#arya stark deserves the world

[pixiecactus]

i know it comes from arya barely having any self-esteem (a big fuck you to all the people who contributed to this, we actually see this little girl's thoughts about hating herself, seriously fuck you!!) but it breaks my heart to just think about how unsure arya was about robb and her mother paying her ransom.

“What if my brother doesn’t want to ransom me?” “Why would you think that?” asked Lord Beric. “Well,” Arya said, “my hair’s messy and my nails are dirty and my feet are all hard.” Robb wouldn’t care about that, probably, but her mother would. Lady Catelyn always wanted her to be like Sansa, to sing and dance and sew and mind her courtesies. Just thinking of it made Arya try to comb her hair with her fingers, but it was all tangles and mats, and all she did was tear some out. “I ruined that gown that Lady Smallwood gave me, and I don’t sew so good.” She chewed her lip. “I don’t sew very well, I mean. Septa Mordane used to say I had a blacksmith’s hands.”

she reasoned that her brother was a king now, and certainly kings have bigger things to worry about than his little sister, and then she goes self-deprecating about her appearance, when surviving in the wild as a lowborn child, with no name to keep her somehow safe and still lead a privileged life as an acceptable reason to have her own family reject her.

it saddens me, that arya will never know about how miserable robb was when her sister didn't mention any regards to arya's wellbeing in the letter she wrote, and even when her mother failed in showing and reassuring that her love for her children was inconditional to arya, catelyn still was so desperate to have her daughters back, both of them, and arya possibly will never know.

Something in Robb's tone troubled her. She smoothed out the paper and read. Concern gave way to disbelief, then to anger, and lastly to fear. "This is Cersei's letter, not your sister's," she said when she was done. "The real message is in what Sansa does not say. All this about how kindly and gently the Lannisters are treating her … I know the sound of a threat, even whispered. They have Sansa hostage, and they mean to keep her." "There's no mention of Arya," Robb pointed out, miserable. “No.” Catelyn did not want to think what that might mean, not now, not here.

even with the friends she made and lost along the way. i know that arya thinks that both boys abandoned her at the first chance they got.

There was no use trying to convince the Bull of anything. Still, he was the only true friend she had, now that Hot Pie had left them. “Sharna says she needs me to bake bread,” he’d told her, the day they rode. “Anyhow I’m tired of rain and saddlesores and being scared all the time. There’s ale here, and rabbit to eat, and the bread will be better when I make it. You’ll see, when you come back. You will come back, won’t you? When the war’s done?” He remembered who she was then, and added, “My lady,” reddening. Arya didn’t know if the war would ever be done, but she had nodded. “I’m sorry I beat you that time,” she said. Hot Pie was stupid and craven, but he’d been with her all the way from King’s Landing and she’d gotten used to him. “I broke your nose.” “You broke Lem’s too.” Hot Pie grinned. “That was good.” “Lem didn’t think so,” Arya said glumly. Then it was time to go. When Hot Pie asked if he might kiss milady’s hand, she punched his shoulder. “Don’t call me that. You’re Hot Pie, and I’m Arry.”

she saw how one of her friends made his choice and went away from her side and later, there went away the other.

“I could shoe him for you,” said Gendry, all of a sudden. “I was only a ‘prentice, but my master said my hand was made to hold a hammer. I can shoe horses, close up rents in mail, and beat the dents from plate. I bet I could make swords too.” “What are you saying, lad?” asked Harwin. “I’ll smith for you.” Gendry went to one knee before Lord Beric. “If you’ll have me, m’lord, I could be of use. I’ve made tools and knives and once I made a helmet that wasn’t so bad. One of the Mountain’s men stole it from me when we was taken.” Arya bit her lip. He means to leave me too. “You would do better serving Lord Tully at Riverrun,” said Lord Beric. “I cannot pay for your work.” “No one ever did. I want a forge, and food to eat, some place I can sleep. That’s enough, m’lord.”

from the way i see it, both boys are part of the smallfolk, both were ment to join the night's watch and both found a better chance at life. them, being lowborn will never held the same importance in westerosi society as her, even when arya is a girl/woman, currently living in a patriarchal society. both of them are able to see what arya doesn't, their friendship would never be permited to exist in normal circunstances.

and that leaves us with an arya, that has lost her father, knows very well that her sister dislikes her, has learned that her little brothers were killed by someone she knew once, greatly doubted that her mother would want her back, due to something out of her control like her appearance, saw both of her friends made the decision to leave her behind, gets kidnapped (once again, for the fourth time) by a man who killed one of her friends and mostly abuses her in the short time they travelled together and she ends up seeing men making a mockery of her oldest brother's corpse.

the only person that she has left, and knows would want her back even after everything she went through is jon, but she gets hit in the face by reality once again, she's just a small child, with no power and influence to command someone, anyone really, to get her back to jon.

“I know where we could go,” Arya said. She still had one brother left. Jon will want me, even if no one else does. He’ll call me “little sister” and muss my hair. It was a long way, though, and she didn’t think she could get there by herself. She hadn’t even been able to reach Riverrun. “We could go to the Wall.”

i'm desperate to read arya realizing she's loved and respected, bran and rickon are still alive, and i do believe bran is calling to her, jon died trying his hardest to go and save the person he tought to be her (and we know jon won't stay dead), even with her friends, gendry is certainly waiting for her to come back, while doing the things she once wanted him to do, and i believe even if the war is not done yet, hot pie would like to see her again. the brotherhood is serving the starks now and of course, there's nymeria travelling around the riverlands with her pack. and arya is nymeria as much as nymeria is arya.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Might be a hot take but a major character’s death is really only as good as the weight and the treatment that the narrative gives it. Sure, any author has the ability to write death as they see fit. But whether the consumer (of any given form of media) is actually able to emotionally connect and resonate with the departure of someone who has occupied a good chunk of narrative space very heavily depends on how it’s treated within the story. If it’s a major character, the narrative needs enough built-in breathing space. As in, the consumer doesn’t have to fill in the blanks as to how the death impacted the plot or the remaining characters. Let the narrative do that for them, and that would actually allow the consumer to better react and relate to that major death (sadness, anger, joy, etc). Allow the rest of the characters (who were impacted by the deceased) to react to their parting. Let them engage with the death in a manner that helps justify the character’s inclusion in the narrative to begin with. Make it clear how the character’s life and (especially) their death relate to the larger themes of the story. Because most consumers aren’t stupid. We don’t want our hands held at every waking moment, but we also don’t want our investment in a story to be insulted just for the sake of a cheap shock. Give us time to breathe and grieve. And respect that we have put in a lot of emotional investment in a story and its characters, and we deserve to have that acknowledged.

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic Mothers! HOTD/GOT (Cersei, Alicent, Sansa, and Rhaenyra) x Reader

Cersei Lannister

"You never love anything in the world the way you love your first child"

You are Cersei's first and only trueborn child with Robert.

Even though, your mother hates your father, doesn't mean you are hated, it is quiet the opposite.

Cersei would sacrifice everything to ensure that you stay by her side.

She would fight off any possible arranged marriages that Robert might have in mind for you.

Marrying you to Robb Stark? Cersei will make sure that Robert has horrible nights, until he removes this idea from his mind.

Joffrey doesn't dare to harm you in any way, because he knows what his mother would do to him if he touches a hair on your head.

After your younger siblings' deaths, Cersei becomes filled with paranoia that she might outlive you too.

She will make sure that you are kept safe even if it means stripping you away from your freedom.

Alicent Hightower

You are her favorite child without a doubt.

Maybe it is because you are not as drunk and perverted as Aegon or as vengeful and dangerous as Aemond or as dreamy and strange as Helaena.

Of course, there is also Daeron but he is in Oldtown, so he is not around as much for Alicent to favor him.

As a baby, you never caused tantrums when she came to spend time with you.

You consider her your friend, and tell her all your secrets.

Even that secret where you had a crush on a stable boy.

Strange how the boy disappeared the next day with a trance.

When Otto suggested the idea of marrying you off to Tyland Lannister, Alicent turned the idea down.

She would never give up your happiness, she would kill for your sake.

Sansa Stark

You are hers and Ramsay's daughter.

But you were given her last name, as Sansa didn't want you to be connected to the Boltons.

She thought she would hate you, but when she held you in her arms for the first time, she couldn't help but love you.

Like a little pup, you started following your mother around ever since you learned how to walk.

Sansa prefers it that way, you and her spending time together.

You filled the hole in her heart after her mother's death, she wants to have the same mother-daughter relationship with you as she had with her mother.

Everything was going on well, until Arya decided to visit Winterfall.

The moment your Aunt started speaking about her travels is the moment you realize you want to explore the outside world.

Sansa made sure that her younger sister is not welcome to speak to you again, especially after she accused her of locking you away like some bird.

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Your mother turned into a completely different person after the death of your younger brother, Luke.

She announced the annulment of your marriage to Aemond, even though it was already consummated.

She has forbidden you from returning to King's Landing to get your daughter, claiming it was too dangerous for you, and that your daughter is better off with her father.

Rhaenyra can't bear to lose you just like how she lost Luke or Visenya.

When you try to escape, you are caught and your dragon is taken away from you, given sleeping herbs to put the beast to sleep.

When you called her a hypocrite for wanting to protect you as a mother, but at the same time, forbidding you from seeing your own daughter.

Rhaenyra would only hug you tightly and forcibly by grabbing into your head.

"You have to sacrifice for me, just like I sacrificed for you and your siblings"

This is when you realize that your mother truly deserves to be compared to Maegor the Cruel.

[chemtrailsoverthesun]

A thread of parallels between Elia Martell and Sansa Stark:

1. Elia is the older sister to Oberyn. Sansa is the eldest stark sister.

Art by Melrosing

2. They are both described as gentle.

"Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit.” - Daenerys

“Was there ever a wedding less joyful? she wondered until she remembered her poor Sansa and her marriage to the Imp. Mother take mercy on her. She has a gentle soul.” - Catelyn

Art by elvishness & vesubia-jugorum

3. Both were excited to leave their home.

"Elia found it all exciting. She was of that age, and her delicate health had never permitted her much travel.” - Tyrion

“She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell… off to see the great wide world.” - Sansa

Art by the-lady-rae

4. Both were betrothed to the crown prince.

“Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell” - TWOIAF

“She had to wed Joffrey, they were betrothed, he was promised to her, she had even dreamed about it.” - Sansa

Art by amaati

5. Elia and Sansa were both held as hostages by Mad kings.

“The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad.” - Jaime

“They have Sansa hostage, and they mean to keep her." - Catelyn

6. Cersei blames them both for taking someone from her- Rhaegar and Joffrey.

“It had to have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest.” -Cersei

"I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf…She helped murder my son.” - Cersei

7. Elia and Sansa witnessed the death of a family member in front of them, both pleaded for their loved one to be spared.

“Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar's heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes.” - Daenerys

“Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father." - Arya

8. Both were romantics.

“A pretty lad, and my sister was half in love with him.” - Tyrion

“I love him, Father, I truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian.” - Sansa

Art by the-lady-rae

9. Victims of the Lannisters.

“Some said it had been Gregor who'd dashed the skull of the infant prince Aegon Targaryen against a wall, and whispered that afterward he had raped the mother, the Dornish princess Elia, before putting her to the sword.” - Tyrion

“When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well." - Sansa

Art by amaati

Conclusion: Both deserved better

Art by Elia illustration

[esther-dot]

We Will Be the Walls of this House 27k @tornadodream

"She stood firm, her clutch steady against his forearm. 'You are my brother.' 'No,' he said, and his voice was gravelly. 'No, I am no brother of yours, Sansa Stark.'" The war has taken much from both of them. But when Jon Snow returns from the south as the new Region-King of the North, Sansa Stark knows that the best way to secure Winterfell for the both of them is a marriage that neither of them want, but the marriage that they both know that they need.

To Be Alone With You 10k @methedras

If he willed it, Sansa would make a Stark of Jon. One way or another.

I'm Holding You Closer Than Most Because You Are My Heaven 8k by @sansaswolfbits

Perhaps she deserves more than a man who loves another woman, but it's him she wants, so she'll take whatever part of him she can have. She's grown used to pretending, how hard can it be?

want me to love you in moderation? well don't you know, i wish i could 8k by @sansaswolfbits

He had Winterfell and Sansa, and everything that should have been Robb's, or Bran's or Rickon's, and now hers, and he couldn't even allow himself to enjoy it. The guilt was eating him up, tearing away pieces of him every single day and keeping him up at night. All of his brothers—who had never been his true brothers—had died so that he could be Lord of Winterfell, so that he could use the girl he'd once called sister to take everything that was hers for his own. Even with Jon it was just her claim he needed. But at least to him, Winterfell was more than a keep and a title. He understood what her home meant to her. They shared the same memories and suffered the same losses. Jon cared for her, but he didn't love her the way a man should love his lady wife.

Finding Love in the Strangest Places 50k

The Rebellion didn't happen till Next Gen: Arya was engaged to Joffery and eloped/was kidnapped by Aegon. Robb and his father Brandon went down to King's Landing and Mad King Rhaegar killed them. Now Jon has to marry Robb's betrothed Sansa Tully. Sansa had a crush on Robb and now has to marry his sullen younger brother before he goes off to war.

The Northern Crown 2k by @hkafterdark

They were married in the Godswood as the snow fell around them.

The Quiet Balance of Wolves 12k by @sevensneakyfoxes

Regardless of what may or may not linger between them, he knows exactly the horrible position he is putting Sansa in: her home and freedom for another interloper in her bed. Jon cannot put her through it again. “My brother knew that the blood of dragons needed to flow in the North, and despite his misguided attempts at creating a lineage, I am starting to understand why. Wolves and dragons were meant to balance each other." Jon is thoroughly sick of prophecies; blood is blood - spilt, it looks the same red on snow. -- Daenerys and Jon make a deal. Jon barters poorly.

Seasons of Wine 1k by @geekprincess26

Sansa still drinks wine only when she has to. Every so often, as the world changes at a dizzying pace around her and her cousin Jon, she has to.

Say Your Vows Against My Skin 8k by @madamebaggio

Jon had married Sansa to protect the North. At least, that was what she thought. Sansa had married Jon to be protected. At least, that was he thought. Their marriage might have started for political reasons, but they love each other. Now if they'd could only say that to each other... Fortunately, one night makes them realize they might've been missing something significant about their relationship.

Duty, Desire, or Love 2k by @damdamfino

Sansa’s duty as Queen is to give the King an heir. But what if that is the only reason Jon is so gentle and caring to her? Would everything change if she told him she was with child? What if she wanted to pretend…for just a little longer.

What Grows in Winter 3k by @orangeflavoryawp

“There are too many years ahead to think of the years before.” - Jon and Sansa. Through the years of a harsh winter, they tend their love.

The Songs Never Mentioned the Scars 2k by @azulaahai

Sansa could hear how naïve it sounded even as she thought it, but the only thing she could think was - not Jon. Jon would never. Jon, her sweet Jon, who's first words to her after their wedding in the godswood had been that Ghost was her wolf now as much as his (which was so adorable and silly that Sansa never failed to smile when she thought about it), who knew exactly what it meant to grow up a bastard - would that man start visiting a brothel without explanation?

time goes by go and i can't control my mind (just keep breathin') 10k by @ladyalice101

“She’s grieving," Arya says, "I’ve never seen her like this and I don’t think she should be alone, but I - . . . have you ever seen her so sad?” Jon’s face has pulled down, the lines etched across it deeper than she’s ever seen them, and there’s a true sorrow in his eyes. “Once or twice,” he answers quietly. “You’re right, she shouldn’t be alone." - We have sad Sansa being comforted by Jon, we have arranged marriage, we have pining, we have feasts, we have bed sharing! This one is just chock full of tropes friends.

Take Me To Wife 1k

When the liege-lords and bannermen to House Stark find out that their king is not who they thought he was, a solution is suggested in the hope of restoring peace among his subjects.

All My Days 74k by @kit-kat21

The night before, as Sansa oversaw the packing of her trunks – her chamber at Winterfell being emptied of her possessions to take to her new home with her – she had asked her brother to describe her soon-to-be husband because Robb hadn’t even supplied a sketch of the man. “Well, he’s… pretty,” Robb decided after a moment’s contemplation. “Pretty?” Sansa’s eyebrows both raised at that.

Put Your Hands on My Waist, Do It Softly 1k by @kitten1618x

The Great War has ended, and Jon and Sansa have wed, but a marriage of convenience has evolved to so much more. As the frigid winter winds whip about outside the walls of Winterfell, Jon suggests something new to take the chill off, testing the boundaries of Sansa's trust in him.

tongue-tied disservice 9k by @ava-rosier

Jon and Sansa are wedded and bedded for the good of the realm.

Strange Bedfellows 7k

Married at Daenerys' behest, Sansa and Jon take a chance and open up to one another on their wedding night.

forbidden fruit's in season 13k by @bravegentlestrong

Jon and Sansa get married. For political reasons. And heir producing purposes. They only have sex this much for the good of the realm. There is a 0% chance they're secretly in love. Alternatively titled "Newsflash, asshole! I've been in love with you this entire goddamn time!"

Jon Snow's 5 Infallible Steps to a Successful Marriage 1k by @azulaahai

By mutual agreement, Jon and Sansa do not share the lord’s bedchamber.

Beasts of Seasons 69k incomplete

She had prepared her words and her actions meticulously.She hadn’t prepared to actually see him. Or, Jon and Sansa reunite and things don't go according to plan, forcing Sansa to reevaluate her identity and her loyalties and forcing Jon to come back to himself. Post-ADWD, bookverse fic. Jon and Sansa reunite on campaign to win back Winterfell.

i could offer you a warm embrace 10k by @amymel86

Of course he wants to keep his newly earned grotesque covered. He’s seen it in the looking glass; a sightless milk-white eye surrounded by angry puckered red scarring from brow to temple. Jon is not a vain man, but no one wants to witness their king’s weaknesses, least of all his wife who had once dreamt that her husband should be a beautiful, fair-haired prince. Well now you have a half-blind brother king.

Hard times for Dreamers 4k by @comma-spice (this was posted in 2014)

She shouldn't feel saddened by his outward lack of affection. Outside of their separate chambers Jon was a good, dutiful husband. He tried to see the logic behind her requests, agreeing on the importance of Bran sitting with them during the morning petitions, and riding out to Wintertown to visit the smallfolk. They rarely fought, and when they did an easy compromise was often found. More importantly he was kind, which was something she had long come to accept as impossible in a husband. Sansa is Bran's Regent and she starts to suspect perhaps she and her husband have built their marriage on a misunderstanding.

time's been kind to you, my love 23k orphaned

Sansa knows her loyalties lie with the Northern independence. Robb might have forgotten her, but she hasn’t forgotten him. Married to Tyrion, beaten by Joffrey- she’s never allowed herself to forget. Sansa has Stark engraved deep into her blood and bone. She’s been a quiet girl for long enough: wolves are protective of their own, after all, and it’s time she lived up to that.

[Aged up Jon and Sansa, set in an universe where, on Jon’s fourteenth birthday, Ned tells him his true parentage and Jon goes to Essos instead of the Wall; upon hearing of Sansa’s predicament in King’s Landing, he returns with an army.]

and I'm like falling water, set me free 2k by @aflashofgreen

Sansa resents these childish dreams of hers she can’t let go of despite the years. She resents them as much as she cherishes them.

From a Flicker to a Glow 8k by @dresupi

In retrospect, it was stupid to think Joffrey Baratheon had ever intended to propose marriage, but Sansa Stark is often blinded by wolves in sheep's clothing, especially if they have very fine wool. Jon arrives to save her, reminding her of the knights in the stories she enjoyed as a girl, complete with a white horse and all. But is he only offering to save her because she needs saving? If so, will that be enough foundation upon which to build a marriage?

but you're the one that i want; is that really so wrong? 4k orphaned

In light of the North’s demand for a marriage alliance, Jon and Sansa have some long-harbored matters to discuss.

Fill the Earth 6k by @darkmagyk

Arya Stark is a simple girl with simple desires: a prosperous North, a safe family, a large pack. And that her favorite brother and only sister would get on with the heir making business. She cannot have a niece until they are properly bedded. But as always, Jon and Sansa are being difficult.

And the Geese Are Headed North 13k by @yekoc

In the dark and honest part of her that Sansa is no longer afraid of, she had thought that Jon would die, and she was no sadder than she was relieved. In the months that she ruled Winterfell while the great war of men and wights waged around them, she felt herself growing into her power, sinking her roots back deep into the Northern soil. She enjoyed it, ruling. She was good at it. And at night, she had a wide bed and a door that locked and she was never cold. If Jon died in the war, she would miss him like she missed Robb and Rickon and Bran. She wouldn’t miss her husband. Seeing him now, she notes the absence of the relief and joy that marked her first glimpse of him at Castle Black. Instead, she feels a too-familiar grief: my brother is gone.

PRE CANON - WESTERN- FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

[sailorshadzter]

Can you write a fic where Cat survived the Red Wedding and has to accept that Sansa has to marry Jon to keep the Stark line and the North united? She knows Jon is now the heir but the prospect of marriage still haunts her because of what happened to Robb. And now, Cat wouldn't want to wish what happened to Robb to Jon Snow regardless of his heritage.

HIIII ANON

once again, this has been sitting in my inbox for a long time!!!

hopefully you see this!!!

send me prompts

When the gates open, a wagon rolls in, pulled by a white mare that has seen better days. 

She happens to be standing in the courtyard, talking with a few of the lords when the call comes, so her attention shifts away, blue eyes watching as the wagon comes all the way through. They aren’t expecting anyone, not that it matters, so she excuses herself, wandering away from the center yard and closer to the horse drawn wagon that has now come to a stop.

As the single passenger rises from the bench, her heart skips a beat, her stomach turning over like the wild waves of the sea. Somehow, her heart is telling her all she needs to know about this hooded stranger. 

Coming closer now, she waves away the guards barking questions- who are you, why have you come, and the like, because she doesn’t need to hear the answer the woman will give. As she comes around to the back, the figure is stepping down off the back, her feet crunching in the freshly fallen snow. For a moment, it is as if time is suspended, as if there is not a single other person in the world but the two of them- her lips curve around the syllables of the word she hasn’t used in years… “Mother…”

Catelyn Stark smiles, drawing back the hood of her cloak to reveal a somewhat scarred face, one older than she recalls, but it was her mother all the same. “Sansa,” she breathes, tears overflowing as she forces a smile. “My daughter…” A girl grown into a woman, a sight she thought she might never get to see… But here she was, standing just in front of her. It takes but a moment more for the young woman to fling herself at her, to fall into her arms as if she were that child she’d lost so many years before. “I’m here, Sansa, I’m here,” she whispers, running her hand through the red hair that has grown so long it falls to her waist, twisted back in braids like her own. Catelyn holds her tightly, wishing away her tears and murmuring the softest of words, until only the sound of footsteps draws her away.

When she looks up, over her daughter’s head, it is to look into the eyes of the man she knows has saved Winterfell, has saved Sansa. The boy she once detested, the boy she once neglected, now stands there now, grown into a man, staring at her with wide, gray eyes. Eyes that remind her of Ned, of Arya, eyes that bring pain to her already aching heart. But, she returns to her daughter, the last piece of her, and knows that this was where life was meant to bring her. 

[ x x x ]

“King in the North?”

Catelyn questions without hesitation, looking from one face to the other, once again feeling that ache in her heart. Once, Robb had been called such a thing. The truth was, she imagined to hear Queen in the North upon her arrival, but it was true, Robb had indeed named Jon as his heir, and it seemed as if the North agreed. Truth was, after hearing about all that had happened since the days of Robb, she supposes Jon deserves the title. 

Besides… 

“Have you met with Samwell Tarly?” She asks next, thinking of the man she met some weeks ago, traveling from King’s Landing to Winterfell, saying how once he was comrades with Jon Snow, no, friends even. “Is he not here?” 

Jon shakes his head, surprised to hear his old friend’s name spoken by his step mother. “I have not heard from Sam since before…” He trails off , shaking his head. Since before his death, he means. “Have you met with him, Lady Stark?” Lady Stark… She’s not been referred to by that name in so long now, it feels somewhat foreign. In truth, she’s heard Sansa called by that title all day, her inheritance certain. And now that she looks, there is a closeness between the two of them that she never saw before- perhaps it was one she prevented, in truth. 

“I have,” she admits, wondering if it was her place to tell him what Samwell Tarly had told her. She has but a split second to decide, for they are both staring back at her, Sansa with her wide-eyed gaze, Jon with his somber one. Perhaps this was the will of the gods, whichever ones were still listening…

So she speaks and she doesn’t stop until the story is fully told. 

[ x x x ]

It is the fourth morning of Catelyn’s return and she finds herself in Sansa’s rooms, brushing out her long red hair as she once did so long ago. 

Much has changed in the days since her arrival, the truth of Jon’s birth being an outright shock for all of Winterfell. But, the lords have taken it in stride and it would not be long before they would openly claim him as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

In due time, of course. 

Catelyn has been thinking this moment over, again and again, trying to decide the best of the situation. The North deserved to be free, independent, just as Robb had intended…. But they still needed to back Jon, in order to win the war that was to come. Targaryen’s were not well loved here in the North, but lucky for Jon, he’d amassed love and respect from the Northerners that could not be stolen away simply because of his father’s blood. He was a Stark, many lords would say, shaking their heads. He was as much of a Targaryen as any one of them. 

“Mother?”

Sansa’s voice draws her out of her own thoughts and she smiles at her over her shoulder, their eyes meeting in the reflection of the looking glass. “I got lost in my own thoughts,” she apologizes as she places the last pin into place. For a single moment, she cannot help but to imagine her as she once was in this place; a hostage, a victim. Sansa hasn’t come out with all of the details of her two unlucky marriages, though she swears Tyrion never touched her, Catelyn knows Ramsay Bolton did the most unspeakable things to her. And these thoughts lead back to Robb, who married out of young, stupid love, that unwavering feeling many don’t get to feel in a world like theirs. Robb had died for love, Sansa nearly died from the violence of a loveless marriage. In the end, her children had found suffering in marriage, whether it be true love or political gain… There was no happy ending, not for Robb and not for Sansa.

But then there comes a knock on her door and when it opens, Jon is there, the sight of him bringing a smile to her face she’s never seen before. She watches as Sansa lights up from within, as she rises up from the chair she occupies to sweep across the room to stand before him. He spares her but one single nod before his eyes are all for Sansa, eyes that she swears she’s seen before… Eyes that she swore Ned once looked upon her with. 

Sansa offers a quick curtsy- sloppy, though she had it perfected at three- and with her arm slipped through his, she allows him to steer her from the room.

 Left alone in silence, Catelyn sinks back in the chair, laughter bubbling on her lips. 

[ x x x ]

Several weeks later, their betrothal is announced. 

Catelyn watches as the loyal Northern lords raise their glasses to the marriage, chanting their pleasure before they drink to it. At the head table, Sansa is blushing, but not in the innocent sort of way, while Jon pours her a second goblet of wine. They would be the finest of couples and the most powerful of monarchs- already Dorne had written of their support and she supposes the rest of the world would not be far behind. They had far more power than Robb ever had, which she supposes should bring her comfort, should hold her heart steady. 

The boy she once wished would die, she now wishes a lifetime of happiness, of health, of love. 

The boy she once wished never existed, she raises her own glass to toast, hoping for happiness, wishing for a lifetime of love.

[agentrouka-blog]

Accidentally stumbled into a Sansa anti (well they call themselves an Arya stan but they apparently think those things go hand in hand)blog and am now baffled and a little disgusted at the amount of vitriol these people have for..a little girl, honestly they had reblogged a post about how Arya being believed to be a hostage to Ramsay galvanised so many people in the North, etc and the difference between that and Sansa being the Lannisters hostage/Tyrions bride, and like..so this little girls life being worthless to these men (whether that's true or not) is somehow validation for you? Honestly it's a little disturbing (there's also a pattern of most of them hating Alicent as well which seems..meaningful)

Ah, yes, the fantasy that they have that the North uniquely loves Arya and somehow instinctively rejects Sansa, and that this would be a good thing rather than screaming misogyny. 😊

There's exactly one group in the North agitating for Ned Stark's daughter herself (the one within reach of them, mind) and that's the mountain clans, for two reason:

Distant family loyalty, alongside Stark loyalty. (A Liddle also aids Bran in the mountains.)

A culture that encourages them to seek death, not survival, at this particular time where Stannis comes knocking.

His father's mother's mother had been a Flint of the mountains. Old Nan once said that it was her blood in him that made Bran such a fool for climbing before his fall.  (ASOS, Bran ll)

It was a tale that any northmen knew well. "My father's grandmother was a Flint of the mountains, on his mother's side," Jon told her. "The First Flints, they call themselves. They say the other Flints are the blood of younger sons, who had to leave the mountains to find food and land and wives. It has always been a harsh life up there. When the snows fall and food grows scarce, their young must travel to the winter town or take service at one castle or the other. The old men gather up what strength remains in them and announce that they are going hunting. Some are found come spring. More are never seen again." (ADWD, Jon X)

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned's little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue." (ADWD, The King's Prize)

Let's not overtly romanticize the North. Manderly's money is on Rickon the son. There's a sizable faction actually supporting the Boltons (Dustin/Ryswell and Karstark). No one lifts a single finger for "Arya" until Jon gives Stannis the advice to gather support in the mountains with his army, and those are the ones with comparatively little to do but die and "bathe in Bolton blood".

The main aspect here is opportunity v. cost.

But more to the point, just as you point out, if it was Sansa that Jeyne was pretending to be, it would be the same. It's not the girls (within their actual reach) they specifically care for, it's Ned and House Stark.

The specific (small) subset of Sansa Anti/Arya stan that pushes these takes is, indeed, less interested in Arya, the actual books and the political dynamics therein, than they are in a distorted Cinderella fantasy where Arya is uniquely chosen and loved over Sansa. The rejection of Sansa is as central to that fantasy as the elevation of Arya, because the Mean Girl needs to be vanquished and punished in order to destroy the very notion in the world that Their Projection Surface was ever not The Prettiest And Bestest, deprived of the admiration she rightfully deserved by the cruel machinations of a middleschool bully.

You know, that's the complex philosophical, political and literary themes and interpersonal dynamics that GRRM is known for. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

37 - The Crows and The Sight

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 21.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, references to torture/rape/mutilation, trauma flashbacks, smut, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, soft dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, bdsm/bondage

Notes: Jon's brain broke a little during this one, didn't it? Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“I've never seen you down here so much before, I don't think.”

Her voice echoed as she walked towards Jon. The cool air of night was a little less harsh down in the crypts, closer to the ground with torches lighting the whole path. Jon barley glanced to his sister before turning away to where he had kept finding himself. “Never had much of a reason too until I came back.”

But that reason then, was the one buried a few feet from where Jon stood. As Arya came up to his side, she felt strange looking at it as it felt to hear the truth. Neither said a word for a moment, letting the quiet sit between them as Arya did what Jon kept doing. Looking for him in the face of her statue, and finding not anything near what they both once wished they would learn.

“Still strange to think about. It was her all this time.” Jon nodded, his jaw clenched more as he felt that similar strain in his chest. His heart hurt thinking about it. About how he was even here. He was her son, but if he could take back what it cost to bring him into this world, he would. No one deserved that, let alone his own mother. Arya looked up to him from where she stood, seeing the conflict in how tense he had been. “When I got angry, I didn't mean any of it about her.”

As his voice low and rough, he barley managed to mutter out, “I know.” Arya was finally starting to understand a bit of how Jon must have felt talking to their father about it. Now that he knew the truth, he barley wanted to say anything. He barley wanted to talk about her. But Jon found himself unable to change that.

He didn't want to talk about the worst parts of his life as it was, let alone this.

But what he did talk about, was the one they both knew. “It's not easy to accept. That everything I thought I didn't understand about him, was all beacuse of me. Spent my whole life wishing he'd pay attention to me the way he did Robb.” They both stood quiet for a moment, his voice low enough were it not silent in the crypts none may have heard him. “For a while, I thought he left me to the Wall beacuse he didn't care. Got there and it was worse then anyone had told me, and I thought that meant he thought that's the future I deserved.”

Arya tried to interrupt him, something just as quiet but more desperate in her voice as she look up at him. “He always loved you, he loved all of us.” Jaw even more clenched, he nodded and willed the pressure behind his eyes not to sting.

He still was not strong enough to want to cry in front of his mother, let alone his baby sister. “Lord Howland said what they did to the Targaryean children, they would've done to me if they found out.” Neither of them quite noticed just how separated he phrased that. “The Wall was the only place far enough away that King Robert might not have been able to get to me. That's why he let me go. I asked Uncle Benjen to convince father to let me go, but he only agreed beacuse he wanted me as far away from the crown as possible.”

Her voice still was quiet, more easily full of a heavy emotion then Jon let his. “That's why he wouldn't name you a Stark. He didn't want any more attention on you then there had to be.”

It explained a lot the more he thought about it. Why he refused to talk about his mother, tell him her name or what she looked like. Why he kept Lady Catelyn just as in the dark about it, and put up with the problems between them. But Jon didn't want to think about her either, beacuse then he and Arya would have to face what she had become, what she tried to do. And neither of them were ready for that either.

Jon hadn't once taken his eyes off of Lyannas statue, he was still as much a Stark he always thought he had been, but now it hurt far more then the actual lie ever did. “The last thing my mother did was beg father to protect me. Begged him to promise to keep me safe.” That sting begun and his face twisted almost in frustration over it. “I only ever had a week with her, and the one thing my mother did before she died was beg father to protect me.”

“He did the best he could.”

Jon nodded, his voice just as strained. “He did. I just hope he knows that, knows that I still love him.”

If it were any of his siblings other then Arya, he wouldn't have felt comfortable enough letting something so raw slip out. But she wouldn't judge him for it as he wouldn't had it been her. “Right before Joffery ordered Illyn Payne to take his head, Cersei tried to convince him to send him to the Nights Watch.”

That pain in his heart, just radiated a little stronger in him as she continued. “No one thought he'd confess to treason beacuse he didn't do anything wrong, but he did. To protect Sansa, to protect me.” There was a pause a she considered how to phrase it but came out on the other side with the most simple of it. “And beacuse if he was at the wall, father knew he could still protect you.”

Jon's chest genuinely hurt, the pain growing and growing. He had said that day to Maester Aemon, that if choosing between love and duty, his father would choose duty no matter what. But he didn't. His father chose love in the end, in more then one way. To protect his daughters, and maybe even, to protect him. Jon felt that strange twist of warmth yet agony, knowing he had more of a father in Ned Stark then he ever once previously thought.

But it wasn't quite his father his mind had begun thinking about as they stood there.

The past few days especially, there had been a few boy names running through Jons head. But it was the only easy thought in his head as he looked up at the statue where his mother was buried. That he hoped you would let him give you a daughter. And he hoped you both would be able to raise her the way his mother never had the chance to for himself. He had a few boy names for the father and brothers hes lost along the way. But Jon wanted a daughter too.

Even just one, so he could name her Lyanna.

The night felt as if it were going easy, but the longer it went on the more you thought to what was coming. You both had agreed to it, and discussed it at length. More length then you think you understood it had so much detail given to you, but you agreed to it. Night when little was around, and when the sky was bright and clear so little could cloud your mind if such things were possible.

You did not know Lord Howland well still, but he knew much of you. If just what was possibly happening to your mind, even if neither of you had the proper ways to explain it. All he knew was from what he saw of raising his son, and could only guide you from that as he knew it. No matter how much what you might see continued to frighten you.

It seemed from what you could gather, the people who may have answers more would be the free folk, living with wonders beyond the wall as if normal. But as it stood, the ones you knew, weren't currently here and so it left you and Lord Howland to bond. He knew as soon as you told him you dreamt of that day in Dorne, what that meant.

The Godswood felt even colder then normal, as if the nighttime around surrounded your bones even no matter what you could have done to change it. If any ears were listening, it would make little sense to who was there. “If this wasn't the it worked for your son, why do you think it would me?”

Lord Howland walked calm and quiet beside you, as Ghost followed close on the other. The moon high in the sky, no fire was even needed to see, the moonlight shining against the white snow all around as bright as a sun could. “He was only a boy with dreams, but that is how it seems you started, your grace. It begins with dreams, but in lesser time you have surpassed ever what Jojen was able too.”

It felt quiet, very quiet. As if the time had put everything to sleep but you three in the thick woods surrounded the area. “I thought you said he has the Sight.”

You wondered if this sort of confusion was how it felt when the Reed children showed up to help Bran, the confident calm in the man beside you speaking of things you barley comprehended, but had to trust despite how little your brain was wrapping around it. “The Sight, dreams, they are all things which guide others. They are gifted from one with greater abilities to help aid in whatever goals they need people like us to do. My son was gifted the Sight to aid Brandon Stark, perhaps it has been gifted to you for a greater purpose. If your dreams have become visions this strong, then something much stronger then your mind alone might be needed to understand it.”

As the Weirwood came into sight, you shook your head as the pain increased behind it. “And you think Weirwoods have something to do with that?”

His eyes stretched upwards to look upon how red it shined even now, much like the eyes of the direwolf watching in a protective silence. “The First Men believed that greenseers could see through the eyes of the Weirwoods. That the faces in the trees are involved. Somehow connections to them let those with such abilities see things beyond the world you and I can with our own two eyes.”

Coming up beside him, you found something intimidating for the first time about it. A fear of what your mind could become. But it was not stopping, and you had to do something. If you could understand even a sliver of it, maybe that would help. But you had no understanding of what to do, and Lord Howland could only give so much to that. “So, what do I do?”

Turning with nerves running ragged through your limbs wanting to shake, he merely stepped forward as his hand moved from where he had them clasped behind his back to gesture the carved face. “If answers lay here, your grace, only they know how to do it.”

Turning away, you could see Ghost circling around as if to find a point to keep eyes on you properly at any angle. The face sat as it always did, but the only time you came here wondering why you. Whatever this was, why you, why now, why so sudden and why had it taken over your life without any control?

If it was them, what did they want from you? You were nothing to the kinds of old powers Howland Reed spoke of. You weren't even a Northerner. But you stepped forward. Pulling a glove off, you let your fingertips hovered and traced over the white of the bark and felt nothing but as it always stood. Still no answers came, but you kept on there anyways, hoping whatever could see through the faces weren't laughing at you a foolish Southern girl pretending she mattered to their purpose.

Glancing back, your lips parted as if wanting to say something in doubt but you found nothing but a reassuring nod from the man to continue. He was patient if nothing else. Circling along it's surroundings, you felt nothing and nothing as your hand found itself flat upon the bark. Suddenly, you could hear the barking of Ghost without seeing him, until that barking turned to many and more and even though in the same castle walls, everything was different.

Everything was worse, and you had not the consciousness to know why in your present.

The air was grim, though it always was now. He made sure of it. In the thin dresses given to you, there was nothing but a shift under to hide the rest and only you were lucky if the sleeves were long enough you could hide your hands within them.

He did this often, found ways to make a spectacle of how little you could fight back in front of others, just letting it happen so he would not take it out of them and he knew it. So he instead, always made it a show for no pleasures but him and his hounds. Those same hounds you could hear barking up a storm not so far from where you stood.

Ramsay would starve them for days so they would run rabid and aggressive, these big, terrifying hounds that were trained only for him. You were lucky since reaching Winterfell, Roose Bolton would not allow you to leave the castle walls at all. So you were spared from the terror of him using them to hunt you through the woods, as he would force you and Theon to watch him do to others on the journey here.

He loved that. Bringing his vile mistress with him, and together they would drag you and Theon with them to watch them hunt down whomever they saw fit. Sometimes Ramsay would kill them, sometimes Myranda would, many times though, he'd let his hounds tear them to shreds. At least here, he would only throw you in with them if he saw fit.

You'd rather it be done sooner, then be chased and have it end after thinking only long enough you could escape. Once Ramsay and his hounds chased you, there was no way of escaping him. He'd find you, and if you were lucky, would kill you quick.

But today wasn't about hunting, it was about torment. His favourite past time with his two playthings and it was now your turn to bare the brunt of it. “You look cold, my bride.”

Everyone was looking, you knew it, you could feel their eyes and wished they all would turn away and let you be shamed in private. But you were not so lucky, you were the only entertainment Ramsay saw fit to provide.

“Of course, you're not wearing much. Not that you need too, an obedient little bride you are, giving your soon to be husband access whenever he pleases.” His voice slunk up behind you, into your ear and made you shiver with a desperation to escape it. But he would not let you. Circling around like prey to his hunt and dangling you over the burning fire. “Isn't she so well trained? Of course, what use is being available to me at all times if no one truly sees that?”

Hands slunk over you, running along the back of your neck before grabbing hold of it with a roughness that jostled you, your heart speeding up trying not to flinch but failing anyways. He knew you wouldn't speak, wouldn't say a word. Not like this. You made it worse when you talked and you'd rather save that suffering from pity.

“But we aren't married just yet. And a good little bride doesn't whore herself out to any man who comes by asking for it. A good bride waits for her husband to break her in, but that isn't you is it? If I am to be your husband, why don't I deserve a wife that hasn't been broken in already?”

You weren't his wife, you never would be. You were Robb's wife, you were his. He was your husband, not this. It wasn't allowed to be this, and the sting behind your eyes grew. You would cry the second you were given any privacy alone, but never here. Your tears were only for Robb's memory, not Ramsay's cruelty.

His voice became louder, “Maybe the good people would like proof it isn't my fault I have such a whore for a bride. Show them who she really is, so they understand how much work is cut out for me.” Deep in your ear you stiffened and he grinned. “Tell me, do you miss your precious wolves? Would you like to see them again?”

End it now, you begged. End it now, slit your throat and be done with it so you could see your wolf again. But he didn't, he grinned, and stood somewhat behind you, hands on your shoulders as he spoke louder to the eyes of people with no other choice but to watch. “Were I a generous man, I'd do so right here. Prove my own brides worth, let my hounds out and take you themselves. But it wasn't hounds you loved, was it? No, it was your precious wolves that took your innocence when it belongs to me.”

It belonged to Robb. It still belongs to Robb, it always will.

One hand moved down to his waist before trailing up your front between your breasts now with a blade tracing the path with him. The edge just barley able to be heard tearing slight twinges of fabric as he once more grinned. “If you're a lucky girl, I'll find you a pack of real wolves to replace all your dead ones. Strip you right down,” A tear at your front, the fabric between your beasts tearing to expose the thin shift underneath as he continued to pull it downward. “And throw you in with them. We could all finally see our Queen in the North back where she belongs.” One much more aggressive tear, and the dress split enough he could tear it off.

Only your shift remained and you felt your limbs freezing already, your body shaking but you said not a word. “Just something for the wolves to fuck until I kill all of them too. Would you like that, my bride?”

That time, saying nothing was the wrong choice. A smack was felt across the back of your head with the blunt handle of the knife, before he circled round you. Kneeling to meet your eyes, asking again. “I asked if you'd like that?” Once more, you said nothing and that time his own hand smacked you hard enough you fell.

Freezing hands falling to break your fall in the snow as you felt shivering appear all over. “Speak up now, let everyone hear what a little whore my bride always has been.”

Your mind and the memory connected in one instance as a pair of hands grabbed you by your upper arms in front of you. But Ramsay wasn't grabbing you like that, he was behind you now, knife to your shift hissing in your ear as he tempted slicing the rest of it all open the and there.

An entrancing rasp you never thought would grace your mind ever again floated through the air, and warmth that pulled you into a softness. Until you gasped as they said your name louder then Ramsay did.

Weakly did your hands raise up as your mind returned, hands now sat high on Jons chest, his own cupping your cheeks looking you over, murmuring your name softly before surging forward to press a kiss to your forehead. Pulling back he ran a hand over your hair cupping the back of your head. “Hey, you're alright. It's alright, darling, I've got you.”

If it was just slight fear, he might not have gone against what Howland Reed told him, which was to leave you be in the Sight. But you knew, that Jon could tell what specific terror you were seeing. But you wouldn't say it, not to Jon. Some things about Ramsay he didn't ever need to know.

Shaking your head, Jon helped you stand properly from where you seemed to have found yourself more knelt to the ground as you were there. Turning slightly to the side, his voice a tad louder. “Give me a moment with her.”

Lord Howland leaving with a small bow of, “Your Grace,” before leaving just the cold air between you, Jon and Ghost watching silently close by.

The hand still on your cheek ran back and forth, the warm leather soothing the cold against them as he let the hand at your hair rake through it gently again. His voice a low rasp only for you, “You saw Ramsay didn't you? Wherever you were in there.” Nodding, he sighed out, your hands trailing up so one ran along the skin to the back of his neck. “I don't want you out here doing this, if it's going to make you relive these things.”

Shaking your head, both of you noticed the lack of conviction in your own voice. “Jon, it's important I understand whatever this is.” Letting your other hand run down his chest until it slunk beneath his fur cloak to rest at his waist you pulled him just a tad closer as you felt another shiver. “Sometimes it may mean I see things I don't want too.”

“I don't want you going through all that again, what he did to you? You were finally starting to feel better, but now..” He didn't want your mind going back, neither did you, but you didn't like many places your mind and person were taken now.

Your heart felt heavy at the wide, bright look in his eye of something mixing with a heavy worry with a gentle affection. “Everything I've seen, it has to mean something. Maybe it's trying to show us an answer.” Asking to what, you hesitated before your shoulders dropped as did your confidence. “To a question we don't know yet, perhaps. I need to do this, I have to understand it. It's not going away so we have to deal with it.”

Forehead dropping to yours, he sighed deeply. “The second it starts to be too much, I need you to tell me. I'm not letting you push yourself like this more then you already are. You've done enough.” You'd argue if you either thought you could win, which you couldn't. Or if you disagreed.

It was Robb's memory haunting you in your mind there, but it was Jon who was the wolf in front of you now. He was the one who had done enough, but Jon would never stop doing things, fighting for others as long as someone had too. Maybe, he was right. Maybe your place wasn't a fight anymore, maybe it was something else and you were the one who needed to accept that.

Your purpose couldn't be something risking your life now, beacuse perhaps, your purpose was the man right in front of you. For whatever reason, you didn't know, but you didn't want that reason to trouble him anymore. That wasn't what he deserved.

Pulling him a tad closer, you leaned against the Weirwood as Jon wrapped an arm gently around your waist to pull you in. Your head finding his neck as he pressed a kiss to where his lips landed in your hair to muffle against it. “It's happening to you without your control, I don't want you willingly doing it everyday too. If you're out here, I don't want to find you like this every time.”

There was no true conviction in his order, but you nodded. Wrapping your arms around him more, easing yourself into his comforting warmth. “As my King, commands.”

You felt both a breathy chuckle against you and the smirk he gave doing it. Kissing your hair once more, he pulling you back to look you properly in the eyes, nothing but an affection left. “Since when do you listen to me just beacuse I order it?”

Only a shrug came in response, making him grin more. “Since now.”

Jon shook his head this time, “Good, beacuse my next order is for you to let me warm you up with a nice bath, and find you something to eat for once.” Your smile soft and easy as your tone was light as you asked him if it was in that order. But Jon only narrowed his eyes as he ran his nose over the length of yours. “Call it an excuse to hold you for a while.”

Pulling you very gently to your feet, he kept you tucked to his side without any care of how much the other seemed to cling. It always was like this for a while after your mind did this now. Relying on him, and Jon being glad you let yourself do so. Only with Jon, did you find yourself liking needing his comfort to lean against so much. “I'm your wife now, you can do that whenever you like.”

Perhaps something more playful would've been on his mind, but he still could see the terror on your face. Teasing could come later, for now, his only duty was to make sure you didn't fall asleep that night as haunted as you looked now.

He couldn't bring himself to do it, so easily let you explore such facets of ability when each time he watched it grow harder on you. It was brutal and tormenting, and he refused to sacrifice your well being just to understand what was happening. There were other ways, and he'd figure those out himself.

Constant influxes of reports from the castles guarding the wall, searching for answers on his own, working with what Sam kept finding and connecting things from there as well as building up the defences of the North and training his people. Jon felt swarmed with things to do, but he had to do them and he would happily add taking on what you felt like your responsibilities as long as you didn't end everyday looking as unsettled as you looked now.

But still he thought, why was his family like this? Associated so strongly with something not of this world, why did the blood of the Starks all feel as if something were unique about them when it was not as such for those like his father, like his Uncle Benjen. And why did it now inflict you? The world begged Jon to care about the wars in it's own soils, but his father had told him, he was of the North.

And it was the North that called to Jon more then the running of a Kingdom as normal. His focus has to be on the worst coming and the here and now, and it was a balancing act he struggled with when half of that were things he barley understood. You were good at the day to day things, so that became the focus Jon wanted for you.

Let him do the struggling work and you do the things which laid off on the torment in your eyes at the end of each night. Jon just wished that he could trust you would let it stay that way. But he knew you dreamt strange visions and nightmares too, and as he would lay awake at night, keeping you close in his arms watching you, there was not a thing he could do to stop what was happening in your mind as much as he wasn't able to his own strangeness.

The Winter storms were fast approaching, and they begged answers Jon had not yet discovered the questions too. He just wished the answers didn't seem to lie inside your mind, and yet Jon continued to not tell you of his own dreams. You slept beside him, but he still dreamt of you in visions as if you were thousands of miles away. Your mind was trying to give answers to one thing, Jons the answers to you.

The world was nothing but a mess and everyone in it, but all Jon could do was grab onto those he cared about and hope he was strong enough to keep them close when it all would blow over in the freezing cold.

With a tilt of his head, you could see the pouring amount of petty annoyance dripping from Gendry's expression.

Taking the moment to work over the metal in front of him, you had stopped to see him in the armoury, and Gendry happy to have a distraction. If not with attitude. “You weren't lying when you said everyone in this family is insufferable.”

Of all things, you knew choosing that moment to look away with a smirk only proved his point thus further. So far the only ones who knew who Gendry really was, remained the two of you, Ser Davos, Selyse, and Jon. Gendry wasn't particularly happy at first when you informed him you had told Jon the truth, he had been avoiding him ever since. Not a family in your blood good with facing your problems head on, but in turn you only looked flatly at him. “So which version of him should I have lied to? The part of him that is my husband, or the part of him that is my King?”

He had in turn glared at you with not genuine malice behind it, “You saying you always have told all these Kings you know the truth about everything?”

Many years had gone by since you had any companionship like Gendry. You were far less quick on the tongue with him now compared to your days spent with Renly. Similar they both were, you could see easily the Baratheon charm in his blood, his humour, the ease of how snarky he could be and the degree to which mocking and teasing came at others expense. But he was easier going then Renly, and coming from a life of low birth meant there was nothing about his intentions anywhere you completely mistrusted.

Staring notably as you thanked Olly for something, and who walked off without a word, your head fell to the side slightly, holding a sigh back. Blinking once before turning your attention to the metal work between you both, you felt Gendry's stare as the boy left. Asking what was wrong with him, you shook your head properly before barrelling passed it. It was Olly's pain to work through, and if he wanted to do so in silence towards you, then so be it. But you wouldn't do him a disservice by discussing it with others.

The conversation had mostly turned to him elaborating on the stories he told you that first night in Barrowton, leading to somewhat of a petty disagreement that now sat between you. Mostly, regarding the choice to bring Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrian, with you. He kept no anger from his eyes or voice out here.

“Everything they did to you-”

Turning with a sharp glare, you cut him off quick. “They did not do any of that. Stoneheart did. It was her orders, her choice. I won't blame them for someone else's actions.” You could see there was something else on his mind when you spoke before he could once more. “You're allowed to be angry with them but don't pretend you're doing it on my behalf.”

The silence between you both was stubborn, glares sent the others way before he broke first. “Fine. I'm mad beacuse they said I could stay and be one of them, and then they sold me to the red woman and now it feels like I'm surrounded by all this shit all over again.”

Your face fell almost impassive looking. “Do you think you're the only one surrounded by the things that haunt you?” Gendry's eyes narrowed at you, but your voice was as rough and held back as your expression. “You reached out to me Gendry. I don't want you feeling as if I am forcing you to stay here. If you can't handle them being here then you shouldn't make yourself uncomfortable by doing so. But you aren't the only one here who has to look at the things that caused your suffering every single day.”

“I'm not leaving.”

Quick on the draw, you raised an eyebrow with a tone as even as could be. “No of course not, then who would be there to give Arya those disgusting love sick gazes every day.” It was his turn to go wide eyed, an offensive stammering as if he had anything to negate the notion when you moved towards the main courtyard. “Do yourself a favour, don't get caught staring at her like that in front of the King. The warning he will let you off with won't be quite as cavalier as mine.”

Trying to follow you, a struggle to keep his tone even as noticed easily. “She's a friend, she means a lot to me that's all there is to it-”

Face twisting into an easy disbeleif you looked back at him, “Who are you trying to convince?”

You trusted them little, but you still sat against the wall outside the iron bars. Thoros had most of the answers you sought, or at least he had the interest to do the talking to you. Beric watched in a careful silence most of the time as you were down there. “She served the Lord of Light as I did, it was not my place to assume her intentions.”

Your eyes glared over to him, waiting until he met the gaze before dropping them back down to your lap. Focusing once more away from Beric's stare. “No, it was your intentions to sell him off like cattle with no idea if he would even live through it. Which, if you both were wondering, he almost didn't.”

Legs spread out flat in front of you with one ankle resting gently over the other, you let your head fall flat against the stone behind you, a raise in tone a little more on the edge of condescending. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's beginning to sound as if the charges are piling up against you two.”

Thoros let out a chuckle, coming up more as a hum in his chest as he looked away. “We have been in far worse places then here, your grace.”

Rather short, it sounded from your mouth more angry and dismissive then you had intended. “So have I.” Turning back to look at them both, your voice kept the same but something more sorrowful sat in your gaze then theirs, as you nodded to Beric. “You think those scars are anything? The only thing you lost each time was your life.”

Not much could be said, they heard as much as any else did that night. There was little which refuted that the two of them didn't have any legs to stand on. Beric's tone was quiet as he finally found his voice from where he sat. “And what has your King seen?” The only indication you heard, was your eyes slightly flickering up forwards but did not commit to finding his face in return. “The true fight we are here for. He understands death, he understands returning to life as we do, but does he truly understand what we are up against? How much more important it is then-”

Closer to something akin to a growl as you felt your nails tense in your own palms, digging deeper by the second. “He understands better then you two. Better then any of us.” Finally seeking their gaze, taken back themselves with the darker colours painting your eyes in a seethe. “Whatever your god has shown you is nothing compared to what we are really up against. But what do we have left if we sacrifice everything and everyone we have to stop it? What's left in the world if we treat the people we care about as that creature leading you? What are we fighting for if we let ourselves become as bitter and hollow as she?”

Beric's voice was a whisper, only heard in the echo of the dungeon. “Survival alone isn't enough?”

Your lips parted to answer, but not your voice which spoke out in the darkness. That one was holding far too deep and rough of a rasp to come from you. “No. It isn't.”

Nodding for the guards to wait outside, Jon moved in between them as the door closed behind him. Were you the one in the cell, you would've said he looked rather intimidating this way. Fur dark and broad over his shoulders and the only light in the fire making the blacks in his clothes, hair, eyes all shine in a shadowing way as he approached. Voice low as he stared down both of them you sat on the other side of. “If I let people like you do whatever you want in your gods name, what's going to even be left for us to care about if we win?”

Motioning with barley a twitch of his fingers at the sudden gesture of you moving to stand, Jon came before you, now in between you and the bars as he now blocked part of their view of you, your eyes only able to see the fur and cloak draped down his shoulders, and his hair up and back.

Beric this time was the talker, and Thoros found it in him to be quiet. It seemed both men had their targets of conversation in mind beforehand. “And I would say it's on the side of selfish to think we are the ones who matter. The world we live in matters, not the whims and wishes of the people in it.”

You'd be willing to wager Jon's eyes were growing in a painting from grey to more of a black as the tensity in his shoulders increased. “Have you ever known what it feels like to think you have no one in the world who cares about you?” Heart in your chest twisted as did his, like you both could feel the pain wrapping around the same vines tethering you both to one another as he looked down at them. “I have. I know what losing everything and everyone you care about feels like, it didn't make me feel as if I was doing the right thing. Just made me feel angry. And alone.”

Both men had lost much and Beric more in himself but still, you knew they didn't understand. Not the way you did. Your foot by his just barley shifted to lean against what you could reach of his ankle as if that sensation over all that blocking your skin to his, still was enough to send a shiver up Jons spine. Your voice behind him was equally as quiet, but more breathless in a knowing. “You don't give people a selfish reason to keep going, and they just won't. They'll give up and let winter take them instead of fighting for the nothing they have left.”

From where you were, you couldn't see Beric as Jon likely intended, but you could once more meet the eyes of Thoros. And that feeling chilled in your mouth swallowing down to your lungs as he watched you through Berics words. “We are the Lords servants. You, me, all four of us. We serve him and that is why we have all come together. What we want beyond that no longer matters.”

It was morose. A dreary thought full of no life or love being asked of you and yet that deep love is what drove every action Jon chose. It was what kept him going better then everyone else you'd ever know, Jon was made of something different then any man you had ever met and without that need to protect and love, there would only be the darkest parts of himself left. And he didn't deserve that.

“What would you have me do, walk you out to my people, the ones who lost their loved ones beacuse of your men and tell them their grief doesn't matter?” They wouldn't know Jon well enough to pick up on the edge, but something of a nerve was struck. Something you didn't quite know how deep it was rooted, and yet you felt it ping in your own chest as if your pain. “Or that it shouldn't matter to them if they'll ever be happy again? You two put me in a position where keeping you alive is the right thing to do, but not beacuse you deserve it.”

If Thoros would stop looking at you, maybe you would have found it in you to stand by Jons side to try and even that anger but you felt pinned to the wall with something unnerving. You were truly starting to hate these priests and priestesses of this bloody fire god. They all looked at you the same, as if they knew something you didn't when none of their knowledge ever meant anything to you.

Jon gestured back to you with that edge only sharpening like a blade. “You're alive beacuse of her, and only her. I'd have executed you for what you did, what you almost let..” He struggled to find it in him to call her who she was supposed to be as much as you did. “Almost let that woman do. You can speak to her when she comes to you, but I'm not letting you try and convince her everything she already died for doesn't matter.”

Beric had no emotion in his voice which was different then the last. “And what did you die for, your grace?” If he thought he had Jon on something, he was wrong.

Jon didn't hesitate, but you did feel the weight in his tone heavy as it always was whenever someone was brave enough to bring it up, which was uncommon. “I died for her. She was being kept prisoner here, and escaped. So I tried to go after her, to find her and protect her beacuse I love her.” Don't let them see the clawing at your chest you told yourself, don't clam up now at how freely he could say it any and everyone when in this very home years ago you two were too scared to share those words. “I didn't die for any fight, I died beacuse the men who betrayed me didn't want me to protect the woman I love.”

Finally, Thoros peeled his eyes up. A pale blue that begged a small ask which had not the intentions in his companion. “And where are the men who betrayed you, for betraying the cause you swore your life too?”

Jon, had the only answer that mattered. “Dead. And they didn't come back, one way or another. Not beacuse your god didn't need them, but beacuse no one cared about them enough to even try. If you died, my lord, can you say there is anyone out there who would bring you back?”

Thoros didn't argue that Beric would, nor did Beric speak up for him. And in honest, as Jon stood there that made him feel a bit unwell. There was not a thing any could do to stop him from bringing you back if Jon lost you again, and he knew without any doubt that you would be the same for him. If bringing Beric back to life tethered their fates together like Jons to you, it was tiny in comparison.

Jon had a purpose to protect the North and his people, but he had just enough room for that purpose to also be you. His cause was helping the North survive and fight before the army of the dead could destroy anything South beyond them. But Jon knew, the only reason he wanted to do any of that was beacuse he had people he cared about.

He had many he cared about, Ghost, Sam, Tormund, Edd, but now he had more family then he ever imagined once upon a time. He had you, the woman he loved more then anyone else, more then he could love any other person. But now? He also had Arya again. And Jon too, would not hesitate to kill anyone who tried hurting her, wouldn't hesitate on anything if someone tried to take his baby sister away again.

Jon fought for a purpose, but he lived for you all. Ghost and his girls, that's what Jon lived for. His direwolf, his wife, his sister, and his mother. Jon would never consider her life a casualty needed for something else.

He had been speaking more and more to Howland Reed. Of Rhaegar's actions in the rebellion, and from what he had figured out on his own. He knew some from his son Jojen, but they were always spoken in confusion, not understanding what he saw without his father painting the picture. And perhaps that's why this idea made him sick. That you needed to sacrifice everything for one purpose and damn the people in your life or what happens to them to get there.

The rebellion, the lives lost and ruined, Jons grandfather and uncle burned alive that started it all, none of it was really about Lyanna. It was about Jon, and he felt that burning hatred grow. All Rhaegar needed was to pretend he could fufill some delusion. Once he had raped Lyanna Stark enough to know she was pregnant, he left for war beacuse Jons existence was all that mattered.

Noble knights, skilled Kingsuard and valiant men like the Sword of the Morning did not fight his father and six other men to the death to hide a dying teenage girl from her brother. They had fought to keep the Last Dragon's third child, last living child, from being taken away from whatever destiny the crown prince had thought was his.

Jons father by birth created him from blood and violence beacuse he thought destiny was all that mattered, but the father Jon lost, the father Jon missed everyday? He had taken Jon in as his own son, beacuse he knew what mattered was loving him.

To Jon, as he stood there staring down Beric Dondarrian, he thought to himself, this was exactly the kind of dangerous mentality that Rhaegar had ruined the Seven Kingdoms with. And Jon refused to lead like that into the storms of winter. He wasn't special or a hero, he was just a dead man who had to fight beacuse the innocent deserved someone who stands up for their right to live.

It wasn't until he felt a slight pressure near the fur across his shoulder blades did he realize you had stood up. Breaking his dark glare at the man, he turned to you and the grey returned far softer then before in a split moment. His name soft on your lips like a sirens call that calmed him instead of crazed his mind, that was all it took to bring Jon back down.

Men like this, like Rhaegar fought for fate and destiny. Jon though, looked at you as you held that narrow eyed concern, that silence gazing at him begging him to let you take care of him instead and felt impatient inside now. Turning back to them, Jon let his arm drift across your waist to pull you into his side ever so carefully to not jostle you. His gaze back on the two men as his tone was short and rigid and what came out of it was so unexpected you almost let a laugh burst you. “By the way, I wouldn't let her come down here, but Arya wanted me to tell you both to burn in hell.”

Jon dragged you along with him to leave, and as soon as the door closed behind him did a smirk find its way onto his lips as a breathless laugh did yours. Your side leaning more comfortingly into his as Jon adjusted his grip to keep you against him while walking. “They are behind bars, I presume she would be safe enough.”

Muttering just as low in your ear, Jons eyes brightened watching your own laugh grow at his next words. “It's not her safety I'd be worried about.”

He was trying to keep you away from things, you were sure of it. Taking so much of it onto himself and hide the worst from you, but it left you feeling on the side of rather useless. Trying to do things to ease the amount of weight on his shoulders without going against his words or wishes. But Jon didn't make that a simple task, not with how well he paid attention to you.

Always meeting with someone or another, having to handle this and that and go over the running of a kingdom with trying to save it and everytime you offered your help, Jon would pull you to him with a hand gentle at the back of your head to press a kiss, murmuring he was handling it.

Jon's mind always running around something, even now curls loose, dressed down and settled he stood by the fire in his chambers, a hand braced on the stone above as you could see his mind unable to stop. Likely he barley even heard you, coming up quietly behind him until your palms ran flat up against his back until you were mostly pressed against him. Voice soothing as you leaned up closer to his ear, “Jon.”

Sighing out, Jon let his free hand reach behind him, grabbing at one of your arms to pull it around and wrapped by his front, your other hand willingly doing the same as he grabbed one of your hands, holding it there as best he could from that angle. Rasping low, “We haven't been together since our fight.”

It wasn't anger nor judgment, yet you suspected the trace of insecurity seeping through the doubt you could detect. Leaning your front more against him, you pressed a kiss where the back of his head you could reach first, mumbling against his curls. “I'm sorry.”

Jon shook his head, but there was something else attached to it that weighed on him. His brows furrowed and from what you could see, something more upset on his face then he wanted you to know about. “Don't be, it's not your fault. I just can't figure out if it's only about Ramsay..or if it..” Prompting him to continue, murmuring his last words with an ask to continue, Jon sighed deeply again. That time his voice was certainly insecure. “If it has to do with you learning the truth. About me.”

Were you strong enough, you'd have turned him in your arms to face you instantly. Rather you even tried slinking from his grasp as you gently murmured his name, “Jon,” But he kept you in place, and it pained you. He didn't want you to see how upset the thought made him. As if you cared about that sort of thing. “Why would that have anything to do with us?”

Forehead resting more against his shoulders, as if trying to nuzzle as close to him as possible. Were you not right there, you wouldn't have heard him so clearly. “Being in love with Eddard Stark's bastard is one thing, but it's a whole other to say you want to be with a son of Rhaegar Targaryean.” Oh you knew that stiffness in his body was a desperation to keep that resolve as together as he could.

How long has that been a fear? How long has he been worrying that was it?

Head dropping to what you could of his neck, you left a long but tender kiss to the skin until you felt him relax even the tiniest bit. “Jon, I've suspected this since our first night on Dragonstone. And not anytime after did that ever cross my mind as something against you.” You pressed another, and a third trying to reach his jaw, barley scratching your lips to his facial hair. “Who your blood is has nothing to do with wanting to be with you. I've wanted to be with you since I was a girl, and I'm not about to change that now. You are not someone's son to me, you're Jon Snow. You're my King, and the man I love. No one else is allowed to have a say in that. Not anymore.”

Head dropping a little, he held your hand tighter before taking the hand braced on the stone to grab your other free one and bring it up to his lips. A kiss long and almost needing left on the back of it before he held it more against his chest. It took him a good moment to find any words, and you let him take whatever length of time he needed. “Ever since I came back, I'm always worried I'll scare you. I've never wanted anything more then the way I want you. And it scares me to think I'm too much for you..or you'll realize where that comes from and want nothing to do with it.”

Your heart beat too painfully, you needed to tame this now before it broke you or him. But it was the small smile you saw forming on his face as you spoke that said choosing the lighter path was the right one. “I hate it to be the bearer of obvious news, Snow. But you've always been like this, bringing you back didn't change that. It just means sometimes we add more inappropriate things to what we do, now.” Voice whispering softer, you rested your head somewhat against the side of his. “And it isn't anything. It isn't a Rhaegar thing or even a Ned Stark thing. It's just you. This is how you and I are and no one else has anything to do with that.”

Finally, you felt Jon turn his head just enough to the side he pressed against you a little easier as he muttered roughly, “No, I know it's different this time. Something changed when you brought me back, every moment I'm not with you feels like hell.”

“I don't see anything wrong with that so far.” Jon called your name in a bit of a sternness, finally breaking the hold between you both as he turned to face you. Only, you reached up first. Cupping both of his cheeks, letting your thumbs run gently along his jaw as you felt his hands settle instantly on your waist to pull you closer. “We spent six years trying to not go too far. And now after everything that's happened, we're back here. Together. Maybe this is just our way of making up for lost time. Beacuse I have no complaints about the way you care about me. So if you are not going to let me talk down about myself to you, I will not let you do the same about yourself.”

Running his hands along your waist, you found yourself unable to look away from the bright shine in his grey eyes. A sight you'd never get enough of, as well as the entrancing husk always so deep and rough attached to his voice. “I'm not trying to pressure you. I miss you, that's all.”

Exhaling, you looked up at him quietly for a moment. In some moments Jon was just as insecure about things as you were and it made sense why he fought against that noise so loudly in your head. Jon shouldn't have worries like that, and you felt none of the panic that stopped you before this time.

Leaning up, Jon took over to close the gap between your lips himself as soon as he caught on. Your hands drifted behind him, running through his curls as he reached up to keep your lips in his kiss, hands holding your cheeks with much more urgency then you had his.

Soft and memorizing, but still needing and harsh. Deepening his kiss with every breathe from you he stole, and easily begun to pull small high pitched sounds from you. Gifting the noises into his kiss as it all made him rumble deep in his chest. Pressing himself much more firmly against you as his teeth just barley nibbled your bottom lip. You of course, granted him permission with a shameless ease.

Licking into your mouth, Jon brushed his tongue against yours. Coaxing you to follow ,to explore him as much as he adored doing to you. Your nails scratched along his scalp, and a deep growl came from his chest. His hand tilting your head up more to be at his mercy, keeping you at a perfect position to taste each time he let his tongue slip back to brush along yours.

His other hand moved to trail down your neck, thumb running along the middle of your throat and down, wasting no time nor having the patience to play nice. A rough hand sliding into the collar of your dress, finding your breast and groping with a rough greed. Your insides twisted almost right away and you gasped as his fingers roughly twisted the small bud peaking for his touch.

Almost as if Jon was kissing you in the same rhythm his hand and fingertips teased you, his other joined finally, gently pulling your dress's collar down indecently until he pulled away from your lips with a bite. Frustrated at the fabric Jons eyes flew down to gauge what he had to work with, and instead choosing to yank it down with a tear in the fabric, exposing your breasts to him and the cold air of his room.

Eyes black as the night sky outside, Jon's face was harsh and close to stern should you not know better as he just stared with no guilt nor shame. As if you were on display for him, Jon suddenly grabbing your hip and guiding you further into the room, the back of your knees hitting the bed. Not letting you fall back onto it, he gathered the material of both sides of the skirt, finding nothing underneath of a shift he exhaled, almost pausing before taking it all off.

He let it drop wherever it landed as he guided you to sit, but you had nothing but eyes for his black, harsh ones all over you. Kneeling down however, his touch was gentle when his gaze was pure greed, grabbing at the sides of the only fabric left covering you and pulling it down slowly. Giving you the chance to lift your hips to left him, his head dropping to carefully take it off from each leg.

But then he stayed knelt there. The fabric clutched tightly in his hand as Jon just stared at you, at what was between your legs, before trailing up to your scar and staying silent as he looked to it just as long. Your eyes so focused on his intense ones, had you entirely miss Jon not letting your underwear join what was to be a continued pile of clothes, rather he shoved it in a pocket of his own knowing your gaze was too distracted to see.

Finding your eyes once more, your own hands reached out in an instant, unlacing the middle of his shirt with more care then needed considering how bare Jon had you. Pushing it gently along his shoulders and tossing it more purposely somewhere safe in the distance, Jon was entirely silent as you did the same reaching for his pants. One hand of his cupped your cheek, leaning in enough to nudge your nose with his as his other helped make the process move quicker.

But you however, had other ideas sneaking up in your mind. Prompting Jon to stand up so you could pull them off, the second he stepped out of them Jon had the intention of kneeling between your legs once more to finally taste you as he was so desperate too, but you were quicker then his slower mind was feeling looking at you.

The warmth between your legs grew wet at the sight, as if it were possible to forget, your lungs hitched only for a moment as you looked at him. Cock was long, and despite being with him you swallowed almost nervously at how thick he was. You could feel the sting already and yet, you only craved that more and more. Hard as he could be, tinged slightly red as it begged for attention and you knew Jon would deny it in your favour. Too bad.

The moment your hands gently grasped his hips, one of his hands found your hair, raking through it as he looked down at you with eyes wide and bright. His akin to a frown while your expression being a genuine ask of permission. It wasn't his favourite, he preferred anything else he could do to you, but Jon was weak to the hopeful ask in your eyes. As if the politeness you waited for him to approve of with made his cock throb more then if you were greedy and debauched.

You wanted him to give you permission.

Running through your soft stands, Jons gaze softened, his voice barley audible as the heavy accent murmured through the weighted desire in his veins. “Go on,”

Nodding in his touch, Jon let out a shaking breathe just as your eyes slipped closed. You wanted to focus, only on him only what felt good. Jon so rarely let himself be the one receiving, he wanted to give and give he wanted to do the work but he deserved to be worshipped, and you wanted to be the one giving the offering before the idol. But all you could offer, was your mouth.

Only grasping his thick cock enough to guide you, your hand couldn't even wrap around him properly, a gentle lick along his tip and you instantly felt his hand tighten in your hair along with a hiss from above in your ears. A hum left your throat without notice, the thick taste of what seed already leaked from him as you tasted it like it was there just for you. Jon gave another shaking breathe, trying to control himself as you finally pressed a kiss like any other. One to his tip, and many more so gentle down his entire length. Never gripping him tight in your hand or stroking him, just a gentle hold so you could kiss and leave tiny licks to properly soak him better.

You trailed down one way, pressed a kiss at a tough angle along his lower hips, face brushing against the coarse, rough black hair at the base of his cock before moving kissing and licking down the other side. A light grip the whole way until you unwrapped your fingers, trailing them tenderly along his hips back to hold yourself steady against him.

Jon's hand in your hair adjusted, a sturdier grip as he, himself, contained the desire to ask you to look up at him. But he let you work, and as soon as you licked the tip of his cock until you gently took just that in your mouth, Jon realized how much you with your eyes closed, just enjoyed it as you tried to sigh around him.

You felt the stretch, but continued. Letting the saliva accumulate to properly soak him each inch you let him slide deeper. Only part way before you pulled back and sunk your mouth back on him. Back and forth did you suck him only half, Jon tensed under your hands but said nothing. He rarely did here, words didn't come easy to him normally let alone with this. You could hear his breathing pick up as you soaked his cock more and more, easing yourself into taking more of him at once.

You knew you could but gods he was long and merciless how thick he stretched anywhere inside of you like this. Fingertips flexing against his hips, Jon muttered inaudibly under his breathe as you got closer to taking his whole length. Not once did you pull off, the heaviness on your tongue, the salty taste of his seed as thick as he was coating your taste buds as you had to relax yourself.

Just as you came close, Jon's other hand moved. Grasping at one of your hands on his hips, trying to hold whatever of your fingers he could tightly and in that same instance did you whine as you took the rest of him down throat. “Gods..” Nose brushing against the hair at his base, you felt that overwhelming sensation of panic but yet you still slid almost all the way to the tip and then slowly right down all the way deep once more.

A hum in your throat, each time you pulled closer to off, your core twisted between the fight of needing air and reprieve, and craving the feeling of taking him deep again. Jons hands gripped your fingers and hair tight each time you sunk deep on him, the later trying desperately not to pull you down himself at his own pace.

Sucking and licking any and every sort of way on his cock, you almost made more noise then him, even in just tiny sounds deep from within at wanting more, wanting to taste everything he could spill down your throat with, wanting to feel him let go. Jon's head fell back, jaw clenched tight as he tried to contain every growl and groan trapped in his mouth. Throbbing in you, he raked his hand through the strands once more before dropping back down to look at you. Your eyes still closed, but Jons were wide and blown out in need. Mouth parted as he watched your head bob up and down on his cock, only ever doing what he knew was for his entire pleasure, wanting him to get the most out of it.

If his younger self could see such an image, Jon knew he would've lost his mind.

Deep husk against his voice in the air was harmonizing with the crackling of the fire, and the soft, wet sounds of your mouth around him. Jon wished he could make this exciting, make it filthy and vulgar just to be different but what slipped out was far too entrenched in affection. “Darling, fuck- look at yourself. You shouldn't enjoy this as much as you do, I know it's a lot for you to take,” Jons hand once more ran smoothly down your hair at the back of your head, subtly shifting your pace a little more shallow and a little deeper.

It was a strain on you, taking him so deep so consistently but gods did you hate pulling off him. As if it got harder and harder to stay away, Jon himself kept pushing you forward to take more and more of him as the whine in your chest rose up, fingertips flexing tightly against hips as you eagerly took him deep. You wanted to taste him, wanted Jon to spill down your throat so badly, you wanted him to enjoy something only for him.

Closer and closer did you feel him throb in your mouth, did the rambling grow through the thickness of such a deep Northern accent. “You are so beautiful. Don't deserve such a sweet, beautiful girl taking me like this.” You tried to argue back, but barley got anything passed the minor sound of nonsense protest. The hand on your hair slid slightly to hold closer to the side of your face, thumb running along the skin against your cheeks.

Your eyes closed, but Jon could see the tears slipping down he was so deep in your mouth, for so long with nothing to be your salvation. You would find only that once his seed was in your stomach. He wished he didn't groan your name so deeply, hold you tighter and throb more intensely at the sight but he did. Overwhelming such a small mouth so easily with his size and he wanted to fill it more and more until you had to swallow his every drop just to breathe again.

That was when his hand tightened, his voice dropped roughly. “Let me control the pace, alright?” Not an order, but Jon didn't like that anyways. He liked giving such gentle commands and waiting for you to agree which you always did.

Trying to relax as much as possible, Jon decided to return to your earlier pattern. Pulling you almost all the way off before pushing you all the way down, only his pace was faster. His pace was less kind and your moans and whines only made his cock harder. You were now just along for the journey, and you wanted no other use for your mouth then right here.

Faster and faster did Jon move you along his cock, his ramblings sometimes made sense, sometimes didn't but they were always mumbled or slurring as if he had no control of what the words were. “Fuck, you feel so good, doing so well- Taking me like you were meant too, mouth, cunt, everything made for me..let me spill down your throat, and I'll make you feel good. I promise darling, you just- just have to swallow everything I give you,”

Calling your name at attention, you moaned against him. A vague sound of your name before Jon more gentle then he ever had, carefully pulled your head down to take his cock deep as you could. Your nose pressed tight against the black hair, and Jons hand caressed the back of your head as he held your hand without failure.

Muscles tensing under your fingertips greatly, so did the strain in his voice and pain in your jaw as his cock stretched your mouth. Snapping, Jon finally came. Thick spurts of his seed poured down your throat deeply, spilling more and more as you swallowed around him, only making it worse. It was a taste you teared up at wanting to have had again, and your hands tensed tightly as muffled gagging came as Jon's seed was so copious in how much he fed you.

Not looking away from you the entire time, Jon kept you close as his mouth agape groaned your name like a quiet plea and kept you gently pressed against him while his cock was filling your mouth with him and his seed both. He wasn't even finished yet when he started up, breathless as anything, “Let me taste you, darling. I want- I need to taste you, I've missed you so much. You going to let me between you, make you feel good?”

A nod as you still swallowed him, milking every drop you were allowed to have until Jon hissed, pulling you off himself. Your mouth dripped as you gasped with the remains of your saliva and his seed, but did Jon not care. Grabbing both your cheeks, he leaned down finally, capturing your lips. Hands running though your hair, you felt his cock still just as unbelievably hard as he pressed you back into the furs of his bed, your legs spreading to accommodate him in an instant.

Barley pulling from your lips, Jon brushed against them as he spoke, “You're perfect, everything about you.” You shook your head, but Jon tilted your head enough he could rest his forehead against yours, both your eyes squeezed shut tightly, you could feel him frowning. “I love you, alright? I'd do anything for you, now let me do this one thing.”

You bit your lip, but Jon soothed it with a soft kiss, one to your lips, then forehead then finally trailing downward along your neck. “Jon,” Ignoring you, the needy high pitch of your voice giving away the blatant want, you had no other words. Neck with gentle kisses and brushes of his tongue down to your collarbones, Jons hands reached up to grasp tightly once more at your breasts.

Groping tightly with this thumbs running over the buds before pulling at each, your back arching up with a gasp. Hands grasping at his curls, and your hips moved to meet with his pushing into yours, Jons length now soaked from your mouth and just as hard brushing against your inner thigh. One bite after another and suddenly, with the yank of his fingers did Jon bite and tug at the other with his teeth, the core inside of you burning hot and nowhere to let it out but writhe against his touch and tighten hands in his hair.

Bruising the skin as your muscles tightened trying to contain the gasps in you, but Jons mouth was unforgiving and rough. Marking you up and this time the more you so eagerly moved against him the rougher and rougher he got, the more growls in his chest came out as his hands left marks of his fingertips as well as indents of his teeth.

If Jon was anything it was currently greedy. Yanking his mouth from your breasts, you felt them sting in the air as Jon grabbed a hand in his curls. Placing it up and beside your head against the fur below, he bit at your lip all the same. “Stay just like this, I'm going to take care of you.” You almost whined his name not even knowing what you were trying to ask when he kissed you gentle, hand now cupping your cheek and pulling back. “No, relax and enjoy yourself. That's a command, darling.”

You'd laugh if he didn't have you so worked up, so heart poundingly overwhelmed at how good his bare frame felt against yours, how soft his lips were and how much he changed to rough the second he grasped and bit at your breasts before returning to soft and slow. Trailing his lips along the scar, Jon hovered over it for a moment longer then you knew by until he slunk down on the bed.

Prying your legs wide, Jon moved one to sit with your foot flat as far as he could push it, while wrapping an arm around your other thigh, holding it up and wide closer to his head. You felt his warm breathe hovering over your clit, as if contemplating himself which way he wanted you, but he chose the path he couldn't keep up.

Small, gentle brushes of his tongue along your clit, he would then trail it along your thighs, kissing the length and back to your clit with his tongue and then once more to the other thigh. A pattern until he pressed his tongue wider against you and dove right in.

Flat against your core, Jon licked down to to drink up everything already there as he groaned. Pressing his forehead against your mound for a moment, “You get this wet just having my cock in your mouth?”

Pushed up on your elbows you looked down to see his dark curls rise up just enough to catch his dark gaze as you bit your lip with a nod of yes. Jon practically letting his eyes roll into the back of his head, he yanked your hips more up to him, leaning his head down to properly taste you. His tongue sinking deep inside as he could reach, the cry leaving your mouth nowhere to be stopped.

Hands clutching at the furs your head flew back just as much, his tongue brushing against something sparkingly sensitive, and refusing to come back up for any air as he growled into your soaking cunt at the taste. Drinking from you as if the only thing you were made for, was to spread wide for him, his mouth, tongue, cock. All of you made for Jon alone.

His hold on your thighs tightened as you arched your back up into his touch, one hand flying back down to pull at his curls and it only made him more aggressive in his greed. Which in turn gave you the same reaction and round you both went. Driving the other wild, but Jon was the one twisting that feeling inside you with licks now ensuring he let nothing go anywhere but his tongue.

Yanking your thigh up in his hold higher, Jon made a deep sound vibrating against you. The shiver running up your spine and leaving through your lips in a soft cry. Already you could feel sweat starting to drench your hair against the heat around you and building white hot from within. Drawing you closer and closer to that edge and just as your hand grasped tight, and your back arched with a plead of his name a mantra did the feeling get ripped from you.

Eyes flying shut tightly as you tried to contain your protest, as did the air in your lungs hold. Jons touch did not leave, pressing further more his lips along your thigh as he grew bolder with indenting his teeth to leave his mark for only him to see.

Returning to feast only once he could feel you relaxing in his touch, and no longer bothering to build up that time. Tongue flat against your core running up to work purposely over your clit, letting his facial hair rub raw against your sensitive skin and burn you outside as well as in. The twisting inside you screamed hot and fast, less begging able on your lips and just as Jon let his teeth barley scrape along the bundle of nerves, you almost flinched from him.

Jon knew you however, grabbing you by your hip with his other hand and holding you tightly against his mouth. A pattern switching in his licks just as you were able to catch your breathe and then all over once more until he felt you shake around his touch once more. And once more thus, it was taken from you.

Trying to call his name weakly, Jon shushed you quietly. Pressing a kiss to your clit and then your mound as he ran that hand along your hip to waist and back comfortingly. Murmuring low as his dark eyes peered up at you, your hands barley moving other then tight fists in the fur below and his curls as your eyes sealed shut trying to contain your breathing. Trying not to just beg.

Beacuse Jon didn't want you to beg, he wanted you to trust him to know when to take care of you.

You dared not look, but you felt his eyes watching you, his touch trying to bring you down as you felt his breathe warm against your wetness as he rasped, “Do you want to cum?” Your brows furrowed, not quite grasping the question as your heart raced in your chest. A kiss pressed once more to your thigh just above a more sensitive mark already bruising, “I asked you a question, do you want me to make you cum?”

Your mind was foggy in the feeling and the ones too torn away, you couldn't tell if it was trick. If there was a proper answer, or if he was testing you. “Whatever you want,” You felt Jon tilting his head slightly before he pressed his lips to your thigh once more. Pulling it up off his hold before he hauled himself over top of you. Bracing a hand beside your head, he nudged your nose with his to look up at him.

Eyes dark and you swallowed harshly despite how little you had a chance to see your own wetness still on his lips before he kissed you. Tongue only barley brushing against yours as he kept you deep in his touch. Barley pulling back as his kissed down your jaw to just below your ear. “Well I want what you want, so you need to tell me what that is.” His lips barley stopped moving along your skin, his other hand sliding down to grasp at your breast, still sensitive it had you gasp even louder ending on a cry.

You tried turning your head away from him, a flush finding its way up your chest passed his touch, not wanting him to make you say anything about it. You were never good at it on your own, speaking so blatantly free like that. Jon only murmured your name before another kiss that time to the side of your head despite his other hands stinging, addicting touch.

Only a nod, he pushed more up to hover over you, trying to take away your ability to look away from him, “Is that a yes?” Your brows furrowed, an embarrassed feeling flooding your veins but he took none of it in jest, wanting you to meet his eyes. “We can keep going, but I don't want to be inside you until you've cum for me.”

A small voice, you reached up. One hand running through the dark curls loose around him before scratching along his scalp. Eyes fluttering shut as was the exhale he gave a bit shaking. The hand beside you head curled into a fist as Jon tried not to just rut into you. “Please, Jon. I'll be good, I'll cum for you I promise.”

Eyes staring harsh down at you, his expression seemed to be unmoving as it was intense in how focused it was. “You promise?” As if confused almost if you didn't want him thinking you'd disobey. It shouldn't have made his blood boil in such a obsessing way, but it did. You wanting to behave for him.

You weren't trying to be seductive, but it worked out that way regardless just by way of how little Jon knew he could resist anything you wanted like this. “I do. I'll do anything, I just want you inside me, filling me, anything you want for it, I'll do it.”

He almost flipped you over onto your hands and knees on the spot.

Instead, Jon stared down at you hard, the muscles in his limbs screamed at him to take you like an animal, over and over at how easily you'd let him do anything. You couldn't realize however, just how filthy that anything was which Jon could come up with. He spent far too much time thinking about ways to take you, he'd do them all if you'd let him.

Not another word trusted in himself to leave his mouth, Jon surged down. Capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, biting down against your bottom lip he swore he almost drew blood before making the same greedy path right back down to your soaked core.

There was no grace or teasing this time. The moment Jon got between your legs, he hoisted your thighs up over his shoulders and dove in. Licking up everything you gave him while he was away before sucking at your clit enough you cried out, louder then you realized. A wolf devouring the prey laid about at his utter mercy, and Jon had little patience for that very concept. Not here, not when he would sooner kill someone then let anything take him away from having you here in his bed.

Reaching something inside of you, he kept you grounded by your hips,refusing you even let you move from exactly where he needed you to be. Jon left not a shred of tease as he soaked you with his mouth as much as you soaked him in return. Unable to stop the thought in his head, at just how unbelievably smooth sliding his cock inside of you was going to be tonight, he groaned into your cunt while his nails dug into your skin.

Your insides twisted and turned and washed over you like wave along the shores in an instant as Jon pulled you right into an orgasm. Attached to his mouth, you cried his name out once more like a mantra and yet Jon did not let you go. If you even hinted at moving away from the shock of how much more pleasure his mouth was hurdling you towards, he tugged you right back closer.

“Jon, please, I can't-”

Barley detaching himself from you, and even more humiliating in your mind, was how he couldn't even bring himself to look anywhere but your soaked core as he rasped out, “You can, and you will.” Not wasting his time and tasting you all over again, you felt that sharp pain growing as it sat atop the pleasure and only he could make you want more.

You felt a sting in your eyes as he pulled another and another from you, maybe three, it could have been four. Your mind was hardly in the present other then just him. Only as what might have been a fifth clawed it's way to flooding his mouth with your taste, did tears also fall from the corners of your eye, was your lungs in agony.

Soaking you more, sloppy kisses pressed to your clit and up the path between your breasts before he hovered over you. A hand pulling your lips up to his instantly, his tongue invading your mouth as it had your cunt and making you taste yourself exactly as he loved. His free hand yanking your thigh to rest up on his hip as he refused to let your lips go.

Barley feeling anything beyond how shocked you felt between your legs from the amount you came, you could not sense anything until you felt the thick tip of his cock press against your cunt. A hand grasped at his shoulder while the other held tight in his curls, Jon growled as he pushed inside you.

Just as he thought, you were soaked. So soaked he slid inside you as deep as you could accept him without any resistance. Tight and warm around his cock but you were so wet it hardly mattered how much his size could overwhelm you. Keeping you close, Jon only let his lips leave yours enough to look down at you as he slowly slid out of you.

Not quite leaving your warmth before he just as smooth and slow filled you right back, the gasp on your lips captured by a quick kiss before he kept his eyes on your face. Lips parted in an awe as your eyes were closed trying to keep calm, trying to not look so needy but that's what he wanted.

You didn't know how long he kept you like that, ever so slowly sliding his cock in and out of you and each time he pushed forward you felt yourself soaking him even more. The sound of it almost made you turn away from him, humiliated, but his grip on your hair turned you back to meet his eyes. His jaw was clenched tightly as he watched you, but each thrust almost made you close your eyes at how much it tore at your insides.

Burning hot you grasped tightly at him while your other let matched how he was holding up your thigh on the other side of his hip. Letting him almost push deeper at the angle, a grumbling of swears falling from his mouth as he dropped his head more into your chest. Slowly trying to thrust harder but not wanting to sacrifice the pace. But you knew he felt the second you clenched around him with a whine, did he kiss you once more. Speaking between each breathe he didn't let you take, “Come on, darling, come on,”

Tears falling you came hard around him as it paralyzed your nerves elsewhere, nothing more then what Jon could slide his cock inside of, you held onto him only willing to take. Give him what he wanted to take and you'd do that the rest of your life if he'd keep you right here. A biting kiss pushed into a deeper one as Jon groaned your name, shaking above as he hitched your leg higher to barley thrust shallow as deep as he could.

The warmth filling inside of you had you gasp, so much more warm then anyone else and you knew his seed spilled thick. Your other hand grasping his cheek as he thrusted to fuck more and more of him inside of you, not willing to let any of it go to waste anywhere but there. Shifting up onto his knees, he kept the same hold of your hip but now he leaned more over you.

His hand leaving your hair, making sure your eyes stayed on his dark, penetrating ones as he reached up to grasp the headboard behind you. Lips parting you kept your legs up by his waist as he nodded, knowing he was trying to tell you without the ability to speak, he needed leverage.

Jon, was not a man who did not fulfill such a promise. Struggling himself to keep his own eyes open, he pounded far harder into you. Trying to keep slower, trying to make sure he didn't overwhelm you in every way but you felt so good around him. “Fuck..” Like each thrust of his cock inside of you was rougher then the last, the resounding smacking of his skin against yours could deafen a man if it didn't sound so beautiful mixed with your cries of his name. Your hands grasping what you could of his waist, but Jon held the power. Jon was the one choosing the pace, how rough he was and you melted to his needs as if that was enough for your pleasure.

Considering how fast he got another orgasm out of you so soon, you wanted him rough as much as his clawing animal deep inside of him tried to beg for despite how locked away be kept it. When he opened his mouth, he rambled without thought, an entrancing husk you moaned out for. “Fuck, I want to keep you here. Right here, fill you again and again, make sure we don't leave until I've filled you with a child-” Jons head dropped as he lost some of the roughness and picked the pace up, not letting that loud echoing slap go away in any manner. “I should've kept you down in that cell with me until I put a baby in you, that night in Castle Black. Should've kept you from all of them until I filled you enough that it took.”

Leaning up, your hands pressed against his chest trying to get him to lean down to meet your lips, but Jon could only watch how rough he jostled you with each pound and growled.

Tightly grasping the back of your neck did he lean down to meet your lips, biting and leaving your bottom lip bleeding that time no question. But it didn't deter him, and he refused to let your lips get away as his other hand cupped your cheek. His cock was making you feel dizzy, how thick he kept filling you with no chance of escape.

Lightheaded as Jon fucked you, before he shoved you down by your sternum onto the furs once more, a few shallow thrusts as he watched you carefully. “Stay just like that,” You winced as he pulled out of you, tears falling once more as you bit your tongue not to beg so pathetically for him to come back.

Only moving off the bed long enough to grab something from his pockets, he climbed back up before shoving your legs wide. Snatching both of your hands and raising them up high near a post on the headboard. The sound of something tearing you couldn't see hit you as you watched Jons eyes go dark and possessive at his work. Using your own underwear he tied your wrists to the bed above your head as he leaned down to your lips. “You can escape those if you need to, darling. But I really want you to stay just like this, you want to be good for me, but you don't let me take care of you. So let me make you cum, and I'll fill you as many times as you want.”

Your head was not clear, but you didn't want it to be, all you saw and felt was Jon and so you nodded with your stuttering breathe trying to regain control. But Jon slipped back inside of you with no resistance once more. Capturing your lips, he fucked you slow once more.

Twisting and burning your crying core as Jons cock was slow, smooth and you felt every inch of his length run right along something sensitive inside you that had his name now turn to prayer on your lips.

Hands flexing trying to reach up to his hair only to be met with the restraint, melting more into his touch at how much you trusted it. He could take every bit of control away from you, and you'd still trust Jon blindly. You wanted him to do everything he dreamed of to you, and you'd never resist him.

It was hard to tell if you had already cum once by the time the next one hit you so suddenly, Jon left you utterly lost in his touch that you felt nothing in the world but him. His cock slow and thick inside of you, sliding in and out all the entire length and you could clench and shake around him each time you thought he'd leave your warmth again. But he kissed you gently, reaching a hand up to hold at your clasped hands, fingers intertwining best he could as he kept your thigh once more up by his hip.

Voice hoarse but dripping with a deep affection you whispered against his lips so simple, “I love you.”

Fucking deep inside you, he kept himself there for a moment. Dropping his face into your neck when he nodded, picking his cocks pace right back up as he fucked you. Rasping low in your ear, “I've always loved you, since I laid eyes on you I've loved you. You- fuck, you're everything to me.”

Moving you prompted him to look up at you, but it was your turn to lean forward to kiss him. Without much warning once more, Jon felt you clench tight around him, his cock pounding harder and faster to make up for it. Whispering into his lips, you kept your legs high on his hips wanting to keep him as deep as he was. “Cum inside me Jon, please.”

Nodding, it took little less then a few more slow thrusts of you shaking around his cock to spill inside of you once more. He'd keep you on his cock for a while, the other not ready to let the other go, not willing to stop feeling the others bare skin sweating against the other, as he fucked you. But he still struggled to stop.

Jon struggled to leave your cunt, his cock angry if he'd think about it. But your eyes were asking to pass out, having used your body so thoroughly he knew you were losing steam, yet the wolf inside of him wasn't satisfied. But your whisper, ruined him. “Take me as long as you need, whatever you need, I want you to have it no matter what, even if I'm asleep. Take what you want from me, Jon.”

His mind wasn't sound enough to ask questions, but his heart was dark enough that he kept his cock sliding smoothly in and out of you. Only when your eyes slipped closed proper did Jon slow his pace, untying you before turning you onto your side, hitching your leg up properly to keep himself deep, his mind was a cloud of you and only you. Jon wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he did so, with his cock thick and deep inside of you as you both slept in the others arms.

He knew you trusted him with everything, leaving behind that fear that he'd do anything Ramsay did, and you wouldn't scare him with that anxiety ever again. He took what he needed from your cunt beacuse you wanted him to have it, anytime or anyway he wanted. But you knew he'd refuse such a selfish pleasure otherwise.

But it was as you two slept so pleasurably connected together, did your mind fall somewhere else without notice.

You had never been aware of it like this before. Standing in a memory you were always in something of a haze, trapped in the mind of another. The first time, watching Hazzea in the fields you had not understood you were not there, it felt as real as the ship you were on. But this, you knew where you stood and that you had been in bed with Jon.

But now, awake and dressed you stood in the middle of a corridor in Winterfell, the air much warmer then it was now. You looked around at the windows of the main hall only to see not even snow sat on the ground. Steps forward was when your ears picked up too, the sounds of music. Chatter, life, carefree laughter and yelling on top of the music that made it sound much more populated then it did in your waking life.

It was far from winter whenever you stood. Finding your feet, maids and servants passed you by without a notice. No one looked, no guards acknowledged your presence. It was like you walked these halls a ghost, unseen and unheard. But you had not the wherewithal to figure out why you were returning to dreams for such unknowns.

It was not hard to figure out just when you were, and it turned out, the when hurt more then the why most of all. Life was in the main hall and you recognized the sights. Peering in through the door as if a child spying past her bedtime, you first saw the main table high at the back of the room. Cersei Lannister sat there as miserable as you recalled her being in the North, only now you had the vision to see her watching a naive Sansa from across the way.

Next to her, your heart twisted. No longer the brittle white hair, the clawing down of her cheeks and throat slit open with hate in her dreadful eyes. This was not a creature of vengeance, just a woman, a mother who you stood watching as if you forgot she could appear this human. Her hair long and a striking Tully red, wearing a shade of blue that always looked so beautiful on her. This was the Catelyn Stark which had died a mother to you. And the feast around spoke that in over a weeks time, she would be by law.

Some you spotted, some hurt less, some more. Theon stood younger and full of life. A cocksure attitude in his eyes as he smirked at whatever Southern girl had struck his fancy, back in the years when he found such prospects in said venture. Jory and Ser Rodrick looked alive as ever, in both their faces and in body. You had not seen Ser Rodrick's end by the very man across the room from him, but you had seen Jory's.

Jaime Lannister with a dagger shoved into his eye as you shoved one into the necks of one of his own men, a cruel end to a good man who had much love in his heart for the family he served. But the man who he fought to defend? You felt that dagger plunging into your heart.

Ned Stark stood tall as ever, and with the same sternness he always held no matter what. It was that which moved your feet, stepping into the hall. Carefully you walked to avoid touching or bumping into a soul, as if you even could, but you saw something troubling on his face that had lived there the entire last months you spent with him.

The closest thing you had to a true father, and he loved you like one. If you could have dragged him to safety then and there, you would have. Don't die for these people, you thought. The south will not remember you, they will all call you a traitor years after you're gone. But this was not in your control, it was a dream, not a chance to restore the wrongs done to this family.

A figure with darker hair, longer that sat flat against him slunk up to the side of him and you knew you had not seen him since that visit. “You at a feast, it's like a bear in a trap.” Benjen Stark was too much like many Stark fates, lost and unknown. Much like Bran, he was out in the far North and no one would find him.

He and Ned discussed something you hadn't quite caught, catching the laters words only at the tail end, “Said the Others slaughtered his friends.” It was warm in the hall, but you felt that chill once more. As early as that night was this darkness looming before you all, and still, none knew it and would not for years to come.

Benjen adding to his brothers words, “The two he was with are still missing.”

Both Starks were quiet for a moment, a look shared between them that was as knowing as it wished to be unknown. The Northerners always believed such things more then you all in the South, and the Starks understood better then any and all of those who did. But the answer of the question unspoken was not confident, nor did you think he meant it to be. “A wildling ambush.”

Just as the younger Stark spoke, your eyes found a figure passing in the crowd. Tall and broad with dark hair and a long face. You had no reason to notice them, but you did. Making their way from his place in the crowd slowly towards the door you now stood near. “Maybe. Direwolves south of the wall, talk of the Others, and my brother might be the next Hand of the King. Winter is coming.”

Just as the figure without a care in the world walked passed both men, you found a force compelling you to follow. But it wasn't the figure your eyes were focused on, and it wasn't the stranger which clawed at your heart until it beat harsh from your chest.

He looked so much lighter, that weight on his shoulders hadn't burdened him just yet and the bold blue in his eyes shined the way you remembered so vividly. Greeting his uncle, Robb Stark was not at that time the man you loved, but looking at him in such a memory you felt the scar under your dress burn in agony to go back to it.

Not a clue what he would become, what he would lose to get there, and..you dared not. You couldn't, not here, not when he was right in front of you. Speaking with a smile to his uncle, Robb was animated and laughed, smiled and joked and it was only alone with you did he do that by the end. He was still happy here, he had more family and hope then you and an unborn son named for the father standing next to him.

Eyes stinging, you needed to leave. You still felt a force calling to you, the stranger needing to be followed for why you were here but why leave? Robb was rarely happy in the end and you wanted to keep him here, keep him safe. The last you saw of Robb made you ill, even now you felt a sharpness in your mind to strike it from your eyes.

A weight in your chest formed as your hands unconsciously moved to your stomach. Weeks before a marriage he was forced into, he had no idea what lay ahead for you both. He should have stayed here, in this memory where he was happy. And alive. The tears watered and just as they fell you had to move away.

Lingering made the burning under your clothes worse and feeling nothing but the scar under the fabric made it worse. This memory was not about him, no matter how desperate you begged yourself to stay for just that. But you turned away before the tears could grow worse, as if Robb would see them. Follow the figure, not the loss that haunted.

The figure knew where he was going. Quick to catch up knowing Winterfell well, but they knew it well enough you had to run across the courtyard to catch him. The crypts, that was where he moved towards.

Looking around, none but your unseen shadow watched him, and you felt as if the feast was the perfect time. Escape and sneak just when all eyes were on the Kings company. He knew these people, and he was smart.

Stepping down the main stairs, you did not have to walk much to find where the stranger had gone. It was not far or deep or a mystery what he was looking for. It was one of the tombs long passed which he went towards. He knew what he was looking for, and he knew where to find it.

Approaching him slowly, you could not startle him but it felt eeiry in the crypts with such a stranger, like he might turn around and become the danger. But whatever he was searching for, was not there.

A hidden spot within the statue was pulled out and exposed nothing inside of it. The stranger, reacted little but wider eyes and an even wider frown. Standing abruptly, he looked from statue to statue but still nothing was as right to him as here, but it wasn't right. Whatever was hidden, whatever he snuck away from the feast to take, had been taken before him.

Looking right at you, he did not see you. Pulling the hood of his cloak up, he retreated the crypts as swiftly as he made his way to the steps. Your eyes could not see from here, where any you knew stood, they were in another stretch of hall, but you looked anyways. The only one who was in here now, was her, if this was any other sort of dream, you'd take the time, but you had to leave.

The air was so cold when you stepped from the crypts. The snow around your feet was deep and untouched, save for the path you stood at the beginning of. A figure in black knelt in a snowbank only feet from you. No one but a horse was around, and the dark hid the depths of the lands from what the moonlight could not touch.

The same dark hair, still long on him but now sat a fur on his shoulder painted in black. Coming behind him, all alone in the far North, Benjen Stark knelt down in the snow. A black bundle being placed in a hole with a heavy sigh. The symbol on the rock he covered it with, you did not know, but the rock looked old. The bundle, was something wrapped in a Nights Watch cloak.

Piling snow on top of it, Benjen stood on his own. No companions this far, and nothing to indicate why he had come all that way to bury something and hide it as such. Standing beside him, the wind blew against you both as he looked to the far North even further. Wherever Benjen was, you wondered, was the fate you were about to watch look the same was whatever Bran had found in this place?

The wind was cold as you both stood there, but as it blew, it grew stronger. And with the stronger winds, did it grow cold. It grew too cold, plummeting down that could freeze in seconds and the fear built too strong. You knew as Benjen did and fear was the only response.

Mists of snow were clouding the sight already smothered by darkness. Sword and blades all on his person, but it wasn't that which the man reached for, it was a glass like dagger that you recognized even in the windy darkness. Benjen knew what happening and he was prepared. Turning to his horse you moved to follow. Benjen being the compelling force drawing your attention, but it was not with him that you found your sights on.

Nor was it the approaching shadows that came with the winds in the far North. No, something else stood in the distance. Someone stood in the distance, and it wasn't the Others, nor Benjen Stark they watched. It was you. Far enough you could see little beyond the darkness, but you felt a shiver creeping up your spine not from the winds approaching.

Your dreams begged you to follow Benjen, but the man watching you turned and ran into the darkness opposite that. No one knew what happened to him, and the weight in your chest felt guilt and shame choking you for not finding out. But you needed to know this more. So away from the fate of a Stark none knew, you ran into the snowy darkness as the cold winds did not come with you.

Barley visible as they ran, a flowing cloak your only indication as the wind did not die around you, but yet grew warm. Warmer and warmer until the figure jumped from a cliff and as you followed it was not the north you found, but a hell surrounded in flames. The man was nowhere in your sights, but there wasn't anything in your sights but fire and lava, surrounding you as you felt your blood burn within but it did not consume you as it should.

At the mouth of a volcano, men all stood in a language you did not recognize did they chant. The fire burned brighter and the heat grew more unbearable as they shouted and shouted until a boom shook from deep within the earth below you. They did not run, standing brave and unchanging did the rumbles grow to crackings beneath your feet and spouts of lava shot up all around. Bubbling like a cauldron did the red heat grow.

It was as it came for you, this burning end did an arm grab you. Pulling you back, you knew there was nowhere to go so deep in the volcano. You could not run, but you were pulled back regardless. A gloved dressed in a fine silver steel tugged you back and with your stumble did you find fresh air and the brightness of day light in the surroundings. Rubble sat around you, smouldering and lifeless there was nothing of the sight you saw but one.

The man pulled his hood down but you still did not know him. He was not the stranger in the crypts of Winterfell, this was a man who looked with unsettling and bright shining blue eyes right at you, speaking your name.

Backing away many steps, you found your footing loose. Gravel falling from under your feet, turning to steady yourself found much of the ground in utter ruin. Skies tinged in red and buildings left in tatters of what appeared to be a broken stretch of nowhere. Not even the remains of corpses scattered about more then bones, but the smouldering made the air heavy and the vision of any darker then normal.

The sea surrounding you from the scattered, broken lands now crust and dirt looked like they were as fatal as the waters of Dragonstone once you had set it ablaze. Not green in this case, but an orange tint that looked like acid. Miles and miles the only thing was ruin that none could traverse, but yet you stood here in the blighted land.

Finding stable footing, you turned to the man watching with a glint, his eyes almost smiled something sickening at you even without the mouth forming up to match. Lips that were shaded in the vaguest of blue, a stain that was marked into them without care. Longer dark hair and a beard that was styled rather intentionally. Standing quite tall with armour scaled in black. Patterns you could not make out, glyphs and arcane symbols etched into it with the metal work just as ornate looking as the metal on his gloves.

His voice a vile sound that reminded you only of the whispers from Ramsay Bolton. Sharp in a painful way that set your hair on edge at it's very tone. He spoke with a purpose and candor only the danger was outright on this one instead of hidden behind a smarmy smile.

“It has been a long time since I've been in such a place. A truly long time, you have graced me with a rare opportunity.” A step was made towards you, but you made one backward. Your insides screaming to keep him away as you demanded to know who he was. A chuckle was what followed. Another step made closer and you circled around each one, keeping many feet between you. “I am the storm, little girl. The first storm, and the last.”

Shaking your head in the slightest, your voice was little more then a muttering. “That isn't an answer.”

You hated his laugh as much as you hated Ramsay's. Arms spread wide he looked to the ruins beyond and back to you with his blue eyes once more shining in a manner you distrusted. “Do you like games, we can play if you wish. I will tell you who I am, if you share how such a small girl like yourself survives a butchering at the hands of House Frey.”

Your scar burned, but you did not dare blink. You didn't speak either, he wished to talk then let him.

Bringing his arms up to rest across the ornate armour, he propped his chin up by his fist as he narrowed his eyes at you. “Or you could tell me exactly what you did to raise your precious bastard to life. I would accept either answer as the correct one, should you be a smart girl and not lie that is.”

The earth rumbled, winds blowing in the distance as if trying to reach you but couldn't flow passed miles beyond the man. One more you circled far away from him, finding any way to turn and run as if this was merely a chase to escape like waking life. “You shouldn't believe rumours. I was never dead, and neither was he.”

A lie, and he knew it. The grin on his lips would have been described as handsome, had it not once more reminded you of another just like him. Only this man, scared you more then Ramsay. A feat you did not think a mortal man could be capable of.

“We both know that isn't true. I have been from the furthest stretches of land and seen it all and more. From one end to the other, there is nothing I have not witnessed except for you and your King. The old ways can do much, but returning to life in such form like you? Not something I have seen. Tell me how, and I will tell you who I am.” He moved with a swift confidence, but you were quicker. Jumping from a crumbling rock to another before he could think to reach you once more.

Your voice was as even tempered as your stone still face, unmoving and unblinking trying to seek an escape from a dream with no ability to know how. “You must keep searching then, my lord. You will find no answers in me.”

The grin grew darker, “Lord.” A huff of a laugh left him with a grin knowing something you couldn't care less to be in on. “On the contrary, I will find much in you. I have not been here in so long, I've tried and searched and had no answers to take back what that old fuck took away from me. But here you are, all on your own in the world and I finally have a way back.” He jumped to a shaking rock just as you jumped to another in the ruined terrains. He liked the slow chase, a predator who played with his food.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Voice shouting louder, it echoed as buildings crumbled from the impact. “Our dear friend has touched you, I know you know what I am speaking of, you can't not. Do not play stupid with me, little girl. It doesn't suit those like us.” You shook your head once, you didn't have any answers but even if you did, you wouldn't give them to whatever this man was. “We don't need to dance around each other. You can tell me the truths you have seen, I know what it feels to be so knowing when others around couldn't possibly understand. It's freeing, like being able to fly when all others call you a fool for it.”

The earth rumbled under your own stance but he seemed not to notice. Whatever this was, it was his control now and you could only jump to find ground that belonged to you. Stepping backwards more, you could turn somewhat and see flat earth that might not break open to the earth. You only needed a few more feet to jump away to find land and run. “I don't have time for this, I don't have time for any of this. Let me walk away-”

Laugh was condescending if any man could be the most. “Walk? Where do you think you are? In the ruins, hoping to survive what only I have done? No little girl, we both know not even you could survive this. You're likely asleep aren't you? Tucked away in your bastards arms like a good whore would, dreaming of another man beacuse a Snow is nothing compared to a Crow.”

You didn't play word games, but you didn't spill secrets like water. So you stayed silent, letting it fester in anger in this stranger. You felt eyes watching you from deep within these ruins, but you could not see past the smouldering to spot them, even though the feeling crept closer as the man did.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he smirked once more. “We're here for a reason, I have searched for someone like you for years. Imagine my joy upon finding a thing like you to be it rather then the old one who stole it all from me. We are here to work together, you need only come to me. I'll even tell you my name, little girl.”

Land was close, but you couldn't get there fast enough. “I don't need anything from you.”

You felt as if you were beginning to hate every single pair of blue eyes that didn't belong to Robb, they all looked at you like something to torment, lesser then. Only his were the ones who deserved to look at you anymore, and you'd do anything to make this mans stop.

“The old man cannot help you as I can. He's touched you, but rest assured mine is far better. Let me in, and I can teach you whatever you want. How to control it, how to fly. Wouldn't you like that? Leaping from a tall tower and feeling the wind like a bird does? No man ever truly knows he can do it, unless he dares to leap. But I can ensure you will soar right along side me. Just come to me.”

Backing away and away, you refused to let him near. You knew such offers and smiles, that charm which was nothing but a lie waiting to strike. The other blue, the pale ones that still caked your skin in a dirt you couldn't clean tried to sound just as this one did. They were all the same and they were too blind to know you could see through it.

You suspected he hated that you barley reacted to him. Words can only hurt so much, you thought and you had suffered more then words for a year and came out on the other side. It will take more then this to manipulate you by now. “You speak as if you think yourself of a god. I can assure you, my lord, no god would dare waste his time on someone like me. You're just a man.”

Oh that did anger him. His voice growling as if tearing the earth around you as it cracked, booms following each raise of his voice. “I am more then a man. I am the godliest man to ever raise sail, girl. You serve a mere seven gods, but I served ten thousand. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray.”

Roars surrounded you as he came close, and quickly you found yourself running out of time. You had no where to go in his control and the moment you felt him grab you, the only blade sat at your side came up in an instant to slash at him. Cutting through the fabric of his hand below the metal he yelled out, only the leap you turned to make found yourself slamming to the ground with once more fire screaming around you.

This time you could see the men in the volcano standing without faces, blank spaces where they should be and no mouths to speak. Only voices from above that sung in your ear one after another as the flames flew around and shot out to the lands with screams above.

“Brave men kill them, terrible evil beasts.”

“You crows with your swords and your cloaks and your bloody fires. That won't help you none when the white cold comes.”

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

Eyes closing roughly, as you tried to force yourself up to your feet. Telling yourself it was a dream, the man had said himself, it was a dream and you could run in a dream and escape. Just as the fire burned around you did you turn to see him once more standing across from you. “Make this easy girl, if you run, I will take from you the likes you've never been had.”

Inhaling deeply, you stepped back and back further. Nowhere to go he would have you believe, but as your foot felt the edge to the lava below, you found a confidence. It wasn't his dream, he had said as much. It was yours. And your dreams followed that of your life. You chose ice not fire. The moment your feet stepped over the empty air it was not Jons bed you woke in, but landing backwards in the daylight of snow.

Where you had seen Benjen Stark, but no sign of him was left. Your dreams had always been vivid in such nightmares but you never had any consciousness within them like this, and that terrified you of when you'd ever come out of it.

Scrambling up to your knees, your head whipped around searching for the spot which Benjen had buried whatever it was he left here. As if the snow was untouched around you, it didn't move when you'd brush it away despite feeling the cold on your hands. You had been shown this for a reason, you couldn't leave without the answer you were forced away from by the blue eyed stranger.

But he was not yet done with you. The feeling of eyes came upon your back, and slowly you turned around still braced mostly on the ground did he approach looking large and terrifying. Voice a shout that echoed over the snowy mountains, “You had a chance to make this easy, girl. But the Crow's Eye will not be bested by a little whore.” The blade had flown from your hand as you fell into the North, and was too far away.

This was a dream, and he was not Ramsay. So why did you feel yourself fill with the same paralyzing terror of the nights he came to you? Why did it feel as real as it ever did?

But the moment he got close, the moment he reached to drag you to him, did a figure leap from nowhere you had seen. Something large and white flew past your vision with a growling snarl, and blood splattered into the ground with a painful cry from the stranger.

Ghost had appeared, and tore into him with little fight back to loosen the grip. Hands weaponless could only try and grab at the direwolf who then growled and snapped towards his neck but was thrown back slightly in the entangle.

You looked at the blade, and the stranger looked at you. You went for it, and so he went for you. Ghost once more tore at him but he was resilient and not even the direwolf could penetrate the ornate armour when teeth found steel. You didn't need to strike his armour though. This was a dream, but the stranger was still a man.

He tried going to you, and as Ghost stood barrier between you both did you grab the blade. Turning up and grabbing onto the direwolf enough to steady yourself. Hands stung painfully as blood splattered across you and the white fur but you sunk the blade deep into his left eye. A violent scream came as he bled and bled, but just as you heard a deep voice in the sky rasping your name did you wake up.

Eyes flying open, you gasped in an overwhelming dizziness sitting up. Not for a moment though did you question the touch behind you. Jons warmth pulled you back into him desperately as he seemed just as out of breathe as you.

Gentle shushes in your ear did Jon calm you with, but you grabbed his arms around you and he found your hand tightly. Neither of you spoke, hell, you both were still as you fell asleep, as bare and connected as before but now your hearts pounded with something terrifying.

As it was not only a dream you had, and it was not Ghost who came to you in it.

[jackoshadows]

What I don't understand is why Sansa stans, who want to get rid of Arya in Winterfell, go for the laziest fanon of Arya being a tourist - a theory that's borrowed from ultimate hacks D&D and the garbage TV show and which ending GRRM has repeatedly disavowed.

Arya becoming some kind of world explorer at the end pretty much ignores her book story, narrative arc, characterization and throws away the material in her so far written 32 pov chapters for an ending they came up with because of a made up headcanon. An headcanon which is far removed from the book character.

If one wants to get rid of Arya in Winterfell to make way for Sansa, the least they could do is actually read Arya's chapters and attempt to come up with an ending that makes more sense for the character.

Arya is a character who wants to help. From Mycah to Weasel to Samwell Tarly, Arya is someone who stands up against injustice even at great risk to herself. She's selfless and would sacrifice her personal happiness for the greater good. She wants things to be better, for herself, for her friends, for the smallfolk.

One ending could be Arya Stark as a leader of the Riverlands, helping rebuild from the ravages of war, helping the people who survived. Arya, who has the empathy and the skillsets to help them, who has listened and learned from her father on how to govern. We see Willow Heddle take care of orphans and managing an inn with a quiet efficiency that mirrors Arya's and Gendry hanging around helping her. I could see Arya and Gendry continue their relationship, fall in love, marry and settle down in the Riverlands while Arya either rules the Riverlands as the Tully heir/Cat's daughter or as Lady of Harrenhal helps Edmure Tully rebuild the Riverlands.

Or, if Jon Snow leaves for beyond the Wall as the leader of the new territories and lands there, maybe Arya goes with him. Considering their close bond and love for each other and the fact that home is where each other is - something else that is again established in the books - if she had no choice but to leave Winterfell, going with Jon Snow to help him lead the freefolk beyond the Wall could be another option.

Or if Bran does end up becoming King on the Iron Throne, then she could stay in KL to help her much loved baby brother. She wouldn't like leaving Winterfell, but Arya is a character who sacrifices and does what's right, no matter how hard it is for her to do personally. Plus, she wanted to be a king's councillor and build things. Her training and skillsets with the FM would also make her alert to any future LF/Varys types trying to plot against Bran - not that someone who can see into the past and present needs a master spy...

Or Arya and Brienne start a school for young girls who are interested in learning different things and have teachers who actually develop their talents based on what they are good at instead of being hateful for what they cannot be.

In my opinion, any of these endings is better than 'Arya, world explorer' an empty, nonsensical ending that has no connection to the character's book story and is actually contemptuous of the suffering and trauma this child has been through over several books. Meet new people and learn new languages? What do these folks think Arya has been doing so far? The girl's been traveling from her second AGoT chapter, meeting countless people. sailed the narrow seas, engaged with new cultures, learned new languages. She's been there, done that.

What's even more ridiculous is that it's Sansa stans who often engage in the oppression olympics of Sansa having suffered the worst, that Sansa 'deserves' Winterfell because she suffered the most abuse, that the only ending that makes sense for Sansa is being back in Winterfell because she suffered so much etc. And yet according to these very same folks, Sansa is going to roll up her sleeves and tirelessly work to lead the people of the North, while Arya is going on a cruise ship vacation and vlog about the new cuisine she is trying out...Hey, maybe after having suffered the most of ALL characters in the series, maybe it's Sansa who deserves the cruise ship vacation, you know?

We have the author himself saying that Arya's harrowing experiences and journey through Westeros and Essos has aged her up so much that he considers the character older than some of the 40 year olds in the books! And yet there are still people harping on and on about tourist Arya ffs.

I personally think Arya will be in Winterfell at the end of the books, either helping her younger brothers Bran/Rickon lead the North or more probably as a leader in her own right.

Arya is a central character in the series, the female character with the most POV chapters. There's no way GRRM has one of his lead female characters end up playing a supporting role in her brothers or sister's story. No way.

The author has given her the character development in the books to lead the North. She has a hulking huge grey direwolf at her side - the sigil of house Stark. She is the lone Stark who has the Stark look. Her direwolf is named after the first Dornish princess who changed female inheritance in Dorne - a big clue for a character who has chafed against patriarchal restrictions on what women can and cannot do. I mean this is how we are introduced to Arya Stark in her very first AGoT chapter:

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested. - Arya, AGoT

It's clear to me that her arc is heading towards her being the first Lady of Winterfell/Wardeness of the North, nicely bookending her arc which started with her wanting the woman to be as important as the man, arguing for equality when it comes to their house. That's how organic story telling and building a narrative actually works.

I am aware of the principal Internet forums about A Song of Ice and Fire and I really used to look at the American and English groups. Nowadays, the most important site is Westeros, but I started to feel uncomfortable and I thought it would be a better idea not to get to these sides. The fans use to come up with theories; lots of them are just speculative but some of them are in the right way. Before the Internet, one reader could guess the ending you wanna do for your novel, but the other 10.000 wouldn’t know anything and they would be surprised. However, now, those 10.000 people use the Internet and read the right theories. They say: “Oh God, the butler did it!”, to use an example of a mystery novel. Then, you think: “I have to change the ending! The maiden would be the criminal!” To my mind that way is a disaster because if you are doing well you work, the books are full of clues that point to the butler doing it and help you to figure up the butler did it, but if you change the ending to point the maiden, the clues make no sense anymore; they are wrong or are lies, and I am not a liar. - GRRM

[foursaints]

hello saints. we need to have a conversation. i have a feeling that this fandom would not understand what i mean by saying what i'm about to say but also based on your posts that i have seen i feel like you actually might understand what i mean or at least some of your followers might. so there is this thought that i had for a long long time now and i need to share it with someone and maybe it isn't anything new or interesting but i need to get it out of my head.

evan rosier is a pillow princess but in a dominative way. not in a "i'm lazy" way but in a "you really think you deserve anything from me?" way. and barty is so much into it. like, barty definitely has a degradation kink but also they are both really about aftercare which basically is like the opposit of their sex because then it's just all praise.

tell me, do you get the vision?

(also, is it sansa stark that you have in that gif that is behind the pfp? if yes, i love her and also i need to hear your opinions on danaerys and arya but also spoiler free please i still haven't finished watching got)

i'm really obsessed with the phrasing of this ask i feel like an errant country-maiden who has received a letter... but yeah *bangs gavel* i pretty much agree with all of this. NEVER LET THEM SILENCE YOU, YOU WERE HAVING VISIONS OF THE TRUTH!!!!

evan is the world's most sadistic victorian-era dom and he graciously allows barty to briefly touch his unclothed ankle while he's stepping on him. and barty is his sick, pathetic dog who is Extremely Into All This but the chances of him completely snapping and just throwing evan into the wall are about 50/50 (and they enjoy that too)

(yes its sansa! idk how spoiler-free i can get but i adore dany as well. mostly watched just for sansa though)

[catofoldstones]

Why do antis act as if Alayne is a completely different character from Sansa??? Like... that is Sansa, just under a different disguise. It's still her. It's no different than Arya currently with different identities. But the way they talk its as if Sansa suddenly morphed into a different girl and everything about her old identity is now dead and now Sansa Stark doesn't exist.

I really don't know how to describe this but I've seen posts saying things like Sansa is 'too deep' into the Alayne persona and can't go back to her old name. Thats not how this works???

Because it pushes their agenda that Sansa is not a member of House Stark and therefore not important to the story. Sansa forever being Alayne eliminates the threat she poses to Arya becoming the queen in the north and/or Jon, Dany, Arya becoming this ragtag group of ya teenage underdogs who save the world from the Others. It’s the same idea as behind the theory that Sansa is going to die or is no longer a Stark because Lady died.

They also don’t want to see Sansa in a position of power because they still blame her for lying about Arya hitting Joffrey (never mind realising who the real villains here are), and later getting Ned killed by ratting him out to Cersei (which has been debunked time and again). Furthermore, if she is Alayne and not Sansa, then she clearly does not have the Starks’ best interests at heart considering that she is Baelish’s protégé and holds similar motivations as him - which actualises her as a villain. And if she’s a villain, then she obviously can’t be the Lady/Queen of Winterfell, or just someone who deserves a happy ending in the least. Are you looking at the mental gymnastics?

As for Sansa being too deep into Alayne, I can only say that she constantly thinks of herself as Sansa during the Alayne chapters. In fact, she thinks like she is Sansa, not Alayne, no matter how hard she tries.

The Freys had broken all laws of hospitality when they’d murdered her lady mother and her brother at the twins…

Alayne I, AFFC

Before this she’s just reminding Baelish who she actually is saying Bronze Yohn will know who she really is as soon as he looks at her. She blurts out Jon Snow’s name and thinks of him fondly. None of which she would do if she were “in too deep” Alayne. Her pre-released TWOW chapter is littered with her still thinking as Sansa.

She felt alive again, for the first since her father… since Lord Eddard Stark had died.

For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up.

Alayne I, TWOW

She others Alayne a lot too, as if Alayne is a friend she knows and not her own disguise.

“No, my lady. I am from Gulltown.” And I am not, though Alayne was born there.

Alayne I, TWOW

And these are just some of the examples. Moreover, the recently leaked outline, even in its scarce information, has bashed the final nail in the coffin of this argument and that has obviously caused much anxiety amongst the antis. Never mind it not working like that because these arguments are clearly bad faith and hold no water next to the deluge of evidence saying otherwise.

[pixiecactus]

something to know about me, i dislike this quote with a burning passion:

"You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you … and I need both of you, gods help me."

sorry ned but maybe try to pay attention to the way your eldest daughter actually treats the younger one before saying something like that next time. look i admit it, is a cute quote and everything but the way stansas had run wild with this quote is disgusting.

i can talk only about arya here because the other sister doesn't interest me much and it gets so tiring to have a horde of people claiming that there's an already loving siblinghood between the stark daughters when the only evidence they have at their disposal is that exact quote up there and one of sansa's memories of a snowfight, oh my god... could this mean that there is not a close relationship at all between them?

remember this?

"Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world's graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went..."

i hope i remember this correctly (if not send me anon hate i don't care and it wouldn't be the first time either) but sansa was thinking like this after having the knowledge that her little sister is mostly dead so this is why i don't buy the whole "the adults were the ones pitting the sisters against each other" and sure, catelyn with her comparisons between them and septa mordane with her abusive behavior towards arya surely added something like reassurance in sansa's mind that she was better than her little sister and that arya deserved to be treated badly, which sansa canonically did to arya. but what i want to get is that, in my opinion sansa started to resent arya mostly because her little sister was different and had different interests than her, sansa wanted arya to behave the same as jeyne poole, who even when we're presented with the fact that sansa and jeyne were something like best friends, it was mostly a relationship that depicted sansa and her following minion who validated every breath and step that the eldest stark daughter took.

and in the books we are clearly shown that arya loves all of her family dearly (yes, even sansa and even when it's not reciprocated)

Arya never looked back. She wished the Rush would rise and wash the whole city away, Flea Bottom and the Red Keep and the Great Sept and everything, and everyone too, especially Prince Joffrey and his mother. But she knew it wouldn't, and anyhow Sansa was still in the city and would wash away too. When she remembered that, Arya decided to wish for Winterfell instead.

and

"She hated Ser Amory Lorch for Yoren, and she hated Ser Meryn Trant for Syrio, the Hound for killing the butcher's boy Mycah, and Ser Ilyn and Prince Joffrey and the queen for the sake of her father and Fat Tom and Desmond and the rest, and even for Lady, Sansa's wolf."

and

"I could find out somehow, I know I could, if only I could get away. When she thought of seeing Robb's face again Arya had to bite her lip. And I want to see Jon too, and Bran and Rickon, and Mother. Even Sansa... I'll kiss her and beg her pardons like a proper lady, she'll like that."

but at the same time, arya being passionate about those who she cares about is not something she only does when her family is involved, she started a pack of her own, with a bull, a pastry, a weasel and lommy greenhands (sorry my dude, i couldn’t think about any other thing to call you) and later on we see her making friends with the youngest son of a captain, the daughters of a fishmonger and a group of sex workers…exactly like sansa said back in agot:

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody.

arya doesn't actually need her sister in the same way that sansa doesn't need arya, and no, they are not the two different sides of the same coin, because for that to be the truth both stark daughters should be closely related and sure they are sisters and sansa is arya's foil but the closeness is simply not there at all, no matter how much you want to force it. and stansas use the coin analogy to push the idea that arya is the brawn and sansa is the brain(?) and that the two girls combined would be an unstoppable force rather than think about i don't know... hope that your favourite girl finally learns how to stand up for herself and stop being dependant on other people... maybe…

i honestly hope to see that if they are reunited, arya and sansa would share a hug, i think that both girls need the physical confirmation that the other one is real and not an illusion after all. but i'll always think that both girls are too different from each other to coexist peacefully side by side.

you can't tell me that arya would stand behind a person that doesn't care for others at all.

"l e t a r y a a n d s a n s a b e d i s t a n t s i b l i n g s"

[daceytheshebear]

My Oak Leaf Dress post is getting some traction again years after it was first posted, and it got me wondering if tumblr might be more fertile groud to talk about some Arya Stark-centered analysis of mine I feel never got the attention it deserved in the westeros.org forum?

Okay, have you noticed that Arya's five chapters in AGOT have very very strong parallels to Arya’s five chapters in Feast/Dance? I've cataloged them and it blows my mind that more people aren't dissecting it. If we take into consideration that the AFFC and ADWD were supposed to one book, Arya has exactly the same amount of chapters as she had in book one, which is much less than she had in ACOK or ASOS. A pity in my opinion, as I love to read her, but I believe this is not a coincidence on Martin’s part as there seem to be several parallels between what Arya experiences in the first book and the last two. I’ll compare:

AGOT Arya I to AFFC Arya I 

AGOT Arya II  to AFFC Arya II

AGOT Arya III to AFFC Cat of the Canals

AGOT Arya IV to ADWD The Blind Girl

AGOT Arya V to ADWD The Ugly Little Girl

So, AGOT Arya I / AFFC Arya I: Both take place in a different setting from the other four chapters (Winterfell vs. Kings Landing for AGOT, the ship The Titan's Daughter vs. the city of Braavos in AFFC and ADWD). In both we have Arya directly interacting with two siblings, one who is two years older than her and whose place she would like to be able to occupy (Sansa with all her ladylike abilities, Denyo who is a cabin boy) and another who is older and more guarded and with whom she has important conversations about the ways of the world (Jon Snow and the talk about bastards and girls and Yorko and all the exposition about Bravosi culture). Quotes about Sansa and Denyo:

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father.

And

Denyo had taken her up to the crow's nest once, and she hadn't been afraid at all, though the deck had seemed a tiny thing below her. I can do sums too, and keep a cabin neat. But the galleas had no need of a second boy.

In both chapters we have adults who are not really happy to be in charge of Arya, who are associated with the color grey, and who frown at Arya with similar phrasing (septa Mordane and Tradesman-Captain Ternesio Terys). I'll give you the quotes:

Septa Mordane raised her eyes. She had a bony face, sharp eyes, and a thin lipless mouth made for frowning. It was frowning now. "What are you talking about, children?"

And

Arya turned to find Denyo's father looming over them in his long captain's coat of purple wool. Tradesman-Captain Ternesio Terys wore no whiskers and kept his grey hair cut short and neat, framing his square, windburnt face. On the crossing she had oft seen him jesting with his crew, but when he frowned men ran from him as if before a storm. He was frowning now. "Our voyage is at an end," he told Arya.

In one of the chapters Arya is said to be “too skinny to hold a sword” and in the other she is “too small to man an oar”. Both chapters end with Arya entering rooms where two authority figures await for her (septa Mordane and Catelyn in her room AGOT, the kindly man and the waif inside the House of Black and White in AFFC).

AGOT Arya II  / AFFC Arya II: In both chapters a long time has elapsed between Arya I and Arya II. In both chapters Arya feels very isolated from people around her (in AGOT she is mourning Mycah, angry at her father’s men who let the boy be murdered and sad that even Sansa “wouldn’t talk to her unless their father made her”, in AFFC Arya takes the other servants of the HoBaW for mutes until she hears them praying, they never talk to her and Umma, who does talk, speaks in a language she can’t understand.

In both chapters we have vivid descriptions of rich food Arya eats, which is very rare in her story because she is underfed most of the time. In both chapters Needle is discovered (in AGOT Ned sees the sword, in AFFC the waif catches Arya training).

In both chapters she has a very important conversation about lies (Arya tells her father Sansa lied about not knowing what happened at the Trident, and Ned says to her:  "We all lie" and later says that some lies are “not without honor”, meanwhile the kindly man says to Arya “All men lie when they are afraid. Some tell many lies, some but a few. Some have only one great lie they tell so often that they almost come to believe it”).

In both chapters Arya promises to obey:

“This willfulness of yours, the running off, the angry words, the disobedience… at home, these were only the summer games of a child. Here and now, with winter soon upon us, that is a different matter. It is time to begin growing up." "I will," Arya vowed. She had never loved him so much as she did in that instant. "I can be strong too. I can be as strong as Robb."

In AFFC the kindly man tells Arya

“Remain if you will, but know that we shall require your obedience. At all times and in all things. If you cannot obey, you must depart." "I can obey." [...] “It takes uncommon strength of body and spirit, and a heart both hard and strong [to be a faceless man]" I have a hole where my heart should beand nowhere else to go. "I'm strong. As strong as you. I'm hard."

In Both chapters Arya is said to be beautiful (a word that is not used to describe her in any other occasion). In both words Arya explicitly refuses feminine roles (in AGOT she tells Ned she doesn’t want to be a lady, in AFFC she thinks she wanted none of the placements the kindly man offers her, with courtesans where she would “sleep on rose petals and wear silken skirts that rustle when [she] walks” or “marriage and children”).

In both chapters Arya uses rocks to save a part of herself: in AGOT she recounts to Ned how she had to throw stones at Nymeria for her to stop following and be saved from the Lannister men who would execute her (we hope Arya will reunite with Nymeria again), and in AFFC she hides Needle behind a loose stone step to keep it safe for later (we hope she will retrieve it at some point).

Another plot-point that repeats between the two chapters is the introduction of a teacher. Arya II in AGOT opens in a dinner scene in the Small Hall ends with the introduction of Syrio Forel in the same Small Hall, where Arya begins to learn water dancing. Syrio says “now we dance”. Arya II in AFFC starts with Arya reciting her list, and ends after the Waif becomes Arya’s teacher on the braavosi language and the lying game (she actively compares what she is learning now with the lessons she once had from Syrio) and then Arya finally leaves the temple, reciting her list like in the beginning (so both chapters start and finish “in the same place”) and saying she is “so happy she could dance”.

AGOT Arya III / AFFC Cat of the Canals: Okay so in AGOT Arya II, Arya assumes a “fake identity” for the first time ever! Tommen and Myrcella mistake her for a peasant boy, and she acts the part. In her third chapter in AFFC this is taken up to the next level and this is the first time her chapter title changes when she takes  the identity of Cat. Cats! Of course, Arya II in AGOT is that one chapter that is all about cats, she talks about pursuing them and she finally kisses Balerion. She then becomes Cat in her third chapter in AFFC, and reminisces about chasing cats in the Red Keep in that chapter!

There is a sense of expanding horizons in both these chapters. Arya leaves the Red Keep for the first time in AGOT Arya III, and walks back from the Blackwater all the way to the castle. In her third AFFC chapter, Arya is exploring the city of Braavos after having finally been allowed out of the temple. She is also very cheeky in both these chapters! Arya interacting with the guards of the Red Keep is hilarious, and very similar to how she acts when being her Cat persona.

Nightmares. Arya experiences vivid, terrible nightmares in both these third chapters (and in her third chapter in ASOS). In AGOT she hears her father’s voice becoming fainter and fainter in her dreams, which some have interpreted as foreshadowing for Ned’s death and as a sign that Arya may have precognitive abilities. In AFFC it’s her mother she hears screaming. Both these chapters also explore and detail the place Arya inhabits. In AGOT Arya III the Red Keep is heavily featured, and it’s described as an “endless stone maze”. In AFFC Cat takes us all around Braavos, which of course is a “crooked city” with all its buildings made out of stone.

Daenerys is mentioned!! Illyrio and Varys discuss “the princess with child” in AGOT Arya III, and tales of “dragons hatching” reach Cat in AFFC. Daenerys isn’t mentioned in any other Arya chapters.

Retelling overheard stories features heavily in both chapters. Arya tries to convey to Ned what she overheard and is casually dismissed. In Cat of the Canals, Arya is learning to actively overhear conversations and gather information and retells them to the kindly man with caution.

Bathing is also present in both chapters. Arya usually doesn’t really enjoy bathing in ACOK and ASOS, but both in AGOT Arya III and in Cat of the Canals, on the other hands, we witness Arya disrobing and cleaning her body of her own volition, getting rid of bad smells in almost ritualized cleansing. Compare the quotes from AGOT, Arya III:

She found herself standing at the mouth of a sewer where it emptied into the river. She stank so badly that she stripped right there, dropping her soiled clothing on the riverbank as she dove into the deep black waters. She swam until she felt clean, and crawled out shivering.

and AFFC, Cat of the Canals:

Down in the vaults, she untied Cat's threadbare cloak, pulled Cat's fishy brown tunic over her head, kicked off Cat's salt-stained boots, climbed out of Cat's smallclothes, and bathed in lemonwater to wash away the very smell of Cat of the Canals. When she emerged, soaped and scrubbed pink with her brown hair plastered to her cheeks, Cat was gone.

One of the most important parallels in this set of chapters regards the Night’s Watch. It is in Arya III AGOT that Arya for the first ever interacts with a black brother, when she meets Yoren. Although Arya isn’t aware of it, it was Yoren’s death that made it possible for Dareon leave Eastwatch and go to Braavos in the first place, as the singer was assigned by Jon Snow to take up the role of recruiter that used to be Yoren’s. Yoren had other roles as well, including that of Arya’s protector. The first encounter she has with each of the two black brothers show us just how much Arya has changed. She thinks of Yoren:

He was stooped and ugly, with an unkempt beard and unwashed clothes. [...] The old man in his smelly black clothes was looking at her oddly, but Arya could not seem to stop talking.

While Arya can’t stop herself from rambling to Yoren, she has learned not to share all of her thoughts by the time she meets Dareon. This is the quote:

He is fair of face and foul of heart, thought Arya, but she did not say it

Also, in both this chapters she goes blind! “She was blind.” That sentence shows up exactly like that, word for word, in both chapters. Of course in AFFC she actually becomes blind, while in AGOT she is only in a really really dark room. But still. The wording! And structurally speaking, while the last pair of chapters starts and finish “in the same place”, now both of these chapters start with a more light-hearted tone to then plunge into really dark territory, literally and metaphorically, as Arya hears the threats to her family whispered in the dark in AGOT and kills Dareon to then goes blind in AFFC.

AGOT Arya IV / ADWD The Blind Girl:

Considering AFFC and ADWD as one long long book, Blind Girl is Arya’s fourth chapter. Arya’s fourth chapter in AGOT is the one in which she gets that all-important lesson when Syrio Forel tells her to “look with her eyes”. He also touches upon her other senses though:

“The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Hear with your ears. Taste with your mouth. Smell with your nose. Feel with your skin. Then comes the thinking, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth." 

Syrio says all that! And while Arya looks with her eyes in several moments of the story and this true seeing literally saves her life more than once, she never does explore her other senses that much… until she goes blind in ADWD. In The Blind Girl we get:

Hear, smell, taste, feel, she reminded herself. There are many ways to know the world for those who cannot see. [...] "You have five senses, learn to use the other four, you will have fewer cuts and scrapes and scabs"

Also, both chapters feature scenes where Arya in engaged in training with someone to improve her martial skills. While she practiced her needlework on her own all throughout ASOS, this is the first time she does so with someone else since Syrio in AGOT Arya IV! The way the two fights are described is incredibly similar, with the descriptions of rights and lefts and right and lefts, and the clacking sound of wood, her opponent “cheating” (coming from the “wrong” side) and there is a “sudden stinging” cut which catches her by surprise. It’s very very similar, go reread it if you don't believe me.

Another really important parallel regards skinchanging: in Arya’s fourth chapter in AGOT, Arya is helpless after witnessing the horrors that took place at the Tower of the Hand. The narration tells us “she was only a little girl with a wooden stick, alone and afraid” (the wooden stick here is her practice sword). And than, to escape, she pretends she is chasing cats… “except she was the cat now”. I kid you not, this is the exact wording used. She is the cat now, and that is what empowers her to keep going. In ADWD, when Arya is most definitely LITERALLY just a little blind girl with a wooden stick, she actually skinchanges into a cat for the first time, and that is what finally empowers her against her mentor/abuser. She “becomes a cat” in both chapters

Also, it is in The Blind Girl chapter that we learn that “the Sealord is dying”, which is comparable (both from doylist’s and watsonian perspectives) to Robert Baratheon dying, exactly what happens around Arya IV. Now a bit of a stretch: in AFFC "The Merling Queen has chosen a new Mermaid to take the place of the one that drowned. She is the daughter of a Prestayn serving maid, thirteen and penniless, but lovely." I propose the new mermaid might stand in for Jeyne Poole. While the new Mermaid is the daughter of a Prestayn’s serving maid, and we know Prestayn be a noble house, Jayne is the daughter of the Stark’s steward. Petyr Baelish, who is connected with the braavosi galley The Merling King, takes charge of Jayne, who is then a twelve year-old.The “Mermaids” are actually described to be “young maidens in the blush of their first flowering who hold [the Merling Queen’s] train and do her hair”. Of course, same as the Mermaids are being trained to become courtesans, Jeyne will be trained in a brothel to become Ramsay’s bride.

AGOT Arya V / ADWD The Ugly Little Girl: Okay, so Arya V makes me sad from the very first line to the very last. The situation is hopeless, Arya is helpless. King’s Landing is unwelcoming and claustrophobic, the people range from rude to downright mean. The people of the city likely look at her with suspicious eyes, and as much as Arya has told us she loved nothing more than to be underfoot and mingle with the common people of Winterfell, the experience in King’s Landing is traumatizing, and it ends with her father beheaded. Oh joy. In A Dance with Dragons the waif describes how people will react to the ugly little girl Arya will become after she changes her face for the first time:

"Women will look away when they see you. Children will stare and point. Strong men will pity you, and some may shed a tear."

For reasons very different than a destroyed face, this sounds very similar to what Arya experiences in King’s Landing. I find the overall tone of The Ugly Little Girl chapter to be rather analogous to that of Arya V. Arya is in the HoBaW because is certain she has nowhere else to go. Life is easier now than when she was blind, but she doesn’t feel very comfortable – and yet goes through with all that is asked of her. Though not helpless anymore, she is more hopeless than ever before. She experiences physical pain and nightmares; she is questioned and constantly told she doesn’t have what it takes to be in the only place that has been a steady roof over her head in years.

Before undergoing her magical transformation in ADWD, Arya is given a tart drink. This is the quote:

She drank it down at once. It was very tart, like biting into a lemon. A thousand years ago, she had known a girl who loved lemon cakes. No, that was not me, that was only Arya.

In AGOT Arya V, we get this:

Arya would have given anything for a cup of milk and a lemon cake,

In fact, lemons come up very scarcely in Arya’s whole story. She only thinks about the fruit in her inner monologues in Arya V and The Ugly Little Girl, both times prompted from external stimuli (there is the lemon tart she could not steal moments before she wishes for the lemon cake in AGOT, and the magical tart drink she is given in The Ugly Little Girl). The word comes up a handful of times in A Storm of Swords while Arya is in the company of Lem Lemoncloak, but the fruit not so much.

Another parallel between this pair of chapters comes in the form of Arya’s target, the binder salesman. The man Arya targets for the faceless men in ADWD is described in a way that calls back to Petyr Baelish (pointed beard, thin lips) and Yoren (a hard face, mean eyes, crooked shoulders), both of which Arya encounters in her fifth chapter in AGOT.

Eddard Starks beheading is a moment full of similarities to Arya’s “defacing” by the kindly man. This is from AGOT Arya V:

The old man shook her so hard her teeth rattled. "Shut your mouth and close your eyes, boy." Dimly, as if from far away, she heard a… a noise… a soft sighing sound, as if a million people had let out their breath at once.

and this is from ADWD The Ugly Little Girl:

"Sit," the priest commanded. She sat. "Now close your eyes, child." She closed her eyes. "This will hurt," he warned her, "but pain is the price of power. Do not move."

And of course what follows her closing her eyes in AGOT hurts much more deeply than having her forehead slashed. In A Game of Thrones, Arya opens her eyes to finally recognize Yoren. He then giver her Needle back, and drags her to a doorframe where he cuts her hair to give her a new identity, that of Arry. This is the quote from Arya V:

As the blade flashed toward her face, Arya threw herself backward, kicking wildly, wrenching her head from side to side, but he had her by the hair, so strong, she could feel her scalp tearing, and on her lips the salt taste of tears.

and this is the quote from The Ugly Little Girl:

She sat unmoving. The cut was quick, the blade sharp. By rights the metal should have been cold against her flesh, but it felt warm instead. She could feel the blood washing down her face, a rippling red curtain falling across her brow and cheeks and chin, and she understood why the priest had made her close her eyes. When it reached her lips the taste was salt and copper.

That's it! If you are interested in a more in-depth analysis check my original post from (five!!) years ago .

[atopvisenyashill]

since falling into my hotd brainrot ive been reminded of one of my gripes which is this misunderstanding that daenerys lived in "abject poverty" (to use the language from an ask you got not that long ago) before her introduction and this is just... not true?

That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever."

people living in abject poverty don't have access to servants or their own rooms. does this mean their time here would equal the upbringing viserys and daenerys would have had in the red keep? absolutely not. for one thing, daenerys wasn't tutored by a maester or septa which is pretty standard for most noble children of a similar standing, let alone a princess.

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper's hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

they would have needed coin for those ships.

At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother's crown had gone. 

what happened with ser willem was absolutely terrible but this idea that daenerys and viserys were living on the streets is inaccurate when their targaryen name is what allowed them to live with the likes of magisters and merchant princes. nor was this something that happened overnight, as indicated by the "years past". they also had "treasures" (meaning jewels) which again no person living in abject poverty would have. those treasures were a lifeline for them but it was a lifeline that a character like nettles never has.

Her brother Viserys had once feasted the captains of the Golden Company, in hopes they might take up his cause. They ate his food and heard his pleas and laughed at him. Dany had only been a little girl, but she remembered. "I have sellswords too."

people living in abject poverty don't feast captains.

it just irks me because when you compare it to the details of nettles' life, it feels wrong to me to believe that both these girls lived in abject poverty. that was nettles. that being said though, that doesn't mean daenerys had an easy time living in exile with viserys. he was a monster to her and she deserves sympathy for that. but while daenerys and nettles' upbringings were similarly tragic (orphaned etc), they were still worlds apart in their differing levels of privilege. it also irks me when they try to use this to compare daenerys to sansa (funny how its often just sansa and not the other starks)

yeah those are all definitely good points. as you say, I don't want to discount that Daenerys had an incredibly stressful childhood (to say the least), much more stressful than The Average Noble by far because she and viserys were actively thinking about and worrying over where their next meal will come from, how to keep a roof over their heads, and they aren't learning jack shit because they don't have a maester, a guardian, a parent, or a single person in all of Essos looking out for them. but it's also like. first of all, we have two canon characters that actually do experience real poverty, the first being davos though he doesn't experience it on page and the second being arya - she's actively avoiding capitalizing on the stark name so she's actually living the life someone who is born poor would live.

and one thing about dany's life - which i've touched on before re: noble girls getting sold in marriages in what a previous anon referred to as slavery - but her last name and the class she was born into if not the class she lived in cannot be disentangled from the life she lived. i pointed it out there that for example, if poor jeyne poole found some dragon eggs in the crypts, used ramsay's dead body to hatch them, and started burning shit down, she's just not amassing the sort of following dany would because she doesn't have the name. and you can see that directly with Nettles, as you point out - despite everyone seeing clearly that Nettles manages to claim Sheepstealer, has a strong bond with her dragon, because she's lowborn and Not White (and not even an acceptable Not White, like dornish, but some ~random brown girl~ from nowhere with no claim to any specific heritage in canon) she's still seen as a temptress, a whore, a witch, all because she claimed a dragon and had some old married dude following her around. dany and viserys regularly trade away their jewels, hype up their titles and heritage, in an attempt to gain basic necessities and this is certainly a marked difference from the way other nobles have lived and important but arya, gendry, hot pie, lommy - they don't get that. lommy just gets killed. and he's not even running his mouth the way viserys is in vaes dothrak. he's just a dumb kid whose leg is broken and asks to be carried and he's murdered for it. hot pie is a normal ass kid who has to learn how to defend himself because it's literally life or death while dany regularly has some sort of guard protecting her.

and again - it's not to say dany doesn't experience a lot of trauma and instability that other nobles will never face that gives her an understanding of violence and war that others don't have. but just like you can't say she was truly "sold" as a slave to drogo because her class is tied to the concept of these nobly born child brides, it's not exactly true that she lives in abject poverty either. it's something a lot more complex than that.

[threewaywithdelusion]

GOT Fic

Feedback (and title suggestions!) welcome, as this is a work in progress! This is based off GOT, not ASOIAF, so we have Mad Queen Dany, sorry.

Jaime may have been reluctantly permitted into Winterfell by Daenerys Targaryen and Sansa Stark, with the help of Brienne’s shocking and unwavering faith in him. But that didn’t mean he had been welcomed. 

Everywhere Jaime went, he was watched with wary, distrustful eyes. Whispers trailed in his wake, words like Kingslayer and sister-fucker and Lannister hissed with equal venom. The wildlings, including that savage redheaded fucker who stared at Brienne wherever she went, watched him with open curiosity. His presence here had apparently done a lot to mend the rift between the wildlings, the Northerners, and the armies from Essos, gossip uniting them against a common enemy. 

It seemed the whole world hated a Lannister. 

Jaime had never felt so far from Casterly Rock. Here, he wasn’t Jaime Lannister, Lord Tywin’s hair and future Warden of the West. He wasn’t Jaime Lannister of the King’s Guard. He wasn’t even Jaime Lannister the fearsome knight, now that his fighting skills were mediocre without his right hand. A few days ago, he had watched Brienne teaching men in the yard, where she was eventually joined by Arya Stark, and had been dismayed to learn that he would almost certainly lose to the Starks’ youngest daughter. 

Jaime did his own training, sparring with Brienne in the yard and with Podrick Payne in a clearing in the woods, trying to strengthen his left arm. He ate meager rations of flavorless gruel, despairing at the thought of eating such terrible food for the next several years. He helped the blacksmiths distribute Dragonglass weapons, helped fortify Winterfell’s soot-stained walls for if (when) the army of the dead got past them, and tried desperately not to think of Cersei at every turn. Jaime was never allowed into the war room and he was never left alone. He felt a bit like a prisoner, constantly watched and never allowed near anyone of import.

That was why he was so surprised, after he’d been there a week, to walk into the bedroom he was sharing with Tyrion and Podrick and find Jon Snow waiting for him. 

The last time Jaime had seen Jon Snow, he’d been a mere boy, sat away from the high table and sulking about it. Since then, he’d been Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, King in the North, and was now Lord of Winterfell, despite his bastard origins. 

Jaime had never felt his fall in the world more acutely. 

“My Lord,” Jaime said stiffly. He had no idea what Snow wanted with him, but it couldn’t possibly be good. 

“Ser Jaime,” Jon Snow said, sweeping an arm at Tyrion’s bed. “Take a seat.”

Jaime stepped over his and Pod’s bedrolls and took a seat on Tyrion’s bed. Jon Snow shut the door and gave Jaime a long, unreadable look. 

He had brought no guards with him, but one of his hands was resting over the wolf’s-head pommel of his Valyrian steel sword. 

Jaime did not think that could mean anything good. “Am I being banished?”

“No.”

“Punished?”

“No.”

“Has Daenerys Targaryen decided she can’t forgive the man who murdered her father?”

Something in Snow’s expression twitched. “No.”

Jaime spread his hands. “Then I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve the honor.”

Jon Snow frowned. He opened his mouth several times, but no sound came out. 

Jaime sighed and began rooting around the furs on Tyrion’s bed. There was nothing under the pillow, or tucked between the bed and the wall, but a glance under the bed led Jaime to his prize: a skin of wine. 

Snow frowned as Jaime took a swig of it – it was disgusting Northern swill, strong and flavorless. 

“We’re on rations,” Snow said. “You’re not meant to have wine.”

“It’s not mine,” Jaime said. “Clearly your Queen has seen the wisdom in keeping my brother supplied with alcohol for as long as humanly possible. Here.” He held out the skin. 

Snow hesitated for a moment and then took it, gulping down half the wineskin and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“So?” Jaime asked. 

Snow took a deep breath. “How did you do it?”

Jaime waited, but that appeared to be all. “I’m going to need more than that.”

“You and Cersei,” Snow said, making Jaime stiffen all over. “How could you…”

The word sister-fucker rang in Jaime’s ears. 

“Fuck her?” Jaime asked angrily. “I assume you’re not asking me for instructions. I know the Night’s Watch requires you to take a vow of celibacy, but I don’t believe you’re an untouched maiden..”

Snow’s cheeks flushed red as he scowled. “That’s not what I’m asking. Of course I’m not! I meant, knowing that she was your sister, how could you feel… that way… towards her.”

Jaime forced himself to keep his hand off his sword. “I came here to fight the dead, not put up with Northern scorn. I know you’re the honorable Ned Stark’s son,” he said with venom and Snow flinched, “but that doesn’t give you the right to abuse me for my choices.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Snow growled. “I was just- forget it.”

Something about the look on his face, scared and ashamed, made Jaime sit up straight. He knew what men looked like when they were teasing him about Cersei. He knew intimately the disgust on their faces, the way they would look down on him, the way their mouths would twist like they had tasted something sour. He knew Euron Greyjoy’s leer as he said, “”. He even knew how his friends and family treated the subject — Tyrion mostly alluding slyly to Jaime and Cersei’s relationship, unless they were arguing in which case it was fair game, Tommen watching him with questions in his eyes, Bronn teasing lewdly but without making incest seem any worse than the other inclinations he frequently saw in brothels. 

And Brienne. Incredible, honorable Brienne, who had been revolted with his reputation as the Kingslayer and Oathbreaker but had never questioned or begrudged him his love for Cersei. She had repeatedly asked him to be a better man, to keep his oaths to her and to Catelyn Stark, and to do what was right. But she’d never once implied that he should leave Cersei or told him that he was wrong for the way he loved her. 

He wasn’t delusional enough to think that Brienne approved of his relationship. But she didn’t act like he was a monster for it, and that was much more than most people did. 

It was the thought of her stalwart loyalty that made Jaime speak up.

“Snow,” he said, before the other man could leave the room. 

Snow stopped at the door, shifting uncomfortably. He looked fearfully at Jaime and Jaime’s heart sped up as he recognized the mix of guilt-shame-longing on the other man’s face.

He really wasn’t being cruel. He was asking for himself. 

Jaime thought of Arya Stark, laying grown men flat on their back in the yard with the skinny little sword she claimed her brother had given her. He thought of Sansa Stark, cold and beautiful, sitting at the high table beside Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen and ruling like she belonged. 

Jaime supposed either of them could have appeal. But Arya Stark spent every moment she wasn’t training following Robert Baratheon’s bastard around the forge and Sansa Stark stiffened when men stepped too close. 

That was the first important bit.

“We both wanted each other,” Jaime said. “People may judge my choices, but Cersei was no wilting flower who would have let me take advantage. I didn’t force her and I didn’t dishonor her with other women.”

Snow stared at him for a long moment, then said, “I didn’t think you had taken advantage. From what Sansa says, Cersei is formidable and I’m sure she would not have tolerated advances she didn’t welcome. What I want to know is how you were able to overlook your blood connection to love her that way.”

Jaime frowned. Was he trying to overlook a blood connection for marriage? If so, he could only be talking about Sansa Stark. Maybe he planned to marry her to become Lord of Winterfell in a way a bastard could never manage.

“I mean no insult, but Lady Sansa has had four betrothals and two husbands and I’m not certain she’s interested in another.”

Snow looked like he’d just been slapped. “I don’t want to marry Sansa,” he hissed. 

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Arya?”

She wasn’t nearly as beautiful, but Jaime couldn’t deny that he understood the appeal of a girl skilled with a blade. He would’ve already proposed marriage to Brienne if he wasn’t unworthy of her. He’d pried himself free from Cersei’s claws but she’d left only a tattered, bloody heart in his chest, struggling to beat without its other half. Brienne deserved a man with a whole heart, two hands, and enough honor to rival her own. 

Snow made a face like he might be sick. Jaime tried not to take it personally, though Snow was the one who had started the conversation about fucking siblings and was now acting like the idea was disgusting. 

“No,” Snow said emphatically. “Not Arya. No.”

The only other Stark Jaime had seen around Winterfell was the boy he’d paralyzed, who spoke eerie prophecies and acted too creepily composed for Jaime’s taste. But then again, the Starks followed the Old Gods. Maybe Snow didn’t mind that the boy acted possessed by forces beyond the Wall. 

Jaime had never been able to understand the appeal in men, either, but he thought of Brienne’s devotion to Renly Baratheon and decided not to mention that part. 

“Bran-”

“Stop talking,” Snow barked. 

Jaime snatched the wineskin off the bed and took a long drink. “Either explain what you’re asking or go. I’m not here to watch you look revolted at me, and if this goes on much longer I’m going to take offense and we’re going to find out how much Brienne’s training has improved my left hand.”

Snow nodded jerkily. He held his hand out for the wineskin, took a long pull, then sank next to Jaime on the bed. “It doesn’t matter who this is about. Please don’t try to guess. Let’s just say… it’s a relation on my mother’s side.”

That caught Jaime’s attention. As far as he knew, no one had ever been able to discover the identity of Ned Stark’s secret lover. Robert Baratheon had asked Varys once, in the early days of his reign, but even the Master of Whisperers had been unable to discover the woman’s identity. 

“Go on,” Jaime said. 

“She- I met her before I knew my parentage,” Snow said. “She was beautiful and fierce. I gave her my heart and my body, and then found out that she’s my…”

He trailed off, looking uncomfortable, and Jaime filled in the word sister. 

“It seems to me the damage has already been done,” Jaime said. “You already love her. You already fucked her. What could you hope to gain from staying away now?”

Snow looked miserable. “If I’d known, I wouldn't have let myself feel this way.”

Jaime snorted. “Knowing something is forbidden has very little effect on love. Letting yourself feel a certain way is a fantasy we tell ourselves to pretend we have any control over the matter.”

“I don’t believe that,” Snow said. “We’re not animals. My father always said that family and duty come first and we can choose who we love. He and Lady Catelyn weren’t a love match, but they did have true affection for each other.”

“Your father was an honorable man,” Jaime said. “Honorable to the point of madness, really. And yet, he fathered a bastard. If that isn’t evidence that we have no control over who we love, I don’t know what is.”

Snow flinched, but he didn’t contradict Jaime. 

“Look, you said you’d given this woman your heart. Did you stop loving her because you found out she’s your sister?”

Snow shook his head. 

“Did she stop loving you?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“She doesn’t know?” Jaime repeated incredulously.

“And I can’t tell her,” Snow continued. 

“Then why are we even having this conversation? You can’t lie to her to take her to bed — that would be dishonorable. And once she knows, she may not even want you.”

“I wouldn’t lie to her,” Snow said hotly. “I haven’t touched her since I found out. But she grew up… I don’t think she’ll be deterred by knowing we’re family. So I might have to be the one to walk away.”

“Why?” Jaime demanded angrily. “Society’s scorn? If you’d walk away over that, you don’t truly love her. Do you know what I put up with to be with Cersei? Even before the world knew, I had to watch her marry that pig Robert Baratheon. I had to guard his chamber door while he took her to bed and hear what they did together. I had to pretend that disgusting man was the father of my children and keep my distance from them so no one would ever realize he wasn’t. And ever since your father saw fit to announce our love to the world, I’ve been sneered at and disrespected and called every foul name in the book.  I endured it all — everything — because I love Cersei. She was worth it.”

“It’s not that,” Snow said quietly. “The world doesn’t even know we’re related, so I’m not worried about people’s reactions. At least not yet. It’s just… the possibility of children.”

“Children?” Jaime echoed, pulled up short. 

Snow glanced at him, then looked away. “There’s a reason we’ve had so many mad Targaryen kings. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land. They intermarried, they all went mad, and the realm suffered for it. And — I’m sorry, I know he was your son — but you can’t deny there was something truly wrong with Joffrey. I’ve heard what he did to Sansa. I don’t want to have a child like that.”

Jaime’s heart ached dully. His children, his wonderful, beautiful children, were all dead. Tommen had jumped from a window as a result of Cersei’s machinations. Myrcella had died in his arms, right as he’d begun to hope he could be a real father to her. He missed them both so, so much. 

He missed Joffrey too, but differently. The boy had always had an appetite for cruelty and Jaime had feared what he would become. He’d loved Joffrey because he was his son, but he’d never managed the unadulterated love for him that Cersei had. 

Say what you would about Cersei, she had loved her children more fiercely than any mother in the world. 

“I don’t think intermarriage is the problem,” Jaime said quietly. “The Targaryens already had madness in their bloodline — of course it was going to be passed down. And Joffrey… I loved him, yes, but I realize he was flawed. He could be cruel and selfish and vindictive. And… I know where he got those traits from.”

Cersei had known as well. When Myrcella had died, she’d said I don’t know where she came from. She was nothing like me. No meanness, no jealousy, just good. 

There had been no similar words said for Joffrey. 

“As long as your lover isn’t mad, you don’t have to worry,” Jaime said. “Besides, I’m assuming she’s baseborn if she’s a relation on your mother’s side? The Targaryens and Joffrey were only problems for the realm because they sat on the Iron Throne. Your children won’t be a danger to anyone else.”

If possible, Snow looked even more miserable at that. He flinched violently, as if Jaime had slapped him, and Jaime’s blood ran cold. 

Snow wasn’t in love with Sansa or Arya Stark. Everyone knew Snow had been conceived while Ned Stark was fighting in the South, which ruled out any Northern ladies or wildlings as his relations. No love for a lowborn girl would put that look of fear on his face, and the only southern Lady present was Brienne of Tarth, who Jaime was certain hadn’t had a madly passionate affair with Jon Snow sometime in the last few months. 

The only highborn girl left as a viable option was Daenerys Targaryen. 

Jaime thought back and suddenly it seemed stupidly obvious. He’d heard the men whispering about Jon Snow riding one of Daenerys’s dragons. He’d heard the dirty jokes about how Daenerys had gotten the King in the North to bend the knee and give her his crown by spreading her legs. He’d seen her looking at him in the Great Hall as he walked away from her, trying to hide her hurt. 

“Who was your mother?” Jaime growled. 

Snow shook his head. 

“Rhaella Targaryen?” Jaime asked. 

Snow’s head shot up so he could look fearfully at the door, as if afraid of being overheard. 

Well he would be afraid if he was a Targaryen bastard, wouldn’t he?

“Rhaella Targaryen was your mother?” Jaime repeated incredulously. 

“No!” Snow snapped. He glanced at the door, lowered his voice, then said, “Lyanna Stark was.”

Jaime blinked. Ned Stark had fucked his sister? But no, Snow hadn’t been asking about being the mad child of an incestuous union. He’d been asking about producing such a child. About being in love with a woman. 

That meant Ned Stark wasn’t his father at all. And given the boy’s age and the fact that his mother was Lyanna Stark… 

“Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen,” Jaime breathed, horrified. 

Snow looked like a hunted thing. Only he wasn’t a Snow, was he? Was he a Waters? A Sand? 

“No one can know,” Jon said. 

It made sense now why he hadn’t told his lover. Daenerys Targaryen had never truly been in the line of succession for the throne, as Aerys’s third child and a girl. But Rhaegar’s son, even a bastard one, would have a fairly legitimate claim. 

He didn’t want to steal her crown. 

“Neither of you is entirely in the line of succession,” Jaime said, stretching the truth to ease the look of misery on Jon’s face. “She’s a woman and you’re a bastard. I’d say you have about equal claim.”

“No,” Jon said hoarsely. “We don’t.”

“I know you want her to sit on the throne, but speaking from a historical perspective, a bastard-“

“I’m not a bastard,” Jon said. 

Jaime stared at him. “What?”

“Rhaegar had a Maester annul his marriage to Elia Martell. He married Lyanna Stark under a weirwood tree.”

Jaime seized the wineskin and drank until it was empty. He was sitting beside a trueborn Targaryen son, a man who could possibly have ended the War of the Five Kings had he known his real identity at the time. A man who could cause a new war if he joined Cersei and Daenerys in vying for the throne. 

“You’re fucked,” Jaime said eloquently. 

Jon Targaryen laughed humorlessly. “Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence. Jaime didn’t know what Jon was thinking of, but he was remembering the honorable, lovable prince that had been Rhaegar Targaryen. He remembered the Mad King screaming, “burn them all!” Remembered the smoke of the burning Sept of Baelor and the cold look on Cersei’s face as she sat on the Iron Throne. Remembered Daenerys and her dragon setting fire to his army in the field, terrible and unstoppable, the smell of burning flesh permeating the air.

“You asked the wrong question,” Jaime said finally. “You asked me how I could still love Cersei, knowing she was my sister. I don’t think that’s what you’re wondering. You still love Daenerys, even though she’s your aunt. You’re wondering if loving her is going to doom you and everyone you love.”

Joffrey, eyes bulging as he died in his mother’s arms. Myrcella’s sweet smile before she was murdered for Ellaria’s revenge. Tommen, jumping from the window when he saw what his mother had done. 

Brienne’s Renly, killed before her eyes. Alton Lannister, Jaime’s cousin who he’d beat to death with chained hands in Robb Stark’s war camp. The army Tyrion had burned to death with wildfire. Catelyn Stark and her son, murdered at a wedding. Oberyn Martell’s failed vengeance for his sister. Jaime’s father, shot to death on the privy by his own son. Tyrion’s dead whore. All the innocents who died in the sept. 

How many had died because of his and Cersei’s sins? Because of Cersei’s thirst for power and his undying loyalty. 

“She’ll ruin you,” Jaime said hoarsely. “She’ll kiss you, and you’ll love her. She’ll bear you children, and you’ll love her. She’ll frighten you, and you’ll love her. You’ll give her all you have — your heart, your honor, your dignity, your life — and it won’t ever be enough. As long as she sits on that throne, there will always be enemies and there will always be sycophants and if you aren’t the one, you’re the other.”

He looked at Jon’s eyes, dark and frightened and pained. Stark eyes. Nothing like his father’s. 

Daenerys? She reminded Jaime all too much of the Targaryens of old. 

“Daenerys isn’t Cersei,” Jon protested. 

“No? Jaime asked wryly. “Because she’s beautiful, strong, and kind? Cersei was all those things once.”

“It’s not the same!”

Jaime pitied the boy. But he was what, four and twenty? Older than Jaime had been when he’d been thrust into the game of thrones by Cersei’s ambition and Aerys’s madness. 

“Aerys burns them in their homes, Cersei burns them in their septs, Daenerys burns them in their fields. Kings and Queens — they’re all the same. They want power and they’ll do anything to keep it. And when she’s destroyed all you care for, killed your children and wasted your honor and done the one thing you can’t forgive — you’ll love her still.”

Jaime still loved Cersei. He hated her too, perhaps in equal measure. But Cersei was part of him — not in the way she’d always said, we came into this world together and we’ll die together, but someone who had shaped who he was for so long that he didn’t truly exist apart from her. 

Jon’s face was a blaze of fury. “I think you should leave.”

Jaime stood and walked towards the door, ready to ask Tyrion to hunt down more wine for him to drink. 

“I’m not you,” Jon tried, when Jaime was almost to the door. 

“No,” Jaime agreed. “You aren’t.”

Jon slumped with relief and that was how Jaime knew, as an absolute certainty, that Jon was on the path to loving Daenerys the way he had loved Cersei — irrationally, unconditionally, and irrevocably. 

“You’re not me,” Jaime repeated sadly, looking at Jon Snow’s somber, despairing face. “Not yet. But you will be.”

And Jaime walked out the door. 

[esther-dot]

What upsets me the most about the dumbass Sansa vs Arya thing (other than it only existing because antis hate Sansa that much) is that... what does it add to the story? This isn't fandom stuff, this is something antis genuinely want for the story, but what does it ADD? What is the POINT? What value does these 2 siblings fighting against each other would give to the story? To the message and theme? It's even more worthless than the boring Cleganebowl shit.

Sansa and Arya, two siblings from the main family of the series that the story centers on, fighting and hating each other is detrimental to literally EVERYTHING. ASOIAF is LOADED with family dynamics that are actually toxic and destructive to the members. We have the Targaryens, we have the Greyjoys, we have the LANNISTERS. Westeros is so bereft of families that love each other, making the ONE family that genuinely love each other and doing their best to reunite hate each other is so... just spit on GRRM and the effort he put into House Stark, why don't you?

I don't want to sound like a pretentious ass, but these people should not read a series like ASOIAF if they're gonna let their petty feelings and opinions impact the series as a whole. They can hate Sansa, but if they hate her to the point where it impacts their reading of the series, then put it down and go read something simpler. Or just stick to fanfics because their disturbing hate fantasy will never be canon, sorry antis

(about this ask)

I talked about this before and now can’t find the post, but Arya and Jon fans who hate Sansa are holding her responsible for the problems with society that Martin is criticizing. They are missing that society is being criticized from different angles to allow us to see all the ways it’s hurting people. Rather than realizing it isn’t the little girl who caused their pain, with them we are getting two critiques (coming from different directions) of their world. Jon is excluded, Arya is expected to conform.

Jon wants in, Arya wants out.

And of course, Sansa suffers as well. She may fulfill the ideal in a way that Arya cannot, but that doesn’t save her. We have Elia and Lyanna which is another picture of conformity/non-conformity —both of them die. There is a much larger part of the story here that is the driving force of what these characters suffer, it’s a shame to dismiss all of that in order to hate on Sansa.

I have no gatekeeping instinct. I’m happy to read different takes (within reason — absolutely no Sansa hate which is why I don’t do much with anyone beyond our corner), I have read and written Martin critical stuff, I don’t mind people coming away with different interpretations. I enjoy that (within reason), and that’s a part of who I am beyond fandom so that isn’t gonna change. I simply decide, “well, I certainly never want to hear from that blogger/that part of the fandom again,” but as far as I know, they’re an angry 13yo who will reread the series in a year or two and realize, oh, the Sansa and Arya conflict is created by external forces, and actually, they can understand the pressures Sansa struggled with as well. I’m a big fan of leaving room for growth, and literature has a special way of allowing us to see things in new ways and helping us evolve as I individuals. I’d never be in favor of taking it away from anyone no matter how much I think they misunderstand it. You never know what the future holds and if one day, they’ll get it.

Also, I don’t have a perfect grasp on what Martin is doing myself. The endgame of some of the characters strikes me as….uh, less realistic, and more, whimsical, so unless I’m gonna throw out my books, I’m not gonna pretend to be more deserving than any one else. I will filter and block though because when it comes to Sansa haters:

making the ONE family that genuinely love each other and doing their best to reunite hate each other is so... just spit on GRRM and the effort he put into House Stark, why don't you?

So, uh, not to annoy you further, anon, but I didn’t call what I had written “wish-fulfillment” for nothing. 😬 I definitely think expecting the Starks to kill each other is absurd, but as a Jonsa, I’m not sure how Arya would be able to accept that relationship, and I do wonder if it’s Martin’s way of allowing tension and conflict within the Starks even upon their reunion. Maybe I worry for nothing, but Jon is Arya’s person, he made her feel love and accepted, for him to be in love with Sansa…I worry that Arya would feel displaced, and how quickly Martin would find a resolution there.

Many others have previously looked at how Martin seems to have no problem writing brothers / guys having healthy relationships, but likes to have sisters at odds. There’s a dearth of healthy female relationships, so it’s an opportunity for him to break that pattern, and if Arya was accepting of it I suppose it could be a contrast to the Cat/LF/Lysa mess. That may be the goal he’s working towards, and to your point, that adds to the story in sadly lacking area. All the same, while I do think the Starks love and will be loyal to each other, I’m not sure how warm and cozy things will be on the page? I have some concerns about what he’s making room for. But that is the benefit of being in a fandom with so many emotionally mature fic writers who value and prioritize female relationships. I get to read healthy relationships either way!