety of her own room.

Although, safety was a great word - Only she knew the amount of times she had escaped assassination attempts. She hated sleeping alone - Anything could happen at night, when you are sleeping - Alas, she could not share a bed with anyone, even her own sister. The rules of King’s Landing were unnecessarily strict and harsh. She wanted home already.

The next morning was unusually quiet and relaxing. The weather was fine, the Sun was warm and the breeze just right. Somehow, during this beautiful morning, even the royal stench wasn’t as awful on the senses as usual. Y/N decided to have a plate of fruit tarts and find her peace in the flower garden, alone from everyone else. It was her hiding place - A little silly, she knew, but sitting down on the soft green grass and gazing at the myriad of colourful flowers was the only thing that made Y/N smile.

“My Lady has such a beautiful smile. You put the flowers around to shame.” Y/N found herself squeaking in shock - She had been found! What a shame. She had attempted to raise to her feet and made a little courtesy, but the Prince’s hand on her shoulder stopped her - Instead, he had opted for sitting on the ground next to her, and with a leisure smile, he snatched the tart plateau and popped a small strawberry tart into his mouth. “Not bad for something done in this place.” he tilted his head to the side comically. “Your Grace --” the girl began to speak to him, but was cut off by the man, saying his name instead. “I-I dare not.” “I insist, My Lady.” his brown eyes were so warm and welcoming, like a loving embrace. “I dare not address the Prince so colloquially.” she spoke. “I am just a girl from the North.” “Your father was the Warden of the North. Your brother is the King in the North. You cannot tell me you are ‘just’ a girl.” he watched her shamefully hanging her head. “I have no achievement of significance of mine own. My sister Sansa is the beautiful one. She can embroider and seam like no other, and she sings the prettiest songs. My other sister, Arya, is a fantastic archer, and she learnt how to swordfight from a braavosi water dancer. Mother is the beauty of the Riverlands. Robb is the King in the North. Bran is... Well, was...The most capable climber... Before he got crippled... By the bad men... And Rickon is just a babe of three.” she spoke softly, yet the love and pride in her voice when addressing her family was evident. “And there, here I am. Y/N, the firstborn child of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. The family’s disappointment - Though they would never admit to it.” she let out a self-deprecating exhale. “Your Grace is kind, but there is no need to waste your precious time with the likes of me.” “I beg to differ, young lady.” Oberyn frowned for a second. “There are not many who can catch my eyes, yet you certainly did. You are underplaying your self - I wonder why. Gorgeous - You are, beyond words. And your voice is sweet as a nightingale. I’d say you are just overly modest. Is it how they teach you in this place?” he ask, reaching his hand to her hair and absent-mindedly playing with a strand of her long, luscious red hair that shone auburn like the red rose of love and passion. “I have long since heard that the people of Dorne are the happiest. That they are free, and life-loving, and very confident. I can only guess this may come as a huge surprise for you. Although... You have also seen my sister-friend Alys, and she is the complete opposite of me.” the man hummed, hearing of the other girl’s name. “Ah, yes, that one. Rather impolite and a little arrogant, after you left. The Dornish may be lax and permissive, but we still do take into high regards our courtesies.” he seemed completely unbothered, but the girl’s heart froze. “O-Oh, my -- Please forgive her , Your Grace. She has been through a lot since we have come to this place... She - She thought she could find some comfort in the arms of a temporary lover. She meant no harm or disrespect.” although Y/N apologised profusely in the girl’s stead, only to see the Prince wave his hand dismissively, as if it was nothing. “You are far too naive and innocent for your age, little one. And the look in those beautiful eyes of yours makes me realise that you are already aware of that.” his finger reached underneath his chin, raising it up just a little bit. “Forgive my language, Your Grace, but I think the right word you are searching for is much harsher and down to earth. I am an outright simple idiot.” her delicate hand was placed over his, so she could move his hand away from her face. “That will not do.” he shook his head. “I found it rather amusing that you hate this place, and its people, almost as much as I do.” his smile was perked up again, especially amused once he saw the terrified look in her place. “Fret not, sweetling - All of Dorne feels the same. I have no reason to speak out your feelings in your stead. I respect you and your boundaries - Forgive me for teasing you. I find great pleasure watching your face turn the colour of your hair.” the girl could say nothing more, but she hung her head in defeat, hoping to hide her bashfulness with her long locks. “I am undeserving of your compliments, Your Grace - Though, I am grateful for your discretion.” her sweet voice made the man want to snatch her into his arms and plant kisses all over that snow-white skin of hers. People of the North truly were so pale - Almost sickly pale. Would she end up sun-burnt often, should she end up travelling in Dorne one day? That supple neck looked and her uncovered cleavage were so inviting - How was he to resist? The birds have started to chirp a pretty song, and Y/N found herself caring naught for her worries, and she closed her eyes and inched her face up to the sky, bathing in the caressing love of late Spring. “Does this bring you joy?” the man asked, and he saw her head nodding lightly. “It is one of the very few things that I can still appreciate without being punished for. It is not much, but these few moments of bliss are enough to make me forget for a while of the woes of life spent in the capital.” she sounded more at peace now, as if she wasn’t as guarded around him. Surely, the mutual hatred of this place and the Crown must have made her feel at ease. With a soft smile, Oberyn put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her down on the grass. “How about now?” he asked, gesturing for her to close your eyes. “I... Feel a bit... Uneasy.” she admitted, embarrassed. “Are you afraid?” she let out a small, affirmative answer. “I will protect you, so fear not.” though a bit skeptical, Y/N closed her eyes again, and rested the back of her head on her palms, and she took a deep breath. For once, she forced herself to keep a clean, empty mind, and to relax. If the Prince of Dorne said he would stay on lookout, he would. Though, perhaps that was a weird way of saying that he protected her. Oberyn was laying on his side, next to her, and he was gazing at the beautiful lady as he stroked her velvety hair. Apart from her mother, she had never, once, felt anyone taking care of her so dearly. She loved this feeling so much that she was afraid she would get used to it, and by the time the man leaves for back home, she will feel all alone. She couldn’t afford to get complacent.

The Prince, however, thought of last night - He wanted to tell her that he did not believe Alys was a good influence on her, but why would she believe a complete stranger, over her sister-friend? Would she believe the suspicions of a seasoned man, over the pleading eyes of her faux friend? Ellaria, too, was reticent, when she looked at the Manderly girl - She could smell the venom dripping from her tongue - The complete anti thesis from the innocent girl who seemed to fight so hard to remain good to the word. Was it to keep hope for her friend? Or was it that she wanted to believe humanity was not yet lost to her?

The party from Dorne had remained guest to King’s Landing for the whole week - Time in which Oberyn tried to get closer to the sweet dove, but could not, because she was always taken away by some one. Though irritating, it was to be expected. What a pity.

Or so he thought - For the Lannister Lioness herself came up with rather the interesting proposal - Claim an even more solidified alliance, through the knot of marriage between the Prince of Dorne and the firstborn daughter of the greatest House of the North. The Seven Kingdoms had to be kept tightly knit together, after all. Were it anyone else, Oberyn would have laughed in Cersei’s face, thinking she sent some lackey of hers to spy on him. Even if Y/N was forced to be a spy, he knew he could persuade her not to be afraid of the Queen Regent and her fearsome claws. For so many years, he had been opposed to marrying - He was very fine with his loving paramour and his children. He needn’t anything else. And even better, he needn’t have the wedding in this stinking city, for he could have it at his own, glorious home, in Sunspear. It was perfect. The Queen had no idea how stupid she was. Or perhaps she wanted to get rid of the elder Stark sister, and claim monopole over the younger one in her entirety? Possible, as well. Only Lions knew how many lions they could tell, in a single minute.

Once Y/N heard the knew of her leaving with the retinue all the way down South, she felt faint - It was hard enough to get used to the climate and people of the Reach, let alone the deserts and scorching heat of Dorne? And the... Very friendly people as well. She had the tiniest glimpse of that whenever Oberyn passed by her, and would reach out to cup her face or quickly caress a lock of her hair. But Y/N was lucky she had not seen the dark look in Alys’s eyes - The Prince had seen it, and he did not like it. It would be fine though - She will be leagues away from Y/N, so there was no way of bringing her harm, or to his family by being a Lannister lackey.

Y/N felt absolutely terrified of Ellaria for a quick second - She felt like an intruder in their loving relationship. Like a homewrecker. She felt like she outright destroyed the peace and harmony of the whole country of Dorne. Or perhaps, she was simply fatalistic by nature - She wasn’t yet sure. But Ellaria was the sweetest woman in the world, and she hugged her dearly to her chest and kissed the top of her head. “Sweet little flower, worrying so much over nothing. It should be yourself you should be worrying about. Being traded off like an object of political means. You needn’t apologise to me. I pity you - But fret not. Oberyn is a good man. He will take good care of you. And so will I.” she remembers tearing up and hugging the woman tighter, thanking her over and over again for being so understanding and benevolent.

The wedding was not to be properly planned until a few months to come, under the pretext that the young girl has to get used to her new environment - To truly become part of the family. Simply put, it was Oberyn’s way of keeping the pressure off the girl.

Some of his daughters seemed interesting in the new girl, while some cared little or even less about her existence. Just another woman in his life, they said. How long she would last, it was only a matter of time.

The Prince made sure to keep her at the lust Water Gardens, where the palace was cool, and she could indulge in the warm waters of the numerous pools - Maybe play around with the children of the common folk, if he felt uncomfortable with the adults. The outfits, also, were completely different from what she used to where, even in King’s Landing, where the weather was mild. Now, she was given the most luxurious silks and linens, some more sheer or revealing than the others - She felt far too outrageous to leave her room like that, so she kept with the more modest clothes, that would hide her silhouette better.

Most of the time, however, she would spend her time in her room, doing various activities, be that reading Dornish books, or practicing over and over again strategies for the card game that Oberyn had thought her. She wanted to be a worthy opponent for the man - She had to live up to the expectations of a Prince, after all. Or, at least as close as she can get. Sometimes, she would embroider some of her dresses, and even some of the tunics that the Prince may or may not have intentionally taken over to her room. He had even taught her how to paint, and brought her all kinds of paints and paper, and though it wasn’t perfect, she had a particular fondness and skill in painting the flowers she would see in the gardens.

Once in a while, she would write letters - All addressed to King’s Landing. Of course, out of respect, she had Oberyn read and approve of them. She had written her sweet sister, to make sure she is okay, and she wrote to Sandor, her most unlikely friend, to see how he fared. But the most beautiful envelope was directed to Alys. It was of rose gold colour, and inside, she had pressed various flower petals, and sprayed perfume on the letter - Which was written in cursive ink - But she had not sealed it yet. This one, especially, she would seal with a flower instead, so Alys would know who it was from, without a name being addressed.

The two sister-friends would shower each other in compliments and confessions of how much they missed each other, and would speak about the happenings of the countries they were in, or interesting rumours and gossips - Here and there, a little tricket would also be brought.

“This letter seems particularly tender, compared to the others.” Oberyn hummed, pacing around the room, pondering. “It is her birthday. In fact, it is the first birthday we spend apart. It must be hard for her, all alone in that lion pit. Who knows how Joffrey is torturing her.” she spoke lightly - Though she was still shy around the man, he cherished him deeply. Not once, did he try to pressure her - Instead, he was always gentle with her, and would never raise his voice around her, or speak foul. “Do you love women, Y/N?” he asked in the most casual tone possible. “If yes, I can have any woman of your liking brought over for you.” it only made her cheeks flare up. “N-No, nothing like that!” she denied immediately. “You needn’t be cautious with me, sweetling. Men loving men, women loving women - People loving people - It matters little, as long as the love is genuine. You can tell me. I want to know the preferences of my lovely wife.” he always knew how to make her mind spin around. “No, Oberyn - Really, it is just a letter sent in good faith, on her name’s day. This is how we used to talk, even back in the North. My sister Sansa with her friend Jeyne were the same.” the girl explained, only to stop for a moment, as the man gazed at her as if she was the most innocent thing in the world. “Does it... Sound weird?” “I think it is sweet that you can express your love this way, my dear. I just fear what would happen if any of those stuck-up idiots would get the letter instead, and accuse either of you of... Unspeakable rule breakings, in the name of the Gods... Or something ridiculous like that.” he turned to look back at Ellaria, who was leaning on the door frame. “Will I be the recipient of these sweet words one day, little flower?” “Darling - Don’t tease her like that.” Ellaria sighed, rolling her eyes and snatching the letter from his hand. She scanned it quickly with her eyes, before she let out an exhale once more, and she shook her head. “Oh, sweetling... The world is not yet ready for such a mellow heart.” the look of distraught on her face made her reconsider, however. “Although... If you keep the letter anonymous, they should have no way of tracing it. Have you used different birds like we told you too?” the girl nodded. “Then, I suppose it should be fine. But be careful who you rely on.” the woman couldn’t tell her about her suspicions she had of her so-called best friend. How could she, when Y/N looked most alive, speaking of her dear friend? “Of course! Alys wouldn’t do me any evil. We have grown up together, closer than sisters. We always covered for and took care of each other!” she exclaimed, with new-found vitality in her eyes. “I will have this sent, then. Darling, why don’t you go with Y/N to the pools? It’s evening already, they should be warmest at this hour, and mostly empty.” with a sultry smile, the woman left the chamber, leaving the two alone. The Prince stepped in front of his betrothed, and bent slightly at the waist, extending his hand for her to take. “Will you join me by the pools, sweetling?” he rejoiced in the blush that graced her features, and the delicate feeling of her hand feathering his own. She had remained quiet, feeling bashful enough as it was, walking hand in hand like that with the Prince of Dorne - But thankfully, the guards were nowhere to be seen, and they were as alone as they can be. Private and intimate, and very much away from the eyes of the onlookers.

She listened dearly to the proud and loving way in which he spoke of the Gardens, and their history, who created them and why. The loud and harmonious song of the crickets and the toads, even the rattles of the snakes. It was peaceful. The breeze was warm, and the sky was filled with thousands of colours, ranging from yellow, red, orange and pink, but purple and indigo as well - And many other hues in between. She had never been able to sit back and admire the sky like this in a while - Especially not since she’s been sent to the hell that the Red Keep is. When the day met with the night, and the stars were shyly peeking and twinkling, thought it wasn’t yet as dark as midnight - It was a breath-taking sight.

She was so lost in the sight that she didn’t realise the way the man besides her looked at her. He was gazing at her as if she was his most beloved person in the world. It was true, he held a deep love for Ellaria, and had fathered several children together - But he had never even thought about marrying her. Between the parties and the debauchery, the fun, the many men and women that shared his bed, and the amount of travels he partook in... But now, there she stood, before him, someone so completely different than anyone he’s ever met before. Different from all the treacherous people, the liars, the flatterers, the manipulators and what not.

She was so good of heart and innocent - As if she was living in a completely different world than his own. A world of complete peace and harmony, where people can do no wrong, and everyone is trustworthy and reliable. It only made him even more desperate to keep her safe from the cruel world. He wanted to keep her in this oasis, and keep the mirage of goodness for her to keep believing in. Little by little, she will find herself not only comfortable in her new home, but with them as well. With him, most specially, as he wanted her so badly.

Suddenly, a mischievous smirk played on his lips - He was so enchanted by her, that he couldn’t help himself. He threw his arms around her body and jumped into the warm water of the shallow pools. The little squeak of surprise, as she met with the water surface, made his heart beat faster. He stared down at her adorable expression, at her wet hair and the incredibly attractive way the light material of her dress revealed the shape of her body as it stuck to it so tantalizingly sweet. There was only so much the Prince could refrain himself, after the few weeks since she’s been brought to his country. His hands cupped her cheeks, and he leaned in to kiss those soft and pink flower petals of her lips. The few seconds of surprise in which she felt her body and mind frozen, completely dissipated, and Oberyn could feel her melting into the kiss. For just a moment, he let go to gaze at her awestruck look, before one of his arms snaked around her middle, holding her dearly, whilst his other hand was buried into her hair. He felt like being breathed into him - It was unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Passion and fire from Ellaria especially, but now, his heart was beating alive, and he felt tender and mellow.

At some point, he was even afraid of getting greedy - Not only did he not want to scare his sweet little fawn away, but he also was afraid of how drunk he would get if he went even further, indulging in those lips of hers, and the smell of her flower perfume... That was how she deserved to smell - The stench of King’s Landing was finally washed off for good. He was never going to let her go back to that awful place. He hated it as much as she did. Were it not for the situation of the captive sister, or that devious bitch who calls claims to be her friend, then she wouldn’t have any further worry about that disgusting city.

Now, even more than before, he would come over to her chambers and would bring her new jewellery, all of them shining gold like the Sun, with precious stones of every kind and colours, and he would steal long and tender kisses from her. If he were gifting her a necklace, he would put it around her neck from behind, admiring how it embellished her flawless snow-white cleavage, and would embrace her from behind, leaning down to tickle her with soft neck kisses - She would always giggle from those. If there were rings, he would kneel in front of her and slid them on, before kissing each of her knuckles, the back of her hand, and then he would lean his face into her touch and kiss the inside of her wrist - She would get so bashful that she would get on the ground next to him and hug him tightly to her chest, whispering the sweetest confessions of love and care. And if he were to bring he any kind of hair accessory, be it a flower crown or pearls, a golden gem tiara, or a sheer veil filled with diamonds and zircons that would make her hair shine even more, then he would ask to brush her hair and he would fix the accessory in her hair himself, then tilt her head to kiss her forehead - She would put her hand over his, and cheekily bring his hand for her to kiss.

What he wouldn’t do to keep her away from all the horrors that waited them across the borders...

During the day, the two would play the newest card and dice game that was trending all around the young people - It became a trend, as she called it - And he had to admit, it was a nice game that combined strategy and luck rather beautifully. But better than that, he loved how she would make such adorable expressions when she would lose. He didn’t even imagine there could exist one with such awful luck, but she proved him wrong, times and times again, when out of 10 dices, none of them would depict the element she needed... For multiple rounds... For multiple games.

But he knew just how to make her forget about her lost games, by either going horse riding, or for a walk by the beach - Maybe even a little swim, if they so wished to. At evening, she would sneak by the shore and dance - But it wasn’t just any type of dancing, Oberyn realised - But spear dancing. After he showed off to her multiple times when training, it seemed to have inspired the little flower to practice herself. She was fast and agile, but more than anything, she was so graceful and elegant, with her flowing skirts spinning around her slender form, and her long hair flying with every move. More than anything, however, she was having fun. Never had he seen her grinning so widely and having fun with all her heart. She looked free - As free as a bird, allowed to sing at will and fly at win - Allowed to do anything without anything restricting her in any way. She had some difficulty with the weight of the weapon, but twirling around made it feel less than a feather. And her voice - The way she would hum whatever melody she was thinking of - Some familiar to the Prince, while some, completely foreign - Oberyn felt himself completely relaxing whilst he leaned on a tree and admiring her from afar.

Then, came the night, the most honeyed part of the day. The time when he either spends the most passionate hours in the flames of excitement with Ellaria, and perhaps even other participants - Or he stays in Y/N’s room, with her cuddled into his side as he strokes her hair and he reads her a book. She was sleeping so peacefully in his embrace that he could never bring himself to return to his own chambers. It was always wonderful, waking up to such a lovely woman by his side, especially when she’d snuggle even closer to him while asleep, like a little kitten.

Though she was still very much worried about her family scattered all over the Seven Kingdoms, and the on-going war with the Crown, she at least had found the closest thing to a feeling of peace and belonging, here, in Dorne, soon to be married to Oberyn, and good friend with Ellaria, his paramour. Getting even closer to the man, the two agreed to finally plan the wedding, and everything was as great as it could get. Y/N was happy and felt at home, and Oberyn was glad that his soon to be wife was had finally found a family in him, but also Ellaria, his many daughters, and all the citizens of Sunspear.

But in Westeros there can never be a moment of respiro, and much to his dread and anger, there was a letter he received - It was for Y/N, not for him, but she had long since agreed that he should read any letter she writes or receives, for safety purposes. She hated that she was still far too naive when it came to the harsh political affairs between the more powerful houses, so she was fine with someone who could handle this better to take care of these trivial things.

He had called his paramour to read this as well - He knew the Lannisters were the scum of the earth, but to think they would find something as ridiculous and innocent as Y/N’s friendship with Alys, just to bring them pain and exploit the Stark name... It was cruel, and the Prince was getting very quickly fed up with the lions. He had not forgotten, nor forgiven, the way they treated his dear sister, Elia, and her two children. He sure as hell won’t be lenient now. He needed his sweet revenge... Dorne needed the long awaited vengeance, and somehow, he shall have it. Especially on the perpetrator of all evils... The Mountain.

But how was he to tell Y/N about the contents of this letter, without alarming her, or making her feel guilty? In a way, he wondered if Alys was also a conspirator to this ploy - Surely, she was, he thought. At first, he wanted to just throw the letter in the fire and ignore the matters from the Crown - But Ellaria had reminded him that Y/N’s own sister was helplessly caged in King’s Landing, and they could easily threaten to kill her, just as they did with their father.

That night, he had taken Y/N to bed with him, just like many other nights. Usually, he would be reading her a story, or tell her of some of his weirder adventures from his long travels - Or, on particularly sleepless nights, she would tell him about home and her interactions with her family, and how unique all of them were. This night, especially, as soon as he stepped inside her room, he saw her in one of those sheer, light pink night gowns - It was a pretty warm night, even this late - And she was at the table, painting. She was gracing a serene, happy smile on her face. As soon as she turned her head to look at her visitor, her smile widened even more, and her eyes lit up. “Ryn!” she called out his new nickname breathlessly, throwing the paint brush into the water glass and wiping her coloured hands. “What a coincidence, I was thinking of you!” she had become so much bolder and more honest with her feelings, it was very endearing. “I made this for you! I saw you liked the desert roses the most whenever we’d go through the garden - Thought I’d make something for you to hang on the wall in your room, if you like it.” quickly fanning the painting to dry faster, Oberyn went next to the table, admiring her creation. “I’m surprised, lovely, Y/N, you have become so good at this.” seeing as it had dried, he held up the long paper and admired it. “Just like the real flower - I’ll have someone hang it so I can see it every time I wake up. Thank you, sweet one.” he raised her chin slightly, before kissing her forehead.

He watched as she scurried to clean her hands properly, before taking a book and getting in bed, she motioned for him to come along faster. “I found this book that talks about the culture and history of many countries in Essos - And I have seen many a story about the Rhoynar, and the water mages and witches - I was so fascinated by it, and then I remembered, Nymeria was one of the Rhoynar, and most of the traditions from the Dorne of these days were brought by her and her people. Can you tell me more about it?” how could he ever decline a request from her, especially as she wanted to learn more about his own country? She was just so beautiful and lovely, he could not understand how could anyone wish her ill. “Of course I will, my sweet Snowdrop. Anything you wish for, I will do for you.” he sat on the bed and pulled her into a small kiss. “Before that, I have something to tell you.” he could see the anxiety form into her eyes, so he quickly brought her into an embrace, caressing her hair, reassuring her that she had nothing to fear. “We must leave for King’s Landing in three days.” Y/N looked up at him with confusion, yet he could also see the disgust she held for that place. “But... Why? I thought you said you hated that place.” “O, darling, trust me, I do. If it were after me, I would burn the whole capital to the ground, and all the people in it, beginning with the Lannisters.” he explained, and the girl nodded her head in approval - She would have done the same. “A letter had arrived from King’s Landing today, with the seal of the Crown.” the girl gulped in fright. “They had called for you to attend the trial of Alys Manderly, under the pretexts of adultery, seducing and indulging in... Unethical misconducts with at least a woman.” just like he had feared, the Queen had used their letters to accuse the Stark girl of indirectly going against the laws of the Faith of the Seven. “So... Alys is being sentenced for indulging with women... And their proof are our letters, yes?” the man nodded. “But I was in Dorne, and here it is not illegal. And they cannot prove anything from the time I was in the capital.” “If they want to, they can prove anything, with enough bribing. After all, they are not directly accusing you, but your friend, who is from a far less important family. Not to mention, if she is found guilty, by extension, so will you be, and by those stupid laws of the Church, they have every right to take you away and put you through very harsh conversion punishments, and maybe force you to renounce your family’s name and title and become a Septa, or join the Silent Sisters.” the gravity in the man’s voice made the girl feel as if her soul was sucked out from her body. “What does Cersei get out of this? If she wanted me dead, she could have done so when I was in the capital, not have me marry you, and be far away from her grasp, under your protection. Moreover, she couldn’t have known we would wait so much to legally marry. And if she wanted to threaten me, she has Sansa in her hands. Why go through all this trouble? I do not understand.” she asked, aggravated by all this mess. “The less Starks alive, the better. She did not want Sansa to marry Joffrey, but the King did, and because of that, she can’t change until someone better comes along - And there aren’t many families that can beat yours.” he explained. “Your brother is leading a rebellion, and you are allied with the region that is most likely to go against the Crown for vengeance. You could seduce me into joining your brother’s cause and take over Casterly Rock.” Y/N’s eyes went wide, and was about to protest, but got silenced by a kiss. “I know, I know, you would never do that. Surely, Alys would have told Cersei by now, and I, myself, know you would never even think of attempting something like that.” Y/N frowned and looked down, pondering and thinking deeply, and she sighed in utmost defeat. “I’m so sorry, Ryn. I shouldn’t have involved you in this. I was a stupid, naive little girl who hoped that, if I was away from them, they couldn’t lay their hand on me anymore.” her head was hung, and Oberyn could even see her eyes watering - She must have been feeling very angry and guilty. “I will go to King’s Landing by myself. You have enough on your shoulders anyway.” but the man scoffed and ruffled her hair. “Are you done speaking nonsense?” he asked, giving her a look. “I will not have my wife slandered, nor accused or prosecuted like that, especially not by that accursed family.” though he was serious, it didn’t seem to convince the girl. “I am not yet your wife, Ryn. You do not have to go that far for someone like me. I have only brought you problems since you have met me, and given you reasons for migraines. That is already far more than anyone would do for me... And I do not want to abuse your kindness.” she had tried to raise from the bed, but was pulled back by his strong hand. “You do not get it at all, do you? Or is that you do not want to understand?” he asked, putting Y/N on his lap. “It is you that I love.” Oberyn pulled the girl into a long and passionate kiss. “And I will have no one hurt the one I love.” he kept pulling her closer and closer with each kiss. The fire was suffocating her, but it also made her long for more. “I was unable to save Elia, but I will not allow those fuckers to lay their hand on you, my love.” Y/N was feeling her body and mind melting altogether in his embrace, and she was sure that, soon, she will transform into a puddle and slip between his fingers. “I am no saving Alys. I am saving you.” “Are you sure you want to go through all this troublesomeness, Ryn?” she managed to breath out, her brain almost blank, as his wet lips traced her neck veins. “I would go to the ends of the world for you, my darling. I would reach out and grab the Sun rays, to make you a shining crown, fitting for the Princess of Dorne.” the more his hands were roaming all over her skin, and underneath the sheer material of her night gown, the more she felt her blood scorching from within. “R-Ryn!” she gasped from embarrassment, the same way his compliments always overwhelmed her - In that instant, she felt herself being rolled on her back, and the only things she could see were his gorgeously chiseled visage, his sweet smile painted on those perfect lips of his, and those warm, loving dark eyes, that only ever looked at her with such deep emotion. “Hush, my love. Say no more. You are safe with me, so cease your worrying.”

Three days from then, the Dorne retinue had moved forwards towards the Capital of Westeros. Through the days, Oberyn looked seemingly unbothered, though both Y/N and Ellaria were on the edge, more or less, afraid for what was to come. No one willingly went inside the Lion’s den and thought they would get out unscathed. Still, the Martell Prince had no problem easing his two lovers, and comforting them - Even while inside the awful castle.

They had a good deal of food and wine to drink at the feast, but everyone new, the following morning at court, the Seven Hells would break loose. Y/N had told that night to both Oberyn and Ellaria about the many times she had to be held accountable at court, and how Joffrey had humiliated both her and her sister countless times. Also, she had told them how, despite Jeyne being Sansa’s best friend, she had a different treatment compared to Alys. Oberyn realised that even she suspected something was amiss, but did not stray away from wanting to save her.

This time, however, things were different. It was not inside the Castle’s court that they held the trial, but outside - Was it because of the fine weather? Or because it was far easier to have so many people outside, without too many voices echoing all at once and blending together? Y/N did not know, but she was extremely afraid. The young King was in the middle, on a large throne, and on either side of him were Cersei, and Sandor, Sansa and Tywin, and some other guards. Blasted thing, Y/N thought, Sansa was looking as awful as the day she had left her in this awful place.

“I have an awful feeling about this.” Y/N muttered, only to feel both Oberyn and Ellaria holding her hands. The Dorne envoy was somewhere up there, all on the same stand, watching the trial unfolding, as Maester Pycelle was down, speaking of the sins committed, before Alys was dragged by two guards She looked ragged and tattered, and beaten up and starved. Y/N’s breath was hitched in her throat, and she immediately shot to her feet. Oberyn realised that any suspicion she ever had of Alys was destroyed by the mere visual of her abused childhood friend, and the pity and guilt she felt for putting her through it all, because of some minor indiscretion

“As we all know, we are gathered here to judge the actions of Lady Alys Manderly, and her unethical actions that go directly against the rightful laws dictated to us by the Sept of the Seven, ancient and brought to us so long ago, by the Andals.” Oberyn could see her small hands gripping the railing so tightly, and the way her chest was heaving up and down. “Septa Nadya has discovered letters written by Lady Alys addressed to Lady Y/N Stark, in which she confesses her love for the Lady, under the pretext of being childhood friends. She has abused the kindness of her Lady through the years and continued to endanger her by association. She has committed acts of manipulation and blackmail towards her liege Lady.” Y/N wanted to hit her head against the railing - Everything they were saying was almost word for word what Oberyn had warned her. “Septa Nadya has also caught Lady Y/N Stark sneaking out at night to go sleep at Lady Manderly’s chambers, which is improper behaviour for women of marrying age.” “What a load of bullshit.” Ellaria grimaced. “Girls are girls. Let them gossip the night away, for fuck’s sake.” it was obvious even she was pissed off by the ridiculous accusations. “Your Grace, these are the accusations against Lady Alys Manderly, and by default, Lady Y/N Stark, through association.” The Maester spoke clearly, despite his old age. “So this is a trial for two traitors of the Faith, not just one!” the King rose to his feet. “Lady Stark was in Dorne when these letters were sent. The laws of Dorne are different from the ones here, so she has nothing to do with these accusations.” Tyrion was the first to stand up for the girl. “Thank you, Tyrion.” Y/N muttered under her breath - the Prince rose an interested eyebrow - So the little wolf girl actually had some allies around the Crown, even if that ally was a dwarf Lion. “That does not take away from the sneaking around at night.” the King spat back. “Your Grace, Lady Stark had gone through many assassination attempts while staying here. I had personally escorted her to Lady Manderly’s chambers, so she would not feel afraid alone.” Sandor Clegane also spoke up for her. “O, Sandor, you shouldn’t have.” Y/N gritted her teeth, suddenly afraid for a completely different friend - Whilst the Martell almost huffed in amusement - The Mountain was a ruthless piece of shit who mutilated, raped and abused to death his own sister and her children, but his younger brother was a good hearted loyal dog. How ironic. “That means all accusations against Lady Stark are null?” Cersei was the one to ask, and from the looks of it, Y/N was more or less safe. For now. “Your Grace, what punishment do you find appropriate for Lady Alys Manderly?” the Grand Maester asked. “Any crime against the Faith is a great offense directly against the Crown as well. I say - Flog her to death!” murmurs and gasps were heard throughout the court - What was with that death sentence?! Over something as ridiculous as a girl telling her friend how much she cares for her. “YOUR GRACE, PLEASE -- I BEG OF YOU!! SPARE ME! HAVE MERCY! WE ARE JUST FRIENDS -- WE DID NOT REALISE HOW DIFFERENT THINGS WERE HERE, COMPARED TO BACK HOME, WHEN WE WERE CHILDREN! PLEASE, PLEASE, SPARE ME! SPARE ME!” Alys was on the ground, weeping and imploring the King to at least give a lighter sentence. Oberyn looked up, realising Y/N’s body was trembling, and her grip on the railing was even tighter. A single tear made its way down her face. King’s Landing truly was the city of sorrow. “GUARDS! UNFOLD THE PUNISHMENT HERE, BEFORE EVERYONE’S EYES - LET HER SERVE AS AN EXAMPLE FOR EVERYONE WHO DARES BETRAY THE CROWN AND THE FAITH!” Joffrey was smirking wickedly. Tywin looked seemingly unbothered, though he realised his own grandson was almost as mad as the Mad King himself, and he did not want another situation like that. Cersei, also, was annoyed that her own child was, once again, ruining her scheming by killing the people she was using. Tyrion was disgusted by his nephew’s behaviour, Sansa was too horrified to even watch, remembering Jeyne and seeing her instead of Alys down there... And Sandor... His eyes scanned for the Stark Girl, and upon seeing her, he felt pity. Only he knew how many times he saved her from the assassins and even those stupid guards like Meryn Trant. As the very same guard stepped forward with a large wooden rod, he readied himself before using all his force to strike the girl’s back. Her screams were shrill and raw, and with each him, Y/N was jolting as if she was the recipient of those aims.

“I DEMAND TRIAL BY COMBAT!”

The whole court went quiet.

“I DEMAND TRIAL BY COMBAT!” the very same wavery voice shrieked out, her voice echoing loudly through everyone’s ears. “Your King does not allow it!” Joffrey snarled at the woman. “No one has the authority to deny an ancient right like the trial by combat... Your Grace.” Y/N spat with disgust. She snatched her arms from both Oberyn and Ellaria and ran through the crowd, all the way down to the court, where she pushed Meryn Trant away from the girl. “Three days for now - I demand a fight to determine Alys Manderly’s fate. Choose your fighter, Your Grace.” each time she used the honorifics, she spat with mocking and disgust. “You dare challenge me?!” the young King was getting angrier by the minute. “Your Grace, as the Stark Lady said, the trial by combat is irrefutable. Choose a fighter and we will prepare for the fight.” the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister, spoke up with a solemn grace. “Fine then. Ser Gregor - Step forward. Show Lady Stark and Lady Manderly that the authority of the Faith and of the Crown are far stronger than some silly girl friendship.” thus, the monster of a man, clad in heavy plate armor from head to toe, holding a longsword that must have been taller than even Y/N herself, and he strutted in front of the Stark girl, who stood tall, and looked at him with sternly, despite her heart dropping with fear. “So it is you they send again, isn’t it, you fucking monster?” the people gasped at the unlady-like vocabulary displayed by the Lady. “Do you find pleasure in killing young ladies? Is that why you so willingly volunteer to do all the dirty deeds the Lannisters order you to?” her voice was getting louder and harsher with each word. “First, you abused and killed your own sister.” Y/N spat at him. “Then, you dared to touch Princess Elia Martell.” she continued - both Ellaria and Oberyn were now on their feet, shocked by her recklessness - But whilst Ellaria was more frightened, the Prince was proud and satisfied - His sweet flower wasn’t afraid to speak up anymore. “You raped her! You ruthlessly cut her body in half! You outright destroyed her children!” she yelled at him. “And now, you would kill two other women, for no reason -- You must be jerking off to the thought of butchering us... Mayhaps you want to rape us too, don’t you? Then cut us in half? Or do you first rape after death as well?” the challenging of the Mountain made the man raise his sword up - Though both Tyrion and Cersei yelled out for him not to hurt the Stark girl, as it would go against the Law of the Trial by Combat, Y/N was quick to dodge, with a graceful twirl - And she snatched away the heavy sword of Meryn Trant, choosing a defensive stance in front of her friend. “So you even have against your Master’s rules, don’t you, you fucking deaf beast?!” lucky her, however, Sandor leapt from the stands and caught his brother’s attention, protecting her. “LEAVE HER BE!” he roared, giving Y/N time to step away. “Is that how you rule over your guards, Your Grace?! You let them go savage and rampage everything in their path?! Where is the Rule of the Crown, then? Where is the abiding to the Faith?! Gregor Clegane is disobeying you, and you let him go! How is it any different from Alys Manderly’s case?!” Y/N yelled out, accusing the King, and by association, all the Lannisters. “IS THIS HOW IT WENT FOR ELIA MARTELL?! AND WHO KNOW HOW MANY OTHER COMPLETELY INNOCENT PEOPLE WHO HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS WAR?! HOW MANY CHILDREN WERE SLAUGHTERED AND CARVED UP, WRAPPED IN LANNISTER BLANKETS, BECAUSE OF THE HEARTLESS WHIMS OF A TYRANT LEADING A BRAINLESS MONSTER?!” “ENOUGH!!!” King Joffrey screamed - His eyes were red with anger, and if he could, he would burn everyone alive in that place. “GUARDS - BEAT HER TO DEATH, RIGHT NOW!” “Not yet, you have not the right to do that - Your Grace. Wait three days, and if my fighter loses, then by all means, my life will be yours. Until then, it is mine own, and no one else’s.” as the King had his temper tantrum, realising he couldn’t touch the woman humiliating him, Y/N made a mock curtesy bow and spun around, pacing towards Alys and roughly grabbing her by the wrist, dragging her away from there, in the castle, to her own room. “Stay here. Don’t move.” she ordered, locking the door.

Y/N’s whole body was shaking like a leaf. She had never protested, or raised her voice, or acted violent in any way. She had never mocked or humiliated anyone, let alone, tried to stand up for someone like that, even putting her own life on the line.

How stupid could she be?

Frankly, she wanted to bash her skull against a wall and end it all, but she knew she had to come up with a plan, and fast. There was no way she could fight against the Mountain, of all people. She should have known it would be him... Hell, she didn’t even want the Trial by Combat, but seeing her friend being beaten up made her mind go array. Instead, she leaned back on the wall and looked up at the ceiling of the hall, trying to clear her brain and think rationally.

Where could she go now? What can she do? She only knows Tyrion and Sandor here, in King’s Landing, and neither would prove to be too great of a help. “You! How-- HOW COULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO STUPID?!” a familiar voice cried out, as rapid footsteps echoed - Y/N felt herself being pushed against the wall by weak hands. Her beautiful sister Sansa was crying in her chest, shaking and sobbing tragically. “You will die! How could you do that?! Was seeing dad die not enough?! Now you will have me watch you die as well?!” “Sansa...” Y/N pulled her younger sister into a tight embrace, petting her hair dearly. “I don’t care about Alys! I don’t care about Jeyne either! I don’t care about anyone! Anyone can die - But you can’t! You can’t leave me all alone! I don’t want to be here anymore!” her voice was so broken, just like her heart. It shattered Y/N. If she could, she would kidnap Sansa and get the hell out of here, with the first opportunity. “Dorne and House Martell is known to cause problems for the Crown for hundreds of years. Might as well sneak you out and bring you back to Sunspear with your elder sister. You will see that she has taken quite a liking to the Water Gardens especially.” Oberyn’s amused voice betrayed none of his nervousness. Sansa had a glare on her face, looking at him. She saw him as the man who took her sister away from her. “Lord Martell, I would greatly appreciate it if you would not disturb my reunion with my sister, or imply such unseeming nonsense. I would not dare commit treason against the Crown and neither would Y/N.” somehow, the younger Stark child was able to keep her courtesies up. “Ahh, I see, so those pretty words run through the family, now that makes sense. You see, little flower, the truth is - Your sweet sister was happiest away from this place. I think that was obvious by what happened just moments ago.” Oberyn chuckled lightly. “Enough, you two. I am busy. I don’t have time for silly banters.” Y/N grumbled, prying her sister away from her embrace. “Busy? And with what, might I ask? Surely, you won’t go train to fight the Mountain yourself, will you?” the girl did not look at him. “Ahh, you’re playing stubborn again. Do you like me reassuring you every time, or are you willingly forgetful?” “I will not have you dying to that monster, Ryn! I won’t let him take away someone important to me.” she snapped at him strongly. “Is that your declaration of love, sweetling?” this comment made the girl groan. “And who said anything about - Dying - Anyway? Do you think me so weak as to die to that meat brain? Surely not, otherwise I would get offended.” Oberyn tut-tut’ed at the girl playfully. “I don’t want to take chances.” came her resolute reply. “You created the perfect opportunity for me to get my vengeance against that thing who took Elia away from me. Whether you want to or not, I will have my revenge.” Oberyn stepped in front of her, gently picking her chin and raising it. “On the other hand, your bold declarations of today have turned me on so bad that I will have to steal you until tomorrow. Little flower, go back to your room, your sister is safe with me.” the gallant man with the mischievous smile easily picked his soon to be wife up bridal style and brought her to his room. The look on her face was almost hilarious, that’s how bewildered and embarrassed she was by him acting so forward, in front of her sister, no less. “Now, my sweet snowdrop, how about I show my love for you? It should serve as enough of a reassurance that I will win against that thing.”

The three days passed by far too quickly, and Y/N could only watch Oberyn train, or speak to Sandor and hopefully find out whatever weakness his awful brother might have had, that they could exploit. The outside court was, once again, the place where the Trial took place, and while the Mountain was already on the fighting ground, Oberyn was kissing and embracing Y/N and watching as Ellaria polished his spear. And coated it with the deadliest poison there was.

“Ryn, please, please, please - Promise me you won’t leave me alone. I can’t bare the idea of losing you.” her wet eyes made the man smile even more as he pulled her into another loving kiss. “I won’t ever leave you, my love.” he put his forehead to her own, his hands on her cheeks. “I love you, Y/N.” “I love you, Ryn.” she held tightly onto his wrists, afraid of letting go. Still, it was thanks to Ellaria, who gathered her into her own arms, that she unclenched her fingers from around his hands, so he could get his weapon and go for the fateful fight. “Don’t worry, Y/N. Oberyn won’t lose. There is no other Red Viper in Westeros.” she petted her hair as the two watched the fight to death unfold.

Oberyn entered the fighting area by twirling around and showing off his agile and elegant moves - It almost looked as if he was dancing - Was it his way of showing Y/N that she has nothing to fear, and that the fight will be as easy as when she’d dancing around with the spear by the beach, and she’s smiling all happy and content?

He was taunting the Mountain, and parrying each and every one of his heavy blows. It was magnificent, watching the Viper mess around with his opponent, but every time Clegane would approach and hit, both Y/N and Ellaria would flinch and hug each other tighter.

The enemy was able to cut the spear in two, and even throw Oberyn to the ground - But it was the only damage he could do, as an enraged Prince impaled with ease the huge man’s torso, and even cut away at his leg’s tendons, making him kneel to the ground, before striking him even harder. The Mountain was laying flat on the ground, as Oberyn circled him, accusing him of the crimes he committed against Elia Martell, and kept ordering him to tell to the world who gave the wretched order - To prove that it was indeed Tywin Lannister.

“DON’T LOSE FOCUS!!!” Y/N shrieked at him, seeing the Mountain still twitching on the ground. Thankfully, the Viper took heed of the warning and dodged once the enemy tried to sweep him off his feet with his swinging arm. “RYN!!” it took every ounce of strength Ellaria had to keep the little flower away from the fighting ring, as Oberyn kept taunting and stabbing the Mountain, until finally, his last words became swept away into the stinking breeze of King’s Landing, and with one last defiant act, the Mountain had betrayed his former master.

“Tywin Lannister.” Gregor Clegane was dead, and so was the whole crowd, from shock. Only Y/N burst out of Ellaria’s arms once the trial was deemed finalized and the Martell Prince declared the winner, and she jumped in his arms, shamelessly peppering his whole face with kisses. Finally Dorne had received the confession and redemption of the perpetrator who committed such heinous, unforgivable acts against their beloved Princess. Now, it was only the Lannisters to bring to justice - Somehow - But all in due time. “I’m so not letting go of you tonight, my sweet Y/N.” the man couldn’t help but chuckle at the uncharacteristic display of affection from the otherwise timid and reserved lady - But it was, by far, the most endearing thing he’s felt. “Never let me go, Ryn.” how can anyone resist those sweet words, and those beautiful eyes of hers?

But Oberyn will soon learn that going against the Crown and getting revenge will prove to be far more devastating than he could ever imagine - Not for him directly, but for those dearest to him. The loss of the greatest Knight of the Lannisters must have been a huge blow, and they had to retaliate... Or that is what he thought at first... Though at the breakfast feast where only the select few members of the Royal family were invited, and the ones attending the Small Council. Everyone, but one, was shocked at what was to unfold.

They were supposed to just leave back home that day - How could things shatter so easily? Everything was under control, and they were the victors... How could the tides turn so quickly?

At the long table, King Joffrey and the Hand of the King were sitting on the opposite ends of the table. Oberyn, Y/N, Ellaria, Cersei were on one side, while Varys, Tyrion, Baelish and Grand Maester Pycelle were on the other side. There were two more chairs left vacant, one on each side. Y/N looked at Oberyn and whispered in his ear, worried - Where was Sansa? Surely, as the future Queen, she would be there? Y/N then looked at the King, further up, at Sandor, but even he seemed to know nothing. Tyrion, as well, was simply drinking wine, not bothering to raise the covering platter from his dish.

“I see my sister is running late. Is it appropriate to begin our meal without the future Queen?” Y/N asked, her hands holding each other on her lap. “Clegane, why don’t you go by Lady Sansa’s room and see how she is doing?” Tyrion ordered the Hound. “I have not been informed by her maid of any illness.” Cersei spoke, slowly reaching for her cup of wine. She shared a look with both Tyrion and her father - A look of imminent danger. They were all suspecting something was wrong. “The food will get cold if we wait any longer. Perhaps my Lady wife has lost the track of time putting on make up or doing her hair. That is what pretty girls do, don’t they?” with a wave of his hand, the people at the table had to reluctantly begin the meal, taking off the covers of their plates.

An ear-piercing shriek, followed by the loud sound of a heavy chair colliding with the cold ground. All at once, the chamber was silent, save for the loud, ragged pants of distress from the Stark girl, whose eyes were glued to the contents of the plate before her, as she stood huddled and small, like a scared little mouse, absolutely terrified.

“You have declared war with the whole North, irredeemably, and now, with the South as well. Is this how the Crown knows to keep old alliances in place? Perhaps the Mad old King Aerys wasn’t as bad as we thought.” Oberyn rose to his feet, glaring at the oldest Lannister man, who couldn’t peel his eyes from the blasted thing that ultimately sealed the end of the Lannister House.

“Sansa...” there, on Y/N’s very platter, lay her own sister’s beautiful head. Her expression was fixed, terrified, in agony. “My sweet Sansa... What have they done to you...” powerlessly crawling back to the table, Y/N reached out and gingerly grabbed her sister’s head, hugging it dearly to her chest, sobbing in her still very soft red hair. “Who did this to you, my sweet Sansa? Tell me... And I will kill them with my own two hands. Who ever it is... No matter who it is... I will make sure to avenge you.” her voice was so low and serene, that it sent shivers to most of the people present. “I assure you, this crime has nothing to do with us. We didn’t want Eddark Stark’s death, nor Sansa’s. We did not want a war with the North.” Cersei’s desperate voice seemed to make Oberyn realise that although not herself guilty, King Joffrey was the culprit. “You were Queen Regent, and still allowed her father’s death to happen. It is your fault, as well as King Joffrey’s, that the North wants you all dead.” Oberyn felt himself re-living the very same moment he learnt the news of Elia’s death. He was enraged. “I will have Varys and Lord Baelish investigate her death.” Tywin waved his hand to the two. “The same way you investigated Elia’s death? Or the same way you ordered it?” the Prince slammed his fist onto the table. “The disobedience of a subject does not fall under my jurisdiction.” the old Lannister spoke up. “A leader who cannot control his subjects is a bad one.” Oberyn refuted immediately. “What is it, Sansa...?” Y/N’s soft voice made everyone silent. “Did you say... Joffrey? The bastard born of incest? The boy-King who is crueler than Maegor, and madder than Aerys?” that seemed to anger both the mother and the child. “It is your own fault that you had to retort to killing my father to get rid of those accusations. They only made you even more guilty.” Y/N looked straight at Cersei, with piercing eyes. “Out of all the Stark children, only Arya looked like father. Us, the other five, looked just like mother. You were in the same position. You were just too dumb to realise. Now, look around you - The whole Westeros knows your secret, yet you have the stupidity to create even more enemies. The North remembers, Cersei. I have long since wished for a lion’s pelt for a carpet. Might as well have more than one.” the Queen Regent shot to her feet and stormed in front of Y/N, only to have Ellaria get in between. “I do not think you are in the right to step anywhere closer to the Princess of Dorne.” it was a warning. “And neither of you has a right to slander and threaten the Crown.” she shot back immediately. “I have every right to do whatever the fuck I want. You took my father and sister from me, for no reason. Surely, you have forgotten... That your own twin brother and lover is being held captive by my brother and mother. Let us see how long does it take my mother to take the sword herself and put Jaime Lannister’s head on a spike, once she learns that her sweet Sansa met the same fate her as beloved husband. Let us see how long it takes Robb to ally himself with Stannis. Imagine King’s Landing... Against the North... The East... The South... And, perhaps, if that does not work, than the Targaryen girl with her three dragons... She is still in Essos now, isn’t she? And Essos is so very close to Dorne... I’m sure it wouldn’t be too difficult to go in search for her and get her over to claim her throne... So many possibilities... All very tempting...” Y/N spoke, not once blinking, not once extending her gaze else where, and once she was done, she turned around to leave. “DOG, DON’T LET HER LEAVE! CAPTURE HER AND THROW HER IN JAIL!” but the Hound did nothing. “DOG!” “Fuck the king.” Clegane spat, as he threw his weapon to the ground. “I am done doing the stupid orders of a brat.” “I AM YOUR KING!” Joffrey kicked his chair in his rage. “You are no king. You are just a fucking cunt.” he was the first to punch open the doors, and he stomped away, followed by Y/N and the Martells. “Sandor. Will you come with us?” Y/N’s soft voice called out, down the corridor. “No, little fawn. I’m done with this shit. Fuck this city and all the people in it.” the man growled, and the girl agreed with a hum. “But don’t you want to avenge Sansa?” Sandor stopped in his tracks. “I know you loved her.” she continued. “She told me she wanted to run away with you. Up North, back home. Said she only ever felt safe when she saw you. We have not forgotten the many times you saved us.” she felt herself being pinned to the wall. “Avenging her won’t bring her back to life!” Sandor growled at the girl. “I know. But I’ve lost too much to let those fuckers continue to live without facing the consequences of their actions.” Y/N’s was calm... Too calm. “I have a friend in the North. He is known for flaying people alive. He had shown me, once. I think it is time I polish up those skills.” “And what would you have me do, then?” he let go of her. “You either become my guard and come to Dorne with me, or you go and join Robb in the war. Whether or not you want to fight, it is your choice, but I need someone I can trust up there. And I need to find a way to get Robb to ally himself with Stannis. He’s got a fleet. If Robb goes to attack the Westerlands again, threatening Casterly Rock, and Stannis attacks King’s Landing from Blackwater Bay... And if we attack from the South... There’s no way the Lannisters can win. We just need a good strategy, and a great many deal of people.” Oberyn had heard her speak this way for the first time. She wasn’t soft and shy anymore, nor was she erratic and desperate. Now, she was smart, collected and worst of all, grieving and war-driven. She had never been to war, but it was clear, all her trauma made her fearless. It was now that the young she-wolf was the most dangerous. “Fine. I’m going North. Your brother better not have me killed on the spot.” he scoffed, only to receive a pendant. “Robb gifted it to me before I left for the capital. It has a small letter addressed to him. He will know. Tell him I had sent you. Tell them what happened. The North never forgets.” she explained the plan. “You have changed, little fawn.” he was the last thing the man spoke to the eldest Stark girl. “I am no longer a little fawn, Sandor. Not anymore.” thus, Sandor Clegane left for his horse, Stranger, and galloped North, while Y/N and the retinue for Dorne, including Alys Manderly, set South, only stopping by a distant part of the God’s Wood to set fire to what remained of Sansa.

She was far too beautiful to rot away. Best remain ashes, and let herself be carried by the wind and travel wherever she wants to. Now, she is no longer a caged bird. Now, she is free. The days in Dorne were no better, and Y/N kept herself locked in her room, staring helplessly at the wall besides her. She was heart broken, and only revenge could quench the rageful fire in her heart. Day in and day out, she sent out letters - The first, to her brother, Robb, informing him of Sandor’s arrival, and the ideas of allying either with the greatest force on which Renly was relying on, the Tyrells, or on Stannis’s army. Then, to Ramsay, learning more of Lord Bolton’s plans, and convincing him to strive harder to become legitimized and quickly take over the Dreadfort. Lastly, she had sent a letter to Tyrion. He was the only one from King’s Landing that she did not want to kill. He had told her that he was planning a certain one’s death, after being snubbed harshly for even thinking about becoming the Heir of Casterly Rock.

Though Alys was here, she did not want to see her. In fact, save for Oberyn and Ellaria, Y/N had not allowed anyone to enter her chambers. It was clear that she could not get over the shock of losing two of her family members in such a fashion, and for the most part, the only thing she discussed with Oberyn were war strategies - Unless he wanted to help the girl sleep and dismiss her nightmares, at least for the night, and he would pamper and spoil her until she would forget even her name. His sweet words and tender caresses, those passionate kisses and the culminating sounds were all but sinful secrets that will forever remain in her chambers.

Even so, she hardly smiled - And the idea of their wedding was long since forgotten, until one evening, as she was very comfortably sitting on his lap, she found herself telling him about the preparations. “I have made you wait long enough. Everyone needs a reason to celebrate these days - Us, most of all. I wish Sansa... My family... I wish they were here. But it’s fine. You are my family, just like they are, and Dorne is my home, they same as Winterfell.” “You are still hurting, my love. There is no need for you to rush or hide your mourning. You need to heal.” his voice was so gentle and loving, Y/N felt herself melting in his touch. “I know. But I was raised with very traditional and stuck up views. I have long since broken many of those sacred laws, but by mine own selfishness, I am invoking the marriage pact so I can have you even closer to me. Will you forgive me for my unbecoming selfishness, my sweet Prince?” his chuckled breath on her skin as he was kissing her neck made her fingers dig into his shoulder as she let out a sweet mewl. “There is nothing to forgive, my love. I am sure Dorne would be filled with joy. They will see the most beautiful Princess.” he smiled, looking up to her. “And as a wedding gift, I promise you, my love, I will bring you lion pelts for carpets.” for the first time since so long, a smile appeared on her face, and life seemed to return in those beautiful eyes of hers. “Really...?” she asked, breathlessly. “I may have killed the perpetrator who did those awful crimes against Elia, but it doesn’t take away that she is still dead, while the Lannisters are thriving, and well. Now, they have made my sweet Princess suffer and they killed her family. I will have them brought to justice.” her heart was beating so fast, and she was completely charmed. She almost couldn’t breathe anymore, that’s how excited she was, imagining the dead bodies of the Lannisters. “I love you more than life itself.” without even thinking, her heart spoke out. “That’s what I love to hear, my sweet flower.” he chuckled lightly before pulling the girl into his arms once again.

The wedding was fa more spectacular than any Dornish would expect - Was it because of all the pain and suffering they had to endure? Or because the region needed all the cheering up needed? Or, simply, because Oberyn loved Y/N so much that he wanted to spoil and pamper her with every resource available in his hands, fitting for the Princess of Dorne.

Either way, it did not matter - Ellaria was the one that Y/N wanted to help dress her in all the jewellery and expensive brocades and the linen embroidered with the shiniest golden threads and sparkly zircons. Her long hair, red like the Rhoynar Sun brought by Princess Nymeria herself, was embellished with the most precious brilliants and diamonds in existence. Her make up, also, made her lips red like the blood oranges that were ripe and sweet, but her eyes were dark and seductive, making them look even more attractive and piercing than they already were.

Her dress, also, was highlighting her gorgeous silhouette and her bossom, and it was of gold and orange - Fitting for the Princess of Dorne - And Oberyn, also, was wearing his best clothes, all in the same colours of the Martell.

The songs were so joyful and fun, all the people were having a blast, everyone was dancing and drinking and were excited to celebrate the happy marriage between their beloved Prince and the kind and beautiful Stark girl.

The two lovers, despite all the woes and sorrow in their hearts, found that, together, they could move on and find reason for happiness within each other. Not once, did they break apart from each other, their hands always together, fingers always intertwined, and they were kissing so shamelessly in front of everyone, without any care in the world.

But garments were of no use at night, and their bodies spoke every words that was left unsaid. There was no need for anything else, for the passion they had for each other was enough to be understood, and their love was like no other.

For many nights, the two were the happiest people in Dorne, and even through the letters, she had received many positive news - Perhaps there was still hope for a good future for the Stark family? Perhaps, there is even promise for peace? Who knew.

There was one person, however, who was very against everything going on, and her plans all ruined. There was one last act of vengeance that she could commit.

One night, Y/N was drinking with Ellaria and Oberyn, and they were telling stories of old, and laughing about all the silliest things - Y/N especially wasn’t used to drinking so much so she was in an even gigglier disposition - But as long as she was in glee, and smiling, the two were content. A knock on the door made them raise their head, and as it opened, Alys timidly walked inside.

“Alys - So good to see you. Here, take a seat, drink some wine with us.” Y/N smiled gracefully at her friend, kicking a stool for her to sit on. Alys could see very well that Y/N wasn’t the same shy girl from up North, but someone far more refined and fitting of her title of a Princess. And the way she was cuddled up into the Prince’s side was even more of an insult. “I dare not...” the Manderly girl muttered bashfully, looking down. “Why are you acting all timid for, all of a sudden? Oh - Are you intimidated to sit with the Prince and his paramour? You were far more eager to bed them some months ago.” the Princess laughed shamelessly, making the girl keep her head even lower. “So King’s Landing was able to destroy even the most sociable of people. No surprise. Come on, you, just sit down and drink some wine with us.” Y/N sigh and rose to her feet, grabbing her wrist in an attempt to pull her on the chair - But Alys had brought her old friend into a tight embrace. “Forgive me, Y/N, I have not been able to get over what happened at the capital. I’m still shaken up that I almost died back there... And were it not for you and the Prince to save me... I am so sorry I wasn’t able to celebrate your wedding as you deserved... I am a shameful friend...” the Manderly girl sobbed into the crook of her neck, making the Stark girl sigh and roll her eyes. “Enough of that. I don’t want to hear it. You either sit down with us, or you go back to sleep. I can’t see other reason for coming here.” but then, Alys whispered into her ear. “The Lannisters send their regards -” she thought she was being sneaky, coming over at night when she was drunk - What a fool. Before she could plunge the dagger hidden in her sleeve into Y/N’s torso, the Princess had already grabbed her wrist and threw her into the stool she had kicked earlier, making her stumble to the ground, allowing Y/N to grab the hand in which she was holding the weapon and she slammed it hard onto the hand laying on the table, which was keeping her up. “First of all - Fuck the Lannisters. Second of all... Fuck you.” Y/N chuckled, seeing Alys with huge tears in her eyes, groaning from the pain. “H-How did you -- How did you know?!” the Manderly girl shrieked at her, making Y/N cringe and rub her ears. “Sheesh, so loud, calm down already.” the Princess muttered, plopping back down on the comfortable couch. “Neither Oberyn nor Ellaria trusted you, from the very beginning. Every time they warned me of you, it had come to light.” she reached towards the bowl to eat some grapes. “Also - Tyrion told me you’re Cersei’s lackey. I had been on the lookout for you for... A while now.” “T-Tyrion?! The Queen’s own brother?!” Alys’s eyes were bulged wide open. “There’s no man who wants Cersei dead more than Tyrion, trust me on that. Which reminds me... Would you now tell me why exactly do you want me dead? You were safe here, which means whatever vendetta Cersei has against me, it could have been erased... So you have something personal against me. Why?” the girl asked, her voice mocking her, as she felt Oberyn embracing her lovingly. “She is jealous of you, my love.” Oberyn spoke, taunting the girl. “From the moment I wanted to bed you, but rejected her, she has had it out for you.” he chuckled darkly. “O, so the little peasant girl wanted your wealth and status, didn’t she? How quaint.” Y/N rolled her eyes, amused, but also disgusted. “IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!” Alys yelled at her. “It should have been me...!” she started sobbing. “Cersei promised me she would marry me to you! She promised me wealth and status and everything I wanted, as long as I worked for her!” “And you were stupid enough to believe her?” Ellaria snorted in disbelief. “Why would Oberyn ever marry someone like you?” Y/N asked in amusement. “Why would he marry YOU?!” the glare on her face made her look even uglier than before. “Because I’m cute.” Y/N laughed at her, only for her lover to agree. “Cersei thought she was being smart, creating a political alliance between the Starks and the Martells - But instead, she created an alliance that would one day come to destroy the Crown. Stupid bitch.” she shrugged at her. “Cersei would have never tried to marry you to me. Your House is nothing. Your name is nothing. Cersei isn’t smart, but she’s not that stupid either. She was only lucky I had fallen for this beautiful little lady over here, otherwise, I would have declined her offer too.” Oberyn planted a sweet kiss on the girl’s temple. “Lucky me, rather. You got me out of there, and you took care of me so dearly. I owe you everything, Ryn.” she leaned forward, her arms around his neck, pulling him into another sweet kiss. “You’re a woman worth loving and pampering, my love.” the man pulled her even closer to his body. “Just you wait until the Boltons skin your cunt of a mother and poor excuse of a brother -” Y/N immediately snapped up. “The Boltons are on the side of the North.” she corrected her, but by the look on her face, she realised otherwise. “Tywin bought Roose Bolton, didn’t he?” Y/N cursed under her breath, getting up to write a letter to her brother and to her bastard friend. “Not for long.” “The Boltons aren’t the only ones who support the Crown, you stupid girl!” Alys tried to shout, but she got ignored - For the most part. “The bastard son of Roose Bolton is MY friend. He is not loyal to anyone, even his father. Once he gets legitimized, he will kill Roose and will join our cause for good.” Y/N spoke, before looking up at Alys. “Which reminded me... Ramsay had always told me that, to get proficient at flaying, one must practice hard. I suppose it is high time I put in practice his teachings. I have to find out the other families that you claim are traitors to the Starks, after all.” Alys blanched on the spot. “Riri, will you help me out with her~?” that fakely sweet smile that Y/N had on her face made Alys even more terrified. This was not her old friend, Y/N Stark. This was a completely different person. “Gladly.” Ellaria got up from the couch and roughed up the Manderly girl, dragging her to the cellars. “Surely, you can go have your fun with her later. My sweet, innocent snowdrop aroused me too much, and I couldn’t possibly continue my night peacefully without some aid from my beautiful and lovely wife.” lazily extending his arm, he grabbed the girl’s wrist and pulled her back on top of him. “Since you ask me so nicely, I suppose I can make her wait a night... Or maybe two, to take care of my sweet husband of mine.”

#game of thrones #got #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #oberyn martell #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #got x reader #got imagine

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts.

I always thought that both, Sansa and Arya have sun and moon imagery around them. But if I have to choose then I would say that Sansa is the sun and Arya is the moon; and after my last re-read of Fire & Blood, I just confirmed it.

As I said before, several Targaryen sisters duos described in Fire and Blood are very similar to Sansa and Arya, as if George wanted for us to have the Stark sisters in mind while discovering all these Targaryen ladies:

Visenya and Rhaenys

Rhaena and Alysanne

Aerea and Rhaella

Baela and Rhaena

Let’s talk about the last ones, the twin daughters of Daemon Targaryen and his second wife Lady Laena Velaryon: Baela and Rhaena.

In 116 AC, in the Free City of Pentos, Lady Laena gave birth to twin daughters, Prince Daemon’s first trueborn children. Prince Daemon named the girls Baela (after his father) and Rhaena (after her mother).

—Fire & Blood

Baela’s description matches Arya Stark

At ten-and-four, Baela was a wild and willful young maiden, more boyish than ladylike, and very much her father’s daughter. Though slim and short of stature, she knew naught of fear, and lived to dance and hawk and ride. As a younger girl she had oft been chastised for wrestling with squires in the yard, but of late she had taken to playing kissing games with them instead. Not long after the queen’s court removed to King’s Landing (whilst leaving Lady Baela on Dragonstone), Baela had been caught allowing a kitchen scullion to slip his hand inside her jerkin. Ser Robert, outraged, had sent the boy to the block to have the offending hand removed. Only the girl’s tearful intercession had saved him.

(...)

Baela’s time on Dragonstone had been more troubled, ending with fire and blood. By the time she came to court, she was as wild and willful a young woman as any in the realm. (...) Baela lived to ride…and to fly, though that had been taken from her when her dragon died. She kept her silver hair cropped as short as a boy’s, so it would not whip about her face when she was riding. Time and time again she would escape her ladies to seek adventure in the streets. She took part in drunken horse races along the Street of the Sisters, engaged in moonlight swims across the Blackwater Rush (whose powerful currents had been known to drown many a strong swimmer), drank with the gold cloaks in their barracks, wagered coin and sometimes clothing in the rat pits of Flea Bottom. Once she vanished for three days and refused to say where she had been when she returned.

Even more gravely, Baela had a taste for unsuitable companions. Like stray dogs, she brought them home with her to the Red Keep, insisting that they be given positions in the castle, or be made part of her own retinue. These pets of hers included a comely young juggler, a blacksmith’s apprentice whose muscles she admired, a legless beggar she took pity on, a conjurer of cheap tricks she took for an actual sorcerer, a hedge knight’s homely squire, even a pair of young girls from a brothel, twins, “like us, Rhae.” Once she turned up with an entire troupe of mummers. Septa Amarys, who had been given charge of her religious and moral instruction, despaired of her, and even Septon Eustace could not seem to curb her wild ways. “The girl must be wed, and soon,” he told the King’s Hand, “else I fear that she may bring dishonor down upon House Targaryen, and shame His Grace, her brother.

—Fire & Blood

As you can see Baela and Arya shared a lot of similarities, both are wild and willful, both short of stature, both wear short hair, both like riding, both prefer the company of the common folk instead of the courtly life, both admire the muscles of a young blacksmith’s apprentice, both seek adventures, both make their Septa’s despair, etc.

Later Rhaena will marry her cousin Alyn Velaryon, born Alyn of Hull, a legitimized bastard, but the marriage was stormy.

Rhaena description matches Sansa Stark

As young girls, the twins had been inseparable, and impossible to tell apart, but once parted, their experiences had shaped them in very different ways. In the Vale, Rhaena had enjoyed a life of comfort and privilege as Lady Jeyne’s ward. Maids had brushed her hair and drawn her baths, whilst singers composed odes to her beauty and knights jousted for her favor. The same was true at King’s Landing, where dozens of gallant young lords competed for her smiles, artists begged leave to draw or paint her, and the city’s finest dressmakers sought the honor of making her gowns.

(...)

It was Jace who came to the fore now, late in the year 129 AC. Mindful of the promise he had made to the Maiden of the Vale, he ordered Prince Joffrey to fly to Gulltown with Tyraxes. Munkun suggests that Jace’s desire to keep his brother far from the fighting was paramount in this decision. This did not sit well with Joffrey, who was determined to prove himself in battle. Only when told that he was being sent to defend the Vale against King Aegon’s dragons did his brother grudgingly consent to go. Rhaena, the thirteen-year-old daughter of Prince Daemon by Laena Velaryon, was chosen to accompany him.

(...)

She would of course wed whomever the king and council wished, she allowed, though “it would please me if he was not so old he could not give me children, nor so fat that he would crush me when we are abed. So long as he is kind and gentle and noble, I know that I shall love him.” When the Hand asked if she had any favorites amongst the lords and knights who had paid her suit, she confessed that she was “especially fond” of Ser Corwyn Corbray, whom she had first met in the Vale whilst a ward of Lady Arryn. Ser Corwyn was far from an ideal choice. A second son, he had two daughters from a previous marriage. At thirty-two, he was a man, not a green boy.

—Fire & Blood

As you can see Rhaena and Sansa shared a lot of similarities, both are ladylike, both love the courtly life, both are linked with a (bastard) Joffrey, both lived at the Vale, both are linked with singers, both are linked with Knights and Tourneys, both are dutiful, both are betrothed with a Knight of the Vale, that already had two daughters, etc.

As Ned promised Sansa a betrothal with a high lord, kind, gentle and strong, Rhaena asked for a not too old, not too fat, kind, gentle and noble husband. She married Ser Corwyn Corbray, who had a great reputation as a warrior, so much so that his father gave him the ancient Valyrian steel longsword of House Corbray, Lady Forlorn.

Later Rhaena will lost her husband, Ser Corwyn Corbray. He would be killed during some succession war at the Vale, which is kind of similar to the events developing at the Vale with Alayne Stone, Harrold Hardynd and Robert Arryn.

Much later Rhaena will marry Garmund Hightower, the younger brother of Lord Lyonel Hightower, by whom she will have six daughters.

The Sun and The Moon: The Contrasts between Baela and Rhaena

The contrasts between Baela and Rhaena are very similar to the contrasts between Sansa and Arya:

Rhaena was slender and graceful; Baela was lean and quick.

Rhaena loved to dance; Baela lived to ride…and to fly, though that had been taken from her when her dragon died.

Yet even here, the council encountered difficulty and division. When Leowyn Corbray said, “Lady Rhaena would make a splendid queen,” Ser Tyland pointed out that Baela had been the first from her mother’s womb.

“Baela is too wild,” countered Ser Torrhen Manderly. “How can she rule the realm when she cannot rule herself?” Ser Willis Fell agreed. “It must be Rhaena. She has a dragon, her sister does not.”

When Lord Corbray answered, “Baela flew a dragon, Rhaena only has the hatchling,” Roland Westerling replied, “Baela’s dragon brought down our late king. There are many in the realm who will not have forgotten that. Crown her and we will rip all the old wounds open once again.

The sisters reacted to these lickspittles in vastly different ways. Where Rhaena delighted in being the center of court life, Baela bristled at praise, and seemed to take pleasure in mocking and tormenting the suitors who fluttered around her like moths.

Lady Rhaena proved to be as tractable as her sister had been willful.

But despite their differences and living separated for years, the twins never had a bad relationships, it seems they were good friends, worked together and comforted each other.

The good relationship between Baela and Rhaena also gives me hope about a reconciliation and the development of a better and close relationship between Sansa and Arya.

Baela’s Dragon

Baela’s dragon, the slender pale green Moondancer, would soon be large enough to bear the girl upon her back…

(...)

Even more than boys, however, Lady Baela loved to fly. Since first riding her dragon Moondancer into the sky not half a year past, she had flown every day, ranging freely to every part of Dragonstone and even across the sea to Driftmark.

(...)

So it came to pass that when King Aegon II flew Sunfyre over Dragonmont’s smoking peak and made his descent, expecting to make a triumphant entrance into a castle safely in the hands of his own men, with the queen’s loyalists slain or captured, up to meet him rose Baela Targaryen, Prince Daemon’s daughter by the Lady Laena, as fearless as her father.

Moondancer was a young dragon, pale green, with horns and crest and wingbones of pearl. Aside from her great wings, she was no larger than a warhorse, and weighed less. She was very quick, however, and Sunfyre, though much larger, still struggled with a malformed wing and had taken fresh wounds from Grey Ghost.

—Fire & Blood

Baela’s dragon Moondancer “danced” with Aegon II’s dragon Sunfyre. Despite Aegon II’s win against Baela, before dying and being eaten by Sunfyre, Moondancer wounded Aegon II’s dragon so much that it never flew again and died not far later. Moondancer sounds as fierce as Nymeria, Arya’s direwolf has no fear of other wolves and men and became a savage killer.

So, Baela Targaryen being so similar to Arya Stark and having a dragon named Moondancer, and Arya being a water dancer, convinced me that Arya is the Moon.

Rhaena’s Dragon

Rhaena’s egg had hatched a broken thing that died within hours of emerging from the egg, Syrax had recently produced another clutch. One of her eggs had been given to Rhaena, and it was said that the girl slept with it every night, and prayed for a dragon to match her sister’s.

(...)

Known as Rhaena of Pentos, for the city of her birth, she was no dragonrider, her hatchling having died some years before, but she brought three dragon’s eggs with her to the Vale, where she prayed nightly for their hatching.

(...)

Even more grave were the tidings from the Vale, where Lady Jeyne Arryn had assembled fifteen hundred knights and eight thousand men-at-arms, and sent envoys to the Braavosi to arrange for ships to bring them down upon King’s Landing. With them would come a dragon. Lady Rhaena of House Targaryen, brave Baela’s twin, had brought a dragon’s egg with her to the Vale…an egg that had proved fertile, bringing forth a pale pink hatchling with black horns and crest. Rhaena named her Morning.

(...)

And everywhere that Rhaena went came Morning, her young dragon, oft as not coiled about her shoulders like a stole.

(...)

During the first quarter of 135 AC, two momentous events were the occasion of great joy throughout the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. On the third day of the third moon of that year, the people of King’s Landing woke to a sight that had not been seen since the dark days of the Dance: a dragon in the skies above the city. Lady Rhaena, at the age of nineteen, was flying her dragon, Morning, for the first time. That first day she circled once around the city before returning to the Dragonpit, but every day thereafter she grew bolder and flew farther.

—Fire & Blood

Rhaena lost her first dragon the same way Sansa lost her direwolf Lady, but later Rhaena got another dragon that she named “Morning”.

Sansa is heavily associated with Dawn, the moment immediately before the Sun comes. I wrote about it here.

So, Rhaena Targaryen being so similar to Sansa Stark, having lost her first dragon but getting another one that she named Morning, and Sansa being heavily associated with the Dawn, convinced me that Sansa is the Sun. This lovely parallel also gives me hope that Sansa will have another direwolf in the future, that maybe she will name Dawn.

#Sansa Stark #Arya Stark

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janiedean · 3 years ago

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Oh hey Lavi, for the anniversary prompt how about the following options: A) Rickon telling stories of things he experienced on Skagos (and why he doesn't ride horses and unicorns only) B) Sweet Robin recovering from Lysa's awful parenting, him and Sansa meeting as friends when they're both grown up. Enjoy the hellsite anniversary :3

AAAND EXTREMELY LATE *spins wheel*

buy me a coffee | commissions open

"Let me guess, we can give Lord Manderly's gift to Arya?"

Not that Lord Manderly will know either way and they do have an excuse - the mare he gifted to Rickon for his... supposed crowning is a truly wonder of a purebreed but she's barely been looked at and Jon supposes it would be a pity to waste her, but then again she is a tad too big to be ridden by a seven-year old... a regular seven-year old, but what Lord Manderly doesn't know won't hurt him.

"She can have it," Rickon shrugs as Jon follows him inside the stables where he's running his hands over the silky mane of... well.

His chosen ride.

A chosen ride that wasn't as huge when it arrived with him from Skaagos along with Osha, Lord Seaworth and a few other men plus Lord Manderly's fealty to Stannis, and good thing they managed to strike a proper agreement in between the whole lot of them, but now -

Now it's... something.

Jon imagines what would happen if someone was to ride it in a battle.

He's halfway sure it would be enough to half-win it.

"Humor me," he says, moving closer, wishing that - well. That a lot of things hadn't gone down since the last time they saw each other. No seven-year old should be this guarded, he thinks, and he's not going to blame Osha for having brought him in the only place no one would have looked for him, but still. If he's to be his regent, gods, Robb, why did you do it, but he knows why Robb did it and on one side he loves him for it, on the other he wonders what Catelyn Tully would think of it.

He has a feeling she didn't approve of that decision. Surely she approved of it less than his siblings, and for a moment he feels like crying, but -

Never mind.

"What's the difference? In between riding that and a horse," Jon adds when Rickon looks at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh," he replies, half-smiling, thinly, but still more than he did since Lord Seaworth brought him back, so - so that's fine, he supposes, "I could let you try." He considers. "But if you tried you wouldn't want to ride horses anymore and I don't think you want that."

"No," Jon shakes his head, "that wouldn't be convenient. But I still want to know."

Rickon looks back at the - at the unicorn in front of him, all black like Shaggydog, who is quietly growling as he huddles with Ghost in the corner, but - in an almost friendly way. And Ghost looks overjoyed to be reunited with his brother, so - good for them. It's large, and that mane looks silkier and shinier than a regular horse's, though it has harder eyes, Jon thinks, and the rough, huge corn sprouting from the middle of its forehead looks like it could impale a man or two.

"They're faster," Rickon finally says. "A lot. Sometimes it feels like you're flying, while they run. They gave me one a few days after we arrived."

"Did they?"

"Osha insisted," Rickon half-smiles. "That one died a while later, but it was old. It still ran faster than any other horse. Then I rode all the ones they had in her village. They gave me this one just before I left but they told me not to name her for a year."

"Why's that?"

"They say it brings bad luck," Rickon shrugs, "I don't know about that, but they'd know best, right?"

"Sure," Jon replies, "and how long do they live?"

"Oh, the first one I had was three hundred years old, they said."

Seven Hells. Does that mean they'll have a unicorn lingering in Winterfell for centuries, if she survives the Long Night? Well, Jon supposes, that can't be too bad.

"Good," he says, "she - she is impressive."

"I know," Rickon replies. "Not that Lord Manderly's was... well, bad. But she's not the same. And when I go inside her the way I do with Shaggy while riding it's just - a horse wouldn't be the same. It couldn't."

Ah, damn. He'll need to tell Rickon to not be so carefree with saying he can warg, and didn't he learn that lesson himself, but -

"I only can do it with Ghost," Jon replies quietly, "but I imagine it's... you see with her eyes, don't you?"

"Yes," Rickon nods, delighted, "and they can see so many colors, you wouldn't know."

Considering that when he's inside Ghost he can see less than he does as a human...

"I imagine it doesn't... compare with doing it with the wolves, does it?"

"Of course not!" He sounds almost outraged. "I mean, with Shaggy it's just different, but no, it's so many more than we do. And they shine so much."

"Maybe I'll go to Skaagos and get myself one then," Jon says, "wouldn't want to try with yours."

"Oh, there's so many of them, and you're friends with all the wildlings. They'd give you one for sure. I heard the other lords say they're bad but they're really not."

"People can be... stupid like that," Jon agrees, shuddering all over again. Understatement of the century, but maybe now that it's clear that they're facing impeding doom maybe they'll get over being prejudiced, he supposes. Maybe they can ask the Skaagosi to send them an army of unicorns. Now that would be interesting.

"I know," Rickon snorts, "I heard them say that they do all kinds of things on Skaagos, but they really don't."

"Like what? The, uh, -"

"Eating other people," Rickon replies with all the calm in the world, and what in the Seven Hells, Jon thinks, but then again didn't he and Robb get excited when as kids Old Nan would tell them stories about the Rat Cook and they were the same age? "Because they don't. I mean, they eat people's ashes after funerals but I don't think it's the same thing."

"They - do?"

Rickon nods. "They said it was so you could bring them with you or if they were good warriors you'd become as good as them."

"... Have you been to a lot funerals there?"

"Some," he says, "I mean, it was all old men, they burned the bodies under the heart trees and then ate the ashes at sundown. Then they'd have a feast in their honor that would go on all night. It was nice. Also they, like, they don't breed all of the unicorns. They capture them sometimes."

"Really," Jon shudders at the idea of taming a wild beast like the one in front of him. "And did you go with?"

"Osha brought me a few times with her friends. I didn't get close or anything but - I cheated."

"Oh, you cheated?"

"I said they could use Shaggy if they needed, but then I went inside him. I think Osha knew but she never said either way."

"It sounds... like you didn't hate it," Jon says slowly. Surely it sounds like he hates everyone staring at him like he's their last hope for House Stark to thrive more than he could ever hate being on Skaagos.

"It was... fun," Rickon admits, running his hand through the unicorn's mane again and again. "And people didn't talk to me weird."

"Weird how?" Jon asks, even if he suspect what the answer is.

Rickon shrugs. "Like I'm more important than you all are. Or like they expect me to... I don't know. To do your job already. Is it bad that I don't really want it?"

"Robb didn't want it," Jon says, "I don't particularly want it and Stannis Baratheon doesn't particularly want to rule the rest of the kingdoms regardless. I'd be worried if you did want it. And you won't have it for a very long time."

"Good," Rickon says. "I guess we couldn't... visit there again at some point?"

"Tell you what," Jon says, putting a hand on his shoulder, "after we deal with the wights we can - all just go there. Maybe we can leave Sansa to handle things here, I don't know if she'd like Skaagos, but - maybe we can go there and she can meet us at the Wall. Unless she wants to come and then she can, too."

Rickon grins back at him. "I'd like that."

Me, too, Jon thinks, and decides that if they get through this alive it's the damned first thing he's going to arrange.

Never mind that he thinks he does want one of those unicorns for himself.

#jon snow #rickon stark #cafeleningrad #my fic #ten years anniversary promptfest #OKAY SORRY FOR HOW LATE IT WAS i'm filling at random at this point

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shieldofrohan · 4 years ago

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While grrm said that petyr will never sold Sansa to Boltons he also implied petyr disgusting intentions toward Sansa. If Sansa escape petyr and ran to wall there are chances of crossing paths with Ramsay. I'm scared about Sansa arc in twow as there are two monsters lurking petyr and Ramsay.

Hello @please-dot ,

This is what Martin said:

GRRM: My Littlefinger would have never turned Sansa over to Ramsay. Never. He’s obsessed with her. Half the time he thinks she’s the daughter he never had—that he wishes he had, if he’d married Catelyn. And half the time he thinks she is Catelyn, and he wants her for himself. He’s not going to give her to somebody who would do bad things to her. That’s going to be very different in the books.

I know everyone is focusing on Petyr’s disgusting feelings for her in this quote but let’s not miss the part of him seeing her as his daughter.

Petyr-Sansa dynamic was always more complicated than simple perversion from his part. What we have with him is more twisted than that. Sometimes he truly feels like she is his REAL daughter:

“..It was clever of you to see it. Though no more than I’d expect of mine own daughter.”

“Thank you.” She felt absurdly proud for puzzling it out, but confused as well. “I’m not, though. Your daughter. Not truly. I mean, I pretend to be Alayne, but you know...”

Littlefinger put a finger to her lips. “I know what I know, and so do you. Some things are best left unsaid, sweetling.”

[AFFC; Sansa I]

He doesn’t like the fact that she is not ACTUALLY his daughter.

These two different feelings he has for Sansa (daughter or his dream woman) are intermixed. That’s why (I think at least) he doesn’t go further than kissing her.

Will he do sth worse to her? It is possible but in plotwise I don’t see it happening. Sansa already doesn’t like his kisses etc and she doesn’t fully trust him already:

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them...

[…]

Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and...

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too... and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle... but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she’d known at King’s Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei’s ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. […] Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. […] I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr.

[AFFC; Sansa I]

Sansa is smart enough to see the duality of Petyr and LF. Petyr is a paternal figure who saved her but LF is an enemy… So she already has doubts about his true intentions. Does she need another attack from him to put a wall between them? I don’t think so.

LF’s part in execution of Ned Stark, Jeyne Poole’s misfortunes and Sweetrobin’s death (I don’t think he’ll die but LF is planning to have him dead) are going to be the issues which will cause the confrontation between Sansa and Petyr, not a sexual attack (IMO).

I am one of the few people who truly believe that Petyr’s Harry plan is sincere. He wants that marriage..

Why would he do sth to jeopardize it?

I think Sansa will need to leave Vale for some other reason like her identity being revealed, an attack by Mountain Clans, Shadrich’s attempt to kidnap her, Brienne’s arrival to save her etc.. (My money is on Shadrich)

Petyr couldn’t get the Tully girl he wanted and it won’t change… He will never have Sansa. I am kind of certain about it (but who knows… )

So this is my opinion about the LF part of your ask.

(Also believe me if he was supposed to do sth like this to Sansa, D&D would have done it… but obviously Sansa didn’t have a r*pe plot so they had to invent it)

About the Ramsay part…

Ok, I don’t know why people believe that Ramsay gonna get Sansa somehow? Whole Jeyne arc was about Boltons not being able to get a Stark for themselves… But can they cross paths?

Well correct me if I am wrong but Ramsay was in WF the last time we heard about him.

The last thing we know about him that he wrote the Pink Letter to Jon. Let’s read that letter:

“I am being foolish, Lord Commander, but … this letter frightens me. See here?”

Bastard, was the only word written outside the scroll. No Lord Snow or Jon Snow or Lord Commander. Simply Bastard. And the letter was sealed with a smear of hard pink wax. “You were right to come at once,” Jon said. You were right to be afraid. He cracked the seal, flattened the parchment, and read.

Your false king is dead, bastard. He and all his host were smashed in seven days of battle. I have his magic sword. Tell his red whore.

Your false king’s friends are dead. Their heads upon the walls of Winterfell. Come see them, bastard. Your false king lied, and so did you. You told the world you burned the King-Beyond-the-Wall. Instead you sent him to Winterfell to steal my bride from me.

I will have my bride back. If you want Mance Rayder back, come and get him. I have him in a cage for all the north to see, proof of your lies. The cage is cold, but I have made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell.

I want my bride back. I want the false king’s queen. I want his daughter and his red witch. I want his wildling princess. I want his little prince, the wildling babe. And I want my Reek. Send them to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your black crows. Keep them from me, and I will cut out your bastard’s heart and eat it.

It was signed,

Ramsay Bolton,

Trueborn Lord of Winterfell.

[ADWD; Jon]

As you can see Ramsay is asking Jon to COME AND SEE…

Jon is the one who should come down south because Ramsay is not coming up North..

And Jon says this too… Jon was going to leave Wall to go down Winterfell:

“And where will you be, crow?” Borroq thundered. “Hiding here in Castle Black with your white dog?”

“No. I ride south.” Then Jon read them the letter Ramsay Snow had written.

[…]

“The Night’s Watch will make for Hardhome. I ride to Winterfell alone, unless …” Jon paused. “… is there any man here who will come stand with me?”

[…]

I have my swords, thought Jon Snow, and we are coming for you, Bastard.

[ADWD; Jon]

And in TWOW Theon sample; Theon says that Ramsay will (?) come to Stannis for his bride and Reek:

“Frey and Manderly will never combine their strengths. They will come for you, but separately. Lord Ramsay will not be far behind them. He wants his bride back. He wants his Reek.” Theon’s laugh was half a titter, half a whimper. “Lord Ramsay is the one Your Grace should fear.”

[TWOW; Theon]

So will Ramsay march Wall to meet Jon (because he believes that Jon has his bride) or will he come to Stannis who is in Crofters’ Village in Wolfswood (west of WF)?

I don’t have the answers because of the mysteries surround Pink Letter and we don’t know the true timeline of POVs.

But in any case… If Ramsay is going to march to Wall then he will most likely use the west of Kingsroad or the KR itself but Sansa is going to use the east of KR (according to Grey Girl prophecy and the map).

If he and Sansa somehow cross paths I am not so worried about Sansa.. she won’t be alone (she’ll have Brienne probably).

* Martin also hinted that we will see a face off between Ramsay’s hounds and Stark dire wolves… but I believe that it will happen in WF Battle..

IMO, Jon and Sansa will face Ramsay in WF Battle and not before…

So I don’t think that Ramsay or Petyr will be alarming threats for Sansa in Vale or during the journey up North.

I hope I am right…

Sansa’s body is WF… and no one will ever get it unless she lets them..

Thanks for the ask.

#asoiaf #sansa stark #ramsay bolton #petyr baelish #twow speculation #mine #replied #answered #ask

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magalidragon · 4 years ago

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Angst #7 and whatever verse you want 😇

I can’t do angst today! Not on my birthday!! So I switched it and made it a funny. Here’s #7-- “Do you even love me?” set in the summer lovin’ universe-- the infamous gala!

Tonight was the night, many women would be nervous, some perhaps trying not to be, at the idea of meeting their boyfriend's families. Especially a boyfriend who also was the father of your baby. A surprise baby. A baby you didn't even know you wanted until the stick turned pink and you were breaking the news to the guy you really didn't think you'd ever see again, until shock, he just randomly appeared back in your life as randomly as he'd entered it. Dany was excited though. Deviously so. She exited the limo easily, maneuvering her six-months pregnant belly with relative ease, her red gown floating around her legs, before it tightened up at her bump and clung to the rest of her like a second skin. She was a walking flame; the only one wearing red amongst a sea of boring black, gray, and navy. "You Northerners need to find a color wheel," she commented, walking by yet another woman in black heavy fur-like clothing. She wrinkled her nose. "Looks like you wear rugs as fashion." "We are a boring folk, I do agree." They walked up the stairs of the keep; the gala was being held in White Habror, at the Manderly estate, and she was not impressed. "You also need another interior designer," she scowled. Jon sighed. "Yes, it's quite hideous. Ah look, Starks." He wrinkled his nose, distasteful at the sight of his family standing in such a way that everyone had to go up and bow and owe them fealty. Metaphorically speaking, she thought, although-- Gods! He must have seen her expression. "Yes, people do occasionally kneel to them." "I hope you know I will do no such thing."

"Would never have expected you to my love" He let go of her arm and reached to wrap it possessively around her upper body, his thumb brushing the side of her breast. Her skin tingled, a purr emitting involuntarily. They were getting stares. Maybe it was the red dress. Or her silver hair. Or her pregnancy. Or maybe it was because Jon was now pressing little kisses underneath her ear. Since it looked like these women also asked their husband's permission to speak, she suspected many northerners were not comfortable with public displays of affection. So she turned and grabbed his chin, planting a hard kiss to his mouth. He growled appreciatively. She beamed, purple eyes sparkling. "Introduce me to your family Jon. I am eager to meet them as your girlfriend." He lowered his lips to hers, brushing lightly. "Of course, love." They were quite a pair, she imagined. Jon was a curious entity to the Northern peerage, he informed her, and as such at this gala, he would likely get quite a few stares. She was fine with that; so long as they didn't stare too long or try to take him away from her. Jon Snow belonged to her and he knew it. She placed a hand to the sid eof her bump, feeling the baby kicking. The little girl-- she knew the gender, Jon didn't-- was quite active. "They're staring," she purred. Yes, all eyes on them. Jon, resplendent in his black suit and silk shirt, his dark curls gleaming, and his careless attitude dripping off him, while she was his opposite. Where he was dark, she was light. Gleaming silver hair, fiery dress, and her six-inch platforms, shimmery red. The gorgeous ruby earrings Jon gifted her winnked at her ears. He said many fancied them; they belonged to his mother and had been quite the showpiece of her jewelsry collection, which occasionally he put on display in the museum for special events. It was her belly that drew the most attention, she suspected, although who knew with these racist xenophobes. He glanced towards the Starks. In the forefront, holding court, were two redheaded women, who would have been pretty if it were not for the pinched sour expressions in their faces, their hair pulled too severely from their angular faces, and the sharp almost armor-like dresses they were. His smile curled into a smirk. "Mmm, my cousin Sansa and my aunt Catelyn." He paused. The smirk faded and he glanced down at her, face puckering in a frown. "Are you sure you want to do this? We can turn around and go home. Order in. Watch a movie." Her mouth fell, she gaped at him, mock hurt filling her words. "Jon, do you even still love me?" "I love you more than anything in this entire world." "Then you should know better than to try to take away this fun from me." He grinned. "Well alright then. Let's go meet my family." He patted her belly, leaning down to it. Cameras falshed; no doubt hteir prsence had been officially noticed by the press pool. "And you too my little dragonwolf." They sauntered in, people gaping at them, and Dany winked and waved at a few she noticed from Dracarys Group's work. She already knew Robb and Arya, who were stifling laughs over by the bar, joined with a man she knew was Theon Greyjoy, an heir to a shipping conglomrate out of the Iron Islands. Robb lifted his ale mug up, silently saluting them, perhaps even wishing good will. He thought they might need it, adorable, she thought, winking in their direction.

As they approached, she could see the pinched expressions tighten, the narrowing blue eyes on both women’s faces. “Here we go,” Jon said under his breath. He reached them, his uncle standing with his back to them, speaking with a massive man wearing a kilt and sporran, she recognized to be Wyman Manderly their host for the evening. He kept his arm around her hip, maying his fingers grazing a little farther south. “Aunt Catelyn,” he said, his voice cool. “Sansa, you both look lovely this evening.”

<i>Like a couple of gargoyles</i>. Dany smiled politely, grateful her makeup that evening was applied with a far lighter hand, her purple eyes standing out, her silver braids intricate and a dragon clip attached to them. She reached a finger to gently fondle one of Lady Lyanna’s earrings, drawing their attention to them. It worked; Sansa’s mouth dropped, before she een said a word to Jon. “Sansa,” she greeted, offering her hand, to be polite, while also showing off the ring she wore that matched the one Rhaegar and Viserys famously wore; one of three their mother got them before her death, when lined up they formed the famous three-headed Targaryen dragon sigil. It was their version of a crown; everyone knew what it was. “Wonderful to finally meet you in person, you’re as lovely as your brother said, just the North.” She blinked, peering at Jon, who was looking at her curiously.

“Oh well,” Sansa said, ruffling her feathers slightly. Quite literally, she had black feathers on the shoulders of her dress. She smirked, an ugly look on someone who was really very pretty. “That’s nice of him.”

Dany glanced at her red nails, before she set them on her belly, drawing their attention back to it. “I do find the North quite harsh though. Cold and severe you know. Then again, I’m a Targaryen.” She grinned. “Daenerys Targaryen, if you didn’t remember. It’s been awhile, we don’t usually do business with the Starks. My brother finds the North to be a bit too narrowminded for our more…” She licked her lips, brows lifting. “Liberal and open policies. More welcoming, I think.”

She could feel the heat starting to emanate from Jon. Not out of anger, but passion. He was <i>loving</i> it, she could tell. He smiled, gray eyes twinkling. “Daenerys is here as my date this evening.”

Catelyn cleared her throat loudly. “Well, it is…” She choked on the word. “Nice to meet you too Daenerys.”

“Nice of your husband to allow you to come as a date with someone else. Ididn’t know you married, but Targaryens do marry multiple people, right?” Sansa shot at her.

Dany grinned; here it was. “No I’m afraid we don’t actually, but we do all have criss-crossing family trees do we not? Starks are no exception. Actually…”

“Actually,” Jon interrupted, his hand going to her belly. She dropped hers over it, grinning at him. He turned, love shining out of his eyes, his face soft and gentle. His voice dropped, husky. “Dany and I are together; we’re having a baby.”

The sound Catelyn made was so loud and foul, it forced Ned Stark to turn around to look at them, concerned. He smiled; a rather handsome man, he always had a tired and put-upon look at him. Through problems of his own making, Jon always told her, and never actual ones. “Jon! You decided to come!” He turned to her, polite. “And you brought a…” his voice trailed, gray eyes dropping to her belly and Jo’ns hand there. His face went stony. Cool. “Jon?”

Jon tugged her against his chest. “Dany and I are having a baby. We met in the Summer Isles.” He dropped a kiss to her lips, a squeak coming from Sansa. “We’re going to get a drink, find Robb and Arya.” He laughed softly. “And maybe think of baby names. Something Valyrian, right Dany?” He pushed by, ignoring Ned’s protests that they needed to speak. “Later Uncle, you’re being rude to Dany. She needs to get off her feet.”

There was nothing wrong with her feet, she just struggled to walk because she was trying not to laugh so hard; or pee, but that was because the baby was on her bladder. She waited until they were out of earshot before bursting into giggles, spinning to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him full on the mouth. “Oh you do love me! You love me so much! Their faces!”

Jon squeezed her to him, murmuring against her lips. “They’re foul. Their policies are archaic. I told you I don’t get along with them for a reason.” He reached to touch the earrings dangling from her lobes. “And Sansa always fancied these.”

She giggled again, knowing they were getting looks. “Come on Jon Snow. You owe me a drink for this.”

“And then we can go home?” he asked hopefully.

“And then we can go anywhere.”

#jonerys #jonerys drabble #writer prompts #reply #aenarsnow #the infamous gala event lol

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vivilove-jonsa · 4 years ago

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Hey, my sweetest! Number 80, for the angst prompt, pretty please? Love you!

Hey, honey! Thank you for the dialogue prompt! This one starts angsty but turns fluffy...lol! I hope you like it :)

“What does it mean?”

“Well, I know what I think it means,” Margaery replies with that knowing, pitying look that made her want to vomit. “Why don’t you ask him though? I’m sure he’d never lie to you.”

Margaery’s tone is nothing short of scathing. She’s never liked Jon, never thought he was good enough for Sansa. Their friendship had already been on the rocks before Sansa started dating Jon last year and now, it’s barely a friendship at all. Jon’s not to blame for that. They were once friends but there’s been too many times where Margaery has rattled her faith and trust and left her bruised to call it friendship anymore. Sansa’s not sure she wants to continue the acquaintance even. The fracture between the two young women had begun well before Sansa had looked at Jon Snow as anything more than Robb’s friend.

Why’d she agree to this lunch today?

And why in the name of the gods did she have to witness her boyfriend coming out of the jewelry shop across the street with another woman when she was with Margaery of all people?!

He’d said he had to work all day though. What was he doing downtown at the jewelry shop if he had to work all day?

She watches them walk down the street, chatting amiably, oblivious to her hurt and confusion.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“Hmmm. Do you know her?” Margaery prods, her lips twitching.

Sansa nods slowly. “Yes, that’s Alys. She’s a friend of Jon’s from university.”

Alright, Jon had admitted they’d dated briefly back then but it was never anything serious. It was ages ago and they’re just friends now. Meanwhile, his friend from university has her arm looped around Jon’s as they share a laugh.

“They seem quite chummy,” Margaery says, a pleased hum. Who doesn’t enjoy discovering some juicy gossip? Well, a real friend wouldn’t react that way when she thinks her friend’s boyfriend might be stepping out on her.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Of course, darling! Want me to call you later or-“

“No, don’t call me.” Don’t bother calling me again.

She’d tried calling him after she got home but his phone went straight to voicemail and she hadn’t worked up the courage to leave one. He always leaves his phone off when he’s working. It’s part of the job.

She sits in her room feeling sick with jealousy and heartbreak the rest of the afternoon. She thinks anything would be better than this doubt, this not knowing. But, when the doorbell rings downstairs, she gasps and almost wishes she’d told her mother to turn him away, to tell him she’s out…or moved to Dorne unexpectedly.

Joffrey had seemed so perfect but that was just on the surface. You didn’t have to scratch very much of it to find the ugly truth.

Harry had been different than Joffrey and she’d thought him a great improvement at first. He’d been terribly charming…but his charm won him more hearts than Sansa’s and she’d soon realized he liked it that way. Monogamy was a foreign word to him.

And Jon had been like neither of them, she’d thought. She’d never expected to fall in love with Jon Snow. She’d never expected them to be anything more than acquaintances through Robb. She’d never expected he’d be exactly what she’d been looking for. But he is. Or at least, she’d thought he was.

She looks around her bedroom, the childhood room she’s been living in since finishing her degree last year. She’s redecorated more than once since she was a teen but it feels so juvenile now. Jon’s been out on his own since he turned eighteen, has his own place. He’s a grownup and she’s still living with her parents. What could he really see in her? He’s been jewelry shopping with Alys Karstark, too.

He knocks softly on her bedroom door and she hates that she’s probably going to cry before she can even get the words out.

“I saw you today,” she says as soon as she opens the door. She doesn’t want to let these doubts linger. One way or another, she’ll get it out.

He blinks, surprised by her tone and expression. “You did?”

“I saw you downtown…with Alys.”

“Where? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you said you were working today and then I saw you coming out of Manderly’s with her.”

“I was at work all day. I went there on my lunchbreak and asked Alys if she’d mind meeting me since she works at the museum nearby.”

Sansa knew that. Jon had taken her to the museum on a date last winter and Alys had allowed them back behind the scenes of a few exhibits since she knew them. It had been a marvelous day.

“Why did you ask her to join you?”

“I, uh…wanted some advice,” he says, scrubbing at the back of his neck like he does when he’s embarrassed. Why is he embarrassed?

“But why? Please, tell me the truth, Jon.”

“I’ve always been honest with you.”

It’s true. He has. He’s not Harry. He’s not Joffrey. He’s not Margaery.

“I just saw you with her and…I felt like…I thought you might be…” She can hardly breathe with how much the thought of him cheating on her, leaving her hurts. She loves him so much and apparently love can make you a little crazy at times.

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her forehead. “It’s nothing like that, I promise. But I’m sorry if seeing us upset you. I know that it might’ve looked odd out of context.” He understands. She’s shared her fears and insecurities with him, things she’s not shared with anyone else. He’s always so patient, understanding and honest. She feels silly.

“I’m sorry to sound accusatory.”

“It’s alright. How was Margaery?” he asks with the barest hint of a smirk. He knows about Margaery, knows about the knives she’s left in Sansa’s back in the past.

“Her usual self. But what were you doing at the jewelry shop?” she asks now, a grin spreading across her face.

“If I ask to not answer your question just yet, will you trust me?”

She takes a deep breath. The room suddenly feels like it’s spinning as the possible reasons why her boyfriend might’ve asked his friend Alys to go to a jewelry shop with him.

Alys has very discerning taste and Jon’s expressed his own securities to Sansa in the past about being good enough for her, of getting things right for her. He doesn’t need to worry at all but sometimes we can’t help our insecurities.

They’ve been dating nearly a year. Their dating anniversary is in three weeks and what if he’s…

“I trust you,” she says with a gulp before kissing him with all the love she has in her heart.

#jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fanfic #vivilove-jonsa fic #dialogue prompt

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dachi25writes · 3 years ago

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Chapter One: Up North

AEGON I

It felt surreal.

Blond hair and violet eyes– just like his own– stared vacantly into the ceiling. Pale skin, translucent in the fluorecent lights.

Just a nightmare, any minute now he would wake up in the station, have some of that tasteless but nutricious space food, don his spacesuit and go out to the surface of the moon to collect data he would later send to his father…

His dead father who seemed to be staring right through him, body stiff as the metalic table he laid on, his lashes still frosted, lips blue.

What was he thinking? Going up to the North like that without proper equipment or a guide of any kind, it was not like him at all, but maybe things hadn’t gone as he planned, maybe he had been forced to–

Aegon turned around just as his sister apologized for his distracted behavior and signed for the body to be discharged so it could be sent back home. Gods, it had been almost 6 years since he had last seen Dragonstone, he remembered the salty air and ashen grey sand so cool to the touch you could lie there even on the hottest summer day.

[[MORE]]

The memory was enough to make him smile, wan and melancholy for he did not– could not - forget the circumstances in which he was going back.

Rhaenys touched his arm, gently almost tentative “C'mon Egg, we have to go”

He nodded and walked along, she was very diferent from the sister he remembered, not taller though he coludn’t be sure with the heels she was wearing but the way she carried herself was diferent. She used to slouch, father always tried to correct her posture. Rain never cared to try though, she still slouched a little, it was only noticeable in a slight bend of her shoulders, but that didn’t take away from her overall air of confidence, she didn’t have much of that back then; most shocking of all, her hair was long, she really hated long hair would chop it off herself if mom refused to take her to the hair saloon “It’s been a long time”

She sighed “ I know”

"Where’s mom?”

“She’s back at the hotel I did not think it would be right to bring her here”

He nodded, of course she couldn’t bring mom to the body deposit, Rhaenys would never risk to upset her “How- how did she take it?, about Dad I mean, did you tell her yet?”

As soon as they were out of the building Rhaenys opened her purse and got out a cigarette and a lighter, she offered him one but he refused waiting for her answer as she put the cigarette between lips, gave it a long drag and exhaled the smoke slowly.

“Of course I told her” she answerered at last “C'mon Egg, I’ll give you a ride I parked just around the block”

He nodded and followed “And how did she take it?”

Rhaenys shrugged “She took it well all things considered, said we should have visited Dad some time and other stuff, you know how she is, but I think she is looking forward to seeing us all again”

He grabbed her arm “You called them?” he couldn’t belive Rhaenys! she was family but them… if they came at all it would only be to gloat.

She raised her eyebrow at him and shook his grip with ease ��Didn’t need to, it’s all over the news, also from what I know Mr. Connington called us, well he sent this really long e-mails but you get the idea, didn’t you get one?”

He shook his head , dumbfounded “I don’t know, I really haven’t got the chance to catch up. Mr. Connington commed me at the station and I just had to get here” actually he never even expected to see Rhaenys here. He hoped she would at least go to the funeral, Mr. Connington was arranging at Dragonstone, but this… He felt anger claw at his belly, like oil on a sizzling pan the heat thretened to jump in every direction, he held it in, gods he was so out of shape.

Breath in, 1, 2, 3… Exhale. Keep focus.

And it passed.

Rhaenys studied his face, really seeing him for the frist time since they had started talking

"Fuck Egg you look like shit!”

He shrugged but felt self conscious nonetheless, Father had always insisted to always keep a good image for the Academy’s sake. He ran a hand through his short buzzcut, and dragged it all the way down to his face, he was so, so tired.

The car was a small old looking thing of a vibrant orange color, Rhaenys opened the passanger’s door for him as if he hadn’t enough strenght to do it himself.

“Where you staying at?”

"Well as I said I haven’t really–”

“ 'Kay so that means you are coming with me, we rented a room with two beds but I guess mom and I can share,it’s just a night anyway.”

He had half a mind to protest but he was just too tired to go around town looking for some place to stay so he just stayed silent.

Rhaneys started the car and soon enough they were at some cheap-looking but cozy motel called “Winterfell” which wasn’t surprising at all , he had seen at least 10 different stores with the same name since they left the morgue, according to his sister everyone had the Stark fever around here and wanted to be part of the ancestral noble house.

“For real” she said between giggles “I pulled over for some gas on the way here and the guy at the station told me he was a distant relative of the Stark, but not only him the hotel clerk, the barista at Manderly’s and they all say it in this really secret conspiratorial way. It’s kinda sweet really, now I get why Robb insisted we should do a roadtrip here, I can practically see his smug face when he mentioned he was an actual Stark”

Her laugh stopped, and became a bitter sigh.

Aegon wished he could say something but he knew he would most likely say the wrong thing and he just wasn’t up for a fight.His sister parked and proceeded to rest her forhead on the steering wheel, brown curls obscuring her face.

“Sorry Egg, I just can’t help thinking about Robb when we are here. He was always talking about Winterfell and I just-”

“It’s fine” he tried to be nonchalant about it but he felt uncomfortable, he had never been particularly close to Robb, he did like him though. Robb was one of those people you inevitably admire, but after he died everything went to shit at the Academy, everyone blamed Dad for it even Rhaenys, Aegon had been the only one that stayed after that. He knew it was pretty shitty to blame Robb for dying but if he hadn’t maybe…

“God I am such a jerk” Rhaenys lifted her face enough to look at him “I haven’t even asked if you have talked to Sansa or–?”

“I haven’t” he pressed his mouth into a thin line, he didn’t want to talk about this with Rhaenys now or ever really. “You know what? The space travel is really catching up on me so I better go rest like you said”

He opened the door and practically slammed it shut when it dawned on him he had no idea of the room number and he had to wait for Rhaenys. Fuck! just after he had stormed out of the car like a broody asshole(Jon’s asshole face flashed briefly in his mind), the day couldn’ t get worse really.

Fortunately Rhaenys let him save some dignity and got out of the car calmly as if nothing had happened but in her eyes so alike mom’s he could see worry.

"Sorry Egg, you know I am an idiot sometimes, we should go rest”

He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t, not really, not even after she left did he ever thought that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

She led the way to a simple room decorated in pastels with two identical beds, matching night tables and a very stiff looking couch where his mother sat reading one of the romance novels she loved so well.

As soon as she saw him she got up and enveloped him in an embrace he immediately returned, they parted after a while but she stayed close enough so he could smell her characterístic orange scent, she caressed his face.

"You look so much like your daddy”

Aegon searched for a trace of emotion in his mother’s eyes to know at least someone was grieving as much as him, but her eyes were dry and he remembered that even if his mom felt any pain for her husband’s death she couldn’t be able to express it. Maybe the only thing he resented his is dad for.

“You must tell me all you have done in this years, your sister and little Nym have kept me so busy I haven’t got the chance to visit you and dad.” she made him sit beside her in one of the beds, her soft hands patting his face and squeezing his arm, it made him feel comforted in a way he hadn’t in years “I hope you made him get out of the lab once in a while, Rhaegar needed someone to force him to rest or he would simply drop exausted which of course was never safe–”

"Mom” Rhaenys interrupted putting a hand on mom’s shoulder “Aegon has just arrived and has barely slept I think we better let him rest”

"But look at him dear, your brother looks like he hasn’t eaten a proper meal in years.”

That made him genuinely smile, gods, he really had missed mom “I’ve been eating just fine, I just need some sleep”

“Aegon you can’t sleep like that, you should at least change into your pajamas”

“Well I didnt bring any change of clothes” he confessed rather ashamed. It wasn’t like him to be so unprepared.

"Such a careless boy! Rain we cannot let him like this, we should go out to buy your brother some clothes and food”

Great, now mom was treating him as a 6 year old child.

“Ok, mom just give me a minute I need to call Daeron and Nym to let them know we are at the motel”

His mother nodded, and Rhaenys got out of the room with her cell in hand.He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Rain was a mom now, much less that he was an uncle. He had seen photos of ‘Nym’ when she was a baby and another one of a toddler dressed like Princess Jonquil from that animated movie, but he had never met her.

“Nym has been dying to meet you” As always mom guessed his thoughts.

"She has? I wasn’t sure that Rhaenys talked about me or the Academy”

Mom smiled sadly “Oh, Rain doesn’t talk about the Academy, but about you of course. You are a superhero to Nym, protecting the world from the alíens and meteorites, that girl is obssessed with space, she is always saying that when she grows up her uncle will take her to live with him in space”

He felt a warm feeling wash over him, more than ever he wanted to return to Dragonstone and meet his little niece. That would be nice, he figured, a quiet normal life where he could play with little Nym, of course first he had to investigate what dad was doing in the Wolf’s Wood on his own, he was the head of the Academy now, well he would be if there was an Academy anymore.

Rhaenerys entered again, she had a smile on her face. “Daeron said he and Nym will meet us tomorrow in Dragonstone, I was worried about not being there for her frist flight but her dad says she is very excited”

“I am looking forward to meet them” said Aegon at last, he wished so desperately to have his family back especially now.

"They do too” she replied with a soft smile “Mom, we should get going. Egg you should try to take nap until we come back”

He said he would, and he did try. As soon as they left he took off his shoes and laid down on the bed to the left. It was stiff and smelled way to much of air freshener, but he had been living in a space station for 2 years now so this was more comfortable than he expected. Still he couldn’t fall asleep, as soon as his eyes closed he thought about dad and his mysterious death.

Frustrated, he decided to watch TV to drown out his thoughts. He regreted the decision almost immediately, on the screen appeared a flash of red hair. He almost laughed at his own hopelessnes, there must be a thousand woman in Westeros with that same hair color, and even if he knew them all he would still wish it was Sansa.

The woman turned around and it was her. Sansa. She had grown taller and impossibly beautiful, statuesque and regal were the words that came to mind to describe her.She became an actress, he knew that much. It seemed she was at some red carpet event. His finger thumbed the button to change the channel, he didn’t want to see her, but suddenly a reporter came down on her like a falcon on his prey, and asked her about father’s death. Her brow furrowed, she looked around as if trying to gather if this was some kind of twisted joke, her eyes filled with tears, still she politely excused herself and went back to her limo.

She cared.

His heart skipped a bit, and this time he did laugh. Gods! He felt a fool. Sansa had made her feelings for him very clear on that last note she left him…

When the hosts of the show started talking he finally turned off the TV. He grabbed one of the pillows underneath him and covered his face with it no matter what he did his mind made up diferent scenarios for their reunion each more farfetched and unsatisfactory than the last and like that he fell asleep.

#night watch academy #chapter one #aegon targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys martell #tua au!#fandom: A song of ice and fire #my writing

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justfandomwritings · 5 years ago

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United in Fear (Part Four - Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU

Word count: 9.1k

Warnings: This chapter depicts a ‘bedding ceremony’. Which is a ceremony in the GoT universe that involves a group of men stripping a woman naked on her wedding night and shouting obscene things at her. The reader’s character is disturbed by said ceremony in the story, though it is not described in what I would deem a disturbingly graphic manner for readers, nor is the practice glorified in any way.

There is also a separate scene involving nudity and a sexual situation (sexual situation, not sex) which is fully and unambiguously consensual.

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: So, this chapter does have warnings. If you choose to read it, please read it informed of what is coming. If you’re looking for a ‘rating’ of how extreme or graphic I would class this, then my answer would be “if you watched these scenes in Game of Thrones, none of them come close to how disturbing the show could get at times”

Oh also... Um note before you read.... I’m not a huge fan of Bran’s character at any point in the series soooo.... yeah.

Start From the Beginning… Part One

Previously On... Part Three

“Son.”

Robb looked up to see his father standing in the door. His appearance was a sign of what was to come.

In Winterfell, the Starks had very little use for fine, Southern clothes. Such garments were impractical for daily use, and what was impractical for daily use was never bothered with when meeting Northern Lords. Even the King, for all the pomp of his arrival, had only seen the Starks clean up their usual appearance. Sansa had worn one of her nicer dresses in hopes of meeting the princes, but none of the others had actually dressed up for the occasion.

The fine leather tunic, embossed with a running direwolf across the chest, which graced Ned Stark now was a piece Robb had never seen his father wear. Perhaps, he had never worn it before at all. Robb had certainly never worn the fine fur cloak around his shoulders nor the polished boots covering his feet.

“Are you ready?” Ned looked Robb over once.

“I wish Sansa could go in my stead,” Robb confessed. His head hung as he left his rooms.

Ned hummed in agreement, “I know. I wish you did not have to witness this.”

“You did not marry your mate either.” Robb pointed out.

Ned nodded confirmation, “Yes, that is true.”

“But you moved on?” Robb’s tone was questioning, hopeful.

From a young age, Robb knew his parents were not soulmates. His father had been the one to explain the name on his arm to him, and Ned had to tell Robb, rather frankly, that there was a chance he would never meet her and would almost certainly never have her. Ned Stark had been right on one of those counts, and Robb would have to accept it just as his parents had.

“I will not pretend moving on was something I did willingly.” Ned gave a heavy sigh, “It is hard to give up on the idea of a perfect life, a perfect love; but for most of us life is not meant to be that easy. You have been given a particularly hard life to lead, but the gods have given you this life for a reason. They have shown you her for a reason, and they have taken her for a reason. Finding happiness, after meeting her, will be difficult, but it is not impossible.”

Robb paused in his step, and Ned carried on another pace before he stopped and turned back to his son. “You,” Robb hesitated, “You speak from experience.” Robb never knew his father had met his mate. The name, not that Robb had ever read it, was still on his father’s arm.

Ned seemed to think for a long moment before he spoke, “I was once where you are now. I stood in a sept and watched my soulmate marry another man.”

“Where is she now?” Robb asked.

Ned didn’t answer. He turned away and waited for Robb to come back to his side before the pair walked on without another word.

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The Sept of Winterfell was a small one. It had been built by Ned Stark for his new wife, Catelyn, as a gift, and had rarely been used by anyone but the Lady of Winterfell. Shoulder to shoulder, it comfortably held only sixteen, fifteen if one of those was Robert Baratheon.

The King’s only joy in being slighted by the Lannister’s had been in Tywin’s rush to marry off his daughter. Lady (Y/n), a Lannister bride as worthy of the Sept of Baelor as Princess Myrcella herself, would be forced to marry in the miniscule stone hut of a sept that heard the praises of only one woman and saw none of the splendor accustomed to (Y/n)’s station. Robert had revelled in the thought.

While even the Great Lion could not build a newer, more worthy sept in time, Tywin Lannister never truly lost. Even this small ceremony, this disadvantage, this insult to their wealth and grandeur, had proven to be to the Lannister’s benefit.

In all of Westeros, only fifteen people would be permitted to witness what Robb knew would be the wedding of the century. If the Lannisters could not display their wealth, then they would at least flaunt their superiority. The countless lords and ladies of the King’s party practically tripped over themselves to reach Tywin’s chambers first; they desperately argued and debated who was deserving to see the ceremony. Even Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen had not made the guest list with their parents and the crown prince.

Robb had hoped he would be similarly forgotten.

Tywin Lannister himself had dashed that dream with a personal invitation extended immediately after the public announcement.

Tywin’s invitation positioned Robb between his father and Tyrion Lannister at the front of the floor, right where (Y/n) would come to stand. He was in full view of every lord and lady in the Sept and had an unobstructed eye on the woman that should have been his.

That was what Tywin wanted, and Robb knew it. He wanted Robb to know (Y/n) was not and would never be his. He wanted Robb to watch her hands join with another man, wanted Robb to hear to her swear vows to an insignificant knight. He wanted to remind Robb, and thereby his father and the King, who was really in charge.

As such, Robb was forced to watch the lumbering Harwyn Plumm march to the front of the Sept, standing in front of King Robert and Queen Cersei.

Harwyn was accompanied by Jaime Lannister, taking the place of Harwyn’s elder brothers and father as the bearer of (Y/n)’s marriage cloak.

Robb glared at the offending fabric, brought North from Casterly Rock by a soldier who had joined Mace Tyrell’s march to Winterfell. It was folded neatly under the Kingslayer’s arm, and Robb could not make out it’s texture or color. He didn’t need to see it to know what it represented, though.

It was the end, the end of any hope, not that there had ever been much.

“Rise.” The Septon was from the Riverlands, the Twins if Robb remembered correctly. There was no formal Septon at Winterfell to lead the ceremony, so Tywin had sent orders for Mace Tyrell to procure and bring a suitable man when he passed through House Frey.

Strictly speaking, the King, being above all but the gods, was not required to stand, but Robert Baratheon rose like all the rest as heads turned for (Y/n)’s entrance.

Robb’s eyes turned, and the moment he caught sight of her he desperately wished he hadn’t.

She was gorgeous, even more so than usual.

Robb had wondered, on occasion, if his attraction to her was real or if it was simply the gods’ way of drawing him to her, but even the gods, old and new, couldn’t fake such a beauty.

Her dress was a simple sheer white silk, draped more than fitted over her body. The straps were without sleeves and slipped over her shoulders as if they supported none of the weight of the fabric. Only a trail of ruching up the center between her breasts provided any support or structure for the slippery material.

The dress was topped with the only break from the immaculate white. A large piece of twisting golden metal hung from (Y/n)’s neck. Extending out over her shoulders, the vine-like twists framed her width and wove down her frame to finish in the top of the folds between her breasts. The neck piece gave a severe, serious armor, to an otherwise innocent appearance; and the polished gold of which it was made reminded the room her name.

Beautiful but Lannister.

Robb looked away.

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Prayer.

Seven blessings.

Song.

Seven promises.

Song.

Seven vows.

Prayer.

Lighting the candle.

Prayer.

Robb had only been to one wedding in a sept, and he recalled it had been a similarly tedious, albeit less emotionally painful, affair.

As a child, he had gone to a wedding in White Harbor the year before Arya was born. House Manderly were the only house in the North to worship the new gods, Lord Manderly’s sister had invited the entirety of the North to their Sept to bare witness to her wedding some minor southern lord.

The lords and ladies of the North descended on White Harbour, but most respectfully declined to enter the Sept to honor gods they did not believe, instead partaking only in the feast and celebrations of the couples’ marriage.

Robb’s mother had made a point that, while her children would worship the gods of their father, they would at least understand the gods of herself and the other kingdoms. As such, Robb had sat at the front of the Sept with his mother for the entirety of the dull affair. She explained it all to him, every moment of the ceremony whispered in his young ears.

In his heart, Robb knew he would never need to know. He would not be married in a Sept. He would be married in front of the weirwood tree, alone with his wife and the gods. He would not be made to attend any Southern court or play at diplomacy in a feasting hall. All he needed to know of the Seven was their names and their purpose.

Right now, that was all Robb wished he knew. He tried desperately to forget everything his mother had taught him, to forget what came next.

Tywin Lannister stepped forward behind his daughter and reached around the front of her neck, undoing the tie holding her Lannister cloak to the metal collar of her dress.

Gently, with all the reverence the old man was capable of, he touched he folded the cloak over his arm and retreated to his place.

Harwyn Plumm raised an hand and Jaime Lannister stepped forward, draping the marriage cloak over his outstretched arm.

The cloak, in itself, was surely enough to convince most that Tywin had indeed been planning this wedding long before he sprung the news on the King.

The face was hidden, covered in the folds of the material, but the lining alone was a work of art.

Marriage cloaks were the most treasured possession of any bride. Usually far finer than her dress and equally as expensive as the entire feast.

In the South, they were works of art to be marveled. Made from the finest silks and softest satins, they only touched the earth or saw the sun for the grandest occasions. Houses used the open display of their banners to showcase their importance in any way they saw fit. A cloak’s craftsmanship testified the wealth and love her husband held for her in what he willingly invested in showing her importance.

In the North, they were pretty enough, certainly more magnificent than everyday cloaks, but they always served a function. Silks and satins were uselessly discarded for furs and wools. Worn constantly in the cold, the sigils born by the cloak spoke for themselves, the names that accompanied them carrying far greater weight than any display of prowess. Wealth and love were proven through the deed of a man keeping his wife warm, not by showing off his gold to others.

(Y/n)’s marriage cloak was a feat that North and South alike could not deny.

The lining, displayed as it fell across Harwyn’s arm, was the golden hide of a lion, many lions by its length; yet there was no seam. Tireless work had gone into creating an unbroken chain of fur. An unending field made from the skin of their sigil. Lions and gold, a golden lion, the only thing worthy of touching Lannister skin.

Harwyn took the cloak in his hands and presented its interior for the world to see.

Robb had held some amount of pride that, at the least, Harwyn would present his soulmate with an unworthy rag. Some frilly Southern thing that was not to (Y/n)’s taste or at least not to Robb’s own. The presentation of its lining removed Robb of that notion. The hide lining was a majestic thing more than fitting of the South, but more than enough to cut the chill.

With an artful flourish, surely practiced for no man of Harwyn’s size could be so graceful without help, he swung it around (Y/n)’s shoulders. (Y/n), in a small moment of defiance that Robb would cherish to his dying day, batted Harwyn’s hands away to secure the cloak in place herself.

“With this kiss,” Harwyn took (Y/n)’s hands in his and leaned into her, “I pledge my love.”

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” (Y/n) parroted back, and their lips met. A brush so soft and swift that even Robb did not have time to feel any anger over it.

It wasn’t until the wedded pair turned to lead their guests from the Sept that everyone else present realized what Robb already knew.

The cloak around (Y/n)’s shoulders was not Harwyn Plumm’s.

Topping the fur lining of (Y/n)’s marriage cloak was a field of brilliantly crimson satin, hemmed in by a black, fur border. Stitched into the center were not the unintimidating, three purple fruits of House Plumm as it should have been, nor even the roaring lion of House Lannister.

Woven into the center of the fabric, so seemlessly it looked as though it was painted, was a proud lionness in golden thread. She leapt off her hind legs, facing out of the sigil towards the wedding guests with a vicious snarl at her teeth. A lioness on the hunt, the personal arms of Lady (Y/n) Lannister.

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“How much gold do you think the Lannisters paid Plumm’s father to allow that travesty?”

To say Robert was enraged might have been an understatement of the King’s actions at the feast.

The Lannister girl’s cloak didn’t really mean much. In truth, it was far more a slight to her husband than the king, but the fact that Harwyn Plumm was entirely unphased seemed to cause Robert further distress. Like he knew, by the knights inaction, that there was something more to the crest, something meant not for the knight but for the king.

Ned, sitting at the King’s side, simply could not conceive of such a thing. “You think the Plumm’s knew this was being planned? Surely not. The cloak is a symbol of his protection. What man would willingly have his honor questioned for a few pieces of gold?”

It was true that many had begun to whisper about the cloak, but the harsh words against Harwyn came mostly from Northmen, those with a far different sense of duty to their family. Harwyn’s peers, those knights and lords of the South, whispered as well, but with a far deeper understanding of what such a sign might mean.

“You Starks,” Robert grumbled, “you’ll never understand the South.”

“I don’t understand,” Ned agreed. “And yet you’d have me as your Hand.”

Robert turned to his old friend with a smile meant more for reminiscing than anything. “Yes, I know that well enough, Ned. It’s for that reason I want you as my Hand. I need a man removed of all of this, someone I can trust to remain above the fray.”

“By staying above the fray,” Ned deduced, “you mean someone who can’t be bought by Lannisters.”

“That does help your cause.” Robert and Ned laughed quietly together as though it were old times, and they were alone in the halls of the Eyrie avoiding Jon Arryn’s watchful eyes.

For a moment, Ned could almost forget his friend had changed.

Not in appearance, he didn’t need to forget that. Despite his heavier, darker physique, Robert Baratheon was still strong and harsh as ever. His body had aged more poorly than Ned’s own, but it didn’t detract from his friend at all.

Ned had almost forgotten his friend’s rage. Forgotten the cruel look in Robert’s eyes as he relished in the death of the Targaryen dynasty. Forgotten the stench of drink and sex that seemed to permeate Winterfell from the moment Robert arrived. Forgotten the thunk of his son’s soulmate hitting the floor. Forgotten the plotting and scheming against his enemies like a man bereft of sanity.

Almost.

It was impossible to forget when the living reminder sat two places away from Robert’s other side.

(Y/n) had taken a break from dancing with her husband and perched on the edge of her seat, chin high, shoulders back, high and mighty as only a Lannister could be.

Looking at her family, Ned could see Robert’s longing to cut them down to size, of reminding them that their place was the Rock, not the Throne. He could see Tywin marching into the throne room and demanding more respect than the King; Jaime Lannister prancing about the Red Keep like the arrogant fool who’d killed its previous owner; the Queen spitting on the name of her husband every time his back was turned; Tyrion blathering drunk and still thinking he knew more than all.

Ned knew, not only from (Y/n)’s last name but from his every encounter with the girl, that she was as dangerous as their lord father, proud as the knight, defiant as the queen, and smart as the imp. And yet, Ned could not, would not, envisage anyone cutting down (Y/n). Perhaps it was Ashara in her, or perhaps it was his son, but Ned could not stand to forget or forgive for what Robert had done.

In brief moments such as this, joking over Ned’s ignorance or reminiscing about times before the rebellion, Ned could almost see the valiant young lord who fought by Ned’s side to avenge his family and save his sister.

Now, Robert struck women he once would have protected and groped serving maids for the sheer joy of being unfaithful to his wife.

Ned fumed beneath his skin imagining Lyanna where Cersei now stood, being shamed and defied by a man who swore to love her alone, and Ned broke picturing Ashara, bedecked in her final Lannister red and gold, sitting next to a man who threw her to the floor. Ned’s imagination but Robb’s reality.

Robb looked ready to become the second man in the room to slay a king.

Ned turned his head away from Robert and leaned in so only Robb could hear. “He, and the rest of the party, will soon be gone. Do nothing to incur their wrath in these final hours.”

“I will not,” Robb huffed, “assuming you are done ingratiating the man who attacked one of our own.” Robb turned his harsh gaze on his father. “Or did you forget she wears our name now.”

“Our name, but not our colors.” Ned flitted his gaze over the raucous hall. “None know what she is to us.”

“You know.”

Robb pushed to his feet and moved several seats down to ask Sansa to dance, if for nothing more than an excuse to be away from his father and the King.

This day had been a trial of his will, and thus far it had held. He refused to allow it to be broken by the laughter of old men.

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Unsurprisingly, no one had seen when Tyrion Lannister rose to his feet.

Despite being heir to the Rock, the Imp had not received the same place of honor at the table as had the heir of Winterfell. Tyrion was, instead, sat on his sister’s side of the high table, far at the end, next to a snivelling Mace Tyrell and the irritating Lord Banefort. Both men spoke over the head of the shorter man, and neither seemed to notice or care that their companion had abandoned them.

Tyrion was perfectly fine with that arrangement. Neither provided the prospect of particularly scintillating conversation. He would have preferred, ideally, to be sat on the husband’s far end of the table beside his brother or in his rightful seat beside his favored sister, but being ignored by two unworthy men was far preferable to being bored talking to them.

Tyrion pushed to his feet only moments after the eldest Stark boy had abandoned his chair. He’d been told by his father to wait till the heir of Winterfell had full view, and while his timing was certainly more obvious than if he had waited a few moments, Tyrion simply didn’t think he could stand the room for another minute. This was his excuse to leave, and he hoped to seize the opportunity immediately.

With short, swift paces, Tyrion rounded the high table and dropped down two stone steps in height before he continued along its length towards the center of the room.

Seeing his youngest son approach, Tywin rose to his feet.

No one had seen, heard, or bothered with Tyrion standing, but the entire room stilled and fell quiet for his father.

“Father,” Tyrion fell to one knee, though he rested it on the step above where he stood to avoid losing any more height on the rest of the room. He spoke as loudly as he dared, “I have come before this hall to beg forgiveness.”

“For what, my son?” Tywin spoke what was meant to be a question but came without the tone.

“Forgiveness from the burden of bearing your name and my inability to do so. My Lord Father,” With a deep breath Tyrion recited the words. “May the Crone deem me wise. May the Father deem me just. May the Smith deem me strong. May the Mother deem me merciful. May the Warriror deem me brave. I ask the Maiden to pass my burden onto one of her own, and the Stranger to claim me swiftly if I prove wrong.”

“Tyrion Lannister, you would pass on your inheritance as Lord of Casterly Rock.” Tywin confirmed for his youngest son.

“I would.”

In a booming voice, for all to hear, Tywin announced, “Tyrion of House Lannister, born successor to the Lord of Casterly Rock, I pass you on as heir and hand the title my daughter, Lady (Y/N) Lannister. May she prove fit to bear the name.”

She would. Robb knew that much.

And as the celebrations resumed their levity, Robert Baratheon began to laugh.

Robb knew why. Tywin had seemingly given his House away to the Plumm’s.

Robert jeered his rival with a confidence the larger man would never have had on a sober morning, and Tywin met the rebukes with a cool smirk. Leaning over several seats, Tywin whispered to the King a single sentence that made the Baratheon’s face fall in an instance.

A sentence Robb, again, already knew. “My daughter is cloaked under her own protection and bares her own name; her children will be Lannister to their core.”

Lannister heirs. Something Robb, much as he wanted (Y/n), could never give.

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“The bedding!”

Robert’s voice roared and echoed across the stones.

Only Ned or the King could call for the end of the feast, and Robert seemed rather eager to do so quickly after Tyrion’s show and Tywin’s explanation.

The King should have married Tywin’s daughter to a Stark but was thwarted by the girl’s rejection. The King should have forced the betrothal but was thwarted by Tywin’s arrival. The King should have undone Harwyn Plumm but was thwarted by the sudden wedding.

Tywin should have cloaked his daughter in purple and yellow but instead managed to slight the Plumms and his guests by draping her in red. Tywin should have been robbed of his heir after Tyrion’s deferment but instead passed it to his daughter. Tywin should have lost his name to the Plumms but instead preserved his reign for years to come.

Robert was no longer in the mood for anything, even drinking. The greatest whore in King’s Landing could not satisfy the King’s mind, and the whore of Winterfell were far from the greatest in King’s Landing.

Robert wanted to watch the unruly Northmen shove the girl out of his sight so they might degrade her as she walked naked through the frigid halls of Winterfell. It was ceremony, a ceremony the King greatly enjoyed, and with his daughter left naked, it was one Tywin Lannister could not dare to stop.

The men, on any other occasion, would have rushed the bride. Drunkeningly tearing away her dignity for the whole kingdom to see without any care for whether they were still in the company of the feasting hall. Then, most women resisted or cowered at their fate.

“The bedding!”

Harwyn, still dancing with an older southern lady, was the first to be ushered away by the giggling maidens in his midst. He smiled, amused by the prospect, and put up little resistance as the women dragged him along towards the entrance hall. Shrill laughing and squeals of amusement following in their wake.

(Y/n) rose without emotion or hesitation as Robert called for it to begin.

The two dozen or so men, unknighted Northern soldiers mostly, assembled in the entryway. They laughed and shoved each other at the edge of the hall, waiting for the seemingly compliant woman to join their midst.

(Y/n) had to join them.

Usually the men would carry the bride. Usually, they would strip her naked in their arms, touch and feel her body as they pleased, and say whatever horrific obscenity came to their mind to humiliate the bride before they dropped her, crying usually, in bed with her husband as they laughed at the man for what they had seen of her or done to her before her husband could.

Tradition stated she must accompany them to her room, and that she should not resist their ‘preparations’ for her night, an elegant description for an inelegant deed.

(Y/n) walked straight through the group for the entrance hall, and the men rushed after her quick unfaltering pace.

“Leaving so soon?” One man called as the stumbling group tried to catch up with her.

“I knew she was just another Southern whore.”

Another voice joined in over the chorus of laughter. “Come back here; we want to see if your cunt is really made of gold!”

(Y/n) said nothing. She didn’t want this. She wanted to break into a run for her rooms. She wanted to call her guards and have Jaime or the Mountain cut them down. She wanted turn and slap the ones who spoke and show them to their proper place, far beneath her feet.

She couldn’t though. She wouldn’t. They were under her skin, but she wouldn’t allow them the pleasure of knowing it.

(Y/n) weaved her way through the halls at an unrelenting pace, always one step short of bolting for her door. If they caught her, it would not be in the entry halls, traversed by many where all could see her shame. If they caught her, it wouldn’t be for her lack of trying.

As she turned the corner towards the stairwell, one soldier, less drunk than his comrades presumably, kept better on his feet and matched (Y/n)’s pace as the raucous group came down the empty hall.

“Not so fast, my lady,” his voice growled. With thick, pudgy fingers, he caught the hem of her cloak and jerked.

(Y/n) was wrenched back by her neck into the crowd of pawing hands who all cheered their friend’s achievement.

With a crack of the clasp, her beautiful cloak fluttered to the floor beneath their feet as muddy boots trod over it in the men’s haste to get a better grip on the Lady of the Rock.

The men were intended to lift her on their shoulders and strip her as they traveled, but their walk after her had made them impatient and indulgent in their reward.

(Y/n) snapped her eyes tightly shut and balled her hands at her hands. Her teeth bit back the tip of her tongue as one voice shouted.

“Come on then! Show the rest of us! Is it gold?”

Hands trailed over (Y/n)’s curves, slipping over and under the thin material of her dress. They fought for what they deemed the best spaces and elbowed each other to make room for a better grip on her flesh.

A hand fisted in the folds at the front of her dress, and (Y/n) felt herself being dragged forward, pressed tight against the offending man’s chest. He and the nearest man behind her rubbed themselves against her, pressing and squeezing into her body with groans of pleasure.

“Savor it. We all need to have a turn!” One man snarked, ripping away the man at her front to try to replace him.

Bodies closed in around her; hands touched her chest and thighs in more places and ways than she could count.

(Y/n) was sure every man had their piece, but the voices made it seem some did not or were at least unsatisfied with the contact. They shouted at each other to make room. They shouted grotesque comments to her. They shouted what they would do when they had her.

She tried. She really, truly tried to keep herself hidden. She didn’t open her eyes or unclench her hands. She said nothing to the men and tried, in turn, to ignore what was said to her.

But when a pair of them lifted her arms above her head to get better access to her breasts, a lone tear finally broke and slid down her cheek.

“Leave us.” A voice, as cold and dark as the night outside the walls, broke the daze which had consumed the men.

A few maintained their rhythms, touching, groping and rubbing against the disturbed woman in their midst, but most hands, most bodies jerked away from her skin as if the voice cast some magic which burned their touch.

“My lord, we simply…” It was the same voice that told the others to savor it.

“I said leave us.” Darker, colder than the night this time.

(Y/n) dared not look as she heard the men retreating behind her; some willingly, others too drunk to know better had to be dragged away by their friends.

It took what (Y/n) thought must have been at least five minutes before the hall was completely quiet of the mobs crude noises and harsh words.

“They should be ashamed.” The words were spat with as much disgust as (Y/n) had ever heard.

“In the morning, they will say the same of you.” (Y/n) replied quietly, staying rooted to her spot in the middle of the hall.

Footsteps paced cautiously up behind her. They approached with all the hesitation and care the previous men had lacked. They came at her slowly, each step testing if it was one step too far before the next was made.

(Y/n) did not bother to open her eyes. She could hear quite clearly the path the feet took around in front of her, and when they finally settled, she felt the body heat pulsing out at her chest, drawing her in with its comforting warmth.

“I should have come sooner.” A gentle hand touched her cheek, wiping alone the lone tear clinging to her skin.

“I wish you had,” (Y/n) confessed in a voice meant for only their ears to hear.

A sigh blew across her face, “I’m not expected to join the bedding, or I would have sent them away at once. Robert tried to keep me in the hall; he insisted you were no longer my concern.”

(Y/n) let her eyelids flutter open to meet the dazzling blue eyes meer inches from her own. “In a way, I suppose he’s right.”

A small, sad smile tugged the corner of Robb’s lips. “I don’t suppose you would have a Septon set aside your marriage, turn your back on your father and your husband, give up becoming the most powerful woman in Westeros, force Tyrion to become heir to the Rock, leave your gold and all your other lavish Southern possessions and join me in the cold, barren North for the boring life of an incredibly traditional lady.”

(Y/n) laughed and let her face fall into Robb’s chest, dragging him into her with her arms around his waist.

Robb returned the gesture with a tight grip around her shoulders, holding her into him for what he worried might be the last time.

“I don’t suppose,” she teased in return, “if I set aside my marriage, you would be willing to forsake your inheritance, remove your sigil, leave your family, and follow me to Casterly Rock where you and your children will be known as Lannisters and never be allowed to bear the name Stark?”

They let the sad joke that was their lives hang in the air between them, and for a moment, though admittedly just a moment, Robb considered saying yes, he would.

“What do the old gods say happen to soulmates who cannot have each other this life?” (Y/n) suddenly asked, burrowing herself deeper into Robb’s embrace.

“Not much,” Robb confessed. “We have no afterlife. I like to believe we simply do not know of it, or that there is some kind of peace with those we love.”

(Y/n) turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek to Robb, so she could speak more clearly. “The new gods have seven heavens and seven hells. I like to think the pain of living in this world without your soulmate is enough suffering to warrant a place in at least the lowest heaven, or the highest hell, at the side of the soulmate we missed.”

Robb touched his lips to the top of her hair. He couldn’t bare to kiss (Y/n)’s skin. He worried the action might addict him to it. “Whatever fate befalls us,” Robb whispered into her quietly, “I promise you we will have our day.”

“We will have our day.” (Y/n) echoed Robb’s words with a far deeper emotion than she echoed Harwyn’s pledge of love earlier that day.

Robb unhappily pulled himself away and walked back several feet down the hall, stooping to salvage (Y/n)’s marriage cloak from the stones. “It’s a cold night. You should not be traveling through the halls without this.” Brushing the dirt and mud of the men from the cloth, Robb presented it to her.

(Y/n) turned her back to him, and Robb laid the cloak softly over her shoulders, wrapping her in warmth. She hadn’t realized it was so cold surrounded by the men, and when they’d left Robb had more than filled the void of heat. In fact, Robb was right, without the fires or bodies filling the feast, the air in the empty halls was heavy with the chill.

“Thank you,” She held the cloak tightly around herself.

“You’re welcome, my Lady.” Robb chuckled, “Now,” He didn’t want to break apart their moment, but he would rather end it himself, his way, than have it rudely interrupted by a passerby or search party. “I believe my fellow soldiers diverted tradition.”

“In what way?” (Y/n) looked back over her shoulder just in time.

Robb bent down, and with one arm on the small of her back and one behind her knees, swept his mate off her feet. “They were meant, my lady, to carry you.”

(Y/n) laughed, a loud, open sound not at all curved by her strong sense of propriety. It bounced off the stone and echoed down the halls with a joyous noise not at all befitting the moment, but certainly the first glint of amusement or happiness she or Robb had seen since their last fireside talk seemingly a lifetime ago.

Robb’s smile matched her own as he held her close for the journey up the stairs, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a natural comfort.

Despite their situation, they talked with ease.

(Y/n) groaned over how tediously long her maid had spent doing her hair in three different styles before her sister finally settled on the one that best framed her face. Robb lamented the snowy evening keeping the party crowded indoors. (Y/n) countered that he should join her at the Rock where space was never an issue, and Robb reminded her that the North was a far larger kingdom than the Westerlands.

(Y/n), having never been to the North before, asked its future lord just how large his domain would be. Robb recounted a tale where he, Theon, and Jon rode to House Manderly and ended up accompanying a convoy of supplies from Ramsgate to the Stony Shore, not even the full width of the North and still a ride achievable in no less than three weeks, though usually a month. (Y/n) asked if it was made longer by winter weather, to which Robb conceded that sometimes was the case, though not in the story he told. He added that even at the height of summer, a ride from Last Hearth to Greywater took a month and a week.

(Y/n) gushed over having so much room to breath and groaned how a ride from Casterly Rock to Lannisport could sometimes take two days, not for distance but for the sheer number of carts on the roads. Robb wondered allowed how long the distance was and how large the Westerlands were, as even studying countless maps never gave anyone a true idea of space. (Y/n) told him a ride from Banefort to Crakehall usually took two weeks, but time could be cut if a traveler was willing to avoid roads through the Rock, not that many were for fear of thieves.

Robb asked the width of her lands, and she agreed that, without burgeoning trade, Silver Hall to Lannisport would be easily traversed in a week, no more. Though she liked to mention the mountains made it a far rougher ride than the flat ice plains of the North.

And then they were at her door. And Robb was setting her back on her feet.

“My lady,” Robb bowed before (Y/n), “I believe this is where I leave you.”

They stood together silently for a moment. Robb, waiting for her facade of passive indifference to return as she sent him away; (Y/n), waiting for she knew not what.

She didn’t want it to end this way. Chatting mildly about kingdoms and weather. It had been so lovely as it happened, but now knowing that was all there would be, it felt like time thoroughly wasted.

“Robb Stark,” (Y/n) curtsied in return to him, “I dare say you will never truly leave me.”

She was right, and they both knew it was so.

Robb turned away, not to leave her, for she was right that he never would, but to walk away. (Y/n) caught his hand. “Wait.”

“Yes, my lady,” Robb paused but couldn’t bring himself to look back at her.

“I,” (Y/n), for once in her life, had nothing to say. “I don’t believe this is how I’m intended to be delivered to my husband,” She said the first thing that came to her mind.

Robb shifted his palm so her hand slipped into his, and he laced her fingers between his own. “I won’t be like those men who defiled you.”

(Y/n) pressed her chest into Robb’s back, squeezing his fingers between her own for encouragement. “I believe, to defile me, would require I not be a willing participant in the act.”

What restraint Robb held, seemed to gradually melt away as (Y/n)’s free hand caressed over his shoulder and ran down his spine. (Y/n)’s breath fanned faintly over the back of Robb’s neck as she whispered, “Robb, he is nothing to me; I don’t want a stranger to be the first to see me.”

Robb whipped around, pulling himself free from (Y/n) as he faced her. “This is what you want?” His voice was stern, controlled. He had to be. To give her this, he had to be on guard to going too far. Not on guard to going beyond what she allowed, he needn’t worry about that. If she felt even half of what he did, Robb could claim her for his own right now against the door of her husband’s bedchambers. He worried more about going beyond his place, their places.

Her husband was on the other side of the door. Their fathers were downstairs on either side of the King. They had duties and responsibilities that even being soulmates would not allow them, namely her, to forsake, and he feared how much beyond those duties she would willingly give and he would gladly take.

“I want it to be you in there,” She motioned to the thick wooden door in the wall right beside them. “Barring that, I want you here, or at least I want what you’re allowed to have.”

Robb closed the step he had put between them, looking on her for the first time with completely unbridled emotion. He didn’t love her yet, nor did she love him. But by the old gods and the new, Robb knew he would love her one day. It was simply a matter of where and when, and looking on her in her wedding dress, it felt like the answer to both of those questions was the same. Close. Soon.

They moved together, lazily, drawing out the moment for all it was worth.

(Y/n) lifted her arms and rested them across the top of her head, giving Robb an obstructed view.

The pure white dress was stained with dirt and grime from the men she was longing for Robb to make her forget, but her survival, her defiance, only made her all the more beautiful. Even surrounded by a mob, she would not break or cave.

Robb’s hands rested at her waist. They were calloused over years of sword fighting and hunting, but for her, and her alone, they moved as delicately as an artist. Tracing up her shape with languid movements that sent a welcome shiver down her back.

He reached the underside of her shoulders and followed up her forearms. A subtle pressure of his fingers bent back her elbows and brought her arms straight above her head. Crossed at the wrist, he made no move to hold them in place, leaving it to her to stay willingly at his mercy.

His attention dropped to the metal encircling her neck. She had tucked the edges of her cloak, where the clasp had been broken, under the metal to keep it from slipping from her shoulders. The memory of her husband tossing it over her back long replaced by Robb folding her caringly in its depths.

Robb took the warmth from her, a flick of his wrist pulling the cloak free and pooling the lioness at their feet.

She shook again, though not from the cold.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Robb sighed a desperate noise, pained by the realization that this moment would be the best he ever lived.

(Y/n) smiled up at him equally pained. “I would say the same of you, but let this moment be only us, something to cherish in our dying breaths.”

Standing close, Robb could see small hooks in the metal attached it to loops in the top of (Y/n)’s dress, and he began to free them as he spoke, “I do believe that every moment with you will be one I cherish in my dying breaths.”

(Y/n)’s hands dropped to hold her hair out of the way as Robb lifted the glorified necklace over her head. “Robb, please,” she begged, “try not to love me. I believe it will prove near impossible for me not to love you, but it is better for us both that, save these often visited memories, we fade away.”

Robb moved closer as his hands slid behind her back. His chest pushed into (Y/n)’s, forcing the hands above her head to fall around his neck.

“I don’t want to fade away.” Robb confessed.

Silk ties corseting her dress were hidden by a panel of silk that Robb deftly slipped beneath. Clutching the ends of the string, Robb pulled the knot loose and with it the last barrier from his mate. The fabric of her dress went slack around her body, held up only by the pressure of Robb tight against her. Along the seam of her back, the dress fell open entirely, exposing a huge expanse of her longing form to Robb’s yearning gaze.

His fingers glided down beneath the soft silk and rested flat against her backside, holding her to him, not that she ever wanted to leave.

“I want every other man to fade away. I want to wipe them from your memory, remove them from this place. I want to ruin you for your husband before he ever gets to claim you.”

With a squeeze, Robb elicited a groan from his mate, and while Harwyn Plumm was the last person he should be thinking of, Robb prayed that inside his room the knight had heard the noise.

“We have a duty,” Robb conceded, delicately drawing the tips of his fingers over every inch of (Y/n) exposed to his touch. He trailed up and down the length of her spine, feeling every bone of her back and tracing the shape of each with care as (Y/n) quaked from the sensation.

“And I promise you.” His palms, rough from work felt the breadth of her shoulders with a relieving pressure that brought (Y/n)’s head rolling back in his grasp.

Robb worked his fingers up into her hair as her head lulled to the side, gently massaging over her scalp, peppered with a tug here and there to draw a pleased sigh from her lips. “I won’t forsake that.”

(Y/n) could barely register Robb’s words. She knew what he was saying, but she was sure that, until his fingers ceased toying with pulling down the neckline of her dress, she wouldn’t actually know what they meant.

“But make no mistake. I will not forget you, and you will not forget me.”

Perhaps, it was only that Robb was so clearly more handsome than her husband. Perhaps, she was only consumed by a moment’s gratitude to Robb for freeing her from the men who grabbed her. Perhaps, Robb knew his way around a woman with more skill than she initially believed. Perhaps, for once in her life, (Y/n) was enjoying indulging in something rebellious. Perhaps, this was all only a trick of the gods.

Or perhaps, it was the affectionate bond they formed in their early days by the light of the fire. Perhaps, it was how easily they enjoyed talking to one another. Perhaps, it was the tender care with which he always treated her. Perhaps, she was drawn to a man so visibly consumed with her. Perhaps, she was, truly, made for him.

Whatever the cause, (Y/n) had no words for what she felt as Robb took a step away from her and let her dress crumble to the floor. No words she could speak, anyway.

He looked at her as if she was the only woman in the world, and she looked on him wishing he was the only man.

With her naked before him, Robb no longer raised a hand. His arms stayed firmly at his sides. His eyes moved enough for the rest of him.

She felt his gaze caressing every inch of her skin, touching her, holding her everywhere he wanted to but didn’t dare.

(Y/n) turned in her spot, moving as slowly as she was willing to risk. If she never got to see him, and he could only see her once, then he would see all she had to offer him.

They had traveled, till now, under the guise of the bedding, and much as she wished, their mask provided no excuse for her to see him in the state he saw her now. She lived, vicariously, through her mate, consuming his expressions and his eyes as those she would return if their positions were reversed.

(Y/n) reached out a hand to take Robb’s own, and the two stayed joined for a long moment, enjoying what they could of each other for the last time.

“I believe,” Robb’s voice was gruff, deeper with desire than it had ever been before. “It is custom to take you to your bed.”

(Y/n) bit back a smile. “I believe you are right.”

Robb was careful with what he touched as he lifted (Y/n), naked as her birth, against his chest.

(Y/n) waited patiently in his arms as Robb closed his eyes to memorize this moment. He felt every curve and plane of her body pressing against him from her breasts to her thighs. He inhaled her scent, unadulterated by oil or perfume. He listened to the sound of her heartbeat, hammering so hard in her chest that he could count the thuds in time with his own.

Robb opened his eyes and stepped to the door.

(Y/n), taking cue, reached down and opened it for her mate.

“You’re finally here. I was worried something had…”

Harwyn was tucked into their marriage bed, bare as his wife and shocked speechless by her presence.

Robb marched with sure steps around to the empty side of the bed, laying (Y/n) down atop the soft furs. Lowering his head, Robb took one last liberty for himself, kissing the flat bone between (Y/n)’s naked breasts before he rose.

“I hope your night brings all the pleasure you deserve,” Robb brushed a hair from (Y/n)’s eyes as he smiled painfully down at her.

It was, Robb thought as he made for the door, the last time he would ever touch her, the last words he would ever say to her.

His knuckles went white to restrain himself as he turned back to see Harwyn sat up, leaning protectively over his wife as he glared after Robb. Jealous of Robb, as if there was anything for Harwyn to be jealous of. The most beautiful woman in the world was lying at his side, and all Robb had of her were fleeting memories and a family name on his arm.

Robb was the one, rightly, jealous of Harwyn Plumm, a man so unworthy of the prize he’d claimed.

Perhaps, Robb hoped fleetingly, he could give the man’s jealousy cause.

Robb looked over Harwyn’s heavy set shoulders to see (Y/n) had moved up onto her knees to watch him leave. “If he doesn’t satisfy your pleasures, my lady,” Robb turned his eyes on Harwyn with a cruel smirk, “you know where to find me.”

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That night, upset by the actions of her husband, the queen left the festivities early, long before the bedding.

Her twin accompanied her, attempting to conceal the very real emotion projecting on the queen’s usually passive face.

That night, upset that himself, his youngest sister, and younger brother were not allowed into the feast, a young Stark took to climbing the towers around the keep to get a peak in the high windows.

He was alone, climbing slick, icy stones facing strong winds. It was no wonder to any but his family why the boy fell. It was no wonder to any, including his family, that the howls of his wolf went unnoticed in the clatter of celebration.

The next morning as he prepared for his ride to the Wall, a bastard found the boy’s body, blue with cold.

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“Tyrek!”

The squire rushed into Tywin’s quarters.

Kevan, Tywin, and (Y/n) sat huddled around his desk, preparing their route to leave Winterfell.

The regrettable fall of Bran had already delayed the party’s departure by a week and was set to delay the King by at least one more.

Ned Stark, despairing of what happened to his son, couldn’t bare the sight of his own home and couldn’t bare the thought of letting his daughters out of his sight, let alone allowing them to travel to King’s Landing.

The King, ingratiating himself to the Stark who now agreed to be his hand, ordered a week of mourning, no travel, no planning, no celebrating.

Robert only lifted the ban for fear that, should the entirety of the court remain any longer, Winterfell would again be facing a shortfall of food. This time, without a flush of Tyrell travelers to provide relief.

A group of lesser courtiers, those deemed nonessential to the King, were to leave in two days time, and Tywin hoped he and his daughter would be among them, along with all but one of his men.

“Tyrek, bar the door.”

The young squire did as instructed and closed the door, latching it in place. Clanging of armor just beyond the wood, assured the Mountain was stationed outside. They would not be overheard or interrupted.

“I have a task for you which will require you do not return with us to Casterly Rock.” Tywin addressed his nephew.

(Y/n) rose to her feet and motioned for Tyrek to take her place. For once, (Y/n) found she didn’t know what her father had called Tyrek in to discuss. It was not often that she was left out of his plans, and it usually only occurred for the lack of convenience brought by her distance.

On this occasion, the reasoning was entirely different, and one she wished to be on her feet and braced to hear.

Tyrek took the empty chair between Kevan and Tywin, nervously looking between his uncles. “Anything you ask, my lord.”

Tywin withdrew from his desk a piece of paper. “By order of the King, you are to join Lancel as his squire.”

Tyrek took the paper and unfolded it, reading the words with his own eyes. “By what reason, may I ask?”

“By reason that I have asked it.” Tywin dismissed the question promptly.

“What would you have me do?”

Tywin lifted a bag from beneath his desk and and dumped its contents.

A small vial fell out of the leather and rolled across the table, stopping only where it hit Tyrek’s outstretched hand. “What is this?” Tyrek lifted the vial and examined the thick brown liquid as it oozed slowly across the surface of its container.

“Thickened manticore venom.”

“Father!” (Y/n)’s tone wasn’t rebuking, but it was certainly shocked. Poison was not her father’s weapon, nor a common item in the Westerlands.

Tywin rose from his chair, assuming his full height as he rounded the table to face his daughter with hard, cold eyes. “You disapprove?”

She didn’t, of course. She was surprised, of course; caught off guard, but not at all against the thought. “I’m told,” she hedged, “it’s a slow and painful death.”

“Precisely as he deserves.” Tywin turned to his nephew who stared up on the pair with wide eyed fascination. “Tyrek, I have a job for you. Should you succeed, you will be rewarded far beyond your dreams.”

“What would you have me do?” Tyrek clutched the poison in his fist.

“I would have you murder the King.”

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Next Time on… Part Five (Coming soon)

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Thank you all for your patience. I apologize for how long this has taken and for going completely MIA for a period there. I hope this makes up for it.

#robb stark fanfiction #robb stark fanfic #robb stark au #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n #game of thrones au #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #robb stark #soulmate au #robb stark soulmate au #ROBB STARK SOULMATE #got fanfiction #got fanfic #got imagine #robb stark angst

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7deadlycinderellas · 5 years ago

Text

I have no use for rings of gold, I care not for your poetry, ch2

AO3 link

Gendry, it turns out, does not care for hunting. Riding in general is still a new skill for him, though he does feel like he’s getting better at it. Arya seems determined to show him every single thing in the north, and frankly, outside of his lessons, Gendry welcomes the reprieve.

Gendry knows his letters and numbers, more than well enough to keep track of his own accounts. The types of reading and writing that are expected of him as a future Lord, are quite different. Maester Luwin is beyond patient (reminding Gendry that he had managed to teach both Arya and Rickon to read and write with some degree of skill), but the process makes Gendry’s hand ache and eyes cross.

While he’s practicing one day, he glances down the table to Arya, who had quietly come in and began scribbling on a sheet of paper beside him.

“What are you working on?”

“The household accounts. Who needs to be paid, what needs to be ordered, that sort of thing. I need to finish before Mother and I meet with Varyn Poole and make the rounds before supper.”

Gendry raises an eyebrow, and she smiles.

“This is a Lady’s actual work. This I know I can do.”

She had been pleased to come home to Lady Catelyn insisting that she assist with her own duties rather than just sitting in lessons with Septa Mordane all day. Though, those still happened too. More of them than before, truly, ones about scary future things, potential queenly things.

Something strange had happened as well, the first day she had been back at Winterfell. She had left her chambers quite early, when the sun was still low in the sky, to practice the exercises Syrio had taught her. Arya missed her old master greatly, but she knew he had longed to return to Braavos, and the least she could do was keep up her practice. The only other thing she missed from King’s Landing was Ned, and waiting for every raven from him brings both anticipation and trepidation.

When she was finishing up, she had turned and realized with a start that her mother was watching from the corner of the yard. The shock hit her so hard, she braced herself for a reprimand.

“Nice to see something could teach you a bit of discipline. Go clean up before breakfast.”

Arya had been so confused she had actually done as she was told.

When she finishes up checking her numbers, she asks Gendry.

“What’s on your plate after this?”

“Luwin says history and strategy.”

“Well some of that’s fun at least.”

Gendry leans forward and pushes his head against the smooth wood of the desk. Maester Luwin had left for a moment, so he felt like he could without insulting the old man.

“Then lunch, then I’m free for a bit.”

“Same place as usual? I might be there too.”

Gendry chuckles before she gets up to leave.

“There” was the Winterfell smithy. Mikken had taken to taking a long lunch to avoid the warmest part of the day and working past supper, leaving the forge free for an hour or two to be used by an upjumped bastard who missed his trade. Gendry was confused why the man didn’t have apprentices of his own. Arya had merely shrugged and said that was how it had always been.

“Do you miss it that much?” she asked him today, while he’s beating out a practice piece.

“The work, yes, if not the customers.” He wipes his hands on his trousers. “It was how I knew my worth. I worked hard, my results were good, people paid me. Here- here I don’t know. Do highborns ever take up trades?”

Arya shrugs. She does that a lot it seems, no wonder Maester Luwin said she was a beast to teach.

“Some likely do, as a hobby. Sansa writes that Willas Tyrell breeds hounds and horses. Maybe smithing could be your thing, the way wenches and ale are King Robert’s.”

Gendry’s blood boils, he knows she doesn’t mean it that way, but the very idea of his greatest skill being compared to boozing and whoring made him light up.

“What will yours be, the queen who flings food at people?”

Arya raises an eyebrow.

“Been holding onto that for these six moons? I only did it because I thought Mother was upsetting you, I thought you realized.”

He...had not. It made sense though. He imagines he’s not a subtle man when it comes to emotions.

“The reading and writing will come easier. Eventually, it will be like second nature.” she tells him, before leaving.

And it drives him up the wall to admit she’s right, that with practice both of them become easier, even the longhand letters with all the fancy flourishes.

She’s reading something one day beside him in lessons again, and he asks what it is again.

“Letter from Sansa.”

He raises an eyebrow. For all she used to complain about how Sansa did everything right and she never could measure up, she seems to miss her now that she’s home and getting letters from her.

“How is she?”

Arya sighs softly.

“Not sure really.”

Sansa’s letters have been...odd, is the only way Arya can put it.

“She’s betrothed to...someone from the Reach right?”

Their conversation is interrupted by Maester Luwin coughing. Gendry sighs and recites.

“The Reach, second largest kingdom in Westeros after the North. South of the Westerlands, east of the Stormlands. Ruled by House Tyrell at Highgarden, sigil is a golden rose. The most fertile of the seven kingdoms, they produce much of the kingdom’s food.”

At least that’s something useful to be known for.

Maester Luwin nods approvingly, and Arya continues.

“Sansa’s betrothed to Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden,” she bites her lip, “When she left here, she was ecstatic.”

“You think she changed her mind, that she doesn’t want to marry him?”

Arya makes a face. It’s not like it would matter if she had. She had asked Catelyn once why they had accepted the betrothal given the age difference. Catelyn had spoken a bit about the strategic importance of the Reach, especially with winter coming. And then she had said,

“And with your sister’s romantic heart, we thought she might enjoy having a husband who could not go off to war and leave her behind.”

It was something to think about, when she replies to Gendry.

“I don’t know. She speaks very well of him. He is quite a bit older than her, so maybe she doesn’t think they have anything in common. He’s crippled too, he fell from a horse years ago.”

More reason not to spend more time riding than he had to, Gendry decided.

“He did write a very sweet letter to Bran after he woke up from his fall ...Sansa’s always been so certain she knew just how she wanted her life to go, maybe the reality is hitting her a bit hard.”

She’s not sure that’s it, but that’s what she’s decided to go with. Suddenly, she brightens with an idea.

“You have a brother now too, living in Storm’s End. If you need writing practice, you should write him letters, get to know him better.”

Gendry winces. Even if he weren’t self conscious about his writing, he still wouldn’t want to reach out cold to a brother he’s never met.

“That won’t...draw attention to us or anything?”

Maester Luwin interrupts again.

“Edric has been acknowledged by King Robert when he was young. His mother was of noble blood, so his existence was treated quite differently than yours. A letter or two should not arouse any unusual suspicions, and would be a fine time for me to teach you the finer points of formal correspondence.”

That’s something else everyone has begun to talk about too. That as a future king, he should start making connections with other nobles. While Robb and Lady Stark agree that’s not safe for him to travel right now, with eyes from the capital potentially everywhere. Arya sometimes speaks to him about fearing for her father being all alone in the south.

They do insist, however, that whenever one visits Winterfell, he at least be introduced. Whether they are making a petition or simply pledging fealty, he must greet them.

Gendry’s still a Waters, and they don’t wish to draw attention to his parentage, so if asked, he is introduced as a Ser, and Arya’s betrothed. The northerners still raise eyebrows, but Gendry forces his face to remain impassive. The back of his neck drips with sweat through every exchange.

The Manderly’s from White Harbour are the first. Their Lord is a very large and boisterous man who Gendry doesn’t think he could get a single word in edgewise with. His two daughters are both polite, and Arya is immediately drawn towards asking the younger one about her garish green hair.

After the first, they all begin to blend together. Umber, Karstark, Cerwyn, other names.

One, rather than an old man, perhaps with a younger relative or two, is a young woman with curly hair. She is here, she says, on behalf of her ill father. She carries a spear, and Gendry sees the spark appear in Arya’s eye, the spark that says she has spied a potential friend, a kindred soul, a ghost of which had been on her face meeting Wylla Manderly. Gendry loves that spark, it warms him inside to see it. Quite a lot about her seems to warm him nowadays.

It’s after they finish and Arya runs eagerly after, that Gendry asks Lady Stark.

“If I’m going to be king one day-” the words spill out, stumbling, running into things. The idea still will not take root, even as he finds himself growing so much more comfortable with the clean clothes, regular food and friendly faces within Winterfell. “Shouldn’t I get to do this with the whole country before I make any decisions about anything.”

Lady Stark’s mouth forms a tight, thin line.

“As a king, you will have advisors aplenty. Additionally, you may wish to suggest reviving the idea of a royal progress so that you may see much of it for yourself. Your father took his throne when much of what he knew of the country was through waging war against it, and from what I’ve heard he relies very heavily on the knowledge and experience of others to rule, so I imagine you shouldn’t be held back too much by the shortcomings of your birth.”

Gendry’s blood boils again. Whenever he talks to Lady Stark, he nearly always comes off with his blood boiling it seems, and Arya’s not here to distract him now. He grits his teeth and decides it would be best to leave right now.

He ends with a curt, “I think I will be going now, milady,” his voice very carefully emphasizing the shortened pronunciation.

After leaving, he finds Arya with the other woman (Meera Reed, Arya will chide him, while rolling her eyes later, for him forgetting her name so quickly) in the training yard, carefully examining the points of her three-pronged spear. Gendry just holds back and watches until they finish.

Once they are done, Gendry notes that Arya had an odd look on her face.

“Something got your tongue?”

Arya chews her lip.

“It’s just a story Meera told me.”

Gendry looks at her quizzically.

“Has anyone mentioned my aunt Lyanna to you?”

Gendry frowns. The name sounds familiar, but he can’t place it.

Arya nods over her shoulder.

“We’re not needed anywhere right now. Follow me.”

They’re halfway across the Keep, when Gendry realizes she’s leading him towards the crypt, and feels a queer sensation in his gut. This is deeply personal.

“Lyanna was my father’s sister. She was supposed to marry King Robert, but was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen. That’s why your father started the war, to get her back. She died regardless. That’s all I ever really knew about her, that she died and King Robert never seemed to get over it.”

The crypts are dark, even in the middle of the day, they have to carry a torch, but Arya leads him easily. She tells him a bit of what Meera told her, about the Tourney at Harrenhal, and Lyanna attacking the three squires who had been beating a defenseless man.

“I knew of the Tourney, but only that it ended with her being abducted.”

They’ve reached the correct statue, and Arya raises the torch. The sculpture is of a pretty woman, only a little older than her. Gendry doesn’t have to ask before seeing the resemblance.

“Father sometimes said I reminded him of her. But all anyone ever said that meant was that she was beautiful. If what Meera says is true- then I like the comparison much more.”

On an impulse Gendry can’t quite understand, he reaches out and takes her hand.

“I still can’t get my head around possibly being Queen one day...but if there’s an upside, it’s that. I would be able to protect the people who can’t protect themselves. Maybe, anyway.”

It’s the best reason to want to be queen, Gendry supposes.

As the moons go by, he is incredibly grateful for Arya. It’s only with her that he feels like he truly belongs here.

It’s not like the others don’t try. Bran will sit with him frequently during lessons, animatedly adding and asking Maester Luwin for more information on whatever they’re studying; history, strategy. It must be the best thing Bran can find to occupy his time now. Sometimes he came riding with them, but he was far more skittish than he’d been as a child, Arya told him, even with the saddle Tyrion Lannister had helped design.

Maester Luwin had shown him a few drawings at one point, asking for input on a couple of design ideas for a way Bran could get around without someone needing to push or carry him. There must be a way, Gendry thinks, he’s hardly the first injured lordling in history.

Robb too, reaches out to him. Gregarious, dutiful Robb, always inviting him to join them on rides and hunts (he often goes) or to explore Winter Town (he’ll go sometimes during the day) who tries to teach him to play dice and cyvasse (Arya taught him the first on the down low- she’s not supposed to know how, but she’ll often join the two in a game of cyvasse).

He tries, but it still feels like there’s a wall between them. This isn’t helped by the discovery that though he has spent a decent part of his life making swords, Gendry doesn’t have much idea how to wield one.

Arya was horrified. Until his lessons with Ser Rodrik began going better, she can hardly bear to watch him practice. It made him sad a little, but it was still better than the gazes he got from Robb that always felt like pity.

He is improving though, in nearly everything. He can hold his sword right now, his handwriting is legible (and Edric does seem pleased to have a penpal), he can remember nearly all the regions of Westeros with very little prodding. He wished it felt like enough.

He’s been at Winterfell nearly a year and a half when the betrothal announcement is made official. They will marry once Arya turns seven and ten, and then they will leave for King’s Landing.

Robb invites him out to Winter Town to celebrate. Gendry wasn’t going to say yes in the first place, but wants to go even less when Theon joins in.

He hasn’t been rude or dismissive, or anything really, but Gendry still can’t bring himself to like Theon’s often brash, occasionally lecherous self at all.

And if Theon’s involved, Gendry knows exactly why they’re going into town.

When he finally begs them off, Theon ends with, “Seven hells, he’s even less fun than Jon.”

So he’s in a spectacularly grouchy mood when Arya ambushes him and asks if he wants to go for a ride. He jumps out of his skin. All this time, she still can sneak up on him. Her doing it in the forge after lunch a few weeks before ended with them in another childish wrestling match. Sometimes he wonders if even marriage will quell these situations.

“Didn’t want to go to town with them?” she asks while one of the grooms saddles their horses. Autumn has well and set in in the north, but the snow is only a light powder today, “I know Robb sometimes hogs the attention, but there are usually enough fawning girls to go around, and I’m pretty sure Theon is on first name basis with most of the whores in the whole place.”

There’s a tone in her voice he can’t quite put his finger on. And there’s a new sort of offense in his gut.

“Arya, we’re betrothed. I’m not celebrating by immediately going out and fucking someone else.”

Arya’s expression softens, but still has that odd look on her face.

“Gendry...I’m the one who’s virtue is considered paramount. If this weren’t happening here, a maester would probably examine me to prove it. No one much cares about yours, you can do what you want.”

The offense Gendry feels twists and changes into outrage. Going to a brothel when you were betrothed to someone else is something his father would do. Something he always knew his father would do, even before finding out he was the king.

“That’s horrible,” he tells her hotly, pulling back on the bit and stalling his horse so he can look straight at her.

“Look,” he starts, trying to mild his voice, “I’ve never had much attention from girls. Not many go for a nameless bastard living among filth. You saw what happened the last time a woman showed interest in me.”

All he got for that brief hand drifting down his breeches was a brick to the head and loss of his first commission.

“Wait,” Arya interrupts, “Are you saying you’ve never-”

Gendry takes a deep breath before responding, the back of his neck only a little red.

“No, I’ve never. Never had any offers, true, but also never wanted to get any bastards on anyone.”

He watches her face shift again, but still can’t quite read it.

“And once we’re wed, I don’t plan on being the sort of husband who can’t stay faithful. That’s not me, that will never be me.”

Even with the words, Gendry feels a bad taste in his throat at the thought.

Arya’s voice when she speaks again is much quieter. They’ve made the rounds and are back approaching Winterfell again .

“Thank you,” she starts. “Not many men would admit to that.” Her eyes go off onto the horizon, and Gendry has a sinking feeling when he spots Lady Stark waiting beside the stables.

“You’ve done just what I asked you to,” she continues, sliding out of her saddle as her mother approaches, “You’ve been on nothing but your best behavior.”

She then turns to face the music and leaves him behind, only a little befuddled.

Catelyn walks with Arya silently until their alone.

“You shouldn’t go off with him unchaperoned,” she starts, only a little bit scolding, “It will make him think he can take indecent liberties with you. You must remember, he is born of lust and debauchery.”

Arya’s chest burns with indignation. It would normally too, but it does even moreso after their conversation.

“Mother, we used to wrestle-” well, two weeks ago was technically “used to” wasn’t it? “If that didn’t make him think he could do those things, I don’t think a pleasant evening ride will.”

Her insides are in a twist though. In the past few days, Septa Mordane had begun to give her more specific lessons on what to expect on her wedding night. While the idea of seeing Gendry naked had slowly stopped inciting giggles and instead become mildly intriguing, none of the older woman’s words had been reassuring. Her conversation with Gendry had confused her even more.

Catelyn sighs softly and brushes the light dusting of snow off of Arya’s jerkin.

“I would think that if he tried, you would howl like the she-wolf you are, but the two of you do seem to be fond of each other, and you would probably enjoy it, so it is up to the rest of us to remind you of propriety and decency.”

Arya feels herself blushing from head to foot. Her voice sounds almost sulky when she speaks.

“The way Septa Mordane tells it, I’m not sure if I’m even meant to enjoy it.”

Catelyn smiles fondly, and squeezes her daughters shoulders.

“You must remember Arya, that while Septa Mordane is very wise and educated, and demands your respect, that she has never been married. If the two of you have respect for one another, there’s no reason what happens in the marriage bed cannot bring joy to the both of you.”

Arya’s nerves are somewhat lifted, though the slight against Gendry from earlier still stings.

Catelyn leads her back towards her chambers.

“Your sister wrote us from Highgarden,” she says, changing the subject. “She will be coming home to Winterfell in a few moons. Said she would not even dream of missing your wedding. She will be bringing Willas’s sister Margaery with her as well, and speaks of wishing greatly to help with the planning.”

Margaery, Arya recognizes the name from her letters.

“How long will we have to do all of this.”

Catelyn brushes her hair down gently.

“Your seven and tenth name day is only seven moons away, and then you will be on your way to King’s Landing.”

Arya stomach plunges down even further than it had been before. All this time, all the extra lessons, that it still the part of this whole arrangement that frightens her the most.

For what may be the first time in her life, Arya can’t wait to talk to her sister.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #fic

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sailorshadzter · 5 years ago

Text

across the sea and back again. chapter 4.

this chapter took me a lot longer to finish than i anticipated, but here it is, finally done! we’re getting close to the end and i’m excited to say i will fully finish this fic before next week!! whether it ends up being 5 chapters as planned, or maybe 6, it’s coming to an end and i hope you guys are enjoying it as we go!

just a few notes: there’s no conflict with the night king- that in itself would take at least two additional chapters to include- and i really wanted to make this au different, so i said fuck it and scrapped the idea. initially, i was going to do it because i need to figure out what to do with the dragons, but i have an idea for them finally!

i did mean to bring arya home in this chapter, but it felt like too much once i got through half of the chapter, but i promise the last of house stark will join her family very soon!!

thank you to everyone for your continued support on this fic. reading your comments here & on ao3 fuel me to keep going. i appreciate every comment, reblog, and like you guys give me. even if i dont respond to them all, know i see them & truly, truly appreciate the nice words!

that being said...here’s chapter four. :)

Watching Jon retake the North was enough for those who had yet to offer their support; the sons and daughters of remaining Northern houses- Umber, Manderly, and the like- they flocked back to Winterfell to beg on their knees for forgiveness of their father's sins. Given of course, for beyond the sheer fact that they would need all the support they could get in the coming battles, Jon could not bring himself to punish a son for his father's crime. He supposes it's only a matter of time before the declaration for his claim to the Iron Throne will be made.

"Dorne promises support." It's Sansa's voice cutting in, bringing him back from the depth of his own thoughts. They sit together in her solar, or perhaps it belongs to them both, considering the amount of time they spend together inside. She sits behind the large oak desk, dozens of scrolls and letters scattered across the top, some not even yet open. "You know how they hate the Lannister's." She smirks, blue eyes lifting from the letter as she tosses it down among all the others. "But they will ask for something in return." In the few weeks since they had reclaimed Winterfell as theirs, she's stepped into her role as Queen in the North as if she had truly been born for it. It's a role that suits her far better than any other one ever could. "With winter coming, we have little to offer them right now." She sighs, shaking her head as she reaches for another of the scrolls, this one still yet to have been opened.

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He crosses the room and settles onto the edge of the desk as she leans back in her chair, red hair a stark contrast to the black wool gown she wears. Before he can speak, her features are twisting in dislike, blue eyes narrowing as she scans the letter she reads. "What is it?" He asks, a cold sense of dread washing over him. After all they've gone through, he can't think about more problems already arising.

"It's from Tyrion." She answers, but she does not pull her gaze from the letter.

"Lannister?" He asks as if she could even mean another man of the name, his voice full of the surprise he feels. She looks up then and nods, handing him the letter that she holds. Blinking, he turns his gaze down and reads the few lines of script written along the parchment.

Lady Stark, I'm certain you're surprised to see a letter from me, but I hope this finds you in good health. The rumors of your disappearance and death circulated, even here across the Narrow Sea, and I was not certain I'd hear your name spoken again. It has been told that you and Jon have reclaimed Winterfell in the name of House Stark and they call you their queen. Though my alliance is with another queen, I commend you for your strength and ability to take back what always belonged to you.

Surely you must wonder why I am writing you, it is on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen, the true heir to the Seven Kingdoms, and thus the one who should sit upon the Iron Throne, not my sister. I'm sure you wish to see her off the throne as much as anyone.

We have heard the rumors of your half brother's birth, that he is Targaryen born. Daenerys does not wish to fight for the throne with her own blood, but she will, and I am giving you this warning now: do not fight her. My queen is a ruthless one and she will stop at nothing to claim what is hers. Stand with her and take the Iron Throne in the name of House Targaryen. Jon, if truly of her bloodline, will be rewarded for his alliance, as well as the North.

I write to you in hopes there need be no war between our two sides, we have a common enemy in Cersei and thus a common goal. We have arrived in Dragonstone, the old seat for House Targaryen. Write to me here with your answer.

Best regards, Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen.

Jon looks up from the letter to meet her gaze, though she looks lost in thought. "Hand of the Queen? For Daenerys Targaryen?" He speaks in disbelief, recalling the Lannister imp from those days so many years ago, from before they had ever left Winterfell. "Of all the people..." He goes on with a shake of his head, tossing the letter to join the others she's set aside. "What do you think of it? You know him better than I do."

Sansa sighs, shrugging her shoulders as she leans forward, elbows propping her up on the desk as she lowers her cheek into her palm. "Tyrion is no different than the rest of them, kind to me as he was. He looks to serve himself, as most men do." She sighs again, raising her face from her hand, stretching her arms across the desk. "I think we must talk with the lords about it, before we do anything." Jon nods, knowing this was not a choice they could make on their own. "But..." She trails off as she turns her gaze back to him. "He is right- if we don't play this out right, we will have two wars to fight for the Iron Throne." Jon nods, knowing she's right.

Though she opens her mouth to speak on, she's cut off by the door swinging open and in comes Rickon, carrying Robb who is giggling and babbling, one little fist extended up into the air. In the few weeks since their taking of Winterfell, Rickon has fallen quite hard for his little nephew. Although the initial realization that Jon was not his brother by blood was hard for him to understand and accept, he has come to learn that brotherhood isn't all about the blood they share. Sansa smiles as her little brother approaches where they sit, the worries of the realm forgotten as she leans in to brush a curl from her son's forehead. "Look Sansa," Rickon says excitedly as he passes the baby into her arms, but so he faces forward to still look at him rather than his mother. "Where's Robb?" He coos as he slides his hands over his face and then pulls them back with a quick movement. "There he is!" He cries and at once Robb is full of giggles, his gummy smile bringing a chuckle from both adults as they watch the scene unfold.

Her family, though once broken and pulled apart, was slowly coming back together. It was only a matter of time before they found Bran and Arya, until they were all together again. And she would look forward to that day until it came.

[ x x x ]

In the days that follow the letter arriving from Dragonstone, Sansa wrestles with the choice she knows that they must ultimately make. She can't quite explain it, but she doesn't trust Daenerys Targaryen- something tells her that this dragon queen will bring with her destruction, not salvation, and in the end they will face a war far bigger than the one with Cersei Lannister. It's another gamble, the idea that runs through her mind every time she's faced with the thought, a gamble far bigger than any of the others they've made up until now... But she knows, there's no fighting the power of a dragon, especially when there was three of them.

Three days after the letter arrived, the Northern lords are assembled in Winterfell's great hall. Sansa and Jon sit side by side at the head table, looking out into the sea of faces staring back at them. "Thank you for coming on such short notice," Jon is the first to speak, as he so usually is. Though she is queen, Jon is her voice, his ability to rally men to his side uncanny. She admires his ability to boost the confidence of even the lowest man, his ability to fill hearts with hope, with faith in doing the right thing. "The queen has received a letter from Tyrion Lannister." A murmur rises up among the lords- there is little trust in the imp, as there is little trust in any Lannister. "He writes on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen." The voices fall silent and he watches as shock registers on nearly every face in the room. "They sit in Dragonstone as we speak, making plans to sail for Westeros so Daenerys may lay claim to the Iron Throne."

"To claim a throne that does not belong to her?" Lord Royce speaks first from where he sits beside Brienne of Tarth, a few lords nodding in assent around him. "She is not the rightful heir, as she must have heard by now."

"Aye, she's heard," Jon goes on, rising up to his feet, sweeping around to the front of the table they sit behind. "She offers peace if we support her claim to the throne."

"Or so says the imp," Howland Reed says, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "Can such a promise be trusted?" There is little love for the Targaryen name, Jon knows this as well as any man, especially there among the Northmen. They have not yet forgotten what happened to the Stark men in King's Landing so many years ago. And though they support Jon, it is only because of the love they had for him to begin with, because of the Stark blood that still yet runs through his veins. They consider him far more Stark than Targaryen and he supposes he is quite thankful for that.

"Probably not," it's Sansa who speaks now and all eyes turn to their queen, including Jon's, who shifts where he stands to focus on her. They have discussed at length what they plan to do and they can only hope the Northern lords trust in them enough to go along with it. "But we think we should offer our support to her, at least for the time being." A heavy silence falls, the gazes staring back at her now narrowed, their shock outweighing the anger they surely must feel at her words.

"You wish for us to align ourselves with a Targaryen?" Lord Manderly spits, though he shoots Jon an apologetic sort of look, who shrugs as if it means little to him. "And then what? We're to help her reclaim the throne that belongs to Lord Snow?"

"Not entirely," again it's Sansa speaking, hands folding together atop the table she still sits behind. "We cannot fight a war against three dragons." She goes on, blue eyes sweeping across the room, taking in the sight of every face that stares back at her. "But we can offer her support and gain her trust. From there we can determine what kind of threat she really is to us."

Silence descends once again and after several moments, Jon speaks again. "We will make no decision that you all don't agree with." He speaks honestly, recounting the words he and Sansa had discussed only the night before. "If you don't think it wise, then we will not invite her here, we will not go along with our plan. But..." He trails off, turning so he might look at Sansa across his shoulder. "The queen is right, we cannot fight a war against Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons."

"As I've told you before, you have House Mormont's support in all that you do, Jon Snow." Lyanna Mormont cuts in with a sharp nod of her head. It takes but a moment more for other heads to nod, for voices of assent to fill the room.

"We trust your judgment." Lord Umber speaks, another child that's been put into the place as head of his house. Beside him, Lady Karstark sits, nodding her head in agreement. In the end, all of the lords come to agree with the terms they've spoken of. And so when they've been fed and most have set out to return to their own houses, Sansa pens her letter to Tyrion, knowing that there would be a long journey ahead. For all of them.

[ x x x ]

"A letter, my lord."

It's Varys that hands him the letter, having come into his chamber just a moment before, not bothering to offer the courtsey of a knock. They have known one another so long now, he doesn't mind all that much. Not that Varys would care if he did. Tyrion glances at the scroll now in hand, the Stark seal the one he's been waiting to see. He breaks it open and unrolls the scroll to reveal the neat, slanted script thats written across the parchment. "She invites us to Winterfell to discuss terms of a potential alliance." He's shocked by the words written, he had not thought Sansa Stark to be so easily swayed. But then again... He supposes she's never faced a foe with a trio of dragons at her beck and call. Though, something tells Tyrion if there was anyone to ever oppose his queen, it would be her.

"And you think she means it?" Varys asks, coming around to stand at his back, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe. "You know what the whispers say..." Even here in Dragonstone, the whispers of Westeros reach him. "That the North and Dorne both support Jon Snow as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. That the Iron Islands will come behind him, too, thanks to Theon Greyjoy." They know the people of King's Landing would not so readily accept a Targaryen ruler- after decades of violence, they would look to the man who had taken back the North with little bloodshed. They would look to the Northern girl they knew once as their future queen, bethrothed at one time to their golden prince Joffrey. The peasantry would flock to Jon Snow and Sansa Stark long before they would ever stand with a Targaryen.

"You sound as if you think we should stand behind a different queen." Tyrion sighs, tossing the letter down onto the desktop as he reaches for his goblet of wine, draining it in a single gulp. "I have no choice but to believe her," he says then, pouring himself another goblet full. "It looks as if we're to head North."

[ x x x ]

Sansa spends her days ensuring that Winterfell is prepared to welcome the dragon queen and her army of Dothraki, not to mention her three dragons. It's been nearly a month since Tyrion's response had come to assure her that Daenerys sought peace and that they would make haste to arrive at Winterfell before winter came. The winter winds have begun to blow and most certainly, winter was upon them, and so she knows it is only a matter of time before Daenerys Targryen arrived on their shore.

It's a rare moment where she's not working and instead, she's settled into Robb's chambers, the baby tucked into her arms as he sleeps. Outside in the courtyard, despite the flurries of snow that fall from the cloudy skies, Jon spars with Rickon, teaching the boy to use a sword as Ned Stark had once taught him and Robb when they were Rickon's age. She can hear every clash of the wooden swords they use in place of steel and the occassional gasp from a crowd that must be gathered around. For a moment, it's as if they were back to their happy, carefree days of childhood.

She wishes things never have to change, but she knows yet another war looms ahead and they must be ready for it's arrival.

Knock, knock.

"Come in," she softly calls and it's Lord Royce there, stepping inside the the room to come and stand before her. "Have you heard word from White Harbor?" She asks, thinking that it must be Daenerys he comes to speak to her of. But, to her surprise, he shakes his head.

"There's a rider... At the gate." He says instead and she cannot say why, but a lump rises to her throat. Something tells her she must greet this rider herself. And so she rises up to place her son carefully into his cradle and she follows Lord Royce from the room and down the halls until she takes to the stairs, heading down into the main corridor and then out the double doors into the courtyard.

"Sansa!" It's Rickon's voice calling out to her from the far side of the courtyard, where he and Jon are still sparring. "Come watch!" He shouts, waving his wooden sword high into the air. A laugh escapes her and she raises her hand to wave back to him, though she turns and heads instead for the gates, which as she approaches she raises her hand to the guard in the tower, giving him the go ahead to allow the gates to be opened. There, waiting to come through, was a single horse drawn sled, though a somewhat wild looking brunette walks alongside it. By now, Jon and Rickon, along with several others, have begun to approach where she stands, watching as the sled comes through the now open gates.

Her heart has begun to race, faster and faster, her breath catching in her throat as the person settled into the sled comes into her view. "Hello, Sansa." Bran says in a strange, stoic sort of voice, but his eyes... Those are the eyes of the little brother she knew from childhood. She chokes on a sob and she rushes towards the sled, climbing into the back of it so she can throw her arms around him. "Though I suppose I am to call you your grace now," his voice is at her ear and she lets out a laugh, only hugging him tighter. When she wills herself to let him go, it's so she might stare at him, taking in the sight of him, grown nearly into a man. If he were to stand, she knows he would stand taller than even she. "There's much for us to discuss." Bran says in that same strange voice, a voice she doesn't know. But he's home, so she doesn't care about what he sounds like or even how he looks. She only cares that he's home.

He's home and so is another piece of her heart.

[ x x x ]

It's late into the night, but they sit up in the rooms they've had prepared for Bran to stay in, the rooms that once belonged to him as a child. Bran and Jon sit before the hearth, quiet as Sansa tucks the blankets over Rickon and Robb who both sleep peacefully in the bed that was meant to be Bran's. She can't help but to smile as she brushes a curl from Rickon's forehead, leaning over to kiss both boys on the tops of their heads before she crosses the room to settle into the chair she'd only just vacated moments before. "He looks just like you," Bran says to Jon, gesturing towards the sleeping pair, meaning of course the baby that sleeps beside his youngest uncle. "Though he will be taller than you." Sansa can't help but to spare a laugh at Jon's expense, but even he must chuckle at the comment.

"Have you... Seen him?" Sansa asks after a moment, turning her gaze towards her younger brother. In the last several hours, he's spoken to them of many things, including his visions and his role as the Three Eyed Raven. Perhaps it's wrong of her to ask, but to know a glimpse of her son's future... Even just the smallest inkling that he will be happy. That everything they're doing is going to be worth it in the end. Bran's eyes swerve from the bed and instead fall onto her, holding steady for a long moment before he gives a single nod. Something like relief rushes through her and she lets out the breath she's been holding, sinking back into her chair.

"I've seen them all," Bran admits after a moment, glancing from one face to the other. He's seen the fates of all their children, though the rest have yet to come. Someday, Winterfell would be full of the laughter of children, much as it had once been when they had all been children within the walls. "But it's a long road ahead."

Jon casts a quick glance towards Sansa, reaching out a hand to tenderly touch hers. At the touch, she startles, but her lips curve with a smile as she turns to face him for just a moment. "Daenerys will be here any day." Jon says when his gaze has settled back onto Bran's, who nods, indicating he already knew this. Jon wonders what else his little brother knows, what else he's keeping to himself. But he knows he must trust him, just as Sansa once trusted him; it was faith in each other, faith in knowing that there was always one person who would keep you safe no matter what. "We must be ready."

"You will be." Bran says, though he turns his gaze to Sansa as he speaks. Though he cannot say it aloud, he knows it will be her that in the end, saves them from the destruction that Daenerys Targaryen brings. He didn't have to tell her what would come because she would never waver, she would never back down from doing what she thought was right. Bran knows that his sister would stop at nothing to protect her home and her family, though she might not know it yet, there was nothing Sansa would not do in the future to protect both her son and Jon.

And that alone makes her the most dangerous player of them all.

[ x x x ]

It's the next morning when a rider comes through the gates with the alert that Daenerys Targaryen had arrived in White Harbor. But by the time the rider came, the line of soldiers had already been spotted as they made their way from the docks to Winterfell. Sansa stands on the battlements, watching as in the distance, the soldiers make their way down the road that will lead them through her gates.

She's still yet standing there when the dragons come, screeching and belching flames as they fly overhead. "Sansa." It's Jon. She turns to face him where he stands just an arm's length away, his Stark features a little more solemn than usual. "It's time." Sansa nods, silent as she steps closer to him, slipping into his arms a moment later. He holds onto her for several long moments until neither of them can ignore it no longer.

Daenerys Targaryen has arrived in Winterfell.

[ x x x ]

The mother of dragons is not all that Sansa expected her to be.

She is soft and small, with wide violet eyes and silvery hair that she wears in the most elaborate of braids. But she strides into the hall with a confidence that reeks of arrogance and though she smiles prettily enough, Sansa can see right through her. Suddenly, it's Lord Baelish's voice that floats through her thoughts; everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend. For an instance, she's in another place entirely, a place full of ash and dust, something small and sharp in her hand... Sansa blinks and the vision is gone, but Daenerys still yet stands there, for she and her small entourage have approached the head table where Sansa sits with Jon and Bran to her either side, proof that House Stark was far from dead. "Welcome to Winterfell," Sansa speaks carefully, slowly, not a single soul in the room rising for this self proclaimed queen.

And at once, Sansa see's that she was right to think her arrogant, for those violet eyes dart around the room that she finds to be empty aside from the three that sit in front of her. Beside her a woman with eyes of such a striking shade of gold that Sansa is momentairly taken aback, but the surprise fades when she opens her mouth to speak. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Queen of the Andals and the First Men... Protector of the Seven Kingdoms." There comes a long pause and for a moment, Sansa thinks her to be finished speaking.

She isn't.

"The Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt," the woman says this last title as if it's a warning. Sansa exchanges a quick glance with Jon, but her attention returns to the woman with golden eyes as she still yet continues to speak. "The breaker of chains." Another silence falls and it's only then that Sansa realizes the woman has finally finished rattling off the titles and names this so called queen has given to herself.

"Ah, so you are finished," Sansa says with a tilt of her head, though her rosy lips are smiling. Jon has never seen this look upon her face before but it is one she's worn countless times in countless places for countless people. "I am Sansa Stark, Queen in the North. I thank you for traveling so far. I hope the seas were not so rough."

"They were calm, my lady, thank you." Daenerys speaks for the first time, her tone and smile matching with the woman that sits before her. She dares, in the privacy of this room, speak as if she's not heard Sansa's introduction.

"Pardon, your grace, but I am not just a lady." Sansa interrupts before the Targaryen woman can continue. "I am a queen, much like yourself." Her smile is dangerous as she folds her hands over the top of the table. "Chosen by my people."

"Forgive me, I didn't receive a formal education like you must have but if I remember correctly there's not been a King in the North since Torrhen Stark bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen..." Daenerys speaks again, blinking those violet eyes, her gaze never once wavering as she stares down at Sansa where she sits. "In exchange for the lives of the Northmen he swore an oath to my house in perpetuity." She goes on, her smile smug as she turns to a man standing just behind her, a man Sansa had not noticed until that very moment. "Tell me, what does perpetuity mean again, Lord Tyrion?"

"It means forever, your grace." Tyrion Lannister speaks, stepping up to stand beside the queen he's promised his loyalty to. Looking out at the table of Stark's, he's reminded quite of the old days when Ned and Catelyn Stark had once sat there.

"It means forever," Daenerys grins as she turns back to face Sansa. "So I assume, my lady, you've invited me here to bend the knee. You wrote of peace, of an alliance, yet calling yourself Queen in the North puts you into open rebellion against me. Against your rightful queen." Her gaze narrows, sharpening like steel, but unlike many before her, Sansa Stark does not bend, does not break. Rather, those icy blue eyes of hers darken, not an ounce of fear in their gaze as she squares her shoulders.

"I have no intention of bending the knee." Sansa replies, watching as Daenery's nostrils flare, her mouth opening and closing as if she's not quite certain what she's to say next. Sansa imagines this is a woman who rarely hears the word no, who rarely does not get as she wants. "It is true, I spoke of an alliance, but I never once spoke of bending to your rule."

"That is unfortunate," Daenerys quips, shooting the imp beside her a glare, as if this meeting not going her way is entirely his fault. "Unfortunate that you should invite me all this way only to break faith with House Targaryen."

At these words, Sansa can't stop the chuckle that escapes her. "My apologies, I only laugh for what faith in House Targaryen do I have?" She sobers, those blue eyes once again falling upon the woman before her. "Your father burned my grandfather alive, he burned my uncle alive. He'd have burned the entire Seven Kingdoms alive, had he not been stopped."

"My father was an evil man," Daenerys breaks in and for the first time since she walked into the hall, Sansa feels a bit of humanity from her. "On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for my father's crimes against your family. And I ask that you not hold a daughter accountable for her father's sins." The violet gaze is softer now, somewhat sad, and Sansa swallows, recalling how Jon had once said those same words to her in regards to the families of the rebellious lords that now served her and House Stark once again. "The centuries of peace with a Targaryen on the Iron Throne and a Stark as Warden in the North were the best Westeros has ever seen... I am the last Targaryen-"

"You are not."

All eyes swivel then, turning to Bran who has spoken for the first time since the meeting began. "Jon is your nephew and therefore, the last remaining male heir of your House. He is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne." He speaks calmly, matter-of-factly, his expression never changing even as his eyes meet the mother of dragon's.

Daenerys regards him for several long moments before a sigh escapes her. "I have heard such a thing.... But how I am to know for certain that you are my brother's son?" She turns her gaze to Jon then, noting his lack of Targaryen looks, wondering just how any son of her family could escape the Targaryen genes. "It is as I bid Tyrion to write, if you are my kin, I do not wish to fight with you." Something tells Sansa that this is a lie, that this woman would topple any person, any kingdom, if it meant she got her way. Once again Daenerys is looking at her and she holds her head up high, knowing that in the end, no matter what it cost her, she would never bend. Not ever.

"Promise Northern independence and I will abandon my claim to the throne." Jon speaks and Daenerys turns her gaze from Sansa to him. "Swear that oath and I will not fight you for the remaining Six Kingdoms." His dark eyes hold fast to violet and the silence in the room is thick, heavy. "You needn't decide it now," he goes on, turning to Sansa who smiles fondly upon him when their gazes meet. "The queen has prepared rooms for your stay, after all." His purposeful use of queen strikes Daenerys and she shifts her gaze back to Sansa, who nods, her smile for her instead. It is a charming smile, even Dany must admit.

"I will think about your proposition most carefully," Daenerys finally speaks, though those around her look truly surprised by her response, as if even they expected her to turn on her heel and storm from the room. "I cannot promise what my answer will be."

"You are welcome to stay, until then," Sansa speaks, knowing that despite it all, she must earn this woman's trust. She must make her think that in the end, the North will be on her side in her fight for the throne. "I will have someone show you to your rooms," she gestures towards Brienne who stands in the corner of the room, who then ducks out to find Agatha who has been tireleslly working to ensure the rooms are well prepared for this queen and her group.

As Daenerys is led from the room, Sansa sinks back into her chair, suddenly drained of her energy. Beside her, Jon turns to face her, a hand falling into place against her thigh, his skin warm against hers despite the layers of clothes between them. "That went well," he says and she lifts her face to him, grinning in spite of herself. "You know what we must do next." He goes on and she nods; of course does. Jon smiles and he leans in, capturing her mouth with his for a quick kiss.

That alone gives her the strength to rise up, ready to meet whatever comes next.

[ x x x ]

"Do you believe him? Do you believe that he is my brother's son?"

Daenerys rounds on him the moment the door has closed, leaving them alone in her antechamber. Sansa Stark turns out to be a generous host, offering the warmest, best wing of Winterfell to Daenerys and her group. Tyrion finds himself housed in rooms far nicer than the ones he stayed in on his last visit to Winterfell. "Well, your grace..." Tyrion begins, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain as she is in the truth of Jon's birth. "If I may speak freely..."

His queen regards him for a moment before she nods, sinking into a chair nearest the hearth. "You may," she says, eager to hear what her Hand has to say in this situation. Tyrion Lannister was a smart man, though a heavy drinker, he's willing to make choices that others cannot. She trusts his judgment above all others, save for perhaps Missandei or Jorah.

"If you remember, I told you once that I was married to Sansa when she was but a girl." Daenerys nods, recalling the conversation from just a few months before, when the rumors of the wolves of Winterfell came to them in Dragonstone. "She is fiercely loyal to her family, to her House. To the North. She does not forget the wrongs done against her nor her family." Again, Daenerys nods, for does she not know the same feeling? "When she escaped King's Landing, she was forced to marry again, but I have heard the rumors of what she endured here in her own home at the hands of her husband, Ramsay Bolton." That too had been a subject of their conversation and back then, Daenerys had felt a spark of pity for the woman- yet another thing they shared was the abuse at hands of men who thought themselves above them. But now that she's met the young woman- she feels little else but contempt. It seemed as if Sansa Stark was going out of her way to defy her.

"And what does any of this have to do with Jon Snow being my nephew or not?"

Tyrion stands at the table beside where she sits and he pours two goblets of wine, passing the first one to Daenerys, who accepts and sips at the drink, surprised by the sweetness of it. "I only mean to give you some insight to who she is, your grace," Tyrion says when he's gulped down a mouthful of the wine himself. "A noble born girl, married twice against her will, one of those leading to truly terrible repercussions." He takes to the chair across from his queen, legs aching from the long hours they had spent both at sea and on land. "Do you think a woman raised in a world such as this one would so willingly marry a man- a man she thinks to be her brother, albeit bastard born?" Westeros did not view incest as the Targaryen's did and certainly a girl from House Stark would not lay nor marry a man she calls her brother. "It is true, those who could speak the truth of Jon's birth are no longer here to speak for themselves, we have but a High Septon's journal... But, your grace, if I know Sansa Stark like I think I do, she would never marry a man she calls brother. That itself is enough proof for me."

A silence descends and for a moment, Daenerys can only take another sip of her wine, thinking about all of the things Tyrion has just said to her. "I think you're right," she finally says a few minutes later, raising her gaze from the fire to him, violet eyes finding green. "So what of Jon Snow's promise to deny his place as the rightful heir, if only for Northern independence?"

"That is your choice to make, your grace," Tyrion begins, pausing only to take another sip of his wine. "But I have known Jon Snow to be a man of his word, unbelievably honorable, like the man who raised him."

Again there comes silence, but it is quicker to flee as Daenerys shifts in her chair to fully face him, the firelight casting her into a golden glow. "And would the North stand behind him, otherwise?" She asks, slowly, carefully, the only question that truly matters. Tyrion holds to her gaze a moment longer before he gives a single, solemn nod. The North would stand behind Jon and only Jon, especially now that they call Sansa their queen. The Seven Kingdoms would find peace in a world with an alliance such as theirs- a half Targaryen, half Stark prince and his already beloved Stark bride. Tyrion doesn't have the heart to tell his queen that even those in King's Landing would stand behind Jon Snow before they ever stood behind her. "Then I suppose I already know what I must do." She says softly, barely audible, a statement more to herself than to Tyrion.

A promise of peace... Of Northern independence... It would all be worth it, if only to get her to where she needed to be. And then when the Irone Throne was the chair she sat upon, she would give Sansa Stark and the North exactly what they deserved. If they were not for her, then they were against her.

And just like that, her mind is made up.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #jonsa au #essos au #my writing #i wrote this

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moon-ruled-rising · 4 years ago

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as the rain hides the stars | xi

Read the full story on ao3...

xi: clinging to the wild things that raised us

We can build a tree house in the pine trees,

we can keep our secrets buried underneath.

Wildflowers crush between your fingers,

clinging to the wild things that raised us.

-Zella Day, “Compass”

On the day they left King’s Landing, Jon was up early, as was his habit. Sansa and Robb were still asleep, and he didn’t want to wake them, but he was restless. He would have gone for a run but he didn’t know the area nor did he want to take the chance of running into another interested courtier. It seemed that no one at the Southern court knew how to mind their own business.

The three days spent in the glittering court of the Red Palace felt like an ongoing interview, constant questions and feigned interest with no end in sight. Jon never liked the spotlight, a trait he inherited from his father no doubt, but in his life that much attention was never a good thing. If his name was in headlines, it was usually a criticism of his behavior. Even though Jon tried as hard as he could to never step over the line, the line continued to move. Creeping closer and closer until he would have no room left to go.

Most of the time his slip ups went under the radar but when he first came home from his time on The Wall, he wasn’t so lucky. He was fueled with anger and resentment for his position and wanted nothing more than to take it on someone other than himself.

And then there was the inevitable engagement. All the scrutiny and harsh words would increase ten fold. Even if it did end well and his people were saved, they would never forgive him for marrying someone with a rap sheet like hers. They were both doomed.

As he readied himself for a day of travel, he received a text from Sansa. A link to a blog dedicated to posting pictures of royalty from all over the world doing mundane things. However, the most recent posts were just photos of Jon and Daenerys from the Dragon Pit club from two nights ago. They boasted captions calling the two ‘cozy’ and speculating at a deeper connection. From the angle the photos were taken, Jon could see where it looked like that but he knew the actual conversation was anything but.

It wasn’t long before they were taxiing down the runway in a Targaryen owned jet. Rhaegar insisted they take it, although the Starks were fine with commercial travel.

The compact interior of the private plane reinforced the cramped feeling that already followed Jon. But as the jet soared over the grey-blue waters of The Bite, he felt his jumbled and off-balanced state from the past couple of days slip away. Even as the constant reminder of his eminent fate sat right across from him he felt more comfortable knowing he would be home soon.

Across the plane from him, the Princess Daenerys still had a pair of dark, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. They hadn’t moved since she said goodbye to her friend at King’s Landing. Despite her smiles and waves, Jon knew she would rather be anywhere but there. Her security officer sat with her, the two carrying out a conversation in hushed tones.

When they landed in White Harbor, Jon breathed in relief. There were no paparazzi this time. No flashing bulbs, no raucous cries from nosey reporters. They slid through the airport with ease, unbothered despite being the most important family in the North returning from a very important trip.

White Harbor was the North's closest thing to a city but it was still small compared to the great beasts of the South. There were no high rises to be found, all the buildings favoring the old styles and keeping the city’s charm in place.

The mayor of White Harbor greeted them at the town hall along with Lord and Lady Manderly and the rest of the Stark entourage. Queen Catelyn, Bran and Arya, and Talisa. Although, Talisa would have to watch the proceedings from the crowd as she had no official standing with the royal family.

As soon as Jon was in eye sight of Arya, she bolted for him, enveloping him in a hug with all the force of a bear. After Robb, Arya was his closest sibling. Their bond was partly driven by the fact that they looked more Stark than Tully. They both had their father’s dark hair and grey eyes, Sansa and Robb took after Catelyn with auburn curls and blue eyes.

“I was only gone three days,” Jon laughed, returning her ferocious squeeze

“It felt like forever. Especially with mom babysitting us.”

Bran came second, his usual few steps behind.

Talisa and Robb were already arm and arm. Jon’s heart arched. He would never have a chance at the affection he witnessed between them, not that there had ever been much of a chance anyway.

He’d gone so far as to deny himself a love life to avoid a scandal. He and Ygritte were brief. A quick, private affair near the end of their high school careers but they both knew it could never be anything serious. Any future contender for Queen Consort had to be from noble blood. And Ygritte, with all her charm and wild beauty, was anything but. Her father was a political upstart who made something of himself but there was no land or title to go with it.

It was much easier with no baggage from past exes and no possible tell-all articles. But where he fell short in romantic entanglements, he made up for in physical confrontations.

Daenerys smiled through the introductions, playing perfect princess before disappearing into the restroom to change.

“Why is she here?” Bran asked, once she was out of ear shot.

“She’s helping us finalize a treaty,” Ned answered, looking between his other children who were in the know.

His message was clear, ‘Don’t tell them’.

“What do we need the treaty for?” Arya questioned.

“That is a topic for the next family meeting.”

Ned whispered something to Catelyn and the two walked away. Jon watched them wander down the hall to another seating area.

“Is anyone going to tell us what’s really happening?” Arya folded her arms over her chest and glared at her older siblings.

“We have a right to know, “ Bran seconded.

“Jon’s engaged,” blurted Sansa.

“You’re what?” Arya gasped.

“That was fast,” Bran responded at the same time as his twin.

Jon gave Sansa an ‘are you kidding me’ look and she mouthed sorry in return.

“It was dad’s idea and I’m sure Catelyn knows but it’s supposed to be a secret. The public can’t know until we’re ready to tell them. We aren’t even engaged yet, the documents haven’t been signed.”

“Ned mentioned a treaty and Jon came back engaged. What happened down there?” Talisa chimed in.

“I think I’m going to side with my dad and say that’s a topic for the next family meeting.” Robb looped Talisa’s arm with his and led her away from the little gathering.

Arya and Bran were already glued to their phones again, their hushed voices gushing over the newest app they’d discovered. Out of all the Starks, they were the most tech savvy. They drove the press secretary mad with their under the radar social media accounts with outrageous names. Although they always covered up their faces in the photos.

“You know, you should really try to talk to her,” Sansa prompted, not looking up from the magazine she’d returned to flipping through.

Jon didn’t need any elaboration.

“I have nothing to say to her.”

“She’s not as bad as you think.”

Jon gave his sister an incredulous look.

“And you’re both going through the same life changing event.”

“Just the other day you were wholly against her.”

“And? People’s opinions can change.”

“Sansa-” he started.

“I love your outfit, Your Royal Highness,” Sansa smiled as Daenerys came out of the restroom.

“Oh, thank you.” the princess looked up from the notecards in her hand and returned Sansa’s smile.

For a moment she didn’t look so venomous.

“And please, call me Dany. All my friends do.”

Sansa grinned, shooting a look at Jon before turning back to her magazine. Dany, as Jon figured she wanted to be called, smoothed down the back of her black skirt as she sat. Her usual warrior-esque braids were simplified into two twists holding her soft, white-gold waves out of her face.

Sansa and Dany might be on good terms now but she had yet to make a good impression on Robb and the twins.

Sansa flipped another page of her magazine, the crisp sound sharp in the silence of the room. Jon watched her as her eyes darted from the page to him and to the Princess beside her. He could see the gears turning in her head.

“You know what, I’m going to take a look at the crowds. Arya, Bran, wanna come with?”

Jon went to call out after her but she was already halfway down the hall, Arya and Bran trudging along with disinterest.

“Play nice!” she called over her shoulder.

He groaned and Dany chuckled.

“She’s a handful, that one.”

“You’re telling me,” she sighed.

He considered what Sansa said and swallowed his pride. What could it hurt?

“ Dany-”

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered, not looking up from her notecards.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Only my friends call me Dany and as far as I’m concerned, Your Highness-” she looked up in a sharp gesture, “we are not friends. Acquaintances, maybe, but certainly not friends.”

It could hurt a lot, apparently.

She stood, as if to leave, when the royal family’s press intern rounded the corner and announced that it was time to begin the event.

The Starks were old fashioned and kept a press secretary. It was an outdated station, the only responsibility being to send official statements to all news outlets. Their current secretary had asked for an intern to help with an official social media presence to keep the threat of paparazzi at bay. It worked as far as Jon was concerned.

They were led from the town hall to the small stage set up outside. A canopy overhead meant to shade them from the sun or, more likely, the rain as the thick clouds crowding the sky looked dark. The Stark sigil of a grey wolf on a white and green background was displayed on banners, floating lazily on the breeze.

Jon held out his hand to assist Daenerys up the steps. She was wearing a pair of precarious heels and he knew that stairs were a challenge for any woman in them. He’d watched Sansa parade around in them, and Arya wobble behind in a valiant attempt, for years.

Daenerys allowed her hand to hover over his to avoid being labeled as rude or too bold by the audience. The people were watching and someone was bound to notice if she blew off his chivalrous offer.

The mayor started his short introduction speech, followed by a few words from Lord Manderly. As usual they were politically perfect and manufactured. Just like the Princess’ words would be too.

When Lord Manderly announced their visitor's name, there followed a polite applause. She approached the podium with grace and a smile, a forced one Jon was sure.

“Thank you, Lord Manderly, for the warm welcome. Speaking of warmth, I always thought the North was cold and snowy but she’s proved me wrong. The weather is beautiful and so is the landscape. I’ve only been here a short time and what I’ve managed to see through airplane and car windows has taken my breath away.”

Jon wondered if her statement was true, or something generic used by the Royal Family for all foreign visits. But the way she delivered it was so impressive Jon could just as easily be convinced they were her own thoughts.

“I come before you today, not in any diplomatic capacity, but as a guest of the Starks. And as a woman who wishes to nurture a much friendlier connection between our two lands, who for so long have acted distant and foreign to each other despite being neighbors.”

She continued on but Jon’s mind wandered, her words fading into the background. There were news cameras at the front of all the people, capturing everything from all possible angles. Reporters stood by them, anxiously accepting the Princess’ words about her excitement to see the North and her hope for a stronger friendship between the two nations. He wondered if the people watching in their homes were reacting the same way.

A Targaryen hadn’t been in the North since the 13th century. That Targaryen was one of the hundreds of Aegon Targaryens that conquered the south, a name so lucky they recycled it. Despite being the King who refused to bend the knee, one never saw many people named Torrhen.

The closest he'd encountered was his friend Tormund Giantsbane. A member of the Free Folk settled in the Gift who spent so much time around Castle Black he was as much a Brother as anyone else. He refused to join them because of the bad blood between the Free Folk and Night's Watch, considered it a betrayal of Wildling ideals. Jon tried to convince him to join Ygritte at The Smoking Log, but he refused. Winterfell was too far south for him.

At the end of all the formalities, the royal family set out to mingle with the citizens of White Harbor. Jon set out on his own, shaking hands and greeting the people gathered there, a security officer not far behind. For the first time in days, his smile wasn’t forced. Something about having his feet on the ground and moving through crowds was natural to him.

Shaking hands with people and talking with them reminded Jon of the responsibility he held. A King should be seen by his people and the people by their King, he recalled Ned saying once. His father was always dropping pieces of advice into their regular conversations, he thought it was the best way to share them.

Daenerys was a few feet away also smiling and being on her best behavior. Jon couldn’t help but take interest in the way she bent down and hugged the children that were there. He knew she was an aunt but not every aunt was a good aunt. He’d met Catelyn’s sister, Lysa Arryn, on a few occasions and she scared him, even as a grown man.

He shook another hand before his security officer was ushering him toward the fleet of cars that would take them to Winterfell. Unfortunately, he had to share a car with Her Royal Highness. While her mood appeared to have mellowed, she was able to turn dangerous in a second.

Once out of the city, Jon realized how much he’d missed the countryside. The beautiful green revealed after the morning frost melted away. The White Knife, the impressive river that flowed from the Lonely Hills to the Bite, followed them for most of the journey, adding to the beauty of the scene that surrounded them.

He’d never been so happy to see that particular shade of green, except once when he returned from The Wall. It was the one positive thing he could focus on as he was dragged away from the one thing that gave him a tangible sense of purpose.

It wasn’t long until they were approaching the gates of Winterfell. The Wolfswood rose up to the West, impressive with its sentinels taller than the castle walls. Jon chanced a look at the Princess as she gazed out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of her first impressions of the castle. Although she tried to hide it, he saw the glimmer in her eye as they passed under the south gate.

They climbed out of the cars, Jon tried not to give the princess a hard time. She was looking around, all of the disinterest in her gone. Something shoved his shoulder and he turned around to find Sansa, who was motioning toward their guest. Offer her a tour, you dolt, her eyes screamed. But Jon wasn’t ready to make nice yet. And a tour of his home, just the two of them, was much closer than he ever planned on getting to her for a long while.

Sansa shoved his shoulder again but Ned called Jon’s name and he thanked the Gods he avoided that bullet.

“We have the Council meeting to get to,” Ned reminded him.

Upon second thought, an inconvenient tour with the one person he couldn’t stand seemed like the much better option.

“I was about to give our new guest a tour of the castle,” Jon offered, hoping he sounded convincing. “That’s quite alright, I can handle it. You don’t need to keep the great lords waiting,” Catelyn stated, detaching herself from Ned’s side.

Jon took a deep breath.

As he imagined, the small council was not pleased with the fact that they’d brought home a foreign princess. He stood at his father’s side as the Lords bickered, their voices amplified by the stone walls. By the end of it all, Jon would be rubbing his temples the way his father was.

“As I’ve said before gentlemen, I have considered all options and this treaty is the only one that works. Both now and in the future,” Ned defended.

“It’s ludacris!” Karstark bellowed.

“A betrayal to our values,” shouted Umber.

They'd even managed to make Lord Umber mad, and the Umbers were the strongest supporters of the Starks.

The Lords of the North weren’t ‘yes men’ by any means. They were direct and staunch and not afraid to be honest with their king. The only time they feared him was when he was in a wrathful mood. And Jon had only seen his father that way once, when he announced his wish for the legitimization.

Jon remembered sitting outside the great room with Robb, their ears pressed to the heavy wooden door as they did for every council meeting. However, they weren’t prepared for the news they were about to hear.

“I want to make a motion to legitimize my son Jon, so he will succeed me to the throne.”

The room erupted into shouts, in much the same manner Jon experienced now, as Jon and Robb pulled their ears away from the door to stare at each other with agape mouths and wide eyes. At only ten years old they understood the implications. Both of their lives were about to change.

Jon found Roose Bolton situated in a far corner, his face was always hard to read but his expression at this latest news was plain. Exasperation. The voices around them continued but Jon stared at Bolton. There was something else behind his usually stoic face and Jon wanted to find out what it was.

The room quieted and Jon realized his father was speaking to him.

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Your thoughts on the treaty?”

Jon had been looking for an opportunity to reveal his true feelings on the matter but looking at his father he knew what he needed to do.

“I’m not fond of the marriage aspect of it. The Princess is … difficult and has a lot against her. But my personal life doesn’t come before the needs of our country and I stand by my father’s decision. If he believes this will protect our people, then I believe it too.”

“Has the princess agreed to this arrangement?” Lord Bolton spoke up.

“She has asked for more time to make her decision,” Ned reported.

“How much time?”

“A month, at most. Even if she takes all that long, we’ll still have plenty of time to import goods and build shelters.”

“And what if she says no? Her country has nothing to gain from this except our assimilation.”

Their voices rose again at the thought of a bent knee. Jon let his eyes wander the room of red-faced lords. He’d said his piece, there was nothing to do but wait.

The sound of a fist connecting with the long wooden table silenced everyone in the room and brought Jon’s attention back.

“We are not assimilating with the south. We keep our freedom and our ways but more importantly we keep our people alive. Without them, the North is nothing. This meeting is adjourned.”

The Northern lords filed out, grumbling about the news. The secretary followed behind, arranging the notes from the meeting turned screaming match.

Ned sat back down, letting out a strong cough as he did.

“They’ll understand once everything is set,” Jon assured his father.

“I know but I doubt I’ll be able to stand their complaining while we wait,” Ned joked but his laughter turned into a cough followed by another.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked as he handed his father the water glass from the table.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured his son, “Just adjusting to the change in air. You know what I always say-”

“Starks never fare well in the South,” they stated together.

Now more than ever, that statement rang true.

#jonerys #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #jonerysfanfic #jonerys fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 link

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