#arya x sandor

[shutupcrime]

Show Jaime:

“I know I just slept with Brienne who I have a deep attachment to, and I’m about six seasons deep into a redemption arch but Ima peace out and get crushed by rocks with my sister wife”

Book Jaime literally in the middle of reading a letter from Cersei begging him to come and save her:

“I wonder what brienne is doing right now”

[odetokeons]

i love the tough, grumpy, intimidating, big guy and the small, but incredibly powerful and badass kid they reluctantly adopted cinematic universe

[bisexualmultifandommess]

My favourite kind of Gendrya fic is either a reunion or post-reunion fic or a relationship reveal fic of any kind where Gendry and Arya obviously seem to know each other and Jon is just stood there watching them like:

[silverflameataraxia]

People act like Arya only wants vengeance and violence, but her initial reaction to Joffrey's death tells a different story.

Arya edged farther into the room. Joffrey's dead. She could almost see him, with his blond curls and his mean smile and his fat soft lips. Joffrey's dead! She knew it ought to make her happy, but somehow she still felt empty inside. Joffrey was dead, but if Robb was dead too, what did it matter?

- Arya XIII, ASoS

And also, her plan throughout all of ASoS was to get to Riverrun, until she found out her mother and brother were at the Twins and then she wanted to go there. After they were slaughtered, she thought about finding Lady Smallwood and Acorn Hall, but didn't know the way. She thought about being an outlaw with Gendry and the brotherhood without banners, but didn't think they wanted her around anymore since they never rescued her from the Hound. Her next plan was to go to Jon at the Wall. When she found the ship captain at the end of ASoS, she even requested to go to the Wall, but he was heading to Braavos, hence the only reason she ended up at the House of Black and White.

[m9yaa]

── .✦INNOCENCE; PETYR BAELISH ⟡˖ ࣪

part 1, part 2, part 3

⟡˖ ࣪ pairing: petyr baelish x fem!stark reader

⤷cw: mature content, innocence/corruption kink?, unprotected sex, age gap, power dynamic?, aged up characters, groping (non con kinda), sexual tension, sexual innuendo,

⤷summary: in which, petyr baelish seems to take an interest in you, catelyn’s and ned’s eldest daughter after the hand of the king’s arrival at king’s landing.

REQ! also not proof read!

⋮

with the help of serene, you finished getting ready.

your hair was kept simple, a half up half down style.

the dress choice of today was a pink gown with floral stitching and embroidery etched into the shoulders, neckline and mid way down your arm sleeve. it was a simple choice but a very classy and elegant one at that.

heading downstairs, the soft clinking of silverware and murmurs of conversation greeted you as you entered the dining hall. Your family was already gathered, seated at the long wooden table. They barely noticed your arrival, busy with their morning meal.

“Good morning, milady,” a servant greeted, giving you a small bow. You nodded in acknowledgment, trying to keep your composure, though inside you couldn’t shake the unease from the night before.

As you made your way to your seat, your gaze flickered over to where Lord Baelish was seated at the far end of the table. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, and the intense, knowing look he gave you made your stomach flip. You quickly averted your gaze, feeling the warmth of your face spreading.

“You seem quiet this morning,” your father remarked, raising an eyebrow as you sat down. “Something on your mind?”

You forced a smile, trying to push down the swirling thoughts in your head. “No, nothing at all,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

Breakfast passed in a blur of conversation, but you were distracted by the strange tension in the air, and the way Lord Baelish occasionally turned his gaze toward you. You couldn’t help but notice how his attention seemed to linger longer than it should, and the air around you seemed to grow thicker.

Finally, as breakfast came to a close, your father rose from his seat, signaling that it was time to leave. The javelin match was about to begin, and you would be accompanying the family to watch the contest. It was an event that promised excitement, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your mind was elsewhere.

You pushed open the door, stepping outside into the crisp morning air, hoping the fresh air would clear your head. Your thoughts remained jumbled, swirling in confusion. Had it just been the proximity? The heat of the moment? You didn’t know. All you knew was that you felt unsettled, and it was a feeling you couldn’t ignore.

As you joined the others, Lord Baelish’s gaze once again met yours. This time, it was even more intense than before, as if he knew exactly what you were feeling. But how could he? You didn’t even know what was happening to you.

As you approached the horses, your thoughts still swirling, you heard the soft scrape of boots behind you. Before you could turn, a firm hand wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly. Your breath caught in your throat as Lord Baelish gently but assertively placed you atop your horse. The unexpectedness of his touch sent a sudden wave of warmth through your body, and you instinctively pressed your thighs together, feeling an unfamiliar tension between them.

His hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary at your hips, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your dress before sliding down your thighs, giving them a pat.

You could feel the heat of his touch even through the layers, and it made you feel strangely... exposed. His eyes met yours, dark and knowing, but you couldn't read the expression in them. He said nothing, just stepped back, giving you space to adjust yourself in the saddle.

You swallowed, unsure of what to say.

The action, though simple, had shaken you in a way you couldn't explain. You had never been touched like that before even as innocent it may be, at least not so deliberately, and it left you feeling vulnerable yet... something else.

There was a fluttering in your chest, a confusing stir that you couldn't place.

You quickly looked away, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

"Are you well?" His voice was soft.

this being the first thing he’s said since yesterday.

You nodded, the words escaping you.

You weren't sure what was happening to you, and the last thing you wanted was for him to notice the way your heart raced or the flush creeping over your skin. You gripped the reins tightly, desperately trying to focus on the horses and the path ahead, but all you could feel was his presence lingering too close.

As the rest of the group mounted their horses and began to move, you followed, trying to ignore the burning heat that had settled in your chest. Lord Baelish rode alongside you, his horse moving at a steady pace, his gaze occasionally flicking to you from the corner of his eye.

The ride to the match seemed longer than it should have been. You couldn't shake the feeling of his touch, the way his hands had held you with such confidence and ease. And the strange, confusing fluttering that still hadn't subsided.

As you rode alongside Lord Baelish, the sounds of hooves striking the earth were the only things that seemed to fill the silence. The javelin match was drawing near, but your mind was elsewhere, preoccupied by the strange sensations still lingering in your body. Every time your horse’s stride shifted, you felt a light pressure between your legs, an awareness you had never experienced before. The thought of it made you flush, and you quickly looked away, hoping no one could see the heat spreading across your cheeks.

Lord Baelish, always so calm and composed, rode just a few paces ahead, his dark eyes occasionally drifting to you. You could feel his gaze even when he wasn’t looking directly at you. It made you restless, as though his very presence was pulling at something inside you that you couldn’t understand.

A sharp tug on the reins brought you out of your daze. You looked up to find the match grounds ahead, the field bustling with activity as crowds gathered in anticipation. The momentary distraction helped ground you, but the feeling of his touch from earlier still hung heavily in your chest. Your mind kept drifting back to it, and you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hands had gripped you with such assurance.

‘one little interaction with a man and this is how i’m reacting!’ you think to yourself.

As you dismounted, Lord Baelish was once again there to assist, his hands warm on your waist as he gently guided you to the ground. His touch was gentle, yet possessive, and you felt that strange ache stir again deep inside. “thank you,” you smile politely. before stepping away from him quickly, trying to focus on the spectacle unfolding before you—the shouts, the cheers, the clash of weapons. Anything to distract yourself from the disorienting feelings inside.

You stood next to your family, but your gaze kept flitting to Lord Baelish, who was speaking with a few others nearby. His eyes met yours once again, and that familiar look passed between you. It was almost as if he could see through you, as though he knew what was stirring within you, though you had no words for it yourself.

A voice beside you broke your focus. Your sister, sansa, noticing your distraction, asked, “What’s on your mind today? You’re not yourself.”

You forced a smile and turned to her, trying to push away the fog of confusion. “I’m just… thinking,” you said, though you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking about. Your mind and body were still reacting to Lord Baelish in ways you couldn’t explain.

you opt on moving a little further back in the crowd, away from your family as you don’t want them to keep continuously asking you series of questions.

And so, you stood there, the javelin match playing out before you, but your attention was split—part of you focused on the competition, the other part still uncertain, still trying to understand why that one, small interaction between you and Lord Baelish is consuming you with thoughts of him.. ‘and his attractive face.. toned body.. an-’

Then, a collective gasp rose from the crowd. "Oooof!" The sound echoed through the air, followed by an eerie silence. You glanced up just in time to see one of the men crumple to the ground, the wooden pole of the javelin buried deep in his throat. Blood poured from the wound in thick streams, staining the sand beneath him.

You winced, the brutal image searing into your mind, but it was the reaction of the crowd that truly unsettled you. They seemed almost thrilled by the violence. It was as if they took pleasure in the life being extinguished right before their eyes. The man's body was quickly dragged away by a few servants, but the roar of excitement from the spectators didn't falter.

You shook your head, a mixture of disgust and disbelief creeping into you.

"I'll never understand how people enjoy watching this," you muttered, mostly to yourself, but loud enough that anyone nearby might hear.

To your surprise, a smooth voice replied almost immediately. "Some enjoy the thrill of it. Others simply enjoy the.. spectacle."

You turned to see Lord Baelish standing beside you, his face unreadable, though his eyes held that familiar, knowing gleam. He wasn't looking at the man being dragged away, his attention was focused entirely on you.

"You seem disturbed," he continued, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "But tell me, have you never considered that there's something rather... exciting about watching someone fight for their life?" His tone was casual, almost teasing, as though the death of the man meant little to him.

He didn't even glance at the scene unfolding before you. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on you, studying your reactions.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of his stare. "I don't think excitement is the right word," you replied, your voice tight. "It's... unsettling."

He tilted his head slightly, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Perhaps. But there's something exhilarating about power, isn't there? Watching someone take control, even at the expense of another." His words were smooth, almost suggestive, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

You glanced away, but his presence seemed to loom over you, his voice still echoing in your ears. There was something in his tone, something that made your stomach twist in a way you didn't quite understand. It was as though he was subtly pushing at the edges of your innocence, drawing out feelings you had never had to confront before.

"You're far too innocent, my lady," he murmured, as if he could sense the conflict churning within you. "But don't worry... some things are better learned firsthand."

You quickly swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken. You didn't know what to say to that-didn't even know what to think. His words were like a puzzle, each one more cryptic than the last, but they had a way of making your heart race.

Trying to shake off the confusion, you glanced back to the field, hoping the match would provide some distraction and that the now beet face red of yours would somehow cool down in the short space of time you have.

The thought of the dead man being dragged away still made your stomach turn, but Baelish's proximity only heightened the strange sensations that bubbled beneath the surface. You wished you could focus, wished you could ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest.

But his gaze remained on you, sharp, hungry, and ever-watchful.

The match continued, but the tension in the air felt thicker now. You could hardly concentrate on the javelin throwers, each of them aiming their spears with practiced precision. Instead, your attention was pulled back to Baelish, who was still standing just a step too close, casually observing the scene. His presence was almost suffocating, yet you couldn’t look away. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks again, a flush that had nothing to do with the warm sun overhead.

“You know,” Baelish said after a long pause, his voice low, just barely audible over the noise of the crowd, “you shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss… what excites others. It’s not always what it seems on the surface.” His voice held a certain smoothness to it, as if each word was carefully crafted to provoke a reaction. And it was working. You felt a strange twinge of discomfort mixed with something else, something you couldn’t quite identify.

You tried to pull yourself together, to push the confused feelings back down. “I never said I dismissed it,” you replied stiffly, your voice quieter than usual. “I just… don’t see the appeal.”

He leaned in slightly, his mouth pressed lightly against your ear, his presence suddenly overwhelming, and for the briefest moment, you felt as though you were the only two people in the crowd. “Ah, but you’re not saying that you don’t feel something. That would be a lie.” His words sent a ripple through you, leaving you breathless for a second. He was watching you so intently now, his gaze softening, like he was examining you in a way you didn’t quite understand.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. His words had cut through your defenses with unsettling accuracy. Was it possible that he knew something about you that you didn’t? The way he looked at you—it made you feel like an open book, your every secret laid bare for him to see.

“Does it… bother you?” you finally whispered, your voice shaking slightly. You hadn’t meant to ask, but the question was out before you could stop it.

His smirk deepened, and he straightened, his tone shifting to something more playful. “Not at all,” he said smoothly. “But it does make things interesting when you find someone who isn’t quite so… aware of what’s stirring inside them.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the familiar heat spreading across your body once more. The way he spoke, the way his words seemed to caress the air between you, made your chest tighten. It was almost as if he was inviting you to acknowledge something you weren’t ready to face, something that terrified you and thrilled you all at once.

The noise of the match returned with a thundering cheer as one of the competitors scored a direct hit, but it was distant to you, muffled in comparison to the pounding in your own chest. You barely even noticed the people surrounding you, the way the world seemed to continue moving around you while you stood still, caught in the weight of Lord Baelish’s gaze.

he moved himself closer behind yourself. “You really don’t understand it yet, do you?” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, as though sharing some dark secret.

his body was pressed up against yours, you instinctively stiffened, but he didn’t pull away, his fingers lightly pressing against you, as though marking his territory in the most subtle way.

he’d rock his hips slowly against yours, so subtle you might think you’re imagining it. his fingers danced on the small of your back, away from the sight of any bystander.

You shook your head slightly, trying to regain control, but his presence only seemed to heighten the confusion, the disorientation you were feeling. Was this just a game to him? Or was he playing with you, testing your limits? You weren’t sure, but what you did know was that his words, his touch, they were unraveling something deep inside you, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“I—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip, unable to finish the sentence. What could you possibly say to him?

Before you could gather your thoughts, the final javelin was hurled with a sharp, whistle-like sound, its force sending a man crashing to the ground, an unfortunate casualty of the match. The crowd’s reaction was a mixture of gasps and excited shouts as the fallen competitor was dragged off the field, lifeless, with the javelin still lodged in his throat.

You stood at the edge of the arena, unable to tear your eyes away from the scene.

“Quite the display, don’t you think?” His voice came low, just behind your ear. There was no sign of discomfort in his tone—only a quiet satisfaction, as if the death of the man meant nothing at all to him.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on his words instead of the way his touch was making you feel, the way your pulse quickened at the proximity. “It’s… terrible,” you managed, your voice more fragile than you wanted it to be.

Baelish’s hands didn’t move, but his fingers tightened just slightly, as if he knew exactly what your discomfort was. “People enjoy it because it’s a reminder of power,” he said, his words soft, his tone deceptively casual. “A reminder that at any moment, your life could be taken from you. It makes them feel alive, even as they watch someone else die.”

You turned your head, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. You hadn’t expected him to speak with such indifference, to make such a chilling comment with no hint of empathy. But then again, Baelish had always been a man of cold calculation, never one for sentimentality.

“It’s… disturbing,” you whispered, your thoughts scattered as your chest tightened. His touch still lingered on your back, his presence too close, too overwhelming. It felt like an invisible thread was pulling you toward him, one you didn’t know how to resist.

Baelish’s lips brushed your ear as he spoke again, his voice now a tantalizing whisper. “You don’t like it. But you can’t deny it has a certain… pull.” His breath was warm against your skin, his tone taking on an almost teasing quality. “You feel something, don’t you? Even if you don’t want to.”

You stiffened, has he found you out..?

“I don’t…” You started to protest, but the words faltered as his touch remained firm, the pressure of his hands against your back both soothing and intrusive. “I don’t know what you mean.” you play coy and stupid.

His smile was faint, but it was enough to make your stomach flip. He didn’t respond right away, instead allowing a beat of silence to hang between you, before he spoke again, his voice now soft, coaxing.

“you know what i mean, just don’t be too quick to dismiss your own feelings.” His hand shifted just slightly on your back, fingers brushing against the curve of your waist. “what you’re feeling is natural, don’t push it away.” petyr says as his hands now move further down south, running his hands over your ass, groping the flesh subtly.

You felt a flush creep up your neck as you let out a soft yelp at the sudden attack, not only that but the words hitting you like a splash of cold water.

Before you could find your voice, Baelish lightly guided you away from the arena, his hand never leaving your behind. The sound of the crowd, the cheers, the dying echoes of the match, seemed to fade into the background as you followed him, still reeling from the strange combination of emotions swirling inside you.

⋮

hellooo! i was planning on making the smut part in this part but i felt like i rambled on too much and it’d be too long to add the smut part in now so it shall be in the next chapter, sorryy :(

anyways, thank you for reading and if you enjoyed it, don’t hesitate to like, share or reblog this post. thank you!

- maya 🪼

[kingsmoot]

every single thing i have ever learned about hbo got has been against my will but for every single thing i have ever learned about it my response has always been "no fucking way. you're lying." and the person telling me about hbo got laughs and says "i'm not lying. this is true." and i get even angrier and i tell them there is absolutely no way that is true. and then without fail they'll pull up some sort of bullshit on their phone that shows me it is, in fact, true.

[first-of-her-nxme]

In my head canon Christmas in Winterfell would be like:

Catelyn ruling the kitchen with Bran helping her. Ned working at his home office till the last moment. Jon and Robb trying to impress Ygritte and Jeyne showing them around the estate with Rickon and the direwolves tagging along. Sansa and Jaqen getting dressed upstairs complimenting on each other's outfits and putting insane amounts of hairstyling products on their shiny red hair. Arya and Sandor watching sports downstairs, feet up, beers in hands.

[bunbunbl0gs]

Modern Arya 🔪

masterlist

game of thrones masterlist

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

CHAPTER FIVE - WINTER IS COMING.

every time, i'd burn through the world — i'd see

that the world, it burns through me.

Between raising two children, training to become a better swordsman, and managing her duties as a lady — Lyarra had very little time to herself. If she wasn't with one of her own, she was looking after one of the other Stark children for Eddard and Catelyn. Since Gogni's death, she hadn't once left Winterfell. Even traveling down that train of thought had her seizing with fear. Instead, she spent her nights practicing her work with a blade. 

Reyne was seemingly growing taller by the minute. Her blonde locks reached down to her belly button by now, with similarly blonde lashes — almost a mirror image of the red-haired boy from years before. Initially, her appearance had caused a stir within the castle. Eddard had questioned her ceaselessly, but Lyarra never answered any of his inquiries. Similarly to when he had returned with Jon, she only told him that she couldn't answer him truthfully — pleading with him to not ask her to do so. Eventually, the man conceded. His wife did no such thing, however Lyarra paid her no mind. Reyne would be raised under Lyarra's care. In her eyes, she was a Stark — but neither she nor Jon would ever be able to take the name. Once she was old enough, it was decided that she would be given a job as a handmaiden. Lyarra argued that Reyne should be treated as her own daughter, and that she should not have to work to stay — but she had pushed her luck far enough already, and Eddard wouldn't do much more than blink at her. She had no Stark blood within her, unlike Jon. 

The two were thick as thieves from the moment that Lyarra brought her home. The gap between the two was minimal, and it was evident in the way they treated one another as equals. Jon quickly accepted Reyne as his family, as she did with him. It was oddly reminiscent of Lyarra's own relationship with Benjen, and the thought forced a bittersweet feeling to course through her. Benjen had returned only thrice now, and each time he waited at the gate for Jon to come running. He'd accepted Reyne into his heart as easily as Jon had, and had taken to picking the girl up and spinning her each time he saw her. As much as seeing her brother overjoyed Lyarra, she couldn't help the beat of trepidation each time she watched him speak with Jon. More than once now, he'd brought up the Night's Watch to her. He was still too young to be a member now, a thought that calmed her ever-so-slightly, but one could see his own anticipation building. He wanted to be like his Uncle Benjen, and Lyarra couldn't fault him for that — but that didn't make dealing with the fact any easier. 

While Lyarra was glad to see Jon have a friend — have family, even — other than Robb, it was growing increasingly evident that he wasn't any less of an outsider. He still longed to be Ned's true-born son, something that conflicted, as well as saddened her in equal measure. She viewed Jon as her own, and had since the moment he'd been placed in her arms. She knew in her heart that he wasn't hers, but to see him long to be someone else's entirely was not an easy thing for her to accept. Lyarra did her best to appease to her brother, coaxing him into allowing Jon into more familial settings. While Jon was never allowed to sit by the family at feasts, she herself would place herself next to him. It was torturous for Lyarra, watching the boy so desperately try to be a part of a family that he wasn't made for. 

Beyond Jon and Theon, Lyarra was not particularly close with any of the Stark children. They were her kin, so she had always had love for them. But, she'd never struck a proper bond with the rest. Robb was too eager, a trait that only Jon had been able to match. Oftentimes when the two sparred, she would stand at Theon's side — critiquing their form. Robb had brushed off her advice more than once, but Jon would always correct himself — listening to each word. Sansa, from the moment she was born, was meant to be a lady. She welcomed the fact with pride, something that Lyarra herself had never been able to do. Within a few years, it had been decided that Reyne would be her handmaiden. Initially, the two hadn't gotten along-- which came as no surprise to Lyarra, considering Sansa's other relationships with the 'help'. But overtime, the two grew closer than she'd expected. Sansa hadn't seem to have accepted Reyne into the family by any means, but the two were good friends — close enough that she allowed Reyne to travel with her wherever they went. 

It wasn't until the birth of Arya, that Lyarra found herself developing a true bond with one of the Stark children. Arya was the brasher, more cunning version of Lyanna Stark. There was a boundless list of similarities between the two, and yet Lyarra still felt as if she had never met someone like Arya. From the moment she was old enough, she wanted to learn to swing a blade. Jon had been hesitant, afraid of causing her any kind of harm — but Lyarra was more than willing.

Initially, Eddard had advised against it. He and Catelyn knew that Arya was also meant to be a lady of the court. Yet, in true fashion, Lyarra did nothing to heed his words. She only agreed to not allow Arya a true sword, instead promising to teach her with a wooden blade. Additionally, the two only ever practiced at night — just before Arya was meant to take herself to bed. Sometimes Jon would oversee their movements, chiming in to assist his sister. Other times, Eddard would watch from a distance — smiling softly in his own secretive way that Lyarra had come to know all too well. 

Arya, similar to Robb, had never seemed to look at Jon differently for being a 'bastard.' The day that she'd learned what it meant, she had laughed in Lyarra's face. In her eyes, Jon was her brother — whether they shared the same mother, or no. 

Catelyn, however, was a complicated figure. Lyarra sympathized with the woman, and tried to reach out to her more than once after the death of Brandon. Initially it had seemed as if Lyarra's connection with Jon had established resentment within Catelyn, however the woman did her best to maintain a connection between the two. More often than not, she would request Lyarra's assistance with the children — even if just to sit with her while she watched them. Lyarra longed to be closer with her, even if just to have a sister again. But their differences were too great. Again, she couldn't help but wonder how different things would have been if she had married Edmure Tully as she was meant to.

The birth of Brandon 'Bran' Stark served to surprise Lyarra further. The boy was even more adventurous than she had been at his age, often climbing whatever it was that he could find. She had half the heart to tell him of the clearing beyond the woods, before thinking better of it. Bran, who was hardly reminiscent of his namesake, had come to Lyarra more than once in the middle of the night — as if he knew he wouldn't be waking her from her slumber. He'd spend hours asking her about the world that she knew, asking her to tell him anything she could think of. Lyarra would spin her own stories more often than not, but there were a few times that she would tell the boy of the tales she'd heard with the Free Folk. Since she had fled from the camp, Lyarra never once mentioned any of their names. She wouldn't speak of any of it, not even to Reyne. When Bran had questioned where she'd heard the 'story of a man who had suckled at the teat of a Giant', Lyarra only shrugged — pushing him out of her chambers with a light smile. 

More often than not, Jon had found himself in her chambers as of late as well. His nightmares had been more frequent than ever, resulting in him pounding on her door in the middle of the night. By the third time it'd happened, Lyarra had learned to leave her door open a fraction — if only to save herself from the harrowing sound of his loud knocking. Every night since Jon could remember, he dreamt of a girl with hair so blonde it could've been white — with eyes of a violet hue, and a snow-white complexion. In Jon's eyes, it didn't appear to be a dream — on either side. The girl had seemed to notice him as well, though she never told him her name. Lyarra had never heard of someone sharing dreams, and had half the mind to question Maester Luwin — if not for Jon begging for her secrecy. He did not want the girl to go away, as if he was scared of what it meant. 

 

The Stark children had seemed to age at a speed beyond Lyarra's control. Before she knew it, Bran was standing tall at her hip — with Robb and Jon towering over her. Even Sansa had almost reached her in stature by now, though Arya seemed to have no such luck. 

Lyarra watched from the stone window of her chambers, as the boys helped Brandon nock his arrows. Eddard and Catelyn were also watching from the platform above the group, and she observed as they had warm smiles of their own. Each time, Bran had missed. Lyarra herself had never been proficient with a bow, but the boy barely reached the target itself. Jon, unsurprisingly, stepped forward to assist the boy each time — recommending a different approach whenever Brandon had missed.

She couldn't make out what Jon had said to the boy due to their distance, but when they both turned back to glance at her — Lyarra couldn't help but shoot the boy a supportive grin. Jon matched it with one of his own, patting Bran on the back as the boy turned to the target once more. Again, the boy missed after a moment — and chuckles echoed through the courtyard. Just barely, Lyarra could hear Eddard admonishing the boys — and couldn't help but let out a laugh of her own. 

Just as she had begun to settle down, Lyarra watched as an arrow met its mark — finally reaching the center of the target. She'd gone to clap instantly, before noticing the arrow still nocked in Bran's bow. From her spot, she couldn't see where the shot had come from — but after Jon's laugh echoed through the yard again, she could just barely make out Arya's retreating figure, with Bran on her tail. 

Lyarra took the chance to make her way down to the yard then, as she watched Ned move from his spot on the platform. Jon hadn't moved an inch, and instead he was cleaning up after the other boys — as Robb was removing the arrows from the target. Lyarra placed her hand on the boy's shoulder, gently notifying him of her presence. 

"You saw that, then?" Jon laughed, shaking his head as he replaced the arrows in the basket. Lyarra grinned, watching as the other Stark boys began to argue in the distance. Just barely, she could still make out Arya running in the distance — Bran not far behind her. 

"It was hard to miss." Lyarra admitted after a moment, tilting her head as she felt eyes burning into her. There, still above the two on the platform, stood Catelyn. Her glare towards the boy was sharp, the hate within her eyes evident. In an instant, Jon seemed to shrink in on himself. Before she could allow herself to do much else, Lyarra smiled at the woman above them — attempting to placate her nerves. Catelyn, remembering herself, did seem to calm at that — even shooting Lyarra a timid smile of her own, before she marched off. 

 

Lyarra rarely observed her brother's executions, so it came as no surprise when she'd only pulled Jon's furs tighter around him — before stomping off to find the girls. After Arya's stunt earlier, she was nowhere to be seen — but she was able to spot Reyne and Sansa together, as they were sewing something for Septa Mordane. Reyne's smile was instant, while Sansa's eyes only slightly brightened at her arrival. 

"Ah, my Lady! You must see Lady Sansa's work. It's simply beautiful. The stitching is near perfect, wouldn't you say?" Septa Mordane clasped her hands as she spoke, the cheerfulness in her tone almost sickening. Lyarra couldn't bring herself to do much more than nod, as she placed a hand on Sansa's shoulder. She'd never been very good at sewing herself, a fact that Old Nan had often criticized her for — but she did have to admit, her work was appealing. She stood there for only a moment longer, placing a kiss on the foreheads of the two girls — before she made her way through the castle. 

Lyarra had only just made her way back to the yard before she just barely made out the sound of light footsteps. She willed herself to be silent, only taking a short breath before she reached her hand out — plucking the girl up by her furs. Arya grunted, legs swinging wildly in the air. She yelled for the woman to put her down, and after another fit of laughs Lyarra conceded. She was met with Arya's frustrated grin, a sight that only further amused her. 

"That's no fair! You're twice my height, and then some. You don't see me kicking your ankles when you walk by, do you?" Arya's complaints were half-nonsense, as she grumbled to herself. Lyarra leaned back to watch the girl ramble in amusement. It was true, the action was unnecessary — and yet each time she had the opportunity, she found herself repeating it. Brandon was too large for her to successfully pick him up any more, which left only Arya for her to terrorize — as Rickon would cry each time she'd tried. 

"You're good with a bow. I didn't know you'd been practicing." Came Lyarra's reply after she'd wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. Arya reeled from the sudden topic change, as her arms came to cross themselves across her defensively. 

"Only when Bran leaves his behind." Arya muttered out, foot still swinging beneath her as she stomped. Lyarra's heart warmed at the sentiment. Had Bran left his bow out and Eddard noticed, the boy would have been admonished to no end. They were taught to have greater respect for their belongings. Arya knew this all too well, and took the opportunity to help both her brother and herself. 

The two were interrupted, then, by the sound of the gate creaking open. They made their way to the crowd together, only pausing when they noticed the creatures in the boys hands. Each one held a wolf pup — a direwolf, she'd later come to know.  While they were gone, they'd come upon a litter of pups — and Jon, she'd been told, was the one to suggest that each Stark child had one of their own. Robb had named his Grey-Wind, Sansa named her lady, Arya— Nymeria, Brandon— Summer, Rickon— Shaggydog, while Jon named his Ghost. Reyne had been delighted at the sight of the pup, and dashed forward to see him. At that, Ghost had almost cowered further into Jon's arms. From that day on, Jon rarely went anywhere without Ghost at his side. If he had to leave him behind for any reason, Lyarra was likely the one watching him. Reyne took the opportunity to visit more than once, normally when Sansa was at her lessons. 

The death of Jon Arryn came suddenly, without warning. Lyarra hadn't known the man well, but she knew of her brother's love for him. She admired the man for protecting her brother — as well as the King — with honor. She'd been beside Eddard at the weirwood tree, when Catelyn had approached. Lyarra had come to the same spot with Eddard more than once, after an execution, as he took the time to collect his thoughts as well as himself. She would never say anything, choosing only to relish her time outside of the castle itself. As Catelyn stepped forward, Lyarra turned herself in the slightest to give the two more space. 

"All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here," She'd heard, observing as Catelyn stared wondrously at the tree. She knew the feeling all too well. Although she was a Stark, through and through, she'd felt like an outsider every day of her life. Unlike Catelyn, however, this was one of the only places that she'd felt as if she did belong. 

"You have five northern children, you're not an outsider." Came Eddard's eventual reply. After that, Lyarra did her best to tune the two out. She had no part in their talks, and that much was apparent. She pulled her furs tighter around herself, sharpening her own blade as Eddard cleaned his. Lyarra only properly tuned back in, once she'd observed brother's sorrow — silent, but clear as day in the way his brow had pinched. Jon Arryn was dead. Though she'd only remembered Lysa Arryn as the girl who had glared at her in Riverrun, she was thankful to hear that the woman and her boy were alright. 

The brunt of the news came after. This time, Catelyn spoke to the two equally — meeting Lyarra's eyes with a gaze filled with sorrow of her own. The King, alongside his family, was riding to Winterfell. With the death of the hand, that could only mean one thing. The realization hadn't seemed to dawn on Ned, as he was too conflicted by his own emotions. Robert was Eddard's best friend, and despite his connection with Lyanna — he had never cared for the man any less. Lyarra, however, despised the man. Since the death of her sister, he'd only become worse in his own grief. The King was known as a drunk with a harsh temper. He married Cersei Lannister not long after the death of Lyanna, and within a few years they'd had their own litter of children. 

"If he's coming this far North, there's only one thing he's after." Ned trailed off, staring into the reflection of his sword rather than meeting the gaze of the two women beside him. Lyarra met Catelyn's eyes warily, a fraction of her own fear reminiscent of the other woman's eyes. 

"You don't have to agree, Ned." Lyarra all but whispered, as Catelyn had muttered her own words of agreement. The thought of her brother leaving to King's Landing, as Brandon had — as their father had, had her gut churning.

Once they had returned to the castle, Lyarra made her way to Jon within an instant. He'd been perched on a barrel, laughing as Theon demonstrated something vulgar with Robb. She'd seen this same act repeated between the boys more than once. Theon was the oldest of the group, and as such he felt obligated to teach the boys what he knew — more specifically, about the ways of women. When Lyarra had reached the group, she watched as Robb placed his hands on Theon's waist — leaning him towards the ground as if he meant to kiss him. They only stopped when Lyarra let out a light cough, raising her brow at their antics. Robb yanked Theon up with a laugh, patting Jon's back before he walked off. Theon, however, stood there for a moment — wobbling as if he couldn't stand properly. Lyarra could hardly hold back her laughter, as the boy's face was beet red. Robb called after him not long after, and she finally let out a chuckle once she noticed the speed Theon had chased after him. Jon only shook his head before he turned to face her properly 

"I didn't mean to interrupt your fun," Lyarra posed the statement as a question, her brow still raised as she observed Jon's expression. He only shrugged, letting out a laugh of his own. 

"I promise you, I wasn't the one having fun there." Lyarra couldn't help but agree, as she leaned against a post to look at the boy. Jon was unlike most boys his age. He never spoke of women, and when he did it was never in the way that Theon had. He seemed more interested in them as a concept, than as something to chase after. 

"The King is riding for Winterfell. With his family." She told him after a moment, raising her elbows to place herself on a barrel of her own. Jon's eyes widened a bit, but he nodded all the same. He had never met the royal family, a fact that Lyarra herself had been thankful for. Beyond the color of his eyes, Jon appeared to be Lyanna's mirror-image. She could only imagine Robert's reaction when he saw him for the first time. 

"You don't sound excited." Jon raised his own eyebrow at her then, tilting his head as if he didn't understand her intentions. Lyarra only shrugged, kicking her foot now that she had a bit of leverage. 

"Can't say I have much reason to be. I'll look forward to when they leave, and I no longer have Catelyn up my arse' every minute of every day." Jon's laughter was hesitant, as if he was afraid the woman in question would hear. Lyarra, however, paid that no mind. She spoke freely, a fact that had landed her in trouble more than once. Before she could say another word, a snap of a twig echoed around them — and within a moment, a head of blonde hair timidly approached. Reyne, once noticing who the two were, noticeably relaxed — coming to stand by the two with a light smile of her own. 

"What are they like? The Lannisters?" Reyne asked timidly, clutching the ends of her sleeves with her fingers. Lyarra paused at the question, thinking it over. She'd only ever truly met Jaime, and that was years prior. Now, he was a member of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard. She'd only seen Cersei from a distance, and had never even met the notorious 'imp' of the family. 

"I suppose we'll all find out in the days to come. Now, off to bed with the both of you. We'll all have duties to attend to in the morning, and staying up until the sun rises won't make it any easier." With that, she placed a light kiss on their heads — before making her way to her own chambers. Lyarra did her best to not think the worst, but she dreaded the days to come. If Robert had his way, her brother would be leaving with the family by the end of their visit — no doubt with one of his children in tow. The thought only further sickened Lyarra, and she was only able to escape it once she shut her eyes — a feather pillow harshly placed over head to drown out the light.

The day of the King's arrival came all too soon. Throughout the morning she had been at Ghost's side, marveling at the size of the wolf. It'd only been a few weeks, and yet he was half her size. In the back of her mind, it reminded her of how quickly Jon grew. She only left the beast be when she heard Eddard calling for her. The family lined themselves up, standing in wait by the front gate. Lyarra herself stood on Catelyn's left. If she peaked past the two beside her, she could see Robb, followed by Sansa and Bran. Behind her stood Jory, Theon, and Jon. She longed to be at her boy's side, but Lyarra stood solemnly all the same. Just behind the two boys, she could see Reyne peaking over the crowd. Jon shifted, allowing her to see past him, and the sight brought a smile to her lips before she could control herself. After a moment Arya came barreling through with a helmet on her head. The girl's antics forced a reluctant chuckle from Lyarra's lips, though she was silenced with a glare from Catelyn. 

Rickon bristled beside her as the riders approached the family, and Lyarra couldn't help but place a comforting hand on his shoulder to stabilize him. She noticed first, that the King wasn't leading the line. An unsurprising fact, but it left Lyarra to scan over those she could see. In the front was a member of the Kingsguard, though she couldn't see beyond the helmet to further look over who exactly it could be. Behind him, rode a blonde boy — too proud to be anyone other than the prince. Joffrey, then, she decided. Catelyn had described the members of their traveling party in length, and Lyarra only forced herself to listen in order to relay the information to Reyne. 

The moment she looked beyond the Prince, Lyarra's breath caught in her throat. Catelyn glanced at her in concern, but she only waved the woman off. There, rode a man with chain-mail armor — with a helm resembling some sort of beast. As he opened his helm in the slightest, Lyarra found herself leaning forward to observe what was underneath it. She was only broken out of her stupor by the sudden movement beside her, as Catelyn tugged her sleeve down to kneel with the rest of the family. King Robert approached then, climbing off of his horse with a hefty grunt. 

His stomps could be heard from inside the castle, Lyarra thought to herself. Once Robert motioned for them to stand, Lyarra was the first on her feet. He'd glanced over at her in that moment, eyes widening as he scanned over her features. She had met with Robert a handful of times now, and each time he would pause as if he thought she truly was Lyanna. He seemingly shook himself out of his own shock then, as he only turned back to her brother with a glare. 

"You've got fat," Robert claimed after a beat of silence. Eddard only raised his brow, motioning towards the man himself. After another moment of quiet, the two laughed between themselves — hugging with joy that could only be found in reuniting with a loved one. Robert made his way to Catelyn then, pulling her close as well, as if the two were good friends. He paused when he came to stand in front of Lyarra, his smile slipping off of his face — making way for something uncertain. Lyarra forced a grin to tug at the corner of her lips, moving to curtsy in a way unbecoming of herself. 

"Your Grace," She greeted, voice tight as she did her best to appear jovial. Robert moved to hug her then, his arms snug around her waist as she was forced to lean into his furs.

"Ah, Lyarra. As beautiful as ever." Lyarra could hardly hold back the flash of disgust that bled through her, but she held her head high as ever. The man moved from her then, ruffling Rickon's hair before standing beside the other children. She'd glanced back at Jon, meeting his worried glance with a smile that she could only hope was convincing. 

As a woman with hair as blonde as the mane of a Lion stepped out of the carriage, Lyarra realized then that she could only be one person. Cersei Lannister. Her features were all too similar to that of Jaime's, though she could only vaguely recall them. She was beautiful, and carried herself in a way that Lyarra was certain she knew it. After a moment, more children climbed out as well. They all appeared to be smaller copies of herself, none even slightly resembling Robert Baratheon's round features. True lions, Lyarra thought to herself. She watched as the King made his way through the other Stark children, greeting them each with separate comments. 

She only stopped when the Kingsguard from before reached to remove his helmet, releasing a pile of golden locks. In an instant, Lyarra knew it was Jaime Lannister. He'd grown ten-fold since last she'd seen him, and yet his eyes were just as youthful as they had been before. She found herself growing concerned on whether he would recognize her — or even remember her, for that matter — after all this time. Her concerns were only buried when he met her eyes from across the yard, his gaze sparkling with familiarity. She smiled at him then, eyes conveying a message that only he could understand. Similar to before, amusement flooded into his expression as he communicated with her through glances alone. All at once, he shut himself off — moving to stand behind the Queen, as Cersei turned to look in confusion. Following her brother's gaze, she met Lyarra's eyes with distrust. Lyarra forced herself to smile at the woman, doing her best to not shrink at her intensity. This seemed to do nothing to placate her, however she approached nonetheless. 

Cersei held out an expectant hand to Eddard, as he leaned to kiss her hand. With the woman distracted, Lyarra turned to catch Jaime's gaze again — but he was all-too focused on the ground beneath him. She had no doubt that she wouldn't get the chance to even speak with him until later. Cersei came to stand in front of her then, moving into her line of sight with another curious glance. 

"My queen," She greeted, curtsying as Catelyn had. Cersei lingered for a moment, scanning over Lyarra in a way that only further discomforted the woman. After a moment, she'd stepped away — giving Lyarra the chance to take a breath. She took the time to search for the man with the beast-shaped helm again, furrowing her brow as she came to notice that he was already looking at her. She held his gaze for a moment too long. He seemed familiar, in a way that she could not quite decipher. Lyarra was certain she hadn't met the man before, and yet his eyes glimmered in a way that she knew all too well. Before she had the chance to further investigate the man, she was interrupted by her brother stepping away from the group. 

She shot him an inquisitive look, bordering on concern, but Eddard only smiled back at her — in a way that had not truly met his eyes. Lyarra took a breath then, choosing to listen in on the conversations beside her. 

"Where's the imp?" She overheard Arya questioning, her tone expectant as if she had asked the same thing only minutes prior. Lyarra was seemingly not the only one who'd heard, as Cersei then turned to ask Jaime of his whereabouts. He shot Lyarra another quick look before he turned. She took the opportunity to glance over at Jon and Reyne, who almost stood side by side now. Theon, who had previously been at Jon's side, stood just behind Robb. Catelyn shot the two boys wary looks, but they seemed to pay her no mind. Once the group had begun to disperse, Lyarra quickly moved to Jon's side. 

The rest of her night was spent preparing for the feast. While most ladies often had a handmaiden to take care of them — and ready them for most occasions, Lyarra had all but refused one. Instead, if she did need any help she would often ask for Reyne's assistance alone. Tonight in particular had been one of those nights. While the girl was braiding Lyarra's hair, Jon sat in the corner — perched on her dresser. 

"D'you know Ser Jaime?" Jon questioned after a moment, twirling a dagger in his fingers. The inquiry gave Lyarra pause, and she glanced over at the boy with a raised brow. 

"I knew him when we were children, yes. But it's been many years since we last spoke. Why do you ask?" She leaned back, wincing as Reyne tugged on the front of her hair. She liked to avoid these intricate designs when she had the chance, but Catelyn had all but demanded that everyone dress 'properly' for their guests. 

"He's sort of beautiful." Jon whispered, trailing off as if he hadn't realized he spoke at all. At Lyarra's inquisitive glance, he grunted — sitting up and placing the dagger beside him. "In the way that all Knights are, I mean. He looks like he fell out of one of Bran's stories." 

Lyarra couldn't help the laugh that followed. When she'd first seen Jaime, she'd traveled down a similar train of thought. It was hard to picture a man more perfect than Jaime Lannister. However, when she thought of the man there was far from attraction in her mind. She adored him, but not in the way that she'd felt for Gogni — nor Petyr, for that matter. Still, he was difficult to look away from. 

"You were right the first time, I think. He's beautiful." Reyne whispered, curling her hands around Lyarra's locks wistfully. With a sharp look, she returned to her previous movements. Jon's response was an audible chuckle, one that was only interrupted by the distant sound of Catelyn shouting after one of her children. Lyarra sat up then, pulling her furs tighter around herself. She was adorned with a white fur pelt, a red gown trailing down her figure. Jon solemnly nodded as he moved to open the door for her. Jon wasn't to attend the feast at all, while Reyne was not to leave Sansa's side. As they approached the hall, Lyarra paused to kiss Jon's forehead — before entering with Reyne at her side. She took her seat beside Eddard, while Reyne was placed next to Sansa. 

The feast itself passed agonizingly slow, as Lyarra had no choice but to mingle with guests. The man with the beast-shaped helm from earlier was nowhere to be found, a fact that only further suited to disappoint her. As she watched Eddard pour himself another drink, her heart only lightened when she heard a familiar voice. 

"You two at a feast.." Benjen announced his presence, "It's like a bear in a trap." The sight of her brother instantly filled Lyarra with joy, and she could hardly hold herself back as she jumped into the man's arms. With a grunt, he picked her up with just as much fervor. He only pulled back to pat Ned on the back, before he slung an arm around Lyarra's shoulder. 

Rather than meet Benjen with the same level of enthusiasm, Eddard had only forced a light — almost unnoticeable smile, on his lips. Within a moment, he was describing the beheading from earlier. Lyarra allowed herself to tune the two men out, taking the opportunity to peak over her brother's arm and gaze at the crowd. In the center was the King, with a woman on his lap. Beside him, men were cheering — arm in arm. 

"Direwolves south of the wall, talk of the walkers, and my brother might be the next Hand to the king." Lyarra allowed herself a light laugh, leaning further into Benjen's arm as he trailed on. "Winter is coming." He'd finished, watching in amusement was Ned let out a laugh of his own. 

"Winter is coming." Both she and Eddard repeated, nodding solemnly as the familiar words of their house poured from their lips. She'd said the same words so many times that Lyarra was convinced they'd lost their meaning, but they still held a weight in her chest each time. It was only when Robb approached to greet Benjen, that Lyarra allowed herself to slink away from her brothers. 

The bite of the cold air was a welcoming gift as she snuck out of the hall. Lyarra perched herself on a bench, watching as the men walked the ramparts. She'd half expected Jon to be out here when she arrived, but the thought that he'd taken an early night to himself wasn't altogether surprising either. Instead, she relished the chance for comfortable silence — until, of course, that was broken by a sharp voice. 

"Ah! The Lady Lyarra Stark. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you. The stories do not do you justice, I must say." In truth, Lyarra was growing quite sick of golden-haired men. As the man approached her, she took notice of his stature. There was only one person he could be, due to his height alone. 

"You must be Lord Tyrion, then?" She'd greeted, clasping her hands together on the wooden table to capture a bit of warmth. As he came closer, he'd taken her greeting as a warm welcome, placing himself on the bench across from her. 

"My, is it that obvious?" He'd questioned, mock-offense littering his tone. For the first time in hours, Lyarra found herself struggling not to grin. 

"All you Lannisters have the same hair. It's harder not to point you out." Sarcasm was heavy in her words, and she found herself longing for a drink to hide her smile in. As if he sensed her thought, Tyrion offered his cup of wine — presenting it as if he no longer wanted it. She had half the heart to wave him off, before she'd nodded and took it from his hands. 

"Oh, of course. The hair! Not the 'impish' bits, at all." 

"I've seen shorter." Lyarra admitted, shrugging as she took another sip of the wine. Her words brought an honest cackle out of the man, loud enough that she had to struggle not to startle where she sat. After she'd calmed, she found a giggle building its way in her chest.

"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe." 

Lyarra only guffawed at his words, glancing longingly down at the now-empty cup of wine. As Tyrion noticed her now solemn state, he let out his own roar of laughter. Within minutes, the two were leaning against the table with tears in their eyes. 

"You two sound like a couple of fucking' drunks." A voice called out, then, harsh stomps following. It sounded distantly familiar, yet it was harsher than anything she'd heard in years. Lyarra forced herself to look up, taking in the large man's form. It was the man from earlier, who now only carried the helm in the crevice of his arm. Due to the lack of light in the yard, she couldn't properly see his face. 

"Takes a drunk to know a drunk, Clegane." Tyrion's words shot a chill through Lyarra's body, and although the effects of the liquor began to take hold of her — she forced her eyes to narrow on the man's features. The name Clegane was familiar, forcing Lyarra to return back to years prior. To Lord Whent's tourney at Harrenhal. She remembers the fear in her heart as Gregor Clegane approached her, and then the overwhelming relief as she was saved by a smaller boy. One with burns littering his cheek, and eyes that appeared to stare back at her in this very moment. The man in front of her was the boy she'd been longing to find all throughout the tourney, Lyarra realized suddenly. The thought was almost sobering, but his glare was enough to muddle her brain. 

The man before her seemed harsher than the boy who had come to her aid. His glare was heavy, though if she looked close enough — into the light of familiarity she had seen before in his eyes, she could see his own youth peaking through the cracks. Lyarra couldn't help the smile that came to her lips, as relief at finally finding the boy after years flooded through her. Her expression seemed to only further worry the man, and she only looked away when Tyrion coughed expectantly. 

"And, as a drunk, I can say with confidence that it would appear that our lady is rather inebriated. Would you mind?" Lyarra could distantly make out, as she rested her temple against the cool wood of the table. She'd felt so many emotions within the past few moments that it was hard to hold back her exhaustion now, and she felt sleep over coming her. Before her eyes could properly shut, she felt herself being raised into the air — pressed against someone's chest. The chain-mail pressing into her sent chills through her body, and Lyarra found herself leaning into the warmth of whoever had been carrying her. 

Distantly, she noticed the familiar feeling of her quilts, as she was seemingly placed within her bed. Just as quickly as the warmth had arrived, it disappeared. Lyarra was left to curl into her furs, and she couldn't fight back the sleep that overtook her this time. 

The remaining days of the King's stay were just as dreadful as the days leading up to it. Lyarra knew, the morning after his arrival, that her brother had decided to go back with him to King's Landing. He'd been standing in front of her door, silent as ever, as she'd gone to make her way to the yard for the morning. His presence was enough to startle her, and she had to clutch her dress to calm herself. 

"Forgive me, sister. I don't know how long I've been out here. Hours, maybe. I didn't want to disturb you, but.." Ned trailed off, avoiding her gaze as he readjusted his furs. Lyarra's own head was pounding after the night before, and she could hardly make out his words — but she did her best to focus, moving to place a comforting hand on her brother's arm. "I wouldn't ask this of you, had I another choice. I've asked too much of you as it is, I know that already." 

Lyarra's heart went cold, as the implications of his words sunk in. He intended for her to come to King's Landing with him, with his daughters. He only looked further from her as she admitted her realization. She took her hand from his arm as quickly as she'd placed it, moving to curl around herself instead. She'd have to leave Winterfell, leave the only home she'd ever known. She'd have to leave Jon. That alone was enough to have Lyarra shaking her head in denial, stepping back from the man in despair. She couldn't leave him, not in Winterfell. Not alone. Reyne would be coming with them to serve as Sansa's handmaiden, but Jon? A bastard had no place in the royal court, something that Lyarra knew all too well. 

"Maester Luwin came to me last night, just after the feast ended. He wants to join the Watch, Lyarra. Told Benjen so himself. He'll be safe among them. You know that, as well as I do. He'll be better off on the Wall, than here." Ned did his best to placate her, leaning down then to place his hands on her shoulders. She only shook her head, forcing herself to not allow tears to fall. 

"He's just a boy, Ned. He's not ready for the Watch. I'll never see him again." Her words were panicked, jumbled rambles coming from her lips as her hands began to shake. In an instant, she was met with overwhelming warmth — as Eddard wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. She couldn't help the tears that came then, as she all but sobbed in her brother's arms. "You can't. Please, Ned. Please, don't do this." 

"I don't have a choice. I wish I did. I wish I was not asking this of you, but I am. I need your help." Eddard pulled back, wiping the pad of his glove against her cheeks as she closed her eyes to keep her tears at bay. "The Lannisters .. They had something to do with Jon Arryn's death, I know it. Robert needs my help, now more than ever. And I need yours." The revelation that the Lannisters could have done something so dastardly only had Lyarra's head shaking in disbelief. It was only when she peeled her eyes open, and was met with the true despair in Ned's eyes — that she knew he was telling the truth. He believed all that he was saying. 

Lyarra couldn't bring herself to say anything then, only choosing to stand upright as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Eddard retreated then, telling her to think about it — though they both knew he wasn't giving her a choice. 

Since that day, Lyarra had not left Jon's side. A fact that he seemed both grateful of, and annoyed by in equal measure. He did not know the life he was giving away. How could he, after all? She tried her best to not resent Benjen for the boy's decision, knowing that it was his alone to make — but if she found herself keeping away from her brother for a few days, that was her business alone. Jon was never her son. He was not her boy, though she would never see him as anything less. The fact alone only made his departure harder to handle. 

Each night, once she was certain Jon was asleep, Lyarra would meet Tyrion Lannister in the yard.  Despite her brother's best wishes, Lyarra couldn't force herself to be wary of the little lion. Some nights he would leave early to visit the closest brothel he could find. Other nights, they would be joined by the man from the previous night — the man she'd only come to know as 'Clegane'. Those nights, he would drink at Tyrion's side, chiming in only to let out a harsh laugh, or grunt. Despite how little she knew about the man, Lyarra couldn't hold back her fascination. More often than not, the man would scowl as she stared after him — likely assuming the worst. Yet Lyarra's face never held much more than a light smile, as she glanced over his features.

One night, when Tyrion had already slunk off, it was just the two sitting side-by-side on the bench. They hadn't spoke a word to one another, only passing the bottle back and forth when one needed a refill. After another beat of silence, the man grunted — sliding off of the bench as if to make his retreat. 

"Oh, er— Ser!" She called after him, climbing off of the bench in haste to catch him before he disappeared into the darkness. He'd turned back to her hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure she was calling for him. When he noticed her focus, he only grimaced — forcing another swig down his throat. 

"I'm no Ser," His words a familiar repetition of those that she'd heard years prior, and that alone was enough to shoot vigor through her. She only moved closer to him, a fact that made the large man seemingly shrink in on himself. 

"So, it was you, then. You were at the tourney. You saved me that night, from Ser Gregor." Lyarra whispered in wonder, her eyes widening as she processed her own words. She'd been looking for the man for so long, that it was almost laughable that they'd reunited here — now. 

"The fucks' it matter?" The man's words were harsh, but they alone were not enough for Lyarra to back down — and again, she took a step towards him, properly taking in his features. He was just as fascinating to her now, as he had been all those years ago. 

"I'd like to know your name, if you'd let me. I've only known you as 'Clegane' for all these years." The name itself seemed to force the man to flinch, and he moved to stand taller as he remembered himself. Again, silence stretched between them. Lyarra had half the mind to question if she had overstepped, before the man turned on his heel. He took no more than four steps, before he paused. 

"Sandor," he called over his shoulder, the name rough on his lips — as if he hadn't spoken it in years. With that, he was gone, and she couldn't have caught up to him if she wanted to. She tried the name on her lips a few times, before she turned to retreat to her own chambers. That night, she went to sleep a little lighter — a familiar name on her lips, and a certain weightlifted from her shoulders. 

The day that Ned had left to hunt alongside Robert-- with Benjen and Robb in tow, Lyarra had been practicing with Theon in the yard. Catelyn had advised her against any swordplay while the King was their guest, but she paid the woman no mind. Theon was not the most proficient with a  blade, but Lyarra relished the chance to spend time with him regardless. The boy was still harsh — particularly unkind to Jon. But she forced herself to push resentment aside. He was just a boy. And regardless of his less-than desirable attitude, she couldn't help but care for him. 

The two were only disrupted by a familiar grunt. Lyarra asked the boy to clean up, as she made her way to Tyrion. He was perched on a set of steps, leaning his head against a wooden door — with furs draped over him. He was hungover, no doubt, but her figure blocking the sun in the slightest seemed to flood him with relief. 

"Well, don't you just look lovely, my Lord Tyrion." Lyarra settled on his right, placing herself on the step just below him. He barely raised a brow at her, before leaning back against the door.

"Not all of us can handle our liquor as well as you, my Lady. Though, if I recall, you were the one who needed Clegane to carry you through your own castle." Tyrion grumbled out, though his words held no heat. Lyarra, however, felt heat course through her. She had thought it was Sandor who carried her to her bed, but she wasn't certain. Tyrion snickered to himself, as the two were interrupted by a rough stomp. Sandor all but threw himself down by the two, fastening his boots as he glanced over them both.

"Rough night, Imp?" He grunted after a moment, seemingly taking amusement at the disheveled state of the man. Tyrion only groaned, squinting to look at Sandor. 

"If I get through this without squirting from one end or the other, it'll be a miracle." Came his eventual reply, and Lyarra only just barely cringed at his description. Sandor let out a noise that bordered on another grunt, and a laugh — at her expression. 

"I didn't take you for a hunter, my Lord." Never once did the honorifics slip, though Lyarra had grown increasingly comfortable in the man's presence. Tyrion seemed to lean towards the direction of her voice, but didn't properly open his eyes to address her.

"On the contrary, my Lady, I am the greatest in the land. My spear never misses." Sandor, seemingly displeased at Tyrion's response, only grunted — standing to unsheathe his dagger. 

"It's not hunting if you pay for it." He admonished, turning to Lyarra with a curious look. She had half the heart to question it, before she noticed Theon making his way towards her brother. Lyarra paused then, standing before turning back to the two men at her side. 

"I wish you both good fortune." She declared, her gaze lingering on Sandor for a moment longer than necessary — before she bid them farewell, moving to follow Theon towards her brother. She delivered similar wishes to her brothers, making her way inside as they departed. The rest of her afternoon was spent at Reyne's side, as she, Sansa, and Catelyn were all sitting together. In the back of her mind, she thought over the location of the Queen — but made no motion to question her whereabouts. Catelyn seemingly had a similar thought, as she scanned over the hall. It was only when they heard a desperate cry ring through the castle, that any of them moved. 

Brandon had been discovered in the courtyard, unconscious — and alone. No doubt, he'd fallen from the wall he'd climbed so often. Lyarra did not allow herself to cry, and only moved to help the boy — if only so that his mother herself did not have to do so. Once Bran was safely placed in his bed, with Maesters pushing the women out of the room, Lyarra allowed herself to shed a tear. In an instant, Catelyn was in her arms — shedding tears of her own. 

She wasn't certain how long the two sat, wrapped in one another, muddled in their own sorrow. The only thing ringing through Lyarra's mind was the thought of how unfortunate it was, that she'd only once again found a sister through grief.

First proper episode of Game of Thrones.. AND a Sandor introduction. Guys are we winning or what. I loved writing this chapter and I am not sorry about it. Lyarra loves her two children (who aren't at all her children) so much. Theon as well, sometimes.

So. Lyarra can't hold her alcohol. Tyrion is too easy to drink with. Jon wants to leave. Ned does not want to leave. And Jaime is being weird ... what a great set-up! Stay tuned btw.. Reyne's storyline is not as predictable as I am setting it up today.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And as always, feel free to leave any comments you have.

Thank you,

Zevran.

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚'𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫, 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, triggers, violence, blood, death and swearing

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ        

🌿ISTP 🍁Slytherin or Hufflepuff - can be debated.  📜Chaotic Neutral 🔮Aries Sun, Taurus Moon, Scorpio Rising

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Nad Dunaem by DakhaBrakha

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

One Showing Kindness (You) x The Other Choosing To Become Kinder, As Redemption (Sandor)

Snarky Power Couple That Can, And Probably Will, Destroy You

“Shut Up” x “Make Me”

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔

Acts of Service. Likes to do things for you - making sure you’re fed and hydrated. Cuts up logs for the fire, and makes sure it’s always burning. 

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Sansa specifically asked for the both of you to join her council right after her coronation

・Technically lowborn, your family had been loyal to House Stark for generations

・And when ... well when it all went to shit, you were forced to flee.

・For years you didn’t know what became of your family. But you did hold onto the knowledge that was passed down from generation to generation

・Not just about the physical world, but the spiritual, and the natural. 

・Your family was initially so close to the Starks’ because of your usefulness, but over hundreds of years, your family proved their allegiance 

・You grew up with the Stark children as your mother was a close companion of Cateyln’s (when she first came to Winterfell as a newlywed, she felt very lost. Your mother was the same age and showed her the ways of the North)

・Arya and Sansa were like sisters to you. But you were always caught in the middle of their bickering. You were the eldest of four siblings, having two other brothers and a younger sister. She was only a baby when Nedd Stark went to King’s Landing. 

・It wasn’t easy, surviving all those years on your own. But you did it. You endured. 

・After acquiring a job as a barmaid, you heard all the gossip and news the war

・You protected yourself with a hidden dagger underneath your skirts, and always wore a ring which held poison. Like a locket ring. 

・In all honesty, no one fucked with you because of it. And your reputation grew. 

・Women would come to you in the early hours of the morning, wanting an array of things. Herbs for birth control, poison for violent husbands, drafts to aid in sleep, ingredients to churn someone’s guts. 

・Your boss didn’t mind at first, but he thought you were creating too much attention. 

・But your boss’s wife liked you, and she helped you until one day a young Arya Stark trudged into the tavern with a tall scarred man. 

・It didn’t take her long to recognise you, and within minutes she had knocked over a pitcher of ale and threw herself into your arms

・She demanded that you came with them, and the rest is history...

・The relationship between you and Sandor was rocky in the beginning. You thought he was too abrasive and harsh. Arya, already used to it, just shrugged her shoulders when you called him out on it

・Even though you knew his reputation, you didn’t care. You had packed your belongings and had your own set of weapons that could kill him. 

・He knew that.

・And he was ... honestly impressed

・Arya loved the dynamic between you two. And although she would never admit it, she loved when you fussed over her - your big sister instincts kicking in. 

・It took you a while to realise Sandor’s love languages. Arya had to point out when he was ‘being nice’. 

・But you saw something in him that he didn’t see in himself. And you fell in love 

・When Sansa asked you to be on her council, Sandor was really proud of you, but it took him a long time to accept his position. He didn’t think he was worthy of it. 

・”We’ve all made mistakes,” Sansa told him one evening when the three of you were dining together. “You can atone by accepting my offer.”  

・You don’t have an official title, as you dabble in many areas of Winterfell. But you’re the connection to the people, and also the natural world. An advisor, and Maester in training. 

・Sandor’s official title is, ‘Master-at-Arms’ / ‘Commander’. He’s responsible for training soldiers, giving military advice and choosing the guards of Winterfell. 

・Sansa also has a council of Bannermen, who are present when very important decisions are made. (Sandor hates nearly every single one of them.) 

・You were going to have a little cottage somewhere warmer (because Sandor doesn’t like the cold), but the position was ... too perfect. Being with Sansa, living in Winterfell, it was home. 

・If Sansa travels to King’s Landing, she wants you and Sandor to come with her. She feels safe when the pair of you are around her. Sansa has PTSD (although not known as that), and can get triggered when men get too physically close. 

・You’ve taught Sansa about herbs, plants, poisions and cures. The old Sansa never listened, thought it was too boring. But now, she listens intently, and has endless questions. 

・Sansa offered to rebuild your family home, but it hurt too much. Until ... two years later, when your youngest brother and sister found their way back home. 

・Sandor was unsure of this reunion. He wanted to make sure they were who they said they were. 

・But you knew. 

・Yes, in your gut you knew. But your brother and sister had specific birth marks and physical oddities which set them aside since birth. 

・Arya travelled back to Winterfell when she found out, as did Jon Snow. Even though he was labelled a bastard during your childhoods, your family was still lowborn as well. 

・So on numerous occassions, your family had invited Jon Snow to sup with them. 

・Sandor didn’t think his life would be like this. He didn’t think he would make it this far or that he deserved the love you gave him. 

・And when your siblings came along, they too grew love for Sandor. He offered to train both your siblings (because he thought both men and women should know how to defend themsleves). 

・You slowly found out the horrors that your siblings endured, and at nights you cried to Sandor. 

・You became a family again. 

・And like the generations before you, your family was once again faithful to the ruler in the North. 

[norakbubbles]

I just finished the final episode of Game of Thrones about two hours ago and....*sighs*

I have many feelings and I'm going to list them:

1. Braime and Theonsa could have been endgame couples if the writers weren't COWARDS-

2. "Bran the Broken" makes me giggle bc they literally couldn't find any other nickname for him

3. I still low-key think Gendry should have been king in the end, given he technically was supposed to have the iron throne after Robert died in the first place

3. Yaayyy Jon, Tormund and Ghost are together again (if s8 ended with me not being able to see Tormund for one last time I would've thrown hands)

4. Literally poor tyrion being made another hand of someone he barely knows when he doesn't want to

5. Bronn wanting to prioritize rebuilding brothels over ships makes me laugh

6. Robin Arryn's glow-up shocked me bc he actually doesn't look like an iPad kid anymore 👏👏

7. Sandor being one of the casualties in the final fight saddened me more than Jaime I'm sorry but it did

8. Ngl I forgot who Edmure Tully was for a hot minute when he showed up

9. Dany's death did not make me upset but Drogon's reaction to her death did idk why

10. Did anyone else go "Now what?" during the last few minutes? Like Sansa being crowned queen of the North and Jon and Tormund going off with the wildlings and Ghost? Like what are they gonna do now? There really aren't any more threats. If anyone does know of any still existing threats by the end of the series let me know

Anyway, I'm pretty sure my mom is tired of hearing me yap about Braime all the time and my sis and I both agree that Theon should have been there with Sansa as she was crowned. I loved the series, and will most likely be moving on to HotD next bc I've heard it's good. Yes season 8 could have been better but in the end, we just have to accept that that's how the series ended and there's nothing we can do about it....

that's what fanfiction is for... 😗

[c512h]

If Sansa ever got married, Arya would be her best man.

Change my mind

[silverflameataraxia]

She hated the way he talked, always so harsh and angry. "Does it give you joy to scare people?"

- Sansa IV, ACoK

I'm sorry, but what? Sansa hates how Sandor is always so harsh and angry?

Let's give a brief recap of just one of Sansa's interactions with Arya, shall we?

It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. "They should have killed you instead of Lady!"

Sansa threw her head back in disdain. "You?" You couldn't sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties."

"It won't be so bad, Sansa," Arya said. "We're going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we'll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest." She touched her on the arm.

"Hodor!" Sansa yelled. "You ought to marry Hodor, you're just like him, stupid, and hairy and ugly!" She wrenched away from her sister's hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her.

And this brief moment between the sisters doesn't even compare to the years of Sansa calling Arya ugly and stupid, being ashamed of her appearance, wishing she was a bastard like Jon, wishing Sansa could have someone else as her sister, and looking down on Arya's friends because they're commoners.

[m9yaa]

── .✦INNOCENCE; PETYR BAELISH ⟡˖ ࣪

part 1, part 2, part 3

⟡˖ ࣪ pairing: petyr baelish x fem!stark reader

⤷cw: mature content, innocence/corruption kink?, unprotected sex, age gap, power dynamic?, aged up characters, groping (non con kinda), sexual tension, sexual innuendo

⤷summary: in which, petyr baelish seems to take an interest in you, catelyn’s and ned’s eldest daughter after the hand of the king’s arrival at king’s landing.

REQ! also not proof read!

⋮

you’ve freshly turned 18, which already means your considerably lagging behind other girls your age, which by now, would of most definitely mean marriage and pregnancy, maybe a child or two.

it’s not that you don’t want to be married or anything, it’s just that any possible suitors or men that have came and asked your father for your hand in marriage, just aren’t what you’re interested or want in a man or boy your age.

so when it came for dear sansa to be married off to joffrey baratheon, your mother and father thought it’d be a great opportunity for you to come with, as you might meet someone of equal status, who does catch your interest.

you let out groans and protests in defence as you simply had no interests in doing that at this moment, it’s too time consuming and too much effort for a man who barely knows how to wipe his own arse without his mother there to guide him. but alas, you had no choice.

the morning of the day came. you, your sisters and father were leaving winterfell for king’s landing.

you were unsure of how you’d like it there as you only recall going when you were a mere child, too young to properly remember.

“hopefully king’s landing will be good to us.” you say to the lady in waiting, serene, as she finishes the last touches on your dress and hair.

serene is a girl similar to your age, not bad looking, brown hair, brown eyes, fair complexion, nothing to special appearance wise, but she’s someone you’d consider a friend.

no matter how many times you’ve told her to stop referring to you as ‘milady’, she always comes back to it, so you’ve just begun to accept it.

“i’m sure it will my lady.” she responds before moving backwards, allowing you to have a look in the mirror.

“you look beautiful my lady.”

“thank you, serene.” you smile into the reflection as you look back at her.

you take one last glance in the mirror before grabbing some light belongings yourself and your warm, fur cloak. you clip it around your neck as you begin walking out of your cozy room and into the harsh, much colder, hallway. your lady in waiting following closely behind with the rest of your belongings.

the journey there wasn’t unbearable. it took around a week/ week and a half to get there. at first the days started out wet, harsh and terribly cold, as you’d have to make camp up in the north.

the tents only kept in so much warmth and no matter how much padding was put on the ground of the tent, the frozen solid ground and mud was protruding through the fabric and into your back, making it difficult to get sleep and uncomfortable to relax, but ‘this was only temporary’ you kept saying to yourself, ‘soon i’ll be in king’s landing’.

the only warmth you managed to get was from the fire, before it went out and the fur cloak you had on, when it wasn’t too wet to the point it got uncomfortable.

as the days passed, the further down south everyone went and luckily, the warmer it became.

you got rid of the cloak a few days back, showcasing your beautiful, smooth skin and figure in the light, sage green dress you’re wearing.

it has golden accents and embroidery stitched into the more sheer, flowy fabric of the sleeves. the bodice is intricately structured, with a corset-like fit that compliments your figure nicely.

the neckline is a little bit more low than you’d wish for it to be, but there was no time for any other fittings before you had to leave winterfell, so it’ll make due for now.

the golden embroidery decorates the neckline.

the skirt is made of layers of soft, flowing chiffon or similar fabric in a muted sage green. The fabric gathers gracefully, creating a voluminous and flowing effect.

you had some gorgeous jewellery to go with it, resting nicely on your chest, lays a golden necklace, with an incredibly rare jewel embedded in it, jadeite.

it’s a similar colour as your dress, suiting well to the rest of your outfit.

in short, you have very elegant and beautiful attire on.

the next day is when you all finally made it to king’s landing.

it was beginning to get late as you stepped through the gates on the back of your horse, the sun was beginning to set, torches and such were being lit all around the capital.

the whole family was given a warm welcome by robert and cersei, along with the everyone else in capital.

you exchanged pleasantries and formalities with the family and whoever else you needed to do so with, which included the infamous petyr baelish.

“ser baelish, it’s great to meet you.” you smile politely before proceeding with a slight bow to show your respect. as you lift your upper body back up, you notice his eyes are no longer on your face, but lingering on your chest instead.

‘it must be the necklace catching his eyes, it’s so pretty after all.’ is all you think of it, not an impure thought in mind.

“ms stark, how wonderful it is to meet you.” he grins as he unexpectedly takes your hand and lifts it up to his face, taking his time kissing your knuckles.

you feel your face heat up a little at the prolonged physical contact, as well as the eye contact.

assuming it’s just a common way to greet people, you push the strange feeling in your stomach aside as you clear your throat and pull back your hand.

he lets out a soft chuckle at your reaction, “you look more ravishing than ever.” he says with a grin.

“o-oh, thank you,” the slight heat you felt in your skin before, now felt ablaze as you receive the compliment from petyr.

he observes the way you react to his words and actions, internally praising himself for managing to make you react so flustered, noting to himself your age, meaning you’re more impressionable and inexperienced than women his age.

something he likes.

baelish opens his mouth, about to say something more but not before your father, ned, appears beside you.

they both greet each other, keeping it short.

“i see you’ve met my daughter.” ned says, “and you, petyr.” you nod in response. “great.” he responds before turning to speak to you. “i want you to return to your chambers for the night and rest for now.” your father instructs, commenting on how the last week/ week and a half of travelling has been exhausting and tiring on everyone.

“one of the servants will show you up to your chambers.”

you comply, “of course father,” you nod, “goodnight, goodnight lord baelish.” you say as you begin to retreat.

you call over your lady in waiting, serene, as she follows behind you.

“just this way, my lady.” the servant boy says as he leads you and serene out of the throne room.

he leads you to your room, your lady in waiting has retired to her own chambers so it’s just you in your room now.

shutting the door, you let out a sigh before scanning the room, taking it all in.

‘goodness, i could do with a bathe.” you think to yourself. all this travelling hasn’t exactly kept you the freshest.

you walk over to where your belongings have been placed and proceed to take out your sleepwear.

since it’s considerably warmer in king’s landing than winterfell, you opted for something a lot more lightweight and flowy.

you picked out one of your favourite pieces, a somewhat sheer yet gorgeous slip on dress.

you normally wouldn’t wear something so sheer, but the fabric is one of the most comfortable fabrics there are, perfect for sleeping in.

plus, nobody would see you anyway.

after choosing your sleepwear, you walk over to the tub, you see the servants have kindly prepared a bath, the water still looking warm and inviting.

you quickly strip out of your sage green dress that has been on for too long in your opinion, to the best of your ability, and gently enter the bathtub.

you sigh in relaxation as you soak your entire body in the enveloping warmth. you haven’t felt anything like this for almost 2 weeks, and how glad you are to feel it now.

you sit like this for a few minutes, savouring moments like these as much as you can, but not before it sadly gets cut short by an abrupt knocking on the door.

knock, knock, knock

you hear against the wooden door.

you get startled at the abrupt interruption.

as you jump out of the bathtub, you can’t seem to find anything to wipe yourself with.

it’s rude to keep whoever it is on the other side waiting, so you just go straight for the clothing you picked out that’s laying on your bed, which you’ve seemed to forgotten what it was.

you throw it on and cover your wet, nude body up as you head on over to the door.

you pull it open, at first only spotting the guards that are presumably going to be out there 24/7, before seeing…

petyr baelish..?

“my lady, i apologise f-” he stops talking abruptly, his eyes take in your appearance, travelling along your body.

“lord baelish?” you question in a confused tone, “what are yo-..” you quieten as you watch his strange mannerisms. following his eyes, you look down at yourself, connecting the missing dot.

Petyr’s lips curved into a knowing smirk, his sharp eyes lingering on the sheer fabric clinging to your form. You could feel his gaze tracing every line of your body, and heat rose to your cheeks when you realized your mistake. Hugging the robe tighter around yourself, you cleared your throat, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t going to let this moment pass so easily.

“Well,” he drawled, stepping into the room uninvited, his voice low and teasing. “This is quite the reception. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting… such generosity tonight.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as you took a step back, the sheer intensity of his presence making it impossible to look away. “It’s not… I didn’t realize,” you stammered, trying to explain yourself while his gaze flicked to your trembling hands attempting to secure the robe.

Petyr chuckled softly, closing the door behind him with an almost casual ease, though his eyes never left you. “Oh, come now,” he said smoothly, his tone as silken as the fabric clinging to your skin. “Surely you don’t think of me so naive. Accidents like this don’t happen without… intent.”

“It was an accident,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the quickening of your pulse. “And whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

He took another step closer, his presence overwhelming as the air grew thick with unspoken tension. His hand lifted, as though he might brush his fingers against your cheek—or lower—but he hesitated, studying your reaction. “Am I?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, torn between the urge to stand your ground and the temptation to let the charged silence stretch. The room felt smaller with each passing second, his closeness a magnet pulling you in despite your better judgment.

“i-i barely know you, my lord, we cannot do this, it was all a mistunderstanding!”

Petyr’s smirk softened into something almost indulgent, though the glint in his eyes remained calculating. He stepped back slightly, as if granting you space, though the tension in the room hardly eased. “A misunderstanding?” he echoed, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. “Forgive me, my dear, but it seems I may have misread the situation entirely.”

You nodded quickly, relief flooding your chest at his words. “Yes, exactly! It’s nothing but a mistake. I wasn’t thinking—I forgot what I was wearing, truly. Please don’t think I would ever…” You trailed off, your face heating under his unyielding gaze.

Petyr raised a brow, his expression unreadable. “Of course,” he said smoothly, though his voice carried an undercurrent of amusement. “I suppose such… innocence isn’t something I encounter often. Refreshing, really.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, though you couldn’t place why. There was something unsettling about the way he spoke, as though he found your embarrassment entertaining. You took a small step back, tightening the robe around yourself like a shield. “I’m serious, my lord,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

He inclined his head, the picture of politeness, though his eyes continued to study you, as if committing every flicker of emotion to memory. “Oh, I believe you,” he replied, his voice gentler now. “You’re far too honest to be lying to me, aren’t you?” He took another step back, this time with exaggerated slowness, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “But you must forgive me for being… taken aback by such an unexpected sight. A man is only human, after all.”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. There was an almost teasing quality to his words, but his demeanor had shifted just enough to make you question if you’d overreacted. Maybe he really had misunderstood and wasn’t trying to suggest anything untoward.

“I didn’t mean to…” you started, faltering when his smirk returned, softer this time, but still undeniably Petyr Baelish.

“Think nothing of it,” he said, his tone low and disarming. “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. That would be the last thing I’d ever wish for.” His eyes lingered just a moment longer than they should have before he turned away, his movements deliberate and unhurried. “Shall we speak of what I originally came here for, then?”

You nodded quickly, eager to shift the focus away from your mistake. “Y-yes, of course. What is it you need, my lord?”

He glanced over his shoulder, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Oh, just a small favor,” he said lightly. “But we can discuss it another time. I wouldn’t want to distract you further tonight.”

You frowned slightly, unsure of what he meant. Before you could muster a response, he reached for the door, pausing only briefly.

“Goodnight, my dear,” he said, his tone tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. “And… do be careful about what you wear in the future. You never know who might come calling.”

The first rays of morning light crept into the room, warm and golden, nudging you awake. You blinked slowly, your mind groggy as the events of the night before resurfaced. The memory hit you like a wave—the robe, the way Petyr had looked at you, the way his voice had wrapped around you like silk.

You let out a soft gasp, clutching the sheets closer to your chest as your heart fluttered with something strange, something unfamiliar. Your body felt warm, an odd, restless heat pooling low in your stomach. You shifted under the covers, trying to ignore it, but the feeling only deepened as your mind replayed the way he’d stepped so close, his voice low and knowing, his eyes…

Your face burned. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you shake this feeling? It wasn’t like he’d done anything inappropriate—not really. But the way he’d spoken, the way he’d looked at you… it had made you feel something you didn’t understand.

You pressed your palms to your flushed cheeks, trying to calm yourself. It’s just nerves, you told yourself. That’s all it is. It was an embarrassing situation, and now you’re overthinking it.

But the warmth in your body told a different story, one you weren’t ready to face. You’d never felt this way before—not about anyone, let alone someone like Petyr Baelish. He was so… confident, so sure of himself. The way he’d smirked at you, like he knew exactly what you were feeling, made your stomach twist in a way that was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. he was nothing like boys your age.

You shook your head fiercely, trying to banish the thought. “Stop it,” you muttered under your breath, clutching the sheets tightly. “This is ridiculous. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

But a quiet voice in the back of your mind whispered otherwise. The way he’d looked at you was the way a man looked at a woman, not a girl. it was deeper, sharper, as though he saw more than you were willing to show. And worse, some part of you couldn’t forget it, couldn’t push away the strange, tingling warmth that memory brought.

You buried your face in your hands, your innocence warring with the strange, inexplicable desire curling in your chest. What was this feeling? Why couldn’t you make it go away?

No one can know about this, you thought, your cheeks blazing as you forced yourself to rise from bed. Especially not him.

Yet as you dressed for the day, the memory of his voice, his gaze, lingered like a shadow, refusing to let you go.

⋮

hellooo! this shall be a three parter as i don’t want this one to drag on forever and the second one i also dragged out by accident, the smut will be here soon don’t worry 😝

thank you for reading and if you enjoyed then don’t hesitate to like,share or reblog!

- maya🪼

[blade-liger-4ever]

I can hardly believe I just did this, but...

Here's my take for Rhaego Targaryen, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, plus small ideas for a minor AU of sorts.

Warning, I'm putting a cut here because Tumblr is stupid and won't let me order the pictures side by side in the proper order.

So for this take - which is personally how I'd like to see an AU of Game of Thrones, give or take some details that are or aren't changed - I like to imagine that both Drogo and Rhaego lived, with Daenerys and Drogo teaming up to retake the Iron Throne, Daenerys acting as the great strategist/political powerhouse (while being backed by her three dragons, who keep their names and most of their personalities), while Drogo leads the troops and trains all the men Daenerys brings him through her alliances. I'd probably let it be done so that Daenerys, maybe through a dealing with the witch that, obviously, doesn't involve her husband and son's deaths, does leave her unable to bear more children. Regardless of whether or not that's a factor at all in this AU, Rhaego has no more biological siblings, but quickly grows to view Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion as his brothers, while the dragons in turn also view him as their youngest brother and protect him as fiercely as their mother and father (Drogo being their father - oldest boy is named for him, after all.)

Robb would also live, and I'd like to, personally, introduce a tribe of white tiger shape-shifters from "The Land of Always Winter". I'm....honestly wanting him to marry the tribe's princess, who can really kick butt, too. The reason for this is that I feel the Night King's home for the last few centuries is underdeveloped, and I feel Robb should marry someone with experience in warfare - that, and I really like white tigers. Additionally, I'd probably have White Tiger Princess sent to find the Starks and reveal to them their ties to House Targaryen, and organize an alliance with House Stark as they battle the frozen zombies (by the way, this revelation is achieved by prophetesses from their land, and all members of the tribe learn to fight and care for each other because of the constant threat of the Night King.)

So....hrm, let me think. I guess it otherwise goes according to canon, but they manage to fix enough things that when Daenerys and Drogo - who have practically reclaimed most of the Seven Kingdoms, I suppose - meet them and learn of their family ties, Robb and Jon come to an agreement with them: Daenerys will rule the Seven Kingdoms, with Jon acting as her Hand and ruling most of the North. House Stark is still intact, though Ned, Catelyn, and Rickon are still dead, and Robb marries the White Tiger Princess and unites the two lands through their marriage. Additionally, the white tiger tribe (which I'm terribly sorry I forgot to mention earlier) has access to ice dragons, allowing for the regrowth of the dragon presence in Westeros through crossbreeding the species, and giving Jon his own dragon so that he can embrace his Targaryen heritage.

Other bullet points that I want to leave here:

Rhaego rides Viserion, who is the only unclaimed of the three dragons (I feel Drogo should ride Rhaegal, who in this story, grows to be nearly as big as Drogon.) Viserion is also the fastest, earning him the nickname "The Pale Wind".

Grey Wind lives, and gets to remain by his master's side all through to the war's end.

Nymeria reunites with Arya, who perhaps returns to the North or chooses another future for herself.

The Hound lives, always accompanying Arya, regardless of her life choice.

Jaime lives, actually gets to redeem himself, and maybe marries or otherwise has a relationship with Brienne.

Cersei gets to die, hopefully horribly (I hate her, okay?)

Sansa...TBD, either by myself or anyone else who reads this and enjoys it.

Jorah lives, acting as Rhaego's guardian and teacher as he grows.

Jon marries either Ygritte or some other woman; I personally prefer Daenerys x Drogo.

And lastly, we would probably get an epilogue of sorts where we see a young adult Rhaego, having inherited his family legacy and trained Dothraki dragonriders, embarking on a conquest of Valyria, which I'd use as a Sequel Hook for a future series.

And that's it. If you like this, thank you for reading it. If you didn't, just skip this post; it's merely a way for me to kick out the ideas that have been rattling around in my brain for Heaven knows how long.

Also, if anyone wants to make a story out of this, you have my blessing to do so. I only ask you credit me for the source of the concepts and original inventions for this. I'm not a fan of Game of Thrones, nor have I really watched it - I just looked up the characters, found I liked them, and thought "what if?"

Have fun people, and take care.

[fairyde222]

TikTok handle @ VXMPWOLF

His baby girl 😭