#Wolf & Parchment New Theory

[lilium-dragomir]

[kursed-arcana]

[dailyspiceandwolf]

“That being said, the world is like a river. You can never go as straight as you like." He turned around, and the expression on the captain's face was not smug, nor did it sneer at the ideals of a young man. It was that of a hermit who had weathered a great many things and tried to play them off calmly. "But those periodic twists and turns give fish a place to live.”

[mangabookshelf]

Manga the Week of 10/2/24

SEAN: The end of September drifts into the start of October, which means it’s SPOOKY TIME. MICHELLE: THE BEST TIME! ANNA: Here for it! ASH: Woohoo! SEAN: We start with Yen On, which gives us Wolf & Parchment: New Theory Spice & Wolf 9 and You Can Have My Back 3 (the final volume). And Yen Press has Combatants Will Be Dispatched! 10, A Terrified Teacher at Ghoul School! 15, Triage X 27, Uncle from…

[blue-mint-winter]

Reading Fire and Blood: Aftermath - The Hour of the Wolf

Cregan came, Cregan saw, Cregan laid down the law ;)

This chapter seems more believable in its tales, though there's a lot of obvious biases and the reader needs to puzzle out the real reasons for the characters acting in certain ways.

The riverlords turn up at King's Landing, with young Kermit and Oscar Tully wanting to fight and prove themselves - and they are greeted very warmly, Aegon II is already dead, the city cheers - you know what this reminds me of? Again, Maegor and Visenya going to burn Oldtown, only to be welcomed with open gates and High Septon already dead.

They burned Aegon II's body so no one could examine it and find out how exactly he was killed - remember how in High Septon's case there was a theory about maesters poisoning the scroll he touched and that he was trading messages with the Citadel all night? If it was found out that Aegon II wasn't killed by poison in the wine, but on parchment, with traces still on his fingers, it would confirm Orwyle as the killer. The small council was talking about the messages they received about the Black forces arriving soon. And who was handling any messages that ravens brought and could poison and pass those messages to Aegon's hands? Orwyle.

Kermit and Oscar Tully blushed and stammered whenever Cregan entered the room - alright, so he was their crush? Maester tries to present it like they were boys and Cregan was a man, but Cregan was 23, Kermit was 19 and Oscar was just knighted, so around 16? Grouping the Tullys together as "only boys" with Benjicot Blackwood, who was 13, seems weird. Cregan was only 4 years older than Kermit. Idk, maybe the Tullys developed a case of "notice me, senpai". Cregan gives me Jon Snow vibes, if he was older and more grown into the role of leadership. And Jon had a pull on the young recruits of Night's Watch.

The northmen are described in a very unflattering way, like an army of savages intent for war and plunder. There's a lot of fearmongering surrounding them, which is proven completely untrue when majority of them settles in the Riverlands later on. They really are just people that wanted to unburden their families during a long winter. This fear and distrust shows how culturally distant North is from the rest of Westeros. Cregan himself is portrayed as a rather scary and authoritarian man, which might be completely off the mark. I don't think he scared the Lads to agree with him and attack Storm's End. He was speaking with sense - the war was not done, the Greens didn't bend the knee and they could even proclaim Jaehaera as the queen. Taking King's Landing didn't solve anything by itself.

Despite Cregan showing up, there's no news about Sara Snow or her child with Jace. If that child existed and Jace really married Sara, then the child would have been the true heir to the throne, not Jace's younger brother Aegon III. That's why I think the mystery is definitely solved - Mushroom made up Jace's affair with Sara and it's uncertain if she even existed in the first place.

It really looks like Cregan honestly wanted to clean up the house for Aegon III, that's why he did the trial. In the end, the "tyrannical" Stark killed only 2 people, the rest of potential traitors got out by joining Night's Watch.

Orwyle started writing his testimony when he was imprisoned by Cregan. Of course he was spinning his lies then and somehow Munkun based his "True Telling" mainly on that. Orwyle is the main suspect in killing both Aegon II and Viserys! I might make a whole theory about Orwyle's role in the Dance. He confessed under torture that he gave poison to Larys. Larys' loyalty was seemingly very changeable, so he was a convenient scapegoat. As it keeps happening, confessions under torture aren't reliable and usually people say what the torturers want them to say. Orwyle could have been just covering his own behind as Larys was already the main suspect. Larys himself deserves his own analysis. He's often used as the maester's fall guy for some unexplained events, but as of now, every time I see Gyldayn or Munkun go "we don't know for sure, but it was totally that guy who did it", then it's definitely not that guy.

Attributing the peacemaking to women marrying the major remaining Greens and Blacks seems romantic, not realistic. It's literally said that Lyonel Hightower had two brothers with Redwynes and Tyrells. These brothers were clearly used as hostages. Not to mention how High Septon distanced himself from Hightowers after they lost their puppet king. How does having a romance with Lady Samantha Tarly change anything? Hightowers still fought against the Blacks when she was married to Ormund.

What exactly does Alysanne Blackwood get from offering herself to Cregan in exchange for Corlys??? That negotiation sounded completely off. Why would Blackwoods want to help Corlys? Additionally, both Cregan and Alysanne wanted each other anyway, so Alysanne asking for Corlys to be spared as her price makes no sense. She's marrying Lord Paramount of the North, she's benefiting more from this. I truly think sparing Corlys had nothing to do with the proposal and it's just Mushroom's romantic tall tale. There are 4 reasons why Corlys should live: Baela, Rhaena and her dragon, and Alyn.

[fandompost]

Wolf & Parchment: New Theory Spice & Wolf Vol. #09 Light Novel Review http://dlvr.it/TGFvT6

[lilium-dragomir]

[niibaataa]

Appalachia, Mon Amour

[Note: there are more extensive lists out there, but through personal criteria, this is what I came up with.]

Map of Appalachia:

Frank X Walker, born in Danville, Kentucky, coined the term "Affrilachia" to refer to African-Americans in the region and give a name to their experiences. He also co-founded the Affrilachian Poets. He offers educational training on his website.

Here is a list of his books. These include known titles like Love House, Affrilachia, and Black Box.

Lisa Alther, from Kingsport, Tennessee, is a prolific fiction writer whose work often contains lesbian and bisexual characters. Several titles are linked below.

Other Women, Kinflicks, Swan Song.

Harriette Simpson Arnow was born in Wayne County, Kentucky. She worked as a teacher and principal in rural Appalachia for two years. She would go on to write her first novel in 1936, drawing on her experiences in the region. Future works would carry story tones of moving and fraught lives which would strike cords with Appalachian readers.

Hunter's Horn, The Dollmaker, The Weedkiller's Daughter.

Pinckney Benedict is a short-story writer, playwright, and novelist. He was born in Greenbriar County, West Virginia. His work is strongly influenced by his Appalachian background. His first novel, Dogs of God, was published in 1995 and he has gone on to publish three short story collections.

Dogs of God, Town Smokes, Wrecking Yard.

Harry M. Caudill was born in Whitesburg, Kentucky. Caudill was a World War 2 veteran critical of the approaches taken in Appalachian mining. He was also critical of the power wielded by northeastern investors in these mines. In his later years he became a eugenicist, believing William Shockley's theory of dysgenics (the idea that "unintelligent" people weaken a race over time). He published multiple books concerning law and his home area of the Cumberlands Plateau.

Night Comes to the Cumberlands, The Watches of The Night, A Darkness at Dawn.

Wilma Dykeman grew up in Buncombe County, North Carolina. She married her husband, James R. Stokely Jr, two months after meeting him. This occurred shortly after her graduation from Northwestern University. She authored multiple novels and family epics, tracing decisions through time. The Wilma Dykeman Award exists to promote writers discussing connection, Appalachia, and religion. Urban News provides support for writers of color.

The Tall Woman, The Far Family, Return the Innocent Earth.

Denise Giardina was born in Bluefield, West Virginia. She grew up in the Black Wolf coal mining camp located in McDowell County. Her family's survival was heavily dependent on the mine's prosperity. Politically active and frequently writing about Appalachian labor conflicts, she experienced clashes with the superiors of an Episcopalian she attempted to lead in West Virginia over her labor views.

Storming Heaven, The Unquiet Earth.

Homer Hadley Hickam Jr was born in Coalwood, West Virginia. He is a Vietnam War veteran, author, and former NASA engineer. His 1998 memoir Rocket Boys was the basis for the 1999 movie October Sky. He has a diverse body of work. His Coalwood series is about Appalachia and consists of memoirs about his hometown.

Rocket Boys, The Coalwood Way, Sky of Stone.

Silas House was born in Corbin, Kentucky, and grew up in nearby Laurel County. He also spent much of his childhood in Leslie County. He is one of the most prominent voices of LGBTQ+ Appalachians and Southerners in Southern literature.

Clay's Quilt, A Parchment of Leaves, The Coal Tattoo.

Sharryn McCrumb is a Southern writer. Born in Wilmington, North Carolina, she is best known for her Appalachian Ballad series, which weaves folklore in with historical events.

If I Ever Return, Pretty Peggy-O, The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter, She Walks These Hills.

Mary Noailles Murfree was born near Murfreesboro, Tennessee on a cotton plantation. She is considered to be Appalachia's first significant female writer. Her work does reinforce negative stereotypes of the region and the influence of her social standing on her work is notable. She wrote under the pen name Charles Egbert Craddock.

The Windfall, In the Tennessee Mountains, In the Clouds.

Karl Dewey Myers was born in Tucker County, West Virginia. He was physically disabled, never walked, and required a special typewriter to write. He was denied formal education, resulting in him being self-taught. His first poetry collection was The Quick Years, analysis of which exists in literary journals.

The Quick Years. Little is written about his second poetry collection, Cross and Crown, published shortly before his death in 1951.

Breece D'J Pancake was a short-story writer born in Milton, West Virginia. The location is the inspiration for his multiple short stories, published in The Atlantic Monthly and other periodicals during his lifetime. He passed due to suicide at age 26. Chuck Palahniuk claims him as an influence.

Stories of Breece D'J Pancake (collected short stories), Trilobites, Time and Again.

Ann Pancake was born in Richmond, Virginia. Her family has strong roots in West Virginia and Appalachia. She grew up in Summersville, West Virginia. Her family includes filmmaker Chet Pancake and actor Sam Pancake. She is a distant relative of the writer Breece Pancake. Writing stories centering rural poverty and the historical roots of poverty in general. She teaches Appalachian fiction and environmental criticism. She recently resigned from West Virginia University in protest of budget cuts.

Strange as This Weather Has Been, Me and My Daddy Listen to Bob Marley (short stories and novellas), Given Ground.

Carter Sickels grew up in Ohio and, as an adult, moved around to various cities. His work captures a homesickness for the place one grew up while balancing any complicated feelings one may have about the area. An interview on the subject by Megan Kruse can be found here.

The Evening Hour, The Prettiest Star.

Hubert Skidmore was a writer born Webster Springs, West Virginia, his twin brother Hobert Skidmore was also a novelist. He is best known for his social protest novel Hawk's Nest. He died in a house fire in 1946.

A list of his other books can be found here.

Crystal Wilkinson was born in Hamilton, Ohio. She is a member of the Affrilachia collective. With experience in media and public relations, her transition to poet and professor of creative writing was smooth. She is the first Black woman to be Kentucky's Poet Laureate, a position she was appointed to in 2021.

Praisesong for Kitchen Ghosts, Blackberries, Blackberries (poetry collection), The Birds of Opulence.

Jim Webb was born in Jenkins, Kentucky, he was an Appalachian poet, writer, and essayist. He was a founding member of the Southern Appalachian Writers Cooperative. Transcriptions of the interviews with founding members can be found here. He spent three decades managing the radio show, "Ridin' Around Listenin' to the Radio With Wiley Quixote", a literary persona he created of a mountain character critical of strip-mining for coal and used self-deprecating humor. Much of his literary output has been destroyed due to three house fires.

Radio component of Appalashop.

SPECIAL FEATURE — CHILDREN'S LIT

Rebecca Caudill was born in Cumberland, Kentucky. She graduated from Wesleyan College in Georgia and received a degree in international relations from Vanderblit University. Her stories about Appalachia are filled with warmth and focused on the pioneer era of the 19th and 20th centuries. She loved the culture of Appalachia.

A list of her books is available here.

Cynthia Rylant was born in Hopewell, West Virginia. She was sent to live with her maternal grandparents in Coal Ridge, West Virgina after her parents divorced. She eventually moved back in with her mother in Beaver, West Virginia. After university, she worked as a librarian and became acquainted with children's books, something absent in her own childhood. She has written dozens of books for children and young readers.

A list of her books is available here.

[tni-holo]

ミューリ～ Halloween | BlacKrow https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?illust_id=65707783&mode=medium

[lilium-dragomir]

[hatsumishinogu]

Wolf on the Parchment - New Theory Spice and Wolf Vol.2

[huck-west]

The moon was full.. and while I felt the pull.. felt the need.. the urge.. I could resist it. After Sel changed me I’ve been unable to turn as I once did, giving myself to Palemane and drifting off into sweet oblivion while he prowled and hunted. Tonight was like any other night, skirting my duties to the Sunshields while one of my reflections handles the boring paperwork. I could check in on him from time to time, making sure the right papers were signed, stamped or sealed, and read whatever required my attention. I’d just had him order another cup of coffee when I heard Astrid and Varsen over the comm-rings. Curiosity piqued, little did I know that my suspicions about the shieldmaiden would be revealed. I had my reflection gather every piece of parchment around him, busying himself with re-reading it all so he looked busy when the staff came in as I blinked through time and space to appear behind Varsen. The knight shouted at me, I let it slide, I was more interested in the scene playing out before me rather than put the knight in his place. He had every right to worried for my safety, he had no idea what I was, that there was very little that could match me these days and a screaming woman in pain was hardly a threat. But.. there was more going on than I realized.. and I was about to be in for the greatest surprise I could ever ask for..

She was.. a worgen? No.. something else.. the magic was different.. older.. Her bones started breaking and shifting, muscle and sinew, tendons and flesh, mending and forming to fit the shape her body was desperate to be. I was frozen.. not in fear but in amazement. Varsen kept trying to get me to leave but now that I had witnessed this much.. how could he deny me the whole show? It wasn’t long before a massive wolf stood in her place. But then something new happened.. instinct I’d not expected kicked in while Varsen stood between me and the wolfen Astrid, perhaps what I am now saw this side of her as an enemy. The instinct told me to kill, to eradicate and dominate, to purge her from territory it felt was its own. I’d always wondered why I had this deep seeded feeling of dislike towards the woman, and it could well be why she too felt it as well. Or then again I am a difficult man to deal with.

I quickly hid the changes my body forced to the surface, just barely before Varsen looked my way as an idea struck me. I wondered if I could take her.. or if we’d be evenly matched.. I’d not found an equal since the change and was suddenly eager to test this theory. Even if she turned out to be no match for me.. the added assistance of Skadi and perhaps even Varsen, if he took her side.. might make it a real challenge. This consumed me and now nothing else mattered.. so I taunted her.. I challenged her.. but sadly the denmother stood in her way each time. Varsen thought me a fool, probably a madman, but I didn’t care.. I wanted a fight, damnit. 

Eventually the denmother snapped her neck and I was.. disappointed. I’d have to give this a try another time.. perhaps offer her a sort of truce by combat, let her really let it all out, and if she’s at least close to my equal.. hell.. I’d enjoy having a sparring partner I wasn’t worried I’d kill with a single blow, it’d be nice not to hold back for once. As I was about to leave though.. Skadi said something that caught my attention.. they called me Loken.. interesting.. that was their nickname for me, perhaps shared in private until the denmother outed them. Bit on the nose really but.. what can you expect from these northerners.. originality isn’t exactly their strong suit when everything is some will of their gods.

Questions might be brought up.. but I covered my tracks well enough.. and I doubted they’d go to Rose, neither of them seems the tattling type.. more hands on in their approach. Plus.. I didn’t kill anyone.. I just annoyed the shit out of them.

@theborderlandcoalition​

@eldrylva​

@ataleofvalor​

[patandpran]

The Nuisance and the Handsome Prince - A Sarawatine Medieval AU - Chapter 2

Tine is an aspiring Squire who has been training his whole life to work alongside the Kingdom's finest Knights. Sarawat is a Prince who, on the outside, seems fierce and unapproachable. He is disinterested in any of his royal duties, namely his Knight training.

What happens when Tine is assigned to be the fierce and handsome prince's Squire?

Aka The Medieval AU that I can't get out of my head.

Read on Archiveofourown here, Read the prequel by the lovely @sarawatism here

His new living quarters were nicer than any room he had ever set foot in and yet, Tine was still quite disappointed by the current arrangement. He ran his hands along the fine wood that made up his bed frame and flopped down onto the downy comfort of his new bed. He had been shocked when the king announced that he would be Prince Sarawat’s Squire and the reality of how quickly his life had changed had not quite yet sunk in.

Tine’s stomach grumbled and he was sure it was due to the fact that he was so uncomfortable about having to face the prince at some point in the near future. Sarawat was widely known to be cold and closed off and even though Tine had seen a hint of a different side of Sarawat during a brief interaction a decade ago, he was wondering if any of that version of the Prince existed anymore. Based on the way that Sarawat had turned his nose up during the Squire Trials, Tine doubted that any kindness remained in the Prince’s personality.

The room had a hearth where a low fire was flickering down to its embers. Tine shivered slightly but figured it was more due to the nerves he was experiencing than the lack of heat. He was used to being somewhat cold as there had been points where his fathers business had not done as well and they had been forced to live through winters without firewood. His family had been forced to sleep crowd together at night to stay warm and, looking back, it was some of the happiest times he remembered ever experiencing in his eighteen years.

Even though he had only technically been away from his family for the course of a single day, Tine was aching to see them. His mother no doubt had prepared a celebratory stew for Tine’s arrival home, no matter what the results of his first Squires trail had turned out to be. His family would have been proud no matter what, even if he had returned home without a position. A letter had likely been sent to his parents and Ohm’s father had hopefully passed only the news of Tine’s appointment as Prince Sarawat’s Squire.

In theory, Tine should be full to brim with pride but the conflicting feelings he was experiencing based on his own upbringing to always question authority, his past encounter with the Prince and his own driving reason to join the Squireship in the first place all burned within him, pulling Tine in different directions. He hoped that his family would not worry about him too much but he sensed that their dinner would be held in a worried silence instead of having a celebratory air.

Tine was not sure when he was going to see them again but he expected it would be at least a fortnight before he could get even a moment of free time. He had yet to receive a notice with the training schedule for the coming weeks but he was quite sure there would not be a free moment to even catch his breath. This was what he wanted but now his dream was somewhat tainted by the specific position that he had been given and what happened in his past.

The reminder of his father’s past weighed on him and the abuse that he had endured to produce a sword for the Head Knight. Tine was instantly thankful that he had brought the sword that his father had forged for him to the Trials that day as it was his sole reminder of his family. His other personal possessions, as few as they were, would likely been delivered in the coming days so he was happy to have the reminder of home and his duty that he would be able to carry with him everywhere.

A tentative knock sounded on the thick door that pulled Tine from his thoughts. He immediately crossed the room and quickly pulled opened it. A shy looking court servant with a short haircut stood holding a tray with a folded piece of parchment with a dark red wax seal pressing it closed and a bowl of steaming broth. The seal looked fresh so the message must have been recently written and made Tine excited to read the events that would be unfolding in the next few days.

“May I come in, Squire Tine?” The servant asked and Tine opened the door wider to allow him to enter the room.

The title was foreign but made Tine swell slightly with pride. The servant placed the silver tray down onto the table beside the bed, bowed to Tine curtly and began to make his way out of the room before Tine objected, “Please, you don’t have to bow to me. I’m not higher than you in rank and even if I was, you don’t need to do that.”

The servant froze and his eyes widened in surprise at Tine’s words. Tine knew he probably should not have been so bold but he quickly walked closer to the servant and asked, “I’m sorry. I just figure that we are going to be seeing a lot of each other and we might as well operate as equals… What is your name?”

Tine was not going to give up his morals just because he was working under the roof of those his father always questioned in quiet. While Tine had not intended to land within the castle walls, it just meant he was one step closer to his goal of avenging his father.

“Fong.” The servant still looked slightly terrified but seemed to be somewhat more comfortable with Tine. “We will never be equals but thank you for extending such a kindness toward me. We will see each other many times a day so I suppose it is appropriate for us to become familiar but I should not keep you any longer.”

Tine instantly noticed just how skinny Fong was and noticed that the portion of stew he had been given would be more than enough to fill his stomach. While he was eager to read the letter, he should take advantage of Fong’s company and share his meal with his only current ally inside the castle walls.

“You’re going to share this meal with me.” Tine declared and transferred the silver tray to the stone floor. He knew that Fong wouldn’t dare to deny an order by someone who technically had a higher rank than him and he saw a flash of gratefulness in his new friend’s eyes.

“I don’t know if I should…” Fong mumbled but defied his words by sitting down across from Tine. “But if you insist!”

Tine’s eyes lit up, happy to have some company to share his first meal in his new home and to already be making a connection with another member of the Royal staff. It also could be a valuable friendship to have considering Fong probably had quite a bit of knowledge about the inner workings of the castle and familiarity with the royal family. Tine and Fong broke bread and began to share their first meal together.

A few bites in, Tine cleared his throat and decided he was going to start his research with a question about his new employer. “Can you tell me anything about Prince Sarawat that I should know considering I am going to be working so closely with his Highness?” Fong choked slightly and a look of reluctance passed over his face before he composed himself. The look was more than enough information for Tine to begin to form his current opinion on the Prince even if Fong did not choose to give him any other response.

And yet, after a few moments Fong did answer. “Prince Sarawat is quite private and always has been. He has few members of the court that he chooses to interact with but the ones that he allows closer never leave his side. Sir Man and Sir Boss are constantly flanking him and Prince Phukong worships the ground that his elder brother walks on, despite Prince Sarawat’s cold demeanour. The King and Queen have tried relentlessly to encourage the Prince to interact with others but his indifference is quite apparent. Many ladies of the court have tried to crack his difficult outer shell but none have succeeded thus far aside from Lady Earn but there is nothing romantic between them. He seems to regard her as a sister. The most bizarre relationship he has is with Lord Mil, the son of the Head Knight. They seem to be amicable enough but their fathers have them in constant competition with one another so their friendship has always seemed quite strained…”

It turned out that Fong was a bit of a gossip than Tine had expected and Tine couldn’t have been happier about which servant had been assigned to him. Fong looked up at Tine and a look of horror passed over his face. “I fear that I have spoken too candidly.”

“No, Fong, thank you.” Tine answered with a grin on his face. “Please know that nothing that has passed through your lips will be shared beyond these walls… I sense that the two of us are going to be great friends.”

Fong relaxed instantly and took one last spoonful of stew before bouncing up to his feet. “I am sorry to leave you so quickly but I must return to my duties but I agree. It is so refreshing to have someone show me some kindness within the castle. Most of the lords and ladies just ignore me so… thank you.”

Tine nodded before Fong dashed off to get back to his work which left Tine alone with the mysterious letter on the silver tray. The wax seal had dried more completely and when Tine picked it up for a closer study, he noticed that the seal had an insignia of a wolf upon it. He turned the parchment over and over in his hands contemplating the contents before dragging his thumb along the centre to open it.

Inside was a message scrawled in messy scripture:

Meet me in the East Tower at Midnight.

There was no signature at the bottom of the message and Tine’s heart raced with the anonymity of the letter. He wondered if it was some sort of trick to see if he would be loyal to the crown and he suddenly became suspicious of the sender’s intentions. It also could be some kind of initiation process instated by the Head Knight which lit a small flame of rage inside of Tine.

It flickered just enough to motivate Tine to jump to his feet. He looked out the window to see that night had fallen and decided he would make his way to the tower to discover the meaning behind the mystery message. At such a late hour, the halls of the castle were quiet and Tine was quite an expert at slinking around soundlessly.

While Tine did not the exact layout of the castle, he had always had a strong sense of direction and was familiar enough with how the castle looked from the outside to be able to locate the East tower without much trouble. He was not sure if it was quite midnight but he found a staircase with a Wolf insignia that matched the image from the seal of his letter which assured him that he had arrived at his destination.

The stairwell was shadowed but Tine had never been one to shy away from the dark. The thing that made him nervous was the fact that he had no idea what he was about to walk into. It was quite quiet in the stairwell as he ascended but an ambush could be waiting at the top of the stairs so he made sure to put a readied hand on the hilt of his sword.

At the top of the stairs there was a beautiful door made out of thick oak wood with a carving of a fierce looking wolf. The image startled Tine slightly but he forced himself to regain his composure as he lifted his had to knock on the door. Before he could lay a hand upon the knocker, the door creaked open.

Tine shivered slightly before taking a deep breath. No matter what he was about to walk into, he was not going to let whatever he was going to face get the better of him. He had displayed his skills as a fighter and a problem solver during the Trials earlier that day so he knew he could handle whatever was beyond the door.

He walked into a room that was lit dimly with candles and heard a haunting melody playing on what sounded like a lute. Tine looked around the room and quickly took in his surroundings. The space appeared to be a study of some sort and as Tine entered the room, the music suddenly stopped.

“I wasn’t sure you if you received my message.” A voice sounded from behind a tall chair which made Tine freeze.

The voice was familiar but Tine could not quite place it. A shadow played along the stone wall of the tower as the speaker rose to his feet, placing the instrument on the chair that they had just risen from. Tine watched and squinted to try to decipher who the figure was.

“I apologize for my tardiness.” Tine responded, unsure of how proper he needed to keep his delivery as he still could not tell who his host was. He decided to be a bit bold and continued, “Do you usually sit alone in the darkness and brood while playing music?”

“You don’t appreciate the decor of the East tower? I will try not to take offence considering I was the one who made the design choices.” The voice continued, a hint of amusement in the tone, and the figure it belonged to slowly made its way into the light.

Tine instantly regretted his words when he saw who was standing in front of him with a smirk on his lips: Prince Sarawat.

[marymacd]

IF YOU TOUCH ME, I WON’T BE STILL.

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒍, 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒕 𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒌, 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒆 𝒎𝒆. 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒑𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒍.” - Allison Argent, Teen Wolf

“𝑰 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑰 𝒂𝒎, 𝑰 𝒂𝒎, 𝑰 𝒂𝒎.” - Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

“𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒘𝒉𝒆�� 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔.” - Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

“𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕.” - Eleanor Roosevelt, This Is My Story

"𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖? 𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖? 𝑻𝒐𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆. 𝑻𝒐𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆." - Marina Tsvetaeva, Bride of Ice: New Selected Poems

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Mary Anne Macdonald NICKNAMES: Mare, Mac (rarely, prefers Mary) AGE: 20 BIRTHDAY: June 12th, 1959 GENDER: Cis female PRONOUNS: She/her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Lisa Macdonald (47), muggle nurse FATHER: Anthony Macdonald (49), muggle firefighter SIBLINGS: None

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Diana Silvers BUILD: Average height and noticeably thin. HAIR: Hangs down below her shoulders. Naturally wavy and usually with a little frizz, she doesn’t do much to it other than wash it every couple of days. Usually worn out, tends to only pulls it back when she’s doing physical activity. HAIR COLOR: Dark brown, was lighter in her youth. EYE COLOR: Light brown, with flecks of green. SKIN COLOR: Fair. DOMINANT HAND: Left, though somewhat proficient at using both.  ANOMALIES: A jagged scar on the bottom of her right foot, acquired when she was nine and stood on shattered glass barefoot. Faint scars on one of her thighs. Freckles on her shoulders and her nose, particularly noticeable during summer. A small birthmark on her lower back. SCENT: Coconut, from the shampoo she uses. Old parchment when she comes home from work. Mint, from the gum she chews. ACCENT: East Coast Irish (Dublin). ALLERGIES: None. DISORDERS: Generalised anxiety & panic disorder. Since her attack, Mary has suffered from regular panic attacks. Though they have become more infrequent as the years have gone on, she still has them on occasion. She also experiences bouts of depression. FASHION: Whatever she finds comfortable. Loves oversized clothing. Sweaters all year round, button-up shirts and culottes.  NERVOUS TICS: Chews her lips, picks at her nails, and taps her feet. QUIRKS: Hums her favourite songs when she’s working. Talks to her cat as though it were a person. Always double-checks she locked the door. 

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Plainview Point Apartments. BORN: Tallaght Hospital, Tallaght, Ireland. RAISED: Tallaght, Ireland. PETS: Childhood dog, Sonny. Currently owns a cat, Clyde, and has since she started Hogwarts. He’s a ginger cat, and quite temperamental, by Mary’s own admission.

CAREER: Junior Administrator at the Wizengamot. EXPERIENCE: Has been working in her current position for over a year and a half.  EMPLOYER: The Ministry of Magic (Wizengamot).

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Aligned with the Order of the Phoenix. BELIEFS: Her father is Jewish, and her mother Roman Catholic, so Mary was raised with a mix of beliefs. Now, she considers herself agnostic, though mildly spiritual.  MISDEMEANORS: None. FELONIES: None. DRUGS: None. SMOKES: No. ALCOHOL: Socially, preferred drink is an Irish Cream. DIET: Vegetarian. Mostly just eats whatever is left in her fridge when she gets home. If she can cobble together an entire meal, that’s a bonus.

LANGUAGES: English, some Hebrew.

PHOBIAS: Feeling helpless and out of control. The deaths of those closest to her. Being alone in the dark. HOBBIES: Reading, quidditch (formerly), football (formerly), knitting. TRAITS: { + }: intelligent, courageous, discreet, humorous, sensitive, stoic. { - }: tense, argumentative, cynical, reticent, self-righteous, diffident. 

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Her parents’ house in Tallaght. It’s the only place that still feels like home to her.  SPORTS TEAM: Shamrock Rovers (football), Holyhead Harpies (quidditch). GAME: Monopoly. MUSIC: David Bowie, Elton John, The Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac. She owns a cassette player, gifted to her by her father. Every few months, he sends her a new mix tape to listen to, so she ‘can stay up to date on muggle music’ -- Mary listens to every one, and shares her taste in music with her father. MOVIES: Star Wars, Close Encounters of the Third Kind. FOOD: Chocolate frogs, pesto fettuccine.  BEVERAGE: Butterbeer. COLOR: Crimson red.

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Gryffindor. WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 11″ hazel wood with unicorn hair core, inflexible. AMORTENTIA: Freshly baked pastries, drying paint, and lavender.  PATRONUS: A wild rabbit. BOGGART: Malcolm Mulciber.

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful neutral MBTI: INTP MBTI ROLE: The Logician. The Logician personality type is fairly rare, making up only three percent of the population, which is definitely a good thing for them, as there’s nothing they’d be more unhappy about than being “common”. Logicians pride themselves on their inventiveness and creativity, their unique perspective and vigorous intellect. Usually known as the philosopher, the architect, or the dreamy professor, Logicians have been responsible for many scientific discoveries throughout history. ENNEAGRAM: Type Six. ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Loyalist. The committed, security-oriented type. Sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent "troubleshooters," they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it. They can be cautious and indecisive, but also reactive, defiant and rebellious. They typically have problems with self-doubt and suspicion. At their Best: internally stable and self-reliant, courageously championing themselves and others. TEMPERAMENT: Melancholic. A melancholic personality leads to self-reliant individuals who are thoughtful, reserved, and often anxious. They often strive for perfection within themselves and their surroundings, which leads to tidy and detail oriented behaviour. WESTERN ZODIAC: Gemini. Adaptable, versatile, communicative, witty, intellectual, eloquent, youthful, lively, nervous, tense, superficial, inconsistent, cunning, and inquisitive. CHINESE ZODIAC: Year of the Pig.  Pigs are diligent, compassionate, and generous. They have great concentration: once they set a goal, they will devote all their energy to achieving it. Though Pigs rarely seek help from others, they will not refuse to give others a hand. Pigs never suspect trickery, so they are easily fooled. PRIMAL SIGN: Cricket. Crickets are intellectuals who like to explore and experiment with new ideas and theories. Unlike similarly intellectual signs, like the Seal, members of this sign are very polite in social situations and like nothing more than getting into a theoretical discussion about something scientific or otherwise cerebral. For this reason, this sign is often that of self-proclaimed “nerds”, but most Crickets are simply too likeable for such a derisive label. TAROT CARD: The Devil, The Lovers. TV TROPES: broken bird badass bookworm mage born of muggles deadpan snarker vengeance denied

SONGS: 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒚, 𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒍 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 But if you touch me I'll lash out. Don't fuck with me. If I must, you know I will. I'm not your prey, I'm not your kill.

𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒆𝒚 'Cause I don't need anyone I don't need anyone I just need everyone and then some

𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒔, 𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆 This dream isn't feeling sweet We're reeling through the midnight streets And I've never felt more alone It feels so scary, getting old

𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔, 𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒌𝒊 One morning this sadness will fossilize And I will forget how to cry I'll keep going to work and you won't see a change Save perhaps a slight gray in my eye

𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒔 Don't get too close It's dark inside It's where my demons hide

IDEOLOGIES:

Just because someone speaks the loudest, doesn’t meant they’re right.

White chocolate isn’t really chocolate.

Sometimes, it’s okay to take justice into your own hands.

Pineapple absolutely does not belong on pizza.

You can’t take care of others if you are unable to take care of yourself first.

Trust must be earned, and second chances shouldn’t be given out easily.

Everybody has a sense of humour, it just might not be the same as your own.

[lilium-dragomir]

[sailorshadzter]

lets pretend this isnt riddled with mistakes (i REALLY forgot that the mountain was raised back from the dead??? can he still talk??? idk. he does here lmao and then never comes back because yeah, zombie guy stuff came up) 

basically this is a oneshot full of things i think will happen in season 8. i think a kidnapping plot is very plausible and i think the best time it will happen would be when the north sets out to fight against the night king.  but, as you read, you’ll see how i think cersei’s fate will play out by the end of the series. 

im not convinced daenerys would stand by and let jon live, considering his birthright, but i didnt want this story to be even longer by including a fight between them for the iron throne.  i read a theory about her dying in the fight against the night king & honestly that sounds right to me- but id already written the first half of this and was not about to go back and rewrite lmao. eventually i AM going to write that out though so be on the look out for that!

anyways hi 

here it is

im sorry if it sucks lol

You have to stay here.

He'd said those words over and over to her as he nearly dragged her down to the crypts beneath Winterfell, Ghost trotting after them, you'll be safest down here, he'd gone on, his dark eyes never leaving hers. Promise me you'll come back, she'd gripped the front of his cloak, unable to stop herself from pleading with him. Promise me, Jon. He'd taken her into his arms then, crushing her against him and Sansa could do nothing but commit to memory the way it felt to have him hold her. He'd kissed her forehead and smiled, but he made no promises. How could he, after all?

And then she watched him go, a cold sense of dread settled into the pit of her stomach.

By now, hours had passed, or so she supposed they had; she'd lost track of the time down there, surrounded by ghosts. She had passed the time praying to the Old Gods and the New, though she'd once sworn off praying, for what God had listened to her before? She had asked for guidance from her mother, her father, and even from her Aunt Lyanna. Sansa could only hope someone out there heard her. Reaching out a hand, she ran it along Ghost's back, watching with curiosity as the wolf suddenly sat upright. "What is it?" She spoke, her voice soft, her eyes following the wolf's line of sight. He'd settled his red-eyed gaze upon the door down the hall, the one which Jon had disappeared through some hours ago.

That was when she noticed it, the movement of the door as someone began to push it open. Her heart lept into her throat, her stomach churning as she rose up from where she sat on the ground. At her feet, Ghost had risen up as well, a low growl escaping his jaws as he took a few steps forward. Had they won already? Was the battle with the Night King truly over? Was this Jon returning to her? Or worse... Was it someone else come to fetch her, to take her to Jon's mangled body brought back to Winterfell? The door swung open then and Sansa felt her breath catch in her throat as a mountain of a man appeared in the doorway. "No..." She whispered as the man stepped into the corridor, his face hidden by a helmet, his white cloak a sign of who had sent him. Ghost was openly growling now, snapping his jaws in a warning to the man coming towards them. "Down, Ghost." Sansa spoke quietly, reaching down to tenderly rub the wolf's head, calming him. She'd never forgive herself if the Mountain killed Ghost and so she stepped in front of the wolf, holding her head high as the man approached her, no ounce of fear in her piercing blue eyes. "She's sent you then?"

Gregor Clegane did not recognize this young woman, this Lady of Winterfell. She was quite unlike the little girl that had once lived in King's Landing so long ago. But those eyes of hers... Those he remembered. Those he would never forget. "Aye," he replied in his gruff voice, reaching for her, her arm so small beneath his grip surely he would break her. Little bird, was that not what his brother had called her? The wolf at her feet snapped his jaws but she hushed him and the wolf sat back, though it continued to growl. Surprisingly, she did not fight against him as he drug her back towards the door, perhaps because she felt the strength of his grip on her arm and knew she was no match. Perhaps she valued her life more than she had back in King's Landing. And so he took her back up into Winterfell, down the main corridor and out the double doors into the courtyard where a huge, black stallion waited for its master.

Things were beginning to make sense now. Sansa could see no trace of servants or the guards left behind by Jon for her own protection. Either they were dead or frightened into hiding. It was snowing like mad and she had no cloak, but the Mountain didn't seem to care if she froze to death before they reached King's Landing. "Up you go," he lifted her onto the horse, the tight grip of his hands on her waist surely bruising her soft skin beneath her layers of clothes. Climbing up onto the horse himself, he snapped the horse into a trot and then they were gone, out the open gates of Winterfell and down the long road towards King's Landing. Looking back over her shoulder, Sansa felt a chill race down her spine that wasn't from the cold. It was Jon she thought of then, of his deep set, dark brown eyes, wishing with all of her might that he was there then. Please Jon, she thought as she was swiftly taken from her home, please be safe.

If nothing else, even if she got to King's Landing and Cersei took her head, she just wanted him to be alive.

[ x x x ]

All he could think of was her.

He rushed from the battlefield back towards Winterfell, back to where she was. Jon still could barely believe they'd won- he hadn't anticipated it, truthfully- but they had and now he had to see her. He had to hold her. He had to tell her just how he felt. But as he and a few of the survivors approached the gates, he felt it... A cold sense of dread that filled him whole, nearly snatching the breath from his lungs. "Jon?" It was Arya coming up beside him, her dark eyes meeting his, her features taut with worry. Could she feel it too? "Where are the guards?" Jon snapped his gaze from her face to the guard towers on either side of the open gate, realizing only then that there was no one within them. Sansa! He broke off at a run then, leaving Arya and the others behind, uncaring of the pain his battered body felt with every step that he took.

Down to the crypts he rushed, his mind whirling with hundreds of thoughts, but every one of them had to do with her. "Sansa!" He shouted as he nearly broke down the door to get into the passage, stumbling over the crumbling rock that once were a solid set of stairs. To his horror, she did not reply, but rather he heard the soft whining of Ghost. His wolf was pacing back and forth before the statue of Ned Stark, as if this was where Sansa has once been standing. "Sansa..." He came to stand before Ghost, who as soon as he'd noticed him, rushed towards Jon's side, his whining increasing. "It's okay boy," he murmured as he knelt down to put a hand to his ears, rubbing the soft head. "Where is she, Ghost? Where's Sansa?"

"Jon?"

He turned to look over his shoulder at the sound of Arya's voice, noticing only then that her face was bruised and pale. "There's a note." He stood up, his head swimming, and he reached out a hand to touch the wall, steadying himself. Arya approached, her worry evident as she extended out a rolled up parchment, already unsealed. He didn't have to ask her who it was from, for something told Jon he already knew. Unrolling it, Jon felt his heart skip a beat, felt his stomach sink as the unfamiliar handwriting began to blur. Damn her, he thought as he began to fall, damn that Cersei Lannister.

And then... Everything went black.

[ x x x ]

As the peaks of King's Landing came into view, Sansa knew she was in trouble.

Though she knew Cersei would not kill her outright, how could she after all? But coming back to this place... Here in King's Landing she had suffered so very much. Cersei would not make it easy on her. It would not be as it had once been. And worse yet, for all she knew Cersei would still yet blame her for the death of Joffrey, that alone could be her undoing. Sansa felt a chill race down her spine and she shivered from it, though the Mountain must have thought it was from the cold for he reminded her that they were almost there. Sansa could not help but to laugh-the cold had not bothered her for a long time now. She wished she could still yet feel the biting cold sting against her flesh, but that feeling had disappeared a long time ago.

Riding down the main road towards the Red Keep, Sansa noticed the city was quiet. It was early morning, so very early the sun had not yet even begun to rise. "Cover yourself girl," the Mountain suddenly spoke, draping what must have been his cloak over her hair, hiding her identity from prying eyes. No one could know Ned Stark's daughter, the now Lady of Winterfell, no, the Queen in the North, had been brought back to King's Landing. Drawing the cloak closer to herself, Sansa kept her eyes ahead, knowing everything was about to change.

Again, Jon came to her thoughts and so fiercely did she miss him that it brought tears to her eyes. Was he alright? What of Arya, of Brienne? Even Ser Davos whom she'd begun to establish a close relationship with. Those left in this world that she loved... Were they safe? Had the battle yet been won? And even Daenerys, what of her and her precious dragons? Had they made it through the battle unscathed? Or had they all fallen beneath the Night King's sword... Would there be no one to come and save her? No, she reminded herself, she would have to get herself out of this mess. Somehow.

It was then that they rode through the main gate and as the Mountain came to a stop, it was then that Sansa saw her standing there. Her blonde hair was cropped short, but her gown was as fashionable as ever, with long sleeves and a overlay of silk that draped across her front. Sansa felt her breath catch, but she made no movement even as the man behind her dismounted from his horse. "Get moving girl," the tight grip of his hands on her waist brought her back to the present, and Sansa staggered as her feet hit the ground for the first time in hours. He pushed her towards where Cersei stood in the doorway, paying no mind to how she stumbled over her own feet, clearly exhausted from the hours upon hours of riding. "My queen," he greeted as they approached, tugging the cloak he'd given her away, revealing her face to the woman. "I've brought you Sansa Stark."

Cersei's rosy lips curled with a haunted smile before she tilted her head, inspecting the young, beautiful woman before her. Even after hours of riding, of no sleep and no food, she was lovely. She had grown from a frightened young girl into a beautiful woman. Cersei could not stop the twinge of jealousy, could not help but to recall the old woman's prophecy of the younger, more beautiful queen who would take her place. She had once thought it would be this Daernerys Targaryen who had sailed across the Narrow Sea to reach Westeros, but now... Could it be the girl standing before her? "Hello, little dove." The use of her old pet name did not offer Sansa any comfort, but rather a cold dread settled into the pit of her stomach. But she held her head high and returned the smile that was offered to her.

She had survived Cersei Lannister and King's Landing once before and so she would do it again.

[ x x x ]

When he woke, his first thought was of her.

Forcing himself up from the bed, Jon grimaced, his wounds from the battle painful as they began to heal. "Jon." It was Daenerys seated beside his bed, to his shock, and he could not help but to feel disappointed. It should have been her... It should have been Sansa. "You shouldn't move yet." She went on, reaching out with her soft, gentle hands to push him back onto his pillow. "You'll only do more harm to yourself." He shrugged off her hands then, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rising up without a single word. Daenerys sat back in the chair, looking at him with those violet eyes of hers, not a single strand of silver hair out of place on her head. "Jon..." She watched him as he pulled on the nearest shirt, one that Sansa herself had sewn for him before his departure for Dragonstone. Seeing her precise little stitches nearly broke him and he sank back onto his bed, hands covering his face as he fought to regain himself.

"I have to go to King's Landing." He finally said without preamble, lowering his hands to look across at Daenerys. For a moment her typically passive face faltered, disappointment skirting across her features. But then she regained herself, simply nodding as she watched him get back onto his feet. "How long have I been out?" He asked as he reached for the rest of his clothing, the fur trimmed cloak Sansa had made for him now draped over his arm. Daenerys had stood up as well, her violet eyes dark as they met his. Two days, her words haunted him as he shook his head, tugging his cloak on and making to push past her. "Move, your grace," he spoke with a venom he'd not felt before, his only thoughts of the girl he'd let down. Once again, Sansa was in the hands of the enemy, once again he'd failed to protect her.

Daenerys could not stop the jealousy that lept into her thoughts, darkening her heart. She had thought Jon was her's... Had thought that after all they'd been through already, he would stand beside her no matter what. It was true, his father had been her own brother, but did that truly matter in the end? "You intend to go after her? Cersei Lannister will have you murdered before you can reach her. You would give your life for her so easily?" Jon's face twisted with anger and at once she regretted her words, but there was no taking them back now.  Jon stepped close to her then, his brown eyes never once straying from hers, a look in them she had never seen before.

"I would give my life for hers without hesitation." His hands curled into fists at his sides before he shook his head, the anger fleeing, knowing this woman could never understand how he felt about Sansa. No one could. "You want the Iron Throne, it is yours. I have no mind to take it." He finally said the words he'd been meaning to say since the day of his true heritage had been revealed. "I just want her." And then, without waiting for dismissal from the dragon queen, he was gone, nearly sprinting from the room in his haste to gather all he would need to get to King's Landing.

He would save Sansa if it was the last thing he did.

[ x x x ]

It was not the dungeons for her, as she'd expected.

In truth, the rooms Cersei had housed her in were rooms far beyond her station. Sansa noted the silk sheets and chiffon canopy, the gilded furnitature, and the spacious chambers. These had once been Myrcella's chambers. It was as if Cersei had refused to make a single change to the rooms her daughter had once occupied. Sansa had heard the news of her death, brought along to the North by word of mouth and she had felt remorse for the princess. Had they not once been something like friends? In truth, Sansa felt remorse for any innocent life claimed in this game, in this war for the Iron Throne. She wondered if Cersei thought it worth it... The life of her children for this clunky, ugly chair.

A knock on the door and then it opened, a handmaiden coming in with a fresh gown, another following after with water for her to wash. It was her second morning in King's Landing and she'd still yet to see Cersei and that... That was troublesome. But by the looks of the gown brought to her, the queen intended to take an audience with her this very day. And so Sansa allowed herself to be dressed by the maidens, though she did not wash with the water given to her- she would not risk it being tainted with poison.

It was a little later that the summons came- she was seated in the window, looking out across the courtyard of the Red Keep when there came another knock upon her chamber door. It was two of the queen's guard there at her door, their white cloaks a stark contrast to the dark looks upon their faces. "The queen wishes to speak to you, my lady." One guard spoke and Sansa could not help but to smirk; this was not a request, it was a command. But she rose to her feet all the same, allowing the two guards to lead her down the still familiar corridors, not to the Great Hall but to Cersei's own chambers.

She found her seated behind her desk as always, her eyes finding her own the moment she entered the room. "Sit, little dove," Cersei spoke, gesturing for Sansa to take the seat before the desk. "It has been a long time." Sansa did not reply as she took to the seat, her blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she took in the sight of the woman before her. Was that... The  curve of a belly she saw? Sansa knew it was true then, the rumors she had heard, that Cersei carried yet another child by her own twin. It won't live, the thought crossed her mind without warning, like a premonition of what was to come. Blinking, she forced a smile and held Cersei's gaze, though she still did not speak. Cersei leaned forward over the desk, hands spread across its surface, those green eyes of hers unwavering in their stare. "I should have had you murdered for what you did to my son." Her voice was dangerous and Sansa felt her stomach drop, her own hands clenching into fists on her lap. "But..." She trailed off then, leaning back in her chair, hands now pressed against the swell of her stomach. Within her she carried the solution to all of her problems- within her, she carried the heir that would follow her. There would be no Targaryen to rule after her. The child would be a girl, she was certain, the woman of prophecy that would take her place on the throne. It would not be Daenerys Targaryen nor would it be this Sansa Stark before her. "Perhaps an exchange of life can be arranged. Yours for the Targaryen queen's."

Sansa did not believe her, not for an instant. There would be no exchanging her life for the dragon queen's that much Sansa was certain of. If Cersei still yet blamed her for Joffrey's death, then she would die before anyone would come for her- if they even did. She still knew not the fate of the beloved family against the army of the dead. And she knew that if Jon and the others were dead... Then what was the use in life? Without Jon, without Arya... It just would never be the same. Jon... She thought of him as she always did, of his smile, of the gentle touch of his hand against hers... Just please be alright. "Perhaps, your grace," Sansa finally spoke, her smile slight as she tilted her head, red hair a waterfall. It made no sense to argue her case over Joffrey's death, she would never believe her. "Unless of course Daenerys Targaryen comes for you first." Without waiting for a response, without being bid to rise, Sansa got to her feet and turned her back to this queen, knowing she would never again pretend to serve her. Gone was the young girl this queen had commanded with fright and manipulation and in her place was this new woman, Sansa Stark of Winterfell. The likes of Cersei Lannister could not frighten her anymore.

[ x x x ]

He had been riding for hours.

Hours and hours and yet he felt as if he were no closer to Sansa than when he'd first set out. His body ached and his wounds were bleeding, but he could not yet stop. How could he stop when Sansa was within the enemy's hands? The others tried to get him to stop, Arya and Brienne, Davos and even Tormund, but stopping was not an option. Jon thought of nothing but her... It fueled him to keep on riding, to never stop pushing forward.

"Jon... Look." It was Arya's voice, pulling him from the depth of his own mind, and he glanced beside him to where she rode, hand extended out. Following her pointed finger, he swiveled his gaze and that was when he caught sight of it... The first glimpse of King's Landing. They were still yet far, but that single sight of the tallest peak was enough to give him the energy he needed to continue. "We'll get there in time, Jon." Arya spoke again, once again claiming his attention. Jon stiffened but then nodded, a small smile twitching on his lips. She was right, they would get there in plenty of time to save Sansa.

"It can't be more than a day of riding away," Brienne spoke up, her pale features marred by cuts and a deep set bruise to her left temple. She still yet could not forgive herself for straying from Sansa's side. Yet again, her lady was trapped with the enemy, perhaps suffering in ways she did not deserve. In Cersei's clutches... No, Brienne would not think of such a thing. They would get to her and save her without any harm coming to her. That was all she had to keep her going and so she would believe it until the very end.

"Aye." Jon spoke, glancing to his left at Tormund, who gave a single nod. "Let's make it less than that." He kicked his horse into a gallop and took off, the others taking off after him. Wait for me, Sansa... Jon thought of her smile then, the sweet way it tugged at her rosy lips when she probably didn't even realize it. He would never allow anyone to take that smile away from her, not when she only so recently gained it back. Jon had fought with everything in him to protect her and take back Winterfell, he had sold himself out to the dragon queen and lost the respect of nearly every Northern lord... But he would not lose Sansa.

[ x x x ]

Something was not right.

Sansa could feel it in her bones, that cold sense of dread that only came to her when something truly awful was about to happen. She recalled the first time she had felt it... When Lady had been sentenced to die. And then the next... When her father had so unjustly lost his head. The ripple of anxiety sent chills down her spine, goosebumps rising across the backs of her arms. It had been hours since she had walked free from Cersei's chamber and she was quite surprised that the queen had not sent for her once again. In fact, no one had come to her in quite some time.

Rising up from where she sat at the table, she tiptoed across the room to open her chamber door, even more surprised to find the guards once posted there were gone. Sticking her head out into the hall, she caught sight of a maid rushing by, looking worred. "What's happening?" Sansa spoke loudly, catching the girl's attention. The maid slowed to a stop, glancing left and then right as if she knew she wasn't supposed to be speaking to her. But Sansa stepped fully out of the room then, allowing the chamber door to close behind her. "Tell me what's happening!" If the guards had left their posts outside her door, then that meant something truly awful must have been going on somewhere else in the castle. "Are we under attack?"

The maid again glanced left and then right, swallowing against whatever fears were deep within her. And then... She spoke. "The queen is in labor, my lady." She spoke quietly, the words ones Sansa had not at all anticipated on hearing. "It is much before her time and she is struggling. Many of the guards and staff... They've abandoned their posts. Those who are loyal... They are doing what they can for her grace." And then the maid was gone, racing off towards where she had been heading all along: the main set of doors that would lead her out of the Red Keep and into the streets.

For a moment she could not breathe but then she steadied herself, knowing this could be her one and only chance at escaping. And yet... It was not towards those same doors that her feet carried her, but down the halls towards the queen's chambers. They were a buzz of activity, with maids going in and out, two unfamiliar men pacing outside the chamber door. Sansa went past them without effort, she supposed they had not even noticed her slip on by. Into the antechamber first, she became aware of how dire the situation had to be within the queen's bed chamber. Maids were on their knees, praying to the Old or New Gods, some to save their queen... Others... Perhaps not. For a moment, she thought she might back out, that she would leave without taking another step inside that room. No, she told herself, you must see this for yourself. She swept by them, pushing open the door to Cersei's chamber. No one noticed her entry, the two maester's at the foot of the bed conversed in soft, somber tones, their expressions dark. Maids gathered around the bed on either side, their clothing stained with blood, their faces tracked with tears. And then, there she was, the once golden queen laying there in her grand bed, face pale as death itself.

Sansa quietly approached the side of the bed, only then drawing notice from anyone in the room. Cersei's green eyes opened as her head swiveled to face her, lips moving in a silent plea, words that Sansa could not hear. The swollen bump of her abdomen was hidden beneath the draping silk, but even those were stained with blood. It was as she'd thought only a day earlier, the child would not live. And now it was clear to her, neither would the mother. Then she spotted it, a cot on the far side of the bed, where a small bundle was neatly wrapped. Surely within a child lay, a child that never even drew a single breath, a child born far too soon.  She made to step back from the bed but she felt a touch to her hand; looking down, it was Cersei grasping for her, lips again moving with words that she could not hear. Leaning down, Sansa placed her ear as close as she dared to the dying woman, to hear what very well could be her final words. Me? She's going to speak to me? Sansa thought, but pushed the thoughts away as she listened to what it was Cersei was trying to say. "A... Girl... Was it... A girl?" Cersei's words cut her like a knife and Sansa drew back, looking up towards the maester's that had heard their queen's whisper. One of them shook his head and then Sansa turned back to look into those fading green eyes. No, Sansa heard herself say, drawing back up to her full height as Cersei smiled, a laugh dying on her dry, chapped lips. And so I was wrong... So very wrong. Cersei closed her eyes then and drew a final breath, every ounce of fight leaving her body in that very moment.

And that was when Sansa left.

She backed away from the room as the maids began to cry in earnest, more than one falling to her knees at the queen's bloody bedside. The moment she was in the corridor, Sansa began to run, faster than she had ever run in all of her life. Down the halls and towards the main double doors, uncertain where she would go, but knowing anywhere would be better than here. Pushing past the doors, she stumbled out into the afternoon sunshine, the warmth of it unable to bring her any sense of comfort at all. She slowed to a walk and to a hault as she came upon the five men, all with their stark white cloaks, all with swords strapped to their hips. It was the men that remained of the queen's guard, men that would harm her without a second thought. Breath catching in her throat, Sansa took a step back, wondering if perhaps she'd been safer inside the Red Keep... But now it was too late.

The first man was approaching her, a hungry look in his eyes that Sansa had seen hundred's of times in a man. Fear clutched at her and she turned to make a run for it, but he grabbed hold of her arm before she could go, pulling her hard towards him. A fist connected with her abdomen seconds later and the very breath was knocked from her lungs as she collapsed upon the dirt. She had been here before, hadn't she? Too many times to count. Another hit came, this one in her side, sending her sprawling across the ground. "The queen bid us not to harm you, but now there's no queen." It was a second man that spoke, this one coming closer to reach out and take hold of a fistful of her hair, yanking her back up onto her feet. "But rumor is that you're as good as the Queen in the North... I ain't never been with a queen before, have you men?" The three other men laughed as they all crept closer, agreeing that no, they had never before. Sansa felt her heart skip a beat. This couldn't happen to her.. Not again... Not again! She fought back against the man holding her, his grip now on her arm, but no matter how hard she pulled she could not get free. A second man approached and his hand gripped the shoulder of her gown, tearing it away from her body. The third man was there too, closing in on her as Sansa began to shout, kicking and flailing with all of her might, blue eyes a frenzy as the last of the men circled her. A fist caught her in the mouth, another in the side, all the while the other two tore at her borrowed gown, making every attempt to tear it from her very body.

And then, they all heard it. The sound of galloping horses, the sound of someone come to save her.

Jon could see her up ahead, there in the courtyard of the Red Keep with five men around her. She was struggling against the one holding her and Jon could see her gown was torn, a sign that one of them had put his hands upon her in such a way that enraged him more than he thought possible. With the others thundering along beside him, they swept across the courtyard, breaking apart the five men that had suddenly abandoned Sansa, leaving her there to tumble into the dirt. Leaping from his horse, Jon unsheathed his sword and at once lunged at the nearest of men, the one that had been holding fast to her when they'd rode up.  And just like that, a battle had erupted in the courtyard, for even Davos had taken up his sword against a man in honor to fight for the girl that was hunched over on the ground, doing her best to catch her breath and calm her racing heart.

It took him only  three more slices before the man was cut down, slumping onto the ground as he gagged on his own blood, clutching at his wounded throat. Jon turned then, his eyes finding Sansa's as she looked out at him from where she sat, the gown she wore in pieces. "Sansa," he whispered her name before he began to run, racing towards her and throwing himself down before her. "Sansa!" He felt her a moment later, his arms winding around her as she threw herself into them, her body quivering as she buried her face into his shoulder. He held onto her as tightly as he dared, breathing in her sweet, familiar scent, the sounds of steel against steel the only other noise in the background as one by one, the queen's guards fell beneath his comrades blades. And then... It went silent.

Only then did he pull back from her, holding her at arm's length; he could already see the bruise upon her face, the blood on her lip. "I can't believe you're here," she whispered, her blue eyes shining as they filled with tears. Jon reached out a hand, thumb catching a tear as it slipped free, his lips curving with the smallest of smiles. How was it that he was always there when she needed him most? And not just Jon, she could see all of the others too, the ones that had come to save her from King's Landing. Arya stood just a short distance away, a strange look on her face, but Davos was smiling faintly, as if he'd always known the truth.

"I made you a promise, didn't I?" Jon's voice brought her back and Sansa looked back to him, only to see he was still yet smiling. "I will always protect you, Sansa." He had meant it back then, that vow of protection he'd offered her. Not just against Ramsay, but against anyone who might do her harm. At his words, Sansa was smiling too, before she plunged back into his arms, burying herself as close to him as she possibly could. It was only a few minutes later that he bid her to rise, drawing her up with him. Ser Davos was there then, draping her in his own cloak before offering her his arm, slowly taking her towards Jon's own horse that stood several yards away. Brienne and Arya met them there, Sansa embracing first her younger sister, holding onto the smaller girl for a long moment. And then she was forcing Brienne back onto her feet, for the tall swordswoman had knelt onto the ground at her feet, clearly shamed by Sansa's kidnapping.

Jon watched as she walked away from him, as she met with the others that she loved, knowing he had done as he'd promised. But it wasn't over yet. This was his life. She was his life. He followed the path he'd been born for- no, that he'd been reborn for, and it all led right back to her. And so he walked towards her again, to where Ser Davos was helping her up onto the horse's back and he climbed up behind her. "Lean on me," he whispered against the shell of her ear and he felt her body a moment later, her back against his chest as she settled into place against him. "Let's go home." He said to the others, all of whom had climbed back onto their own horses, all ready to make the journey back home.

Back to Winterfell.

[ x x x ]

It was days later and Jon found himself to finally feel like normal again. After fighting the army of the dead, traveling to and from King's Landing, as well as fighting again, he had found himself to be beyond exhausted. The only thing that had kept him going on the return to Winterfell was Sansa, who rode without complaint even as the bruises began to darken, even when she could not sleep from the nightmares that plagued her yet again.

The moment they had rode through the gates of Winterfell, it was to cheers and joy. The Northern lords and peasants alike had gathered within the gates, cheering the arrival of their Lady of Winterfell and all the others they owed their lives to. Jon had caught sight of Daenerys even, high in the tower that overlooked it all, her pale face peering down from a single window. But even that was days ago and he'd not yet even seen the Dragon queen, he could not even say if she still yet remained in Winterfell. It was as he had told her- he cared not who sat upon the Iron Throne.

Rising from his bed for the first time, Jon dressed in the clean clothes that had been laid out for him and left his chamber, his feet taking him the familiar path to Sansa's. But, it took only a quick glance inside to see that she was not there and at once his heart was fluttering fast. He made his way down the halls but still could not find her. At least... Not at first.

He found her on the upper walkway with Ghost, looking out over all of Winterfell. She was dressed warmly, her fur cloak draped across her shoulders, the gown beneath it a deep and somber shade of blue he'd never before seen her wear, but recalled it being a color Catelyn Stark had often worn. She looked so beautiful standing there he could not help but to stand and stare a moment longer than he meant to. "Sansa," finally he spoke her name as he approached, the sound of his voice catching her attention. Her smile was radiant as she reached out a gloved hand to touch Ghost's head a moment before the direwolf came towards him, rubbing his head against Jon's knees. He ran his own hand along the wolf's neck and spine, thankful he still yet had his companion, though he'd seen little of the direwolf since his return. Ghost had committed himself to Sansa in the same sort of way Jon had it seemed. "How are you?"

Sansa regarded him for a moment longer before she turned back to face the vast expanse of space that was Winterfell, her gloved hands falling into place upon the stone before her. "I'm home," she said simply, her lips curving with a smile. "We're home." She clarified then, turning back to face him, the wind catching her long red hair. Jon could not help himself from reaching out, tucking a strand behind her ear, his fingertips trailing the length of her jaw as he drew his hand back. She caught his hand then, giving it the softest of squeezes as she stepped a little closer, the gap between them minimal at best. She heard him say her name, so softly that she thought she might have imagined it, but he was smiling as she leaned in, almost hesitantly, catching his mouth with her own.

Jon took her into his arms the moment he felt her lips find his and suddenly there was no gap between them at all. He returned her kiss with every ounce of passion he could muster, wondering just how long he'd truly been waiting to do this. As he drew back a few moments later, it was to cup her cheek with his palm, her blue eyes finding his as her hand slid into place over his. And then he said the only words that seemed to make sense.

"We're home."

And now, all would be well.