#Solar: I have tamed the wolf boy

[smolbonbon]

Messy Solar/Moon comic

Closeups:

Aaaa it started with a sketch of them cuddling and then my brain was like hold on.. Solar is (probably) the only one who knows how to deal with Moon when he's mad.

[sweetestlamb]

Stronger Part 2 (Get Lost)

Summary: Mun-yeong makes amends with someone very special in her life and confronts someone she didn’t expect to see.

Notes: I cackle manically every time I write this story, it’s a problem LMAO. I’ll try to update at least once a week since it’s such short chapters and I have most of it planned in my head since I’ve been thinking about this forever.

Sang-in finds her sobbing on the edge of the staircase, her whimpers painfully loud in the room, wet streaks pouring from her eyes. He simply takes her hand, she's limp in his arms it's clear he was expecting a fight, but she simply doesn't have anymore in her.

Like a small child she lets him pull her into her room and deposit her in the bed, cocooning her in the thick sheets and wiping her tears with a soft handkerchief he pulls from his pocket. He mumbles soft words of comfort to her, there there and it'll be okay, and she wants to lash out, yearns to thrash and scream that nothing will ever be okay. She's not okay.

However he'd seemed okay. Gang-tae. After a moment's pause it seemed he was fine to just walk out the door and leave her in the past. She'd been a small blip in the grand scheme of his life, a petulant child that wouldn't take his rejections and stabbing words for what they were, deterrents.

CAUTION:DO NOT ENTER.

But she'd thought herself special, what they had unusual, she'd opened up to him about things no one else has ever known. It seemed like he had done the same for her, secrets whispered in the dark of night.

With him she'd been different. Leaving herself open in ways she'd never imagined before and her greatest fear had been recognized, he had seen her core and smashed it to pieces only to return with empty words and promises.

I'm sorry.

Those were the words she longed to hear, but he never uttered them. Not once. And it appeared he never would, he would continue to push her away and pull her back when it was convenient for him. And she was expected to wait for his cue, an obedient dog that should accept abuse and callous words.

It was hard to pinpoint when he'd tamed her and made her so pathetic, but she had no intentions of remaining this way.

I will be better.

Stronger.

It takes day before she feels enough like herself before she leaves the bed, showering and arranging herself into some semblance of the person others have come to expect.

Hair perfectly combed and curled.

Deep wine dress with a high collar and ruffles.

Expensive towering heels, sharp enough to draw blood and a small bag worth more than rent.

Her heart is still broken but he hasn't called or text, further proving her point. She is expendable.

With a deep sigh and a final look in the mirror she leaves.

"Hello." She greets, head bowed in respect, feeling suddenly shy and not knowing what to do with this novel emotion.

Ju-ri's mother, Soon-duk smiles warmly at her before stepping aside to let her in. Her shoulder heats up from the motherly hand that leads in her.

"Come in, it's nice to see you. You look beautiful today."

She feels her cheeks pinken from the compliment, the woman is perpetually praising her and it's so uncommon that she finds herself basking in the warmth.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, are you looking for Ga--"

"No." The strength and conviction of her response causes the woman to step back as shock colors her face. She doesn't doesn't want to hear his name. She still isn't strong enough to do so without crumbling.

"I'm here to see Sang-tae. I want to apologize to him."

Soon-duk looks taken back before a wider smile fills her face, absently she wonders how the woman looked in her youth she's quite beautiful in her own regard. One day maybe she'll say those words aloud and watch her reaction.

"He only left his room yesterday, he's upstairs on the roof. He'll be happy to see you."

She silently hopes those words are true, she's never had a friend before, a true one that didn't run when things became hard or turned their back on you because others found you unusual. Sang-tae has come to mean a lot to her, someone who sees her and accepts her and challenges her. A true friend.

At first, he's reluctant to speak to her running and locking himself away, forcing her to speak to him through the bedroom window.

She explains herself in a language that they've both come to understand, fairy tales. A language she is fluent in and has used to share her deepest feelings with others.

Interprets the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf, tells him of her impenetrable loneliness, she's been alone for so long but having a friend has shown her the beauty of letting others in, so much so the thought of going back to the way she lived sounds unimaginable and cruel.

There is silence, long and crawling after she's done speaking, she waits patiently staring at the moon.

Then finally he responds, "Are you lonely? Is that what the story means? Are you lonely Ko Mun-yeong?"

He never sugar-coats anything, never spares her feelings, that's what she's come to like about him. He's unapologetic and frank, just as she is with him treating him exactly how she treats others.

"You're not answering. If you want me to forgive you, you have to be sincere. If you're sincere then I will believe you otherwise you're just crying wolf."

She smiles humorlessly, to be so understood by one who has difficulties connecting to others is unsettling.

"Yes. I'm lonely. I miss you, I miss my best friend."

The sound of the window opening echoes and suddenly they are face to face, his brows drawn in consternation.

"You're telling the truth, your face doesn't look like you're lying."

She nods, "I am. I'm sorry I made you feel left out, I should have been honest with you. I promise I will be in the future."

He tilts his head cutely like a puppy before imploring, "Will you have fun with Gang-tae without me again? You can't have him."

The similar tinge of pain that implodes every time she hears his name detonates in her heart but she fights through it desperate to reconcile with Sang-tae.

"I won't. I just want to be your best friend again, he's yours; he's always been yours."

It hurts, like a throbbing wound that has reopened but she means it. Gang-tae was never truly hers, she was merely his mistress a dirty secret to hide away, temporary and it was time to accept that but she could still repair her relationship with Sang-tae, he made everything a little bit better. A dash of happiness.

Sang-tae looks surprised by her answer but he doesn't question her thankfully, instead rewarding her with a smile, it's tiny but it makes her heart grow three times larger.

Maybe all wasn't lost and she could fix the wrongs she'd made.

They make plans to see each other in two days, they need to work on their book, she has some ideas for a storyline. She's always written about her suffering, this time will be no different.

She hears him before she sees her, she screams at her body to move, flee but he flight or fight is broken, halted by his sudden unexpected appearance. She was told he was working overtime, news provided by Sang-in from Ju-ri.

Defying her information, he turns the corner with Jae-su and immediately like they are opposite magnets their eyes gravitate to each other. She watches him pause mid-laughter. His smile melting off his face as he watches her.

Jae-su babbles on unaware of his friends condition, slapping at his shoulder and guffawing at whatever hilarious story he'd been regaling before he too notices the eerie silence. When he notices her dark figure he jumps, hiding behind Gang-tae.

His reaction is enough to drag her from her stillness, her eyes dropping to the ground she makes her way to her car, keys jingling as she pulls them from her bag.

Behind her Gang-tae's deep voice rumbles as he speaks to Jae-su, his words are indecipherable. Taking deep breaths she quickens her movements, cursing herself as her key falls from her hand in her rush, clanking on the ground.

Before she can retrieve them, his hand fills her vision as he picks them up for her, sheepish grin on his face.

She takes the proffered keys from his hands, nodding in acknowledgment before opening the door and sliding into the seat. She goes to close the door when she feels resistance, she pulls harder but still the door refuses to close.

Glancing up she finds his hand on the door, prying it open his muscled hand flexing as he prevents the door from closing.

Finally lowering her hand, she turns to look at him. Staring at him with passive eyes, careful not to let anything slip through.

"You came to see me."

His words are a punch to the solar plexus, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Her brain short circuits and then turns back on, whirling at the audacity and confidence that oozes off him. He is failing immensely to keep a small grin off his face, eyes dancing as he looks at her eagerly.

She wants to punch it off his face.

"No. Why would I come to see you?"

His grin cracks.

"I tried to avoid you. I wanted to see Sang-tae and now that I have, I'll be going. Let go of my car."

His entire face crumbles like sand under a boot, his hand falls to his side as he gazes at her with soft pleading eyes. The amount of times those eyes are rendered her helpless makes her recoil in disgust.

"What's wrong with you? I don't understand why you're being like this! I tried to give you space but I don't get it, I opened up to you isn't that what you've been begging for!"

His anger cracks at her whip sharp, and all the rage deep beneath her surface bubbles up as she turns to glare at him.

"I want nothing to do with you. I'm sorry I ever met you, leave me alone. I will not be begging you for anything in the future." Reaching over to pick up the object she had stored in the backseat, she throws it harshly at him, it bounces off his chest.

"You can have Mang-tae, I don't need it anymore. Just like I don't need you. I only need Sang-tae. You got your wish I'll get lost, you do the same."

Satisfaction surges under her skin as she watches the hurt bloom on his face, his eyes open and expressive screaming at her but she slams up all her walls, she will not be weak any longer.

No fucking way.

Turning the key viciously in the ignition, the engine revs to life and he's forced to jump back to avoid losing his foot as she screeches off, smoke left in her wake.

She watches him getting smaller and smaller in the side mirror, before reversing.

A small hopeful glint flashes in his eyes, she immediately snuffs that out.

"I need my car back, you can give the keys to Sang-tae. "

The tires squeal as she peels out again, manic smile on her face as she laughs, elated at the look on his face. Finally she is the one abandoning him, the one to hurt and belittle. Her deep chuckles boom in the small space of the car as she drives back to her castle and its ominous silence.

Her lap is warm and wet from the tears that escape, she allows herself this final moment of anguish. These are the last tears she'll waste crying over him and their ill-fated romance.

[zagubionywilk]

USE THIS WEBSITE TO GENERATE YOUR MUSE’S POKEMON TEAM.

usually this is a meme but fuck that,  i’m stealing this from one of my other blogs so i guess i’m re   -   tagging myself.    anyway,    i’ve been lagging on writing up geralt’s pokemon au  /  team for awhile so    . .    lo and behold here we go we did it boys.  the   au itself   is effectively a side step version of his    modern au    but,    you know,    pokemon.    tl;dr:    geralt’s been alive since 1925 and wandering around doing witchery stuff as usual for people with his pokemon in tow helping him out and assisting him whenever he needs assistance getting rid of  monsters.    there comes a time where the wolf becomes worn out and  semi  -  retires   on his corvo bianco ranch as he occasionally goes out to help folks,    again with his pokemon in tow,    when necessary.    pokemon ages  ??   who knows and cares,  leave me and his pals alone   --------    now,  time to meet the team:

geralt’s pokemon partner    and    first pokemon is his mudsdale,    roach    with the moveset:  double kick,    heavy slam,    high horsepower and stomp.    he’s had her since she was itty bitty and a mudbray when he survived his trials at kaer morhen.    initially he had taken a shine to her prior to the trials and she to him    ;    always excited and trotting around the boy when he came to look over her.    geralt humored her always,  after surviving he and roach never really were apart when it came to going out of the stone walls of kaer morhen,    the little pokemon protective of its partner that she had come to trust.    once the wolf had left the school’s walls years later,  his little horse had become large and intimidating    ;    still gentle to him even though her temper had surged with her evolution.    as they went on in the world,    as the years went by,   they still stuck together through everything    ---    ever closer.    roach is hugely protective of her witcher and will    stomp you to death with her hooves    if you so much as threaten him.

tsareena,    nickname    petal    with the moveset:    stomp,    high jump kick,    power whip and solar beam.     all in all,    petal wouldn’t leave geralt alone.    one of the very last pokemon he gained on his team recently,    petal ran into geralt when she was her previous evolution,  steenee    -----    all due to the fact her little home had come under the attention of some humans.    a litwick had been causing a bit of a stir for them,    having sucked a few people’s life forms to dust which led humans to go searching for the pokemon to try and get rid of it.    geralt had been passing through and,    well,    ended up saving petal indirectly.    she was enamored and thankful for this friendly    (    yet kinda scary    !!    )    man who helped her and just   . .   followed him.    geralt’s heart couldn’t keep ignoring her for long and thus let her stick around,   the little pokemon doing her best to impress him and doing so    ;  leveling herself as she did and eventually,    when she gained stomp,  she evolved into tsarenna.    she’s a tomboyish little thing with an attitude now but never ungrateful for the help given to her.    she’ll also stomp you to death with her leetle feet.    during hunts she’s usually quick to assist.

absol,    nickname    sol    with the moveset:    dark pulse,    bite,    night slash and taunt.  geralt’s second pokemon was sol,    an absol he had found during one of the heavier winters in the kaedwin mountains.    she was wounded after a human had harmed it in one of its descents down the mountain to warn of impending disaster.    geralt had come across her in the snow,   bleeding out from the injury and managed to calm her down enough to get her out of the cold.    the disaster had been an avalanche,    no one getting hurt barring the man that had left the pokemon to die in the snow.    alas,    she survived.    in the small cave out of the heavy storm,  roach,    sol and geralt rode it out.    the wolf making sure the absol would survive her wounds with the resources he did have on hand and once it was over the dark pokemon stuck by his side.    with the myth that the pokemon brings disaster    ---    there’s a minor irony of it sticking around the witcher,    becoming his partner    ;    as both are detested and both are feared because of what and who they are.    sol detests fighting lest she can help it,    as it does hurt her to strain herself.  geralt doesn’t use her much on hunts but does bring her along    (    or she just trails behind anyway    ). 

sylveon,    nickname    bow    with the moveset:    disarming voice,    moonblast,    quick attack and psych up.    another one of the recent ones,    however a relatively long lasting one as well.    bow was given to geralt as a   thank you   from dandelion,  initially as an eevee.    the small thing took a shine to geralt and geralt took a shine to the little pokemon who enjoyed his space as well as sol’s.    he wasn’t a fan of staying in his pokeball whenever geralt was    uncomfortable    with a situation or when the wolf was highly upset over something.    effectively the eevee became a sort of    .  .    comfort pokemon for geralt.  when it came down to evolving,    geralt wanted to try for an  umbreon    but got bamboozled when bow evolved into a    sylveon    due to amount of friendship and love bow had for his trainer.    she likes to sit on geralt’s shoulder,    gently holding on with her ribbons that do well to settle him down if he’s ever overwhelmed or upset,    thus being the resident comfort pokemon if anything goes awry.    he’s equally protective of geralt and the friends he has,    rather bouncy and excitable as well.    his presence itself stumps humans and their assumption that witcher’s don’t feel    .  .    considering the required affection and loving on needed for sylveon to    .  .    be.

zebstrika,    nickname    z    (    yes how original     )    with the moveset:    wild charge,    discharge,    thrash and shockwave.    mad.    just    .  .    mad.    z doesn’t like humans very much,    only putting up with those that geralt is close to but irritable enough to stomp and make it known that it doesn’t want many near him.    z found geralt first,    or rather     roach    found the pokemon first,    leading geralt to the zebstrika when upon roaming had found him caught in a man    -    made trap.    after nearly an hour and a half of calming z down and with some assistance from roach just    snorting    and stomping in frustration   . .    geralt was able to get close enough to remove the trap.    z,    at first,    ran off,    only to follow them from a safe distance through the forest before coming to steal a few of the apples geralt had in saddlebags overnight.   begrudging thanks became true once geralt had gained the zebstrika’s trust.    not entirely    “    tame    “    z will still lash out sometimes if unsure of a situation but    will    come to geralt’s aid when its required    .  .   and for pets.

mightyena,    nickname    wulf    with the moveset:    suckerpunch,    crunch,    scary face and bite.    wulf was geralt’s third pokemon he gained,    having gained its trust over a period of a year after its habitat had been uprooted.     initially wary of geralt she came to trust him mostly by how geralt would bring it food when it couldn’t find any due to the uprooted home it came from.    she grew attached and after a time began to follow him out whenever he left.    with geralt’s experience wulf became loyal and ready to defend and fight when needed.  she’s cozy to be within and outside her pokeball but,    unsurprisingly,  has a grand ol time outside of it    ;    being chaotic and tomboyish. 

+   a cubone.    they’re new.    geralt found it while it was crying and it just pretty much  also  won’t leave him alone now.    it doesn’t fight.  just hangs out and is a cute nuisance.  its name is    buttercup.

[seth-kate]

"Do not be afraid to bare your teeth - you were not brought into this world covered in blood to become a gentle, tamed thing." -Nichole McElhaney

The clanging of steel rings throughout Winterfell, and the echoes of the meeting swords are partnered with the low grunting of the training men down below. But it is not the young boys and master at arms that the King looks down on, but the slight frame of his daughter. A smirk comes over his face when the Lady Knight whacks her training sword against his daughters leg, and in that moment she is all wolf as she swings her sword back and attacks. His daughter has become rather close to her mothers sworn shield, and Jon delights in watching them train together most evenings in the same place he used to train when he was a boy.

His wife sighs from where she stands beside him, and Jon takes his eyes away from Brienne and Lyanna and lets them rest on her face. So beautiful, even after all these years. 

He knows that Sansa does not favour sword play or archery as Jon does, and she does not feel as proud as he does when she watches her only daughter twirl around with a sword in her small hands. She delights at the fact that Lyanna can sew beautifully and sing like a bird, or how gentle she is with her new baby brother. Their little wolf cub seems to have inherited traits from both her parents.

“She’s rather good, isn’t she?” Jon says proudly, his hand going to the pommel of his own sword “she reminds me of Arya” 

Their daughter is the spitting image of her mother, with her Tully blue eyes and flaming red hair that now hangs almost to her waist. But she moves like Arya, and speaks with the same clear opinion in her tone that when she argues with her older brother Eddard Jon often finds himself doing a double take. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of” Sansa comments, tearing her eyes away from her daughter and to her husband. 

“Would that be so bad? For her to become like Arya?” Jon asks, grey eyes scanning his queens face. 

“I love my sister, but she has not lead a very safe life, Jon. Lyanna would be safer if she didn’t learn so much about battle” her skirts rustle as she walks past him and to the steps that lead down to the training yard. Jon, like always, follows wherever Sansa goes. 

“I don’t think training with Lady Brienne is going to make her want to go to battle” Jon argues back with a smile, but Sansa does not return it. 

“Lyanna is a lady, Jon. She’s not some brutish Northern man, she needs to learn proper courtesies” his wife turns to look at him, but the smirk on his face only grows larger. He steps closer to her, feeling the warmth of her embrace him, and her small waist is taken in his hands. That flash of Stark defiance lights up her eyes- he knows she hates when he displays his affections in public- but she does not pull away. 

“Well then, if you wanted to mother little ladies you should have married some perfumed Southern lord, and not some brutish Northern man” his breath fans across her face and he smiles to himself when her chest rises and falls rapidly.

He thinks of their new babe, Robb, the tiny little auburn bundle that sleeps soundly in his mothers chambers, and although he was born not two weeks ago Jon wants to make another. Being this close to Sansa- close enough to feel her heartbeat- always makes him want to have another babe. 

“Perhaps I should have” it’s Sansa’s turn to smirk as she pulls away, watching her husbands face turn to a glum pout “maybe they wouldn’t argue with me so much” 

Sansa calls for her children then, and Jon watches as their seven year old daughter sighs and hands her training sword over to the towering Lady Brienne. Eddard who had been training with the rest of the Winterfell boys sprints over to his mother. He’s almost a man grown at twelve, and is every inch his father. His long shaggy black curls are slicked back in a leather string and his dark grey eyes that are so like Jon’s come to meet his mothers. 

“Maester Tarly is waiting for you in the study to begin your lessons” she tells them, and both of them sigh heavily and Eddard throws his head back. Jon hoped he hadn’t been that brooding as a child.

 “Listen to your mother, will you? Off you go children, go on” Jon prompts as his two eldest children stubbornly trail after one another. Lyanna has that same ability of Sansa’s to melt Jon’s heart with one look, and as she walks by him her blue eyes meet his in pleading. She hates her lessons, but Jon can not dismiss the importance of education. And besides if Sansa ever found out he had taken their children away from their lessons she’d surely punish him. 

“Lady Brienne will you join me for some tea?” his wife’s voice wavers to him and he looks back just to see the two figures walk arm in arm towards the keep.

_____

“I’m not wearing a dress!” 

“You will not raise your voice to me, Lyanna Stark!” 

The shouts of his wife and daughter are the first sounds that meet him as he opens the door of the solar, his eyes going straight to where Sansa sits beside the fire, their sleeping babe in her arms. His daughter is red faced and her small hands are bunched into fists and Jon just knows by looking at her that she’s aching to stomp her foot. It had been a temperamental habit of hers in arguments until Jon had told her it was childish, and now she was trying her best to refrain from it. 

Eddard sits on a chair by the table and when Jon looked to him for answer he just shrugged and took a bite from one of the lemon cakes that sat on a plate in front of him. Perhaps he wasn’t all Jon. He had some of his mother in him too. 

“My sweet girls what’s going on?” he asked as he walked to the hearth, eyes flickering between his wife and daughter and finding that each of them had the same exasperated expression. 

“Your daughter is refusing to wear a gown for her name day celebration and is instead insisting that she be gifted with a sword” Sansa answers her husband, and when Jon doesn’t answer immediately those eyes of icy blue look up at his “Jon, we are not giving our daughter a sword for her name day” 

“You can’t have a sword, Lyanna. You’re not old enough yet” Jon tells his daughter but his wife rolls her eyes at him and sighs heavily. 

“It’s not a matter of age. Lyanna is a lady, she can’t be wielding a sword” “Lyanna -” 

“I don’t want to be a lady! Ladies are stupid! I don’t want to be like you, mother!” 

With that their daughter turns around swiftly on her heels and runs from the solar- the heavy door banging behind her. Jon’s shoulders heave with the sigh he lets out but as Sansa starts to stand from her chair he holds out a hand. 

“Let me go to her” he tells his wife, bending down to kiss her forehead. Sansa just nods in return and gives Jon a soft smile. She’s hurt, he realises, he can see it in her eyes. 

I don’t want to be like you, mother!

 Jon finds his daughter perched on the top stair of the winding stone staircase that leads to the very top towers of Winterfell, and he ascends them to sit down beside her. Lyanna angles her body away from him, and pouts as she rests her chin on her knees that she brings close to her chest. So much like Arya. 

“Go away” she grumbles but Jon just shuffles closer to her. 

“If I had a gold dragon for every time you’ve said that to me I’d be a very rich man” Jon tells her with a chuckle “As a matter of fact I think your mother has told me that almost twice as much as you have” 

I’m living in a household of stubborn women, he thinks. 

“Father please, I don’t want to talk” 

“Well I’m sorry but you must. No daughter of mine is going to disrespect their mother and get away with it” he becomes sterner then in that minute, but not stern enough. He had seen how Lord Eddard was with Arya and Sansa growing up, and how the hardened Northerner had turned to mush whenever his precious girls were around. Jon felt he was much like that. 

You’re too soft with her, Sansa often told him when their fiery daughter was arguing, you’re always so gentle.

 “I don’t really think ladies are stupid. Or mother” Lyanna turns to face him then, her lips turned down in a frown. 

“You hurt your mothers feelings, Lyanna” Jon explains to her as one arm wraps around her tiny shoulders “she only ever tries to do what’s best for you, she’s a good mother. No, a brilliant mother. She’s kind and gentle and loving, and saying you don’t want to be like her makes her feel like a bad person”

“I only meant I don’t want to wear dresses or have babies, or….” she eyes her father then with a scrunched up nose “get married” 

At that Jon chuckles and pulls her close to his side. “You mustn’t think of those things now, you’re far too young” Please don’t think of those things, he tells himself then. He does not want to imagine marriage or his little girl together for at least another ten years. 

“Mother thinks them. She wants me to be a lady, but I want to be like you and fight white walkers and giants and ride direwolves into battle” her blue eyes light up with excitement but Jon’s eyes close. Sam had probably been spewing his tales of the old days again at lessons. Some of them were spectacularly far fetched. 

“Is being a lady so bad? You like to sew like your mother, and you like to sing and read poems. You’re very good at your manners, most of the time” he laughs as he nudges her in the side but his daughter just pouts yet again. 

“I like those things too, but I like swords and archery more. Mother doesn’t understand” Lyanna tells him, and Jon just sighs. 

“Your mother knows more than anyone about what happens in war” Jon explains forlornly as he thinks of how she’d been held here in Winterfell, how she’d been trapped under the cruel mercy of the Lannister’s and how she’d fought to get her home back “she’s just afraid that she’ll have to see her children fighting the same battles we fought one day. She doesn’t like the idea of you, or even Eddard, using swords” 

“What battle did mother fight in?” Lyanna asks him quietly, her eyes full of curiosity and Jon thinks on his answer for a moment. 

“A different kind of battle, but a battle all the same. When you’re old enough she’ll tell you, but for now you have to learn to get along. No more fighting with your mother, eh?” Jon gives her a look that he hopes is stern enough to get his point across. It seems to work when his daughter nods at him. 

“I really do love mother, and I’m sorry” the red head tells her father, blue eyes crystal and sincere.

“It’s not me you should be apologising to” he tells his daughter “now run along and find your mother” 

Lyanna jumps from where she sits and runs lightly down the stairs, leaving her father sitting there. Later he’ll talk to Sansa about compromising with their daughter. Perhaps forging her a small blade- like Arya’s needle- wouldn’t be so terrible as long as she uses her ladies courtesy and wears a beautiful gown at her name day feast. He knows his wife fears the danger that it could bring, but Lyanna is a Stark of Winterfell, and no matter what she will always be a wild thing. Even Sansa had her fierce moments that Jon shook to behold, and as he watched his flame haired daughter walk away he knew that the business of taming Stark women was one he would never conquer. 

[lyannas]

...but no man could truly tame a wolf.

Serena saw their hungry eyes. Her father was not dead a week and already they stalked Winterfell like it was their prey. Even now, at the feast for their father’s wake, they eyed her and Sansa both. She did not trust them-- she would never trust them. Her half-uncles were vultures, bloody beaks already tearing into father’s corpse.

She was father’s eldest child among his couplet of daughters-- daughters, and nothing else. Serena often wondered if he bemoaned this fact. They were good daughters to him, her and Sansa. They always sang him sweet songs and gave him no trouble as children. Still, they were girls. No doubt her father wanted a boy, one hale and hearty to take Winterfell and fill it with grandchildren. Even on that count she had been a disappointment; she was made a widow three years into her marriage to the gruff Jon Umber, and gave him no little ones. Just as well. She was never too fond of children anyways.

“Look, Sansa,” she whispered to her sister, holding the hem of her black sleeve between her forefinger and thumb. Her sister’s eyes swept over to the lot, to their grandfather’s children. Cregan and Lynara Stark produced a large brood. Too large. “Look how shameless they are.”

“They are greedy,” Sansa returned sharply. “Our father had been so generous to them all.”

“Now they seek to take even more.”

After eyeing her for the whole night, Edric Stark broke off from his siblings to make his way toward her. He edged past people who did not think to move aside for him. When he reached her, both her back and her sister’s straightened, and her chins rose.

“I would like to have a word with you, Serena,” Edric said, giving her a tight lipped smile. It did not suit him. He was not handsome enough for smiles of any sort. Like most Stark men, he was tall, with dark hair and dark grey eyes. There was a scar on his lip and another on his brow. Worst of all, his beard was unkempt. Serena could not stand slovenliness.

“You will refer to me as Lady Stark, or we will not speak at all, my lord,” Serena returned as coldly as she could manage.

His smile broadened into an ugly grin. “Of course, Lady Stark. I simply did not want to make the mistake of calling you by another name. Even now I’m unsure how a woman can be Lady Umber and Lady Stark at the same time.”

“You seem rather confused. Lady Umber can be found at Last Hearth, and her husband Lord Umber is here, amongst the guests. You’ll know him as my late husband’s brother.”

“Yes, that is how it works. If a man dies without children, then his brother takes his title.”

“Thank the gods that my father had children then.” Serena managed a smile. “What would you like to speak about, Lord Edric?”

“Perhaps we may speak alone?” He leaned in closer, and Serena stepped back. Sansa stood her ground and glowered at him.

“And leave my guests? I think not.”

He did not like the refusal, but attempts to be cordial regardless. “Tomorrow, then?”

“It is hard to say. Many people require my attention tomorrow.”

“Surely you can find time for your own uncle?”

“Half-uncle,” Sansa corrected beside her.

Edric’s lip twitched. He did not like that either. “I’ve known you both since you were screaming babes,” he said in a harsh whisper. “You’ll have some respect for me.” His temper was beginning to show-- Serena always knew he had one. It was never well hidden.

“We respect you, half-uncle.” Serena said with mock sweetness. “You and every other lord and lady in this room. I will send for you tomorrow if I have time to spare.”

He opened his mouth as if to add another scathing comment, but decided against it. He forced a smile and gave them the shallowest of bows before stalking back to his brothers and sisters.

“You know what he wants,” Sansa hissed beside her. Her sister was more spirited than she, wilder.

“I know,” Serena answered in a softer tone.

“You will not give it to him.”

Serena remained silent. Her sister’s fingers wrapped around her arm and squeezed.

“Serena, you will not give it to him.”

She looked at her sister, whose brow was furrowed in anger.

“I will not give it willingly.”

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Her uncle proved unavoidable. She found him and his brother Jonnel standing outside her solar, flanked by her guards, who spoke amicably to them, laughing even. The guards did not straighten until it was too late. Edric and Jonnel stood there grinning, knowing this was a small victory; a reminder that they too had grown up in the castle. They too could be loved.

But not by me.

She stood behind her desk, as being seated made her feel too small. The two men were much taller than she, towering over her. She hated it. She was tired of tall men.

“What do you want, my lords?” She asked through clenched teeth. She knew what they wanted.

Edric stepped forward. “I ask for your hand in marriage, my lady.” It was just like him-- no pomp, no attempt at romance or nicety. Even an insincere show would have been better.

“You will not have it,” Serena answered promptly. “Anything else?”

Jonnel stepped forward. “I ask for the hand of your sister.”

She glanced to him. She thinks she misliked him even more than Edric. They look much the same, but he had dark eyes, evil eyes. They were lecherous and bottomless and cold. “You will not have it.” She tapped her fingers against the desk once. “Are we finished?”

Both men broke out into ugly grins. “Sweet Serena, who do you think would give you or your sister away in marriage?” Edric said with a mocking lilt to his voice. “Who would walk you to a weirwood tree, and ask the name of the man who would claim you?”

Serena tried not to be phased. She tilted her chin higher, and said in a voice as level as she could manage, “You would, Lord Edric. You are my father’s brother, and my oldest male kin.”

“Indeed I am,” he returned, still smiling. “You and your sister have become my responsibilities. I must bear the burden of finding you grooms, and here, I have found them.” He stepped forward, closing the gap between him and the desk. Like last night, she stepped back. She knows Sansa would not have done the same. “I will accept these fine offers on your behalf, and on your sister’s.”

Serena glanced away from Edric to look to Jonnel. His eyes were laughing at her.

“How long?” She asked of the men, clinging to the last of her composure. “How long have you two waited for my father to die? Did you pray for his death?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Did you pray that he would have no sons?”

“We prayed for no such thing,” Edric answered.

“And what of my half-aunts, your sisters? Did they pray?”

“Do not insult our sisters,” Jonnel answered.

“I will never love you,” Serena declared to Edric, behaving as recklessly as Sansa would in her place. “My sister will never love you. If we give you children, it will be because you had forced yourselves upon us.”

Jonnel snorted. “A husband cannot force himself upon his wife. It’s her duty to have him.”

Serena felt her stomach turn. Compose yourself. You are Lady of Winterfell, even if they do not want you to be.

“I will not speak my vows. The marriage will not stand if I do not speak them.” She did not want to seem desperate, but she was. She did not want another marriage; she did not want her sister to marry this man. Her sister should marry for love-- love of a bannerman that Serena would have selected carefully, but love all the same.

“Sweet Serena,” Edric laughed, “I will marry you whether you speak them or no.”

“My father would be disappointed in you two. He died thinking you were wolves, not vultures.” She spit the last word out, hoping it would sting. It stung her just to speak it.

They continued to smile their ugly smiles. “There is still something of a child in you, Serena. It gladdens me to see it,” Edric said, on the edge of a laugh.

Serena felt her shoulders drop. There was nothing more she could say.

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She thought Sansa would scream at her, or cry, or throw her things, but she did none of this. Instead she sat on the edge of her bed, silently, hands folded demurely in her lap. Her sister was a maid of seventeen, and a pretty one at that. She deserved a man more handsome than Jonnel Stark.

“I am so sorry, Sansa,” Serena said, on the edge of tears. “I did not want this for you.”

“They had this planned for some time,” she said flatly. Sansa looked down at her hands. “No doubt their sisters knew of their plan, but what of our other aunts?”

She spoke of their four half-aunts, the daughters their grandfather Cregan had with Alysanne Blackwood. “I doubt they knew,” Sansa said. “They would not betray us in this way.”

“They have come here with their husbands. Perhaps they can help us.”

“How?”

Sansa clenched her hands into fists. “I don’t know. I said perhaps.” She was growing frustrated, either with herself or with Serena. Rage always came quick to Sansa-- the wolf’s blood, their father called it.

“We will tell them regardless,” Serena returned hastily, trying to assuage her fears. “They may have some advice for us.”

“He has cruel eyes,” Sansa said suddenly. “I hate his eyes.”

“You need never look into them.” It was a poor reassurance, and yet, it was all she could offer her sister.

“The least of my worries. What will I do while he is inside me?”

“Close your eyes and pray,” Serena said softly.

“I would sooner curse him.” Sansa rose suddenly and marched to her. She flung her arms around her neck and embraced her tightly. “At least you and I will still be together,” she murmured into her shoulder.

Serena returned the embrace. “Would that I could take them both, sister, and spare you the hurt.”

The two of them decided that they would pretend the other was brave this night, and that neither of them cried into the other’s mourning gowns. They were Starks, after all. They were always brave.

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Despite her promise not to, Serena spoke her vows, pressured by the many eyes in the godswood. Sansa did not speak them, and in that Serena takes some heart.

At the wedding feast, their Stark aunts laughed and danced with their brothers while their Blackwood aunts stood around the two of them, stony-faced.

“Our father must be turning in his tomb,” Sarra said coldly, her thin hands gripping Serena’s shoulders. She was the eldest of the four, and as bold as her mother had been. “They have forced themselves upon you girls, his own grandchildren.”

Alys clucked her tongue. “Men have no honor when it comes to the pursuit of power.”

“Would that at least one of them were handsome,” Raya lamented. “Then perhaps they would be easier to love.”

“No amount of beauty could hide the blackness of their hearts,” Mariah returned. She had her hand placed over Sansa’s. “They have robbed you of your birthright, Serena. Do not ever forget this slight.”

How could I? It was all that haunted her. The thought dogged her sleep and intruded upon her dreams. Winterfell was not hers alone anymore. She did not have a consort, she had a lord husband, one that she would call Lord Stark.

Time enough had passed in the wedding. The bedding would be called soon. Serena glanced to her sister, who wore black in mourning and in defiance, as she did. Her sister’s skin was paler than she had ever seen it, and though she would never admit it, she was frightened. Marriage was new to young Sansa, but Serena was a veteran.

“It will be over before you know it, Sansa,” Serena reassured her, managing a comforting smile.

Sansa seemed to have caught herself. She jolted in her seat. Color slowly drained back into her cheeks as her brows furrowed in determination.

“I am not afraid.” She was a good liar.

Before Serena could respond, chants began to fill the hall. Men cried out for the bedding. Their half-uncles, their new husbands, grinned and finished their ale. Slowly, lecherously, terribly, they stalked toward the high table.

“There will be no bedding!” Cried out Sarra’s strong, proud voice. Her nails dug into Serena’s shoulder as she spoke. “You have disgraced these women enough. They can very well change out of their gowns on their own.”

A general cry of disappointment and protest made itself known. Edric and Jonnel’s smiles slipped-- that was enough to lighten her spirits.

“Every wedding must have a bedding,” Jonnel cried out; men rallied around this declaration.

“Not this one!” Sarra returned. “See to your brides later. For now, they go to their rooms without your help.”

The four women were like shields at their back as they walked them to their chambers. Serena felt for Sarra’s hand behind her, but found it was already grasping Sansa’s. Sarra rested her free hand on her shoulder instead.

“I’m sorry I could not do more,” her aunt said.

“Thank you,” Serena whispered.

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Serena stared. She could not help but stare.

Everyone stared. Everyone wanted to ask him a question, but none were brave enough to try it.

That did not make the curiosity less intense. Jonnel Stark’s eye was gone, replaced by a bloody cloth-- there had to be some sort of explanation.

They all ate their breakfast in silence. Jonnel ate hurriedly and left the hall on hot feet while Edric glared over his bowl of eggs. Serena dared a glance at Sansa beside her. She seem wholly unaffected, perhaps even content.

“Sansa,” Serena whispered in a voice low enough for only her to hear.

“I warned him,” Sansa returned with a shrug. “He chose not to listen.”

Serena bit back a gasp.

“I didn’t like his eyes anyway,” said Raya idly beside her. “At least one of them’s gone now.”

“Yes, now who will get the other?” Alys added.

Their aunts laughed amongst themselves. Serena reached under the table and gave Sansa’s hand a squeeze.

“You should not have done that,” Serena whispered around lips that tried not to smile.

“Truly?” Sansa asked, her eyes widening innocently.

“Truly,” Serena returned. “But I’m glad you did.”

Sansa squeezed her hand in return.