#blaming Bran and Rickon

[zoueriemandzijnopmars]

As for their children, the younger ones had been mewling babes for most of his years at Winterfell. Only Robb and his baseborn half brother Jon Snow had been old enough to be worth his notice. The bastard was a sullen boy, quick to sense a slight, jealous of Theon's high birth and Robb's regard for him. For Robb himself, Theon did have a certain affection, as for a younger brother. - Theon I ACOK

"These are your foster brothers we seek." "No Stark but Robb was ever brotherly toward me, but Bran and Rickon have more value to me living than dead." - Theon IV ACOK

Theon reframing the narrative already before his big trauma hits is so interesting to me actually.

[sare11aa11eras]

I can’t wait until ADOS/TWOW when Barbrey meets the Stark kids and Sansa hits her with those big blue eyes and earnestly expresses her sympathy to Barb after learning her father wouldn’t bring her husband’s bones back like “🥺🥺🥺 why would he do that??? that’s so awful I’m so sorry!!! 🥺🥺🥺” and Arya and Bran absolutely EAT UP the Maester’s Conspiracy when she tells them about it and start compiling their own evidence to present to her and Rickon bites a Bolton or Frey about something idk— and then she hears about Jon and the baby swap and she’s like “THERE’S THE NED STARK INFLUENCE I KNEW IT the rest of you kids can stay tho”

[gaycinema]

okay starting to feel for grrm here i am trying to make like Two changes in the early acok era and figuring out how all the related storylines would diverge from canon is driving me Insane. theon my irrelevant king you sure did some pretty significant things that have major impacts on many other characters’ plots and the general State Of Things

[ladystoneboobs]

so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.

oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.

[goodqueenaly]

Why would Theon think that faking Bran and Rickon’s death would be a good idea? He has no idea where they were headed or to whom they might reveal themselves. It’s even said in Theon’s chapter of the search that if they made it to a village, all the people would rally behind the boys. Wouldn’t it make Theon look even more a fool if they showed up alive to Ser Roderick before Ramsey burns Winterfell, but after he killed the miller’s boys? I know Ramsey takes advantage of his desperation under the guise of Reek, but I think even Theon would have been skeptical that the plan would actually work. What is your take on this?

To understand Theon in “Theon IV” ACOK is to examine the simultaneous ego and desperation of a man clinging to a self-made fantasy which is actively crumbling in front of his eyes. Every way Theon turns, literally and figuratively, is wrong - and critically, he has no one to blame but himself. Yet unable to admit how thoroughly he’s ruined the situation, Theon doubles down when it comes to how to handle Bran and Rickon’s disappearance, choosing yet another terrible option in a vain hope of making up for all his other awful choices. 

Theon’s great anxiety in this chapter is what to do about the missing Stark boys - but Theon, being ACOK Theon, only thinks of how he believes this dilemma affects him personally. His first thought upon learning the wolves are gone is to worry what would happen “if [Asha] learns that I have lost the Starks” - a thought so terrible to Theon that he concludes “[i]t did not bear thinking about”. Theon later underscores his fear of embarrassment at the hands of his family, deciding that he’d “sooner have them [i.e: Bran and Rickon] dead” than unconsciously running to Asha at Deepwood Motte, as in Theon’s mind “[i]t is better to be seen as cruel than foolish”. As Theon’s hunt continues with no sign of the boys, Theon ruefully realizes that “[e]very passing hour increased the likelihood that they would make good their escape”, that “[t]he people of the north would never deny Ned Stark’s sons, Robb’s brothers” and “[t]he whole bloody north would rally around them”. Once night begins to fall, Theon’s fear of both crystallizes: knowing that “[i]f he crept back to Winterfell empty-handed, he might as well dress in motley henceforth and wear a pointed hat”, since “the whole north would know him for a fool”, Theon can only contemplate with dread “And when my father hears, and Asha …. [sic]”

Unfortunately for Theon, all the poor choices he’s made up to this point only exacerbate his problem. Because Theon decided to take Winterfell with a bare handful of men, he did not have the spare guards to ensure Bran and Rickon did not slip away. Because Theon seized Winterfell by force, its household sees him only as a usurper and betrayer of his foster brothers; likewise, because Theon has treated the people of Winterfell abominably, no one lifts a finger to intervene in Theon’s plan to hunt them down (until Theon has to literally threaten Farlen with the continued rape of his daughter to get him to comply). Too cruel and despicable to be a successful conqueror-turned-protector, yet too vain about his own momentary victory to abandon it in a typical ironborn lightning raid, Theon’s only advantage had been the fact that he held the Stark boys as hostages - an advantage that had seemingly literally disappeared into thin air.

Theon has put himself in a position where he has no good - which is to say, beneficial to his egotistical fantasy - options. He knows that he cannot realistically recapture the Stark boys, and that every hour that passes makes it more likely (so he believes) the Starks will be out of his grasp forever, and in the helpful hands of anti-ironborn northern neighbors. However, Theon also believes that he cannot return to Winterfell empty-handed, lest he become the laughingstock of his sister, his father, the castle’s household, and the whole North. Stuck in the wolfswood, Theon is as lost as Farlen’s hounds, unwilling either to concede defeat or continue on what is increasingly proving a fruitless search.

This is where Ramsay-as-Reek serves, to quote the late great Steven Attewell, as the devil on Theon’s shoulder, apparently offering him an easy (if no less detestable for it) answer to his problem. Killing the miller’s boys solves what Theon sees as his immediate problem; he can both give up the hunt and go back to Winterfell without being empty-handed, giving (so he thinks) no grounds for his father or Asha to complain. Pretending to have killed Bran and Rickon allows Theon to continue to the fantasy of conquest that began with his moonlit capture of Winterfell: he can spout pompous self-justifications like “Mercy was for this morning … [b]efore they made me angry” and “They defied me!” In answer to Luwin’s pleas and Asha’s criticisms. 

Putting aside how evil this action is on its own, of course, Theon’s decision does not actually solve his problem, as you note. Yet that is precisely the point: obsessed with the idea of successfully taking Winterfell in a daring raid, Theon has no idea from the first how he is going to hold it, nor indeed what the consequences of any of his actions there might be. Caring only about what can fix the problem directly in front of him, Theon simply seizes the solution preferred by Ramsay-as-Reek as a way out of what he saw as a personally humiliating situation. Worries about how he’s going to defend Winterfell from the increasing combined forces marching on his mostly undefended walls, or whether Bran and Rickon might turn up later, or whether anyone within Winterfell has a death wish for him, are not at the forefront of Theon’s mind in that moment; he only wants to get out of the wolfswood, literally and metaphorically, and the bodies of the innocent miller’s boys let him do that.

[amber-laughs]

I frequently think about the fact that the must fuck up Jon cate interaction possible never happened cus my boy wasn't present for the 5 kings war

Picture this robb going to complain to Jon from his mum wanting to exchange Jaime for his sister and jon is just like she right of course she right

Cat going to start her no trusting theon and balon is dumb as fuck discourse just for Jon to say it word for word before she can ever speak

Like they would both be mortified but they have the same opinion a 100% of the time on every thing

I need your opinion on this

I'm so glad you asked about this because it's one of my favorite what ifs. So I will start off by saying a lot of the wisdom Jon has opposed to Robb he gains from being at or beyond the Wall so for a lot he and Robb do start off at the same baseline but like you said anon he and Catelyn have very similar priorities and suspicions from the jump that Robb either never had or was forced to give up.

We know Jon never trusted Theon and has had no reservations telling Robb in the past "Jon always said you were an ass, Greyjoy," Robb said loudly. So yes he would 100% be on Catelyn's side and I think we have enough background Robb/Jon info to say that even with Robb's coronation they would maintain the type of relationship where Jon could speak his mind in private like Catelyn does.

And we know from when Jon frees both Mance and Val he's willing to let prisoners go if he thinks he'll benefit from it. Not only that but just like Cat wants peace with the Lannisters Jon wants peace with the wildlings. I know Jon has the line "It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn." but at that point they've killed Robb and Ned plus thinks they killed Arya, trapped Sansa in a marriage and thinks Bran and Rickon are dead as well. If faced with the option to trade them for Jaime when Catelyn brings it up in Clash I think Jon is on her side. Even when Stannis is offering him lordship as Lord of Winterfell he declines it because he doesn't want to burn weirwoods not because he'd be a vassal to King Stannis. He doesn't seem to care about Northern Independence, in fact he's never mentioned it at all unless I'm forgetting something.

This is all if Jon never goes to the Wall at all. If somehow-someway Robb and Cat survive the Red Wedding and Jon shows up as Robb's heir after all he's learned I think Catelyn gets one fuck of an ally unfortunately I don't think she could handle having Jon there and he never brings it up again but in AGoT before Ned dies Jon says he would blame her as much as Cersei so that might come back if they're face to face, like you said I don't know if they could stand it but they would probably agree on most things.

also if you're reading this and want more Jon-Catelyn similarities feel free to click here

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

24 - Ghostly Dreams of Old

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

Length: 13.8k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, discussions of warfare, strained parental dynamics, insecurity and trauma, mild smut, oral sexual descriptions (m and f receiving)

Notes: I'm gonna end up having to add a certain kink in the warnings one of these, aren't I? Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

He hadn’t expected anyone to find him in there, though he supposed that considering who it was which came slowly walking in through the door, it only made sense. You weren’t the only one struggling with being here, the only one struggling to find any kind of harmony now that you were allowed to exist as a real human with their own autonomy in this castle. Theon had spent too much time in this castle as a man he couldn’t recognize. 

The door creaked open, and you had walked in slowly, quietly. Your hands gently wrung almost in a slight nerve as if not wanting to disturb the quiet. You knew why he was in Bran’s room, and despite nothing but time being what could help him come to terms with what he had done, you knew doing it alone would be of no use. You said nothing yet, and neither did he. 

Just turned to look at you with a painted sorrow and regret in his eyes that rarely he let any see unless it was alone with the other. You looked at him almost upset and uncomfortable that afternoon, having to come to you and tell you the boy wanted to speak to you and almost without realizing he had gone back to calling you, “Your Grace.” But it was different now, very different. 

Theon wasn’t stupid. He could see that losing Jon had hurt something deep in you he didn’t expect, and then standing in your father’s quarters as Tormund spoke to you, a soft joke on his lips about how much Jon loved you was sickening. He didn’t quite get it then, but he got it quickly once he came back, or at least from what he could sense on one person. 

Something was going on between you two, and Theon could tell that Jon did not care to hide it. 

He let his heart sit right on his face in how he looked at you and that day in the courtyard? As the North all chanted King in the North, all the man could do was almost spin tight in his arms, that was the embrace of a man who was desperately in love with you. 

But still, you now stood beside Jon as you did Robb. Standing beside Jon, as you thought once you would be here in this home, in these halls, ruling by your King’s side but it was the child which Catelyn Stark would hate you for being with. If she could, she’d look down on you for not just running to his brother, but his bastard brother. Would call your love for Robb into question as if you didn’t spend an entire year being tortured by the Boltons as much as you tortured yourself for not dying at Robb’s side like you promised. 

Catelyn would look down on you for whatever this was with Jon, and he hated that you blamed yourself for it. Just as he knew, you could tell Theon still blamed himself for Bran and Rickon, when more forces then him had taken them away by now. Much time had passed, you both quietly looking to the other before you wasted no more seconds and walked up. 

Gently sitting next to him where he sat, you facing the closed window waiting for Theon to be ready to talk. Waiting for him to turn away from where Bran used to lay and find a voice. You were patient, it wouldn’t feel better forcing it out. “You know, it’d be nice. To have one day where you and I wake up and we’re not constantly walking around here thinking about our failures.” 

You hummed, nodding mindlessly as you both still had yet to look at the other. Finding a small voice of your own it was at the least tinted in some lighter amusement. “I can almost imagine what it looked like. You storming into this room trying to tell Bran what you’d done.” Theon finally turned his head enough to look at you, sitting more to the side like you were as you elaborated. “All worked up prancing around the room calling yourself a Prince.”

The smallest hint of a smirk came into his features, “Sorry is that funny to you?” One shoulder of yours shrugged as he huffed out a breathe. “Braver then I ever was. Sat there as I woke him up telling him I betrayed his family and took his home, and he refused to give up with all the boldness those Starks have.” Nodding behind him slightly, “Had to sit down on the bed like I was lecturing him just to get the message through, that I was going to make him surrender. No wonder the men had no respect for me, couldn’t even get it from an eleven year old.” 

Both taking a moment to laugh, your uninjured hand trailed over the fingertips of your wrapped scar and down to your palms as they sat in your lap. Glancing back at him finally, you could see both the guilt but also a calmness over it, one he knew he could only speak of which just like this.

“You think they’re telling the truth? About Aegon?” You shrugged properly that time, it was impossible to tell and even more impossible to find out the truth on your own. All you had was their word but it was hard to imagine it stemmed from a complete lie.

Leaning forward, your hands clasped as they rested over your knees. “They said Aegon’s face was so smashed and bloody, not even Lord Tywin could recognize it. If they switched him out, it might be possible. What that was supposed to accomplish though, I’m not sure. Why sneak out one child and not both, considering they also got out Aerys’s youngest before my father got there.” 

Shaking his head, he echoed words you had been thinking this whole time. “Don’t know why any of them would think the North would kneel for them, after what they did.” 

Three Starks in one war was the previous rebellion’s cost. So far, it was looking the same. Four dead, one so far North none knew where to find him or why he was there, and two none with any clue anymore of where they were or if they were alive. “In my experience, most of those going for the Iron Throne don’t care about the North.”

“Got a good track record though. Never lost a battle yet.” Your eyes met and unspoken words sat bright across both of your eyes for the other to see in full. “Least this time I’ve learned my lesson, about trusting my own people for help.”

“The North are your people. Whether they realize it yet or not. We’ve all done bad things at this point, we’re all as guilty as you for something.” You both were quiet before you spoke softer, “You should go see him. Both of them, before we leave. Say sorry for being such an ass when you stormed the castle.” 

Teasing between you both was a bit easier. The dynamic would never be what it used to be, but neither of you thought it would be better if it was. Something between you and Theon now bonded you in a way that you wouldn’t know what to do without him, and he felt the same. Teasing used to be mostly a game between you both but now it almost was the only thing either had left to cope with what you’ve done, what you’ve been through. Slowly work your way through the years of sin and maybe if you joke about enough of it you’ll forgive yourselves. 

Theon nodded, keeping quiet for a moment before his tone turned light once more to match. “You’re sure we can’t just sail to the cliffs and climb up ourselves. I mean, if I could trudge through a moat to climb two walls, how hard can it be there?” 

You could’ve laughed, but it was no ones fault. Dragonstone was not seen nor visited by many and unless your eyes saw it’s scale for yourself, it was impossible to know why that was not a good or viable option. “Tell you what, Greyjoy. When we’re on the island, you and I will go down to the sea, and we’ll find out how long it takes us to climb up and over. Before we both fall and die from exhaustion.”

Theon leaned forward to match your position, arms outstretched against his legs. “You know what, I change my mind.” You turned with a bemused question on your face as he raised an eyebrow tilting his head at you with a knowing expression. “If Jon saw me putting you in that kind of danger for fun, even if I fell and snapped my neck I’m fairly sure he’d bring me back to life just to kill me again himself.” That got you both to laugh at least. Theon once more turning a bit quieter, “Can I ask, what exactly is going on between you two?” 

Sighing out, you bit your tongue trying to find the right words but once more you could feel that same stare that it seemed like all were giving you over it, not truly realizing none of then were. Your hands wrung together, brows narrowing as you struggled to come up with it. You had never spoken of it to anyone with any real substantial amount of truth until your mother. She knew with more detail then any you’d told but you had no idea what to say outside of such an outburst you had. 

Dropping your head you felt the sting behind your eyes flow stronger. Trying to grab your attention better by softly calling your name but you shook your head. Was it the guilt of doing anything willingly after Robb or the hammering hatred that was branded into by the monster which came after him, with poison words and a deadlier touch. Or perhaps, was it the thought of how would it look to all others? 

Catelyn would hate you, you knew that, but who else would? Would Arya look at you and think you had jumped from one to the other as if they were interchangeable? How much should one know if you say anything to anyone else? Then as you actually opened your mouth to speak, that insecurity bled through in an instant. “The day we met with Ramsay, he had said something. I know he was trying to rile me up, rile Jon up into getting angry when he said it. That I had just went from one man’s bed to the next..but the truth is he wasn’t wrong.” 

Theon narrowed his eyes, a doubt in your intention of words. “Ramsay was only-” 

Your voice was short, stern. Cutting him off with a spitting hatred only for yourself. “He was right, Theon. I just went from one to another. Jon and Robb, then Robb to Ramsay and now I’m back with Jon. Maybe I am just fucking my way through the North.” 

Taken back clearly, Theon felt a tinge of confused. “What do you mean back with Jon?” 

Your head hung, shame filling as the need to repent came forth. All this time away from the faith and still the call to wash away your sins returned in your lowest of moments. “We never- it didn’t get that far..but we..Jon and I had been together before I was to marry Robb.” You didn’t dare look at him, suddenly it was not a man you’ve come far to deeply trust but the fear that if you did look? You’d see the judgment as you were always scared any would look to you with. 

Like they doubted what you felt for Robb was ever real, when the sheer idea of anyone thinking that was enough to make that weight in your throat sink and slam you into the earth. 

“He- my maidenhood was still intact when..it never went to that point..but we still..then I married Robb, Jon was going to the wall, and we thought that was the end of it. I never said anything because I knew how it would look. Everyone would assume it wasn’t real, what I had with Robb and..then I lost him and..” Your voice finally cracked, and the sting turned to a push and out the tears shed down your cheeks without being stopped. “Willing or not, Ramsay still..took me in such a manner, then I ran from that and now I’m worried that everyone will hate me for it. Hate me for only being here to warm one man’s bed to the next.”

The next thing out of his mouth, you didn’t expect. “You’re an idiot.” You turned, eyes red and tears still there but there was not the judgment in his eyes. Just a soft understanding you didn’t know how to handle. “Everyone who laid eyes on you two knows you loved Robb. You try to keep a lot to yourself, but there wasn’t a second that anyone could think you didn’t both love each other with all your heart.” You wiped at the tears, but it didn’t help much. “And you didn’t betray him with Ramsay. You were a prisoner, he forced it all on you, Robb would’ve never blamed you for that. And he wouldn’t blame you for Jon.” 

Truthfully, you weren’t so sure of that anymore. Turning away from him again, it was lucky you had gloves otherwise your nails would be digging into your skin by that point. “You two fought together to get this place back, you’re standing together to figure out how to fight against whatever’s coming from beyond the wall, you’re standing by him as your King. Oh and you both came back from the dead, if you forgot. I think that if you die, come back, and then also bring another man back to life that entitles you to be allowed to fuck him.” 

You were red beyond red at how casually that just came out of his mouth. Your eyes wide as you stammered in place. “We- it was, we're not-” 

Theon called your name though, and in the racing nerves in your blood you managed to turn to look at him trying to breathe calmly. “Whether you are or aren’t, no one here cares. The Northerners don’t, I don’t, free folk sure as hell don’t. The only person who thinks you were some whore had his head chopped off the other day. So his opinion no longer counts.” Leaning closer, there was a low tone that sounded as close to assurance as he could get. “If no one objects to you fucking him, you’ll be damn certain no one’s going to object to you two loving each other. Let other people make you happy for once, Baratheon. Because you’re shit at it on your own.” 

The quiet between you was there for a long time, trying to find agreement and you couldn’t tell what was your own insecurity which was making you feel those things and what was the suffocating influence still trailed from Ramsay Bolton. 

“Didn’t we come up here to talk about Bran?” 

Shrugging, Theon held a small smirk. “Not my fault you’re disgustingly lovesick for Kings in the North. I came up here to think before you and I head out. Depending on how serious this Aegon is, might be my last chance for a while.” 

You nodded, finally feeling your cheeks dry properly. “Go see them before then. No matter what you had done, you were still family to them. They’ll want to see you.” Standing abruptly, you smoothed out the skirt of your dress as if to occupy yourself in any small way before walking back out to the world. “And Theon?” Turning back to look at him, a softer, more sorrowful expression formed on your face just a bit. “Don’t blame yourself too much either. We can’t go back, we can only do better. Both of us.” 

There were so many times returning to Winterfell was all you could look forward too, but now the last four times you had done so were only dread. The uncertain mystery after Lord Arryn’s death, escaping King’s Landing knowing you were returning to Robb for war, being dragged back in the violence and blood of a never ending nightmare and now. Returning to a place you struggled to find home in now that you were allowed to call it as such again. 

“You’ve been at that all day.” 

Your eyebrows barley raised in acknowledgement as well as a thick hum in your throat. Your mind carefully focused on the details outlying in the paper in front of you. You could feel his warmth before you saw him. Leaning down against the table with his palms flat leaning just over your shoulder enough he casted a shadow. Turning up suddenly with narrowed eyes, Jon only had a fond smirk on his face. 

Leaning back enough, in the emptiness of the room there came the gentle comfort of his hand running along the strands of hair lose against your back before sliding down your spine. Stopping in the middle and hadn’t moved away from that spot. His voice was comforting in sound, “You can put in as much detail as you want, but the are never going to memorize it as much as you have.” 

Sighing out, you paused your hands before gently returning to the drawing. Your own tone a little far away, “I just need to be sure. It’s a complicated place, I don’t want to leave anything up to chance.” 

The outlines of Dragonstone was not easy. A map only in broad terms of what was where and you had now been tracing along it to guide the paths needed to take both sides of the castle, and how rough the terrain to overcome would be. Mountains and ragged cliffs, drop offs and water spilling down the sides it would be difficult for any unfamiliar with the land. 

Jon watched as you finished the section you had been working on, waiting until your movements slowed to finally interrupt. Leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head before speaking lower in your ear. “Fighting up to the castle will be easy. It’s getting our feet on land that’s the problem.” 

Standing up a bit straighter you sighed out. Still running your eyes all over the contents. “I- we’re not just fighting for land, or for a home. We can’t get this right, then we don’t have another option to protect the people we already have here.” You looked up to him, eyes wide glossed with a worry that you felt in your throat as well. 

Jon nodded, the assurance in his was genuine but not overwhelmingly hopeful. Which truthfully is what you needed, not to be told this would be a breeze. Lowering his head enough to meet your eye level, “Obsessing over it won’t make a fight any easier. I won’t have you losing sleep over this, you’re doing enough as it is.” 

Watching the other for a moment before you nodded. The hand on your spine making a jump to run over your hair and down to your cheek. Thumb running across your bottom lip as the grey in Jon’s eyes seemed to paint darker and darker the more you looked into them. Your own hand reaching up to run yours across his pulse on the wrist close to you. A once dead heart with a pulse running strong and steady. 

Your mind finding the right words for it, lucky that he could sense something trying to come out as he stood patiently to wait. Your eyes flickering down in a tinge of guilt though, was not the emotion you preferred to make itself known. “Feels like it never stops. The entire time I was with Robb, we were always going somewhere, fighting someone, planning something else. The only time we ever had was while we were at war. And now it feels like it’s happening all over again with you.” 

Turning to lean against the table, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you follow suit. Noticing he seemed to have stepped a bit closer to press his side up against yours. “War was when he needed you the most.” Looking to him at the side, Jon’s jaw was more clenched then before, the hands in his arms tensing a bit around the knuckle as something rougher was fighting through him. “It’s not the life you thought you’d share with him, but I know there was nowhere but at his side he’d rather you have been. Could handle it as long as you were.” 

Your voice was mostly just a whisper, a tugging at your heart of blue eyes and a reddish brown head of curls that no matter what always found ways to charm you off your feet. “And how do you know that?” 

Jon’s was also a whisper, but much more sure and confident even through the rasping strain. “I spent everyday growing up trying to figure out what kind of life I could have with you. What I’d do to convince my father, where we could go that it didn’t matter, worrying you’d come to your senses and realize being with a bastard wasn't good enough for you.” He didn’t meet your eyes, and it was only a distant pain in his face which spoke of something long gone but still rippled in hurt. 

His name coming softly from your lips, you leaned a bit more into his side, Jon leaning back without committing fully. “I wasn’t ashamed of being with a bastard, I was afraid of how much you’d get intro trouble if we were caught, because of who I was.” 

Shaking his head slightly, almost having a talk with himself in the inside you were not privy to. “When I started thinking about joining the Night’s Watch, part of me wondered if I should just keep going past the Wall and bring you far North with me instead. I’d build you a home, and a nice big hearth to keep you warm, because it didn’t matter where we were or what was happening. I just wanted to be with you.” 

You almost felt a need to cry, things were so much easier back then. “Is that where you came up with eight children?” Jon chuckled deep in his chest and the comforting sound and look of a small smile on his lips was enough to pull a gentle, breathier laugh from you. 

“It was still five back then. Now it’s probably closer to nine.” You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh more or find a sickening warm pooling of phantom blood spilling from the jagged scars in your stomach. You might not even be able to give him one, you might have only had chance and you ruined it after all. 

But he continued, “My point is, it doesn’t matter if we’re still at war five, ten years from now. As long as I have you, then I’m happy.” This time, he looked at you while your eyes found themselves trained intently on the floor. You wished you could see any putting up with you for that long anymore. 

Inhaling deeply, you found more strength in your vocal cords finally. “So we take it one step at a time. We fight this one before we start worrying about the next.” 

Jon still watched you closely, “Exactly.” 

Biting your lip, you almost felt the need to cover any and every doubt inside your mind as you looked over to him with a lightness in your eyes that was only put them seconds earlier. “Could still go North when winter is over. If this being King thing doesn’t work out.” 

Smirking with a huff of a laugh, Jon shook his head almost incredulously. “We have a nice big fire, and a warm bed in our room already. Can’t build you a nicer home then that.” 

He looked to a shine in your eyes, and you knew he had seen the surprise in which he wasted no moment in calling it our room. When for all this time, you had still seen it as his. But Jon saw it as yours, both of yours. Neither you nor him looked away. “Well, this is the home we fought for together I suppose.” 

Had the doors to the study not opened, Jon would’ve moved in a heartbeat to lift you up onto this very table. Kneel down in front of you, and show you just how good he wanted to make you feel in the home you reclaimed together. Ever since you took him into your mouth the other morning, all he could think of was how much he wanted more and more of you at every chance.

Jon was feeling a deep, almost frustrating desperation and he hated barley being able to control his want.

Gathered all around going through the fine details, plans made through and through again ensuring all details on the lands covered. “It’s the only place they can stay that high with their sights on the water, but it cuts them off from the view of the hills leading to the castle approaching. That’s where they’ll keep him.” 

You and Ser Davos both stood beside one another, leaning over the plans you spent much time drawing up and he readily backed up the fact that it was not going to be an easy feat sneaking around that long of a go to sail up unseen from the fishing port. You could land, but without anything to distract their eyes would find yours sneaking up. Archers could pick you off from afar behind then they could reach in the lands outstretched up the hills to the main land. 

Smalljon Umber narrowed his eyes in thought, voice slow as he pieced it together. “Why hide him up from the fighting if he’s their King?” 

Eyes sharp as he looked over everything, Jon turned to look at him. “If he is Rhaegar’s son, they’ve been hiding him all these years. They can’t afford to put in him a battle and lose him before he’s gotten to the Iron Throne yet” His hand gesturing to the very spot on the outlines, “If that’s the castle's best vantage point, then that’s where he’ll be.” 

Jon clearly thought about it for a good while as he considered the plans moving through his mind. “We don’t even need to beat them.” All heads flying up to look at him with confused eyes, except for your watchful ones still on the plans below. “If I can get someone up to Aegon, they’ll surrender just to keep him safe. I’m not looking for a fight, but if they’re going to force us too, then we only fight as long as it takes to get someone there.” 

Theon nodded, looking at him with a determination. “We attack the Golden Company from the East so they don’t catch the rest of us sneaking up behind them from the West.” Both men nodded at the other with a knowing look, Theon’s own glossing over with a hint of impress. 

“I won’t trap us by relying on Stannis’s army to make this work, so we need to split our men into two. I’ll lead the bulk of us up the path to the castle, keep them occupied fighting us while a smaller group will have to get up the cliff’s the hard way. But we’ll keep their eyes off them.” It was a risk sending a smaller group that route, but it also was the only way to make it work. As long as Aegon was out of the fight, that side of the castle would be clear to sneak in. 

Smalljon once more spoke up, asking the burning question. “Who’s going to lead the small charge to sneak in?” 

If there was an answer on Jon’s mind, you spoke before he had a chance to get it out. “I will.” His grey eyes snapping sharply to you, but the others with a watchful trust that you looked only at them back too. “I’ll only need a few men. Enough to climb the walls, and sneak past whoever we find stationed at the top. I know this castle better then anyone, I know exactly where to go and how to get their the fastest.” 

Davos met your eyes with a brighter agreement. “Going through Aegon’s garden will be your best bet. Easy to get turned around if you don’t know where you’re going. And from there you can either sneak in through the main hall on the inside or around the long way to the tower entrance at the bottom.” 

Your eyes followed along the path as he spoke, knowing the path up the tower was the best bet. They wouldn’t see you coming until you were too close, whereas the main hall was too close to the main doors and if the battle reached their before you, it would draw attention. “So we plan for both. If it’s only us, we go the outside route and if my father joins us we can get inside.” 

“He can sneak up from behind.” The others had a question in their eyes that while you missed, luckily Davos was there to provide explanation. Running his hand along the path from the back of the outlines and up. “There’s enough room to sail Northwest and not be spotted by any of his ships. Stannis can sail right past them and land at this port, and by the time they come up behind, you can open the back gates to let them through.” Nodding to you, “You’ll be ready to knock at their door and stop before they even realize how many are there.” 

Maege Mormont had a question of doubt as she looked to Davos. “We sure the villages won’t send word the second he lands?” 

He shook his head no, but you were the one who spoke. Eyes still along the outlines as you could see the motions in your head playing out. “There’s not many who live on Dragonstone. Two thousand at best, probably less at this point. Mostly small villages and a few fishing ports, none of them have any reason to want Aegon and the Golden Company there.” Tilting your head slightly to the side with a reluctant casualness. “That, and the Targaryeans never gave much thought to them. My father’s not the most charismatic of the family but his own men are loyal. They believe in him and a good couple hundred of them come from these people. They’ll help him sneak quietly before they’d turn him in.” 

Jon had been watching you carefully, closely. He could see the plans in your mind just as vividly as you were conjuring them. Were it up to him, he’d keep you on the ship until the fighting was over but he also knew that it was the dreams of you dying in a pool of your own blood which fuelled such a fear of you anywhere near so much of it again. 

The deep rumbling from Tormund sat in agreement with you. “I’ve climbed the wall more times then I can count. Me and a few others will join you, get you up to this King in no time.” 

Agreeing, Theon who stood on the other side of you, swallowed heavily before taking a plunge that had you raising your gaze more soft and proud as he spoke. “So will I. Climbed over both these walls and through the moat to get into Winterfell the first time, should be able to do it again.” 

But it wasn’t mistrust in those watching. It seemed, the trust which already existed between both of you was finding it’s way onto the Northerners who once knew it was his head to be taken for those very actions. A simmer flowed between each of you until it landed on the squinting, almost glare of Jon as he looked at you. Rising in heat until it sweltered too much bear as Jon nodded. Directing attention to the rest of them. 

“Make sure your men all know, we’re only fighting until they surrender. I’m not going there to kill this King, or stop their own plans. I need Dragonglass and we only fight as long as it takes to get to it.” All nodded in understanding as he looked back to the plans. “Now we just have to find a way to breach their ships blocking the way.” 

“Leave it to me.” Once more eyes found yours as you didn’t others. “I’ll see what we’re working with when I get to White Harbour. See what Manderly’s ships can handle, and if my father cooperates then he knows as well as I what it’ll take.” 

Jon’s tone notably, was a bit softer when he directed his focus to you. “If we can get our feet on the ground, our odds are promising. Getting to the beach is the important part.” Your head absently nodded in agreement but it wasn’t formulated enough to speak aloud the plans in your mind. 

You would present them when you had something fully formed swimming up there. Voice far away as well, “I get us ashore, you have the rest.” Finally meeting his eyes, he was hesitant but didn’t voice whatever the doubt in the more deep grey’s were speaking of you. Whatever he wanted them to say, he would wait until there were none left. 

“That’ll be all for tonight.” Plans made clear and more talk of how and where to go were put into proper place until it was late enough for Jon to dismiss the meeting. Watching for all to leave you two alone, your palms now braced on either side of the table, leaning forward as you continued to keep all focus on the movement’s making in your mind. 

Closing the door himself, Jon walked back to lean across somewhat on the other side mumbling your name. Looking up with ease this time, he wore the nerves much clearer on his wide, bright eyes. “You sure you want to be the one to lead them up there?” 

Your eyes flickered to the side in squinting thought before returning to meet with no conflict that he felt over it. “You said it yourself, no one will be able to memorize this place as much as I know it by heart. I know where to go and where not too. It’s the best option.” 

Sighing, he leaned his palms across the wooden surface, trying to find your gaze with more understanding of what he was struggling to say. “It’s also the one option where I can’t protect you if something goes wrong.” 

A lurch in your heart, wanting to reach out and grasp him but you only mimicked his posture. Voice quiet and tender as you looked him over. “I’m fairly certain it would be hard to protect me if I’m in the thickest part of the fighting.” 

Jon sighed out, eyes closing and opening back as he steadied his intentions in sturdy of voice. “You would stay on the ship if I had it my way.” He was trying not to glance down at where he knew your scar was. 

Your head dropped into your hands for a moment sighing out not in frustration at him, but for causing him this kind of worry in the first place. Rising up again you had more of a pointed glare then perhaps you initially intended towards him. “So you can die fighting for me, but I can’t for you?” 

“No.” 

Your head jolted back just the slightest at how easily the answer slipped from his mouth, and with how sure of himself he said it. “May I ask why not?” 

One gloved hand reached forward, cupping your cheek as you instinctively moved to hold the back of it and run your thumb down across his wrist. His voice rasping out in close to an upset of sorts, “Because I already spent a year thinking you were dead, and only got angrier at how much I hated living without you.” His thumb ran across the skin of your cheek in his own touch. “I can’t go through that again.” 

Your thumb pressed against his pulse, still strong. Whispering so low were he not only a foot from your face he may not have heard it. “And I don’t want to do this, any of this without you.” Your other hand desperate to find his touch but the angle was too far and too awkward. “I’m not trying to prove a point, or be angry you want to keep me from it. But I can’t sit back and let you protect me when someone should have been there to protect you.” 

Your head nodding to his chest, covered but once more all knew what lay under it. 

Jon frowned a bit, his brows narrowing as his eyes slipped shut. The light touch of your thumb across the pulse on his wrist and easily under the feeling, did you feel it increase the more you ran your thumb over the area. Jon’s voice was tight and restrained when he found your eyes again with a smile trying to fight to be playful. “Going to start locking you in our room one of these days.” 

You moved across the table, awkward stretch be damned, keeping your lips from him but the air from your words hit his face as he ran the hand on your cheek now to run through the hair at the back of your head. “Why do I feel like you’d enjoy that more then you should?” 

The grey turning black quickly before you, and it was obvious Jon was withholding a clawing animal inside of him as his jaw clenched looking down to your mouth. Trying to find something as playful and innocent to say back, but Jon was still struggling. Not previously realizing how desperate you could make one man feel, but you saw a raw need in his eyes towards you more and more. His voice deep in a husk, “I enjoy a lot of things about you more then I should.” 

Your heart skipped a pace, but as it regained a beat it shortened your breathe as it moved faster. An innocent flush in your chest as he looked shamelessly down to what he could see of your frame from his spot. 

But he didn’t do anything. Pulled back, and instead collected himself as if not a thing was out of place since the others left the room closed. Nodding you to follow him around the table, “Come. You’ve been here all day, I need to get some food in you.” 

You with not a clue that for a brief moment as you came to his side, Jon aggravatingly, couldn't stop himself from recalling how it felt to spill so deeply down your throat, filling your stomach with his seed. As he gently led you out into the halls, he flexed his hand painfully to restrain himself to not slam the door shut in how worked up he already could feel in his bloodstream. 

And worse, when he gently ran a hand more innocently down the hair at the back of your head as he led you to the kitchens, Jon recalled the sensation of his hand pressed tight in your hair. Holding your face down and reaching the coarse hair around the base of his cock as you held his hips desperately, and the muffled sounds of gagging and swallowing that came from you.

Jon was getting a bit annoyed with himself, how often since reclaiming Winterfell was he obsessed with the memories and dreams of your touch and the dark desire in his mouth and cock to have you anyway he could imagine.

Half of him was consumed with the fights now and to come and all it would focus on was whats the next step and how many lives will it take to keep them safe again. The sheer not understood responsibility with how much of his day was drowning in the horror’s hes seen to come, and the weight of it all.

The other part of him however, wanted to keep you locked in his room. Not just for his anxious mind over your own safety, but because he had dreamt of something multiple nights in a row since being back here of you. You so peaceful at night, sleeping next to him with not a clue what kind of things he was dreaming about.

Dark, perverse dreams of pinning you down, tying you to his bed, fucking you for hours upon hours. Sleeping fantasies of not letting a single drop of him, not go deep inside your cunt. Dreams obsessed with the idea of not letting you leave his bed until he knew without a shadow of a doubt that you were with his child. And he had no idea of how to stop those thoughts the entire evening with you. 

It wasn’t a normal way to think about you he knew, and he didn’t used to be this way. He used to feel terrified at the idea of getting you pregnant, knowing how much him being a bastard would ruin your life. Would give no hope to the life of your own child, another Snow, but now this one being from a bastard father himself. How no matter what he dreamed of in a life with you, Jon used to never want to think about getting you pregnant. Because he knew you would never be able to be with him in this way whatsoever. 

But now it was different. He did have you, in more ways then he once could fantasize of. Something about how sure and confident you worked so seamlessly together, held nothing but respect for his people, made him radiate with a pride over how far you two have come. How not a single person around rejected the idea of you two finally being allowed to be together. How he could be with you, make you his wife, take you as many times as it took to fill you with his seed and give you a son, and there wouldn’t be any outsiders interrupting your life saying it wasn’t allowed. 

And even though he didn’t like not being able to protect you out there, your place fit so well as you both now were to rule and lead together. He knew you suited being a Queen at his side. Fit well beside him, and he shamefully thought once more, of how good you felt as you fit perfectly under him too. 

You were leaving for White Harbour the morning after the next, and Jon knew he had to get a grip. 

“Do you truly believe such nonsense?” 

Jon Connington was beginning to feel the pull of an increasingly growing frustration with the men around him. He had known Lord Varys for a very long time, longer then the years he spent in exile. A man of whispers and so far much of those continued to be kept from him. And yet, the ones he seemed to choose to share so willingly made no logical sense in his mind. The rumours of the King in the North, rumours of the Queen at his side and all he could think was Northerners were far too superstitious. 

He could say of himself he was raised from the dead. Until he landed here in Westeros, most had too put him in the world of the no longer living. Drank himself to death in the ranks of the Golden Company, yet now stands with those same men all but breathing. 

Rumours of their Queen slaughtered by House Frey in some war he cared little about, more that the King by her side had somehow survived a knife to the heart. Adding it onto the raven he had sent their way, talking of the dragonglass on the island and it was of upmost importance they are allowed access to it for something far North. 

Lord Varys stood by him on the high walls, looking over the vast caverns on the edge as rocks surrounded the view like a shield to either side. “You don’t believe in the old powers, my lord?” 

Shaking his head, Connington crossed his arms over his chest, squinting in the bright sun so high in the sky. “If this Northerner wants me to believe in dead Kings and ice monsters, he can show up on our shores like a man and show me his heart himself.” Inhaling deeply, he straightened his posture and took a tone lighter, in an almost mocking. “Tell me. If you’re so fascinated by these people, why are you running before they even get here?” 

An amused hum came from the spider beside him, always as entertained by the attitudes of men around him as he was good at hiding any reason they shouldn’t be. “I assure you, Lord Connington I have far more important matters to attend to then to stand and watch a battle I have little to contribute to.” 

Connington gave the spider a glare to the side, and still nothing had changed on his face despite the irritation inside him. “Is there anything I need to know? About this King in the North? People on this island seem to have plenty to say about his wife, but I’ve heard next to nothing about him.” 

“He is Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard son, his last living son if I am not mistaken.” If Lord Varys noticed a change in the mans tensity, no word was spoken of it. 

“My little birds also tell me he is quite the foe in battle. An excellent swordsman like you have not seen in some time, said to be quite an intense lad. And allying himself with the eldest daughter of Stannis Baratheon? Raising each other from the dead? I wouldn’t have crossed them myself.” 

Connington glared more openly that time, but Lord Varys did not take offence. “Only one spiders opinion, I of course, am not the King. But I would recommend keeping ours as far from this Jon Snow on the battlefield as possible. Just to be on the safe side.” 

As the sun had begun to set to the west behind them, Connington eventually turned to him fully. Hand’s both gloved enough that not even a good tug would drag them off, he extended it out. “Do me a favour,” Lord Varys raised an eyebrow in silent patience, “Don’t mention any of this to him. He has enough on his plate, I don’t need Lyanna Stark’s ghost coming to haunt him now too.” 

As the sky turned dark and he stood alone, Jon Connington couldn’t help but wonder to himself. Was all the destruction left in Rhaegar’s wake truly worth it? Almost thirty years had passed since your death, he thought, and still I haven’t found a way to move passed the things you did. 

The choices near the end that so few understood, that stayed locked heavily in Connington’s head because who was left to care about his side of things? 

He had been foolish at one point to think that Robert Baratheon’s death would make any of this more simple, but it didn’t. If anything, the death of the one man he had truly been hiding Aegon from, only made things even more complicated. It had been almost thirty years, but every day he still thought of Rhaegar, would that ever go away? Would he ever leave his mind for good? 

Thinking to himself so loudly in his mind, will I ever look at your son and finally see you in his eyes? His face? His words? Anything? 

Is there any of you left in your son, Rhaegar? 

If you could hope and pray for anything to come crashing through these walls and end this conversation now, you’d accept it with open arms. There was nothing you wished to talk about less then this, but your mother walked beside you through the grounds of Winterfell with no intention of letting you walk away without addressing it further. “There might not be a better opportunity for some time.” 

Sighing out, you found the strength within you not to roll your eyes. As nice as it was to see her settling in easier, there was no denying that it was difficult getting used to her having a presence in your life now. Having made sure her quarters were well tended too, having gotten her more things more fitting  of the cold and snow around the North and had a place here. Yet she walked beside you now, as your eyes flickered to the sides, trying to spot who may be overhearing. Not wanting the people to get the wrong message, not that you were entirely sure what that was anymore. 

Technically, it was a Northern Queen and a Southern Queen walking side by side, but all any would see should they glace over was a mother giving a lecture of sorts to her increasingly agitated daughter. 

Glancing to her from the sides of your vision before training them back forward, your tone stern and short with huffs of frustration in your breaths between. “There’s nothing for him to see, what would he even be looking at?” Your voice turning more stiff mock of an accent. “Oh my word, it seems you still have a gruesome scar where you were stabbed repeatedly in the womb.”

Your mother’s flat expression was not impressed as she looked at you, your name flat on her voice in warning. “Now you’re purposely being childish.” Your shrug did not do much more to make that statement any less true. Huffing, she leans closer to speak less to those around the yards. “A maester will be able to tell you what you won’t listen to me for.” 

You shook your head, ignoring the sting on your arms you weren’t quite dressed for.  “I’m not going to speak to Wolkan, and to answer your next suggestion, no I won’t see Pylos when I am there either. I’m perfectly content not being told unfortunate news I can already predict myself.” 

There were times you felt disconnected from her, and yet as you both walked through the grounds and found rigid disagreement between the other, it was clear who you were related too. An undeniable awkwardness between you both with little love, and yet you had the same narrowed expression and roughness in your voice the more an argument was impending. “You need to start taking your own health more seriously.” Turning finally you faced her with a sharp glare but much like you, Selyse did not back down or back up. “You can ignore it all you want, but you are a Queen now. And things will be expected of you, and when you have no answers for that what are you going to do then?” 

Truthfully, you didn’t know. You didn’t want anyone to bring it up, you didn’t even wish to think on it at all. Relaxing in your shoulders as they deflated, you peeked to the side and found none standing too close. Your mother’s eyes softening just enough for you in front of her to see. “What did Maester Cressen tell you, when you lost yours..” 

Selyse leaned in just the slightest bit, your head hanging a small amount as something felt as if it were starting to choke in your throat. “He thought it was something in my blood. That whatever it was, I’ve like had it since I was a girl. It effected my ability to bear a child, which is why I was unwell both with you and Shireen.” Her hand draped up gently to drape a loose strand of your hair behind your shoulder from where it fell. “I always knew there was something wrong, but you had no ill signs until you already lost yours. You do not need to have the worries I do.” 

You bit your tongue, looking to the side as your gloved hands flexed at your sides. “And if there is? I already have a reminder forever of losing him. What if I can’t handle hearing the truth over any more?” 

Selyse didn’t really move to comfort you, but there was a pain you both understood. A loss that weighed heavily and drowned out any confidence in your capabilities of a duty you were long raised to uphold. The hand on your hair ran down your upper arm as her voice was low. “Then you deal with that then, but only then.” 

Inhaling, you stood straighter as you glanced around to nothing of focus. Your voice now airy and far as the topics were changed in your mind to avoid the current any longer. “Ser Davos is staying behind until the men here are ready. Are you coming with me to White Harbour?”

Your mother now too glanced around, looking to the place she’d never spent any time thinking of what it could look like. “I’m staying behind for now. If I leave before I memorize where things are, I will just have to relearn it all over again. I will join with the rest, let you spend some time with your father.”

Tone much more flat as well as you expression dropped. “Oh, that will be a great joy.” She once more said your name in warning, but you turned to walk away by that point, but before getting too far your eyes narrowed before whipping around to face her. “Mother, don’t interrogate him once I leave. I am a grown woman, I can make my own choices.” 

Her lips narrowed flat but a single raise of her eyebrows told you that was not a promise she would be making. You glared much easier that time but with a fluster on your cheeks at what she would even say to him. At least you were her child, there was tact to be given there. You couldn’t imagine what she would say to Jon once you weren’t there to pull her back. 

Sorting through the tools needed, Tormund quickly had tossed what was good and not for the task at hand, “I’ve been up and down the wall many times, pretty crow. And I never had anything fancy to do it, just something reliable.” Both of you saying yes and no to certain things, comparing the rocks and cliff sides to the snow and ice and coming to a conclusion they weren’t terribly different. 

Shaking your head at one point, “It can’t be big enough we need to see where we pick it through. Where we are climbing, it will be next to pitch black until we reach the top we have to be able to rely on what we can feel. And we won’t be able to communicate either, if something goes wrong we all need to be able to rely on having what we need on us.” 

A plan of silence was to keep sure none would spot you. Deciding that if your father’s men were going to take up the back, you only needed as many of you to safely climb and sneak your way through the grounds to get to them. “How does a girl like you know so much about this kind of thing?” 

Smirking much easier then normal, you only sorted through the ropes as your voice was stuffed with a fondness of the past. “The mines we are going to, some of them go far down into the earth and they are pitch black without a torch.” Narrowing your eyes at the looseness or tear in others you put some to the side. “I spent a lot of time down there as a girl, you teach yourself rather quick how not to fall to your death when all alone.” 

Tormund chuckled, not sure in your own head if he would even picture it or not. “Well you’ll be tied to me this time, meaning if you fall to your death you’d be taking me with you.” Leaning forward with a playful narrowed expression, “Means we don’t fall, pretty crow. I’ve got too much to see of you to let you and I die yet.” 

The laugh between you was easy. Setting up the right equipment for four of you, Tormund tethered to you and beside you both Theon would be tethered to another of the free folk, Ryk. A short man, but surprisingly sturdy on his feet in comparison. Agreeing to have only four of you climb took away the likelihood of being discovered. 

Quiet passed between you both for a little bit, Ryk coming over at one point to look over things as Tormund seemed to have a more narrowed, sharp look in his eyes that didn’t quite intimidate. But was enough to grab your attention. Tossing a few ropes into his chest roughly, before giving a flat expression as the other said no words in response. Hands stopping to look at him with a questioning gaze, he gestured back to the man, “Longspear stole my daughter. Took her right out of her tent, gave a good fight though. Broke his lip and almost bit half his ear off.” 

The proud look on his face would’ve been amusing if you didn’t have multiple questions, the first of which being, “He stole her?” 

Smirking, he shrugged at you. “The way the free folk do things, pretty crow. You want a woman? You have to prove you deserve her, be strong enough to protect her, give her good sons.” Noticing a tint of unsettled in your eyes, even though your face was stone as statue he leaned in with a quieter tone towards you. “Our women aren’t like you Southerners. Most places, the women are scarier then the men. Any man who catches himself around the Frozen Shore with his pants down?” Giving out a whistle almost in dismay, “Wouldn’t want it to be me.” 

Your eyes narrowed as you considered it, looking back you continued your work, “So it’s a bit more like you take whats in front of you, and if you can hold onto it, then it’s yours?” 

Nodding with more of a proud look once more, “Aye, that’s exactly it. We don’t have your fancy castles and servants. If we want something, we have to fight to keep it. You talk to the women where I’m from, and you’ll find most of them enjoy finding a man who can keep up with them.” 

Glancing up to Ryk, you nodded over to him. “So is that why you keep giving him that look? You don’t think he’s good enough?” 

Chuckling deep in his chest, “Munda’s my own blood, but she likes him well enough. And I know why. He don’t fight with no spear, you know. Never has. But they call him Longspear for a reason. I don’t fight with him, no matter how much he makes me want to yank his eyeballs out. But man like him doesn’t use it enough, it’ll grow smaller until he goes to piss and can’t find it. So I put up with him.” 

It was difficult to say if you were slightly more intimidated by their culture, or growing simply more amused by how natural they spoke of things most absurd. Born from the same people, Northerners and the Free Folk both came from the First Men, and yet they couldn’t be more different in the way things were seen or done. For all the slander in the South of how rigid and brutish the North was, they seemed to hold a great importance on their morals. 

Your mind trailing back to his story you glanced back asking, “I didn’t know you had a daughter.” 

Nodding, a small smirk once more thinking of it. “Aye, got myself two. That I know of. Munda’s the youngest, least the fucker waited until she was a woman to snatch her. Svanya’s older, both of them went with the other groups, finding land and homes.” Tilting his head a bit more in a serious gaze as he did so, “We raided enough of your villages over the years, plenty of space to make our own this point.” 

Desperation was an odd thing you thought to yourself. Recalling the way Olly had to almost force the words out to tell of what happened to his father and mother, the village taken from him and what led to such a horrid hatred festering in his heart to be manipulated. Yet, the man before you led that raiding party himself, but you found not an ounce of distrust towards him. 

Winter had come, and the storms would soon follow and that took the blood thirst and hatred for one another out of the equation when it mattered. The ones who couldn’t move passed it, seemed to not have ever made it in the first place. You were making plans to tie a rope between you both and scale the cliffs during a battle at his side and it was odd to consider this seemed like not an unusual thing for your life now. 

The man it seemed, had a thought which you had not realized was brewing beneath the surface. Tone quieter and deeper as he looked at you, “Strange though, how you Southerners all put the blame on your women for everything that goes wrong.” Your heart skipped a beat, a familiar banging in your head that moved until the pain bled out from your stomach. “Can’t go anywhere ‘round here without hearing someone talk about how you two died. How that scrawny worm was the son of the man who did that to you.” 

He looked down to your covered stomach and you hated that everyone knew about it. That there was no escaping the stories told and what was lost that night with you. No matter how much you tried to look up to the skies and tell yourself it was okay to not assume Robb hates you, you still hate yourself. 

“Just beacuse you heard of it, doesn’t mean we need to speak on it.” 

Tormund however, was not pressed by your stiff, held back attitude. “Men where I’m from are judged on whether or not they can give their woman strong babies. You’re lot seems to judge the women when they lose them. And none of it means shit in either direction.” Your jaw clenched and if he noticed he didn’t even think to stop. “Most don’t even name their babies ‘till they reach two, how often they die. Getting gutted when he was still inside you’s even less your faul-”

Slamming down the wall spikes in your hands with a loud thud you finally felt your voice raise in a more yelling hiss, “Why do you care so much? Why do any of you care about it when it’s no business of yours.” 

Instead there was sympathy, as much as a man as himself could muster. A pain he knew nothing of and never could, but you didn’t want anyone to care. You didn’t want to care, yourself. Except every time you look in a mirror, you spend so much of that time trying to not to look at it. You could see the blood and sorrowful blue eyes all over again every time. Feel the blood in your mouth choking your hysteric gasps as you tried to tell Robb to leave while he still had his life. 

No child to bury, and no father to even bring home either. Only a dagger with their blood and yours remained. There was nothing but failure every step of the way, and The Mother had never once told you how to repent for the sins you didn’t know you committed. 

“Hate to break it to you, pretty crow but I care about you now. Means I’m gonna tell you when you’re acting dumb.” Your face fell slat, eyes slightly narrowed with no amusement but once more nothing was taken with offence. “If Snow’s heart is beating after getting a knife shoved in it, you’re probably fine too. Besides, if I have to watch him give you those desperate lovesick eyes when he thinks you aren’t looking one more time, I’ll throw myself off this cliff when we’re done with it.” 

He had overheard you and your mother earlier, and he’s seen Snow enough times looking at the kids around these walls then look at you like he wants that more then anything. He knew the longer you didn’t talk about it, the more you were going to let that fester and grow into something ugly. 

But you indeed, were a little too much like your father for your own good at times. A stubbornness that was like chipping away on a boulder. You just needed someone strong enough to finally come by and crack it open in one go, get you back to being yourself and not falling into closing off like many knew for your father. 

Yet, far South following along the sea until one reached Dragonstone there was another who could not stop the comparisons of a father. Only, the comparisons were not easily come by. In fact, they were getting increasingly hard to see, and there was still a King in those eyes. 

Jon Connington had come across Aegon finally. Sat at the head of the painted table with the backdrop of a dark sky finally setting over to greet. His hair still sat blue, and he could only wonder if Aegon was still dying it or if this one was taking longer to wash out. Not with the same length, Connington had let his normal colour bleed through, many would recognize him in Westeros and there was little reason to hide anymore.

Yet Aegon still sat there, blue covering up the true colour beneath. Before making the voyage here, the Imp had put together the truth on his own it seemed. Realizing that the blue made the same blue in Aegon’s eyes stand out, or perhaps he had put it, was trying to hide the purple which was the real colour. Was right annoyed at how fast Tyrion Lannister had caught onto things. 

Connington had spent many years thinking he knew exactly what he was looking at. In Essos, it was easy to see that image. By the time Varys and Illyrio had approached him, the boy was already two and steps were taken to hide his true identity well. Then he learned who it was, whose son he was, and it felt like he was given one last chance to prove himself. 

He had failed spectacularly and it got him sent into exile. An exile that meant he was not there to protect Rhaegar from the imposing, overpowering strength of Robert Baratheon. But he had trusted him with Aegon. He had thought to himself in those days, “I failed the father, but I will not fail the son.” 

Aegon was approaching Rhaegar’s age when he died. What had it been? Twenty seven? Eight? It felt more like a lifetime ago. Looking at him lean almost lazily across the surface of the painted table, he held a small carved dragon in his hand. Twisting it as he looked it over time and time again with something far away in his eyes. A wonder that washed over into doubt with the tides.

Where are you in your son, Rhaegar? 

“I haven’t seen you this serious in a long time.” 

Connington focused back onto the present, the boys blue- purple eyes shining up brightly at him but not bothering to hide his own exhaustion. Gesturing to him as he walked slowly over he jested, “I would say the same about you. Everything we’ve done and this is the least I’ve ever seen a smile find itself on your face.” 

Still, no smile came. 

Pulling up to sit in the seat closest to him on a different side of the table, he leaned in closely nodding to the carved dragon he returned to staring at. “Hoping it will come to life?” But Aegon only shook his head with a twisting grimace. “Ones bigger then that will be yours eventually. It’s in your blood. Those dragons of hers get big enough, could ride one all on your own beside her-”

A moment of deep irritation, he tossed the figure halfway down the table, Aegon leaned back with a sigh. Arms crossing over his chest as he looked away for a moment. “I’m sorry,” Meeting Connington’s eyes once more the exhaustion was a lot clearer. It had been a long road to get here, but it wouldn’t stop now. “All my life I’ve been preparing for this, to be here. It felt right, felt it was what I was always meant for to train for these days but now that we’re here? Now that I am to call myself King? I’m not quite sure I really did leave Young Griff behind in Essos.” His laugh wasn’t quite genuine, but a sarcastic huff. “I haven’t been Aegon since I was a baby. Who is he supposed to be now?” 

Connington felt the rising shame, that he was relieved Rhaegar’s confidence had not passed onto his son. He didn’t like seeing the boy so full of doubt, but there was something fearful in how confident his father had been in that final year. Something that no one understood and he died without anyone ever getting it. Including Connington. 

“You’ve always been him. You were trained, taught, educated all to be as good and better then your father. This was meant for you, no matter the name we hid you behind. This is just an obstacle.” 

Aegon wasn’t finished however. Interrupting Connington before he had a chance to continue, his brows narrowed and voice tough and rigid as he spoke. Eyes trained on the painted table. “It wasn’t my first instinct. The King in the North, I mean. You had asked me what my first instinct was, but my first instinct was to just let him have what he wanted. We needed a place to go, somewhere to think before Storm’s End. Why should I care about giving a bunch of Northerns rocks in a mine?” 

The man knew where this was going. “But now he’s coming for a fight.” Aegon nodded, still unsure as he was before making that very choice. He knew exactly what he did. “You made the choice you thought Rhaegar would.” They had worked hard to raise him right, prepare him. But all the training hadn’t given him the one that was plaguing the boy, Connington knew. Aegon had little and less experience of the world and all it’s woes. He was still a like boy too naive for a King’s own good. “There is no going back now.” 

Sighing out deeply, the boy once again seemed more agitated then Connington had seen in him for a long time. Not realizing, he as seeing the same in Connington in return. “I know. I made the choice and I have to live with it, even if I don’t like it. I’m not supposed to enjoy it.” 

Where were you, Rhaegar? Why could your soul not pass any of your certainty of yourself down to your own blood? Aegon knew what it took to be King, but it also sat upon his shoulders like a burden instead of a life he was to rule from. He didn’t choose to be King, but the closer he got to reaching that, it felt as if Connington couldn’t find the right words to comfort him over it. 

He never had to comfort Rhaegar, always confident and always sure his actions were the only ones that were correct. Aegon was bringing a Northern King to his shores for a fight and only saw regret in what he could’ve done instead. Rhaegar thought he was more god then man. He didn’t care what others thought as long as it was his choice to be made. Where was the fair middle in between them?

Gloved hand reached out, grasped the boy’s forearm gently and squeezed. His eyes shooting up to meet Connington’s with a gratitude, even if he didn’t say it. “Get some sleep. We still have much to prepare for, and I want to see you working more with that sword tomorrow. Never assume you’re as good as you think you are, that’s how you lose at the Stoney Sept and get kicked out across the seas your whole life.” 

He was strong, but not as skilled as he needed to be. Connington could see the strength behind him, and he could overpower a man twice his size, but being a good swordsman was more then that. Either he needed the skill, or he needed the intensity. Both of which Rhaegar had, and yet not enough to win a battle when it mattered the most. 

Get Aegon through this battle though, and the rest will come easier. After all, time was on Aegon’s side. Just not his own. Death, he knew, was slow. In the quiet silence of his quarters, he would look upon his arm and seek out every breathe of change coming to it. He had time. A year, two years. Five? Some stone men live for ten. Time enough to beat this King in the North, and finish what Rhaegar had started. 

He needed enough time to sit Aegon on the Iron Throne, and then Jon Connington could die content. 

There wasn’t much packed, wouldn’t need much where you were going. Yet the image as Jon walked into his room was one which made him a little more unsettled you could tell. Tucked away neatly against a wall was a bag only with what you’d need for a short time, but you had sat against the foot of the bed on the floor, leather armour sitting around when he came in. Your eyes registered from the sides of your vision but were too focused on the final stitching to properly look up. 

“What are you doing?” Without sacrificing your attention you answered mostly with one word that you were stitching. A smirk came across Jon’s face however as much as he felt the need to roll his eyes. “I can see that, I meant why are you doing it on the floor?” 

Finishing up, you tossed it to the side, leaning back once more against the foot of the bed as you looked up at him. Taking the time to take his heavier layers off as he watched you. “I needed space, and the floor mean’s nothing’s in my way. Did yours as well.” Raising an eye brow at you, you nodded to the amours beside you. “Stitched up what was torn, cleaned and polished the metals. All is missing is you in it.” 

“You didn’t have to-” 

You barley even glanced at him as you stood, interrupting with an ease you didn’t notice took him slightly off guard. “I wanted too, wasn’t anything.” Even more off guard Jon felt as you seemed to take over the task for him he started. Coming to stand in front of him, as you undressed him, leaving just the soft minimal layers underneath left. His eyes slipping closed with a satisfied hum as you slid to move behind him, and let his curls fall loose around his head, running your fingers through them to breathe some life into the strands once more. 

With almost only an instinct, as you ran through his curls, you slowly made your way down to run your hands down his upper arms, his shoulders sitting higher in a tensity that had you looking at him almost in a worry. One of his own reached up, grasping a hand of yours holding it under his tightly as his voice rang out low. “I’m sorry about Tormund.” Your brows narrowed but didn’t move to interrupt him. “I told him not to say anything. He overheard you and your mother, thought he was trying to help.” 

Your head almost hung a bit behind him, body going a bit more slack which you knew he could feel in his touch. Murmuring your name, you slid from him entirely before he had the chance to grab you. It was a deflection coming from you, but he let it happen. “I told Theon about us.” Pacing to the other side of the room before turning back to him. Not making eye contact as you braced your palms on the cabinet behind you. “About how we used to..”

Jon’s eyes narrowed in curiosity, stepping further in and crossing his arms across his chest. “I think we’re a bit beyond the point of worrying what other people think.” This time he wasted no time in coming up to you with ease, one hand moving to your hip, while the other tilted your jaw up so you had to face him properly. “How about you tell me what’s really bothering you, beacuse it isn’t that. And before you take off on me.” 

Sighing a small bit, you let one of your hands reach out to his waist while the other lightly moved along the scars hidden by the soft shirt over him until reaching the edges. Dipping your fingertips into the collars, you pushed the fabric aside enough to run freely along the one over his heart. The lightness in your eyes fading as you looked at him. “Mine wasn’t like yours. Your body died, but you were somehow still alive in Ghost. Your mind never stopped, it was always you in there somewhere. But I wasn’t. I was beside Robb, and then...when I first woke up, I thought I was still dead. That whatever I was seeing was just some punishment I was in for what I’d done..but it was all real. You were still always there, so it makes sense all of you came back.”

Your fingers never stopped tracing over the mark, Jon leaning forward more to press a kiss to your forehead before wrapping a hand around to hold the back of your head and rest against you. “You think not all of you came back?” The hand on your hip ran up, his thumb now running gently over where your own scar was under your dress. “Or are you scared just this part didn’t?” 

You didn’t answer, and Jon sensed it almost right away. The growing combination of failure in what was supposed to be a purpose you were born for, and the impossibility of how you lost that and yet still can stand in the space you were. Looking up to meet his eyes, there was a sorrow in his own that Jon didn’t know how to make better in yours. Voice high and airy, trying not to break you mustered only half a smile before the sting turned to tears. “You said you wanted nine, right? How much would you hate me if I couldn’t even give you one?”

His lips were soft, gentle and light as he only kissed you enough to calm any out of control emotions brewing within your chest. One hand on your cheek as the other stayed running along that spot. His lips stayed coaxing gentle following from you, until he felt you relax. Until he felt you slide your palms up his chest and collarbones to wrap gently around the back of his neck. 

Tilting your jaw better to deepen just a tad amount, he felt you give a tiny whimper into his mouth that once more had him kiss you a smidge more demanding. But just as he felt you lean into his chest, and the desire in him to press you further into the cabinet did he move back. Pressing one smaller one to your lips, before moving away enough you could feel his lips brush yours as he spoke. “I’m taking you to see Wolkan first thing in the morning, I don’t want you leaving with that on your mind like this. I want you to hear it from him that you have nothing to worry about.” 

A little smirk fell over his face as he gently nudged your nose with his, before letting himself get just greedy enough to steal one more kiss. “Besides, we already have one oversized child to take care of.” 

Your face twisted on confusion, only for Jon to pull away just enough he knew you could see it. Hints of it were on Robb but neither of you had the words nor understanding to explain it. But his eyes were white, as if the brightness overtook most of it’s colour in the same instance that the door opened. 

But for a moment, you recalled how it felt that day first arriving in Castle Black. Deep red eyes like blood looked to you with a quiet intensity you once thought was strange how human it felt. And in a second as your lips parted and looked back between the two, Jon had come back to himself, and suddenly Ghost had happily walked over and nudged into the back of Jon playfully. 

The force pushing him against you, hands reaching out with a chuckle to keep you steady against him as the large direwolf came to his side. His eyes found yours and you looked up at him with a wide eyed wonder, an impress in your expression. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you actually do it..” 

Running his hands along your hips as he looked down at you, passing in between your eyes and lips as he spoke. “It gets easier now that I know what it is. And this way I know I can keep an eye on Winterfell while we’re gone.” 

Ghost seemed to have enough, not wanting to be in the same room as both of you and not a shred of attention was on him. A tiny whine in his throat that had you both amused. “I’m guessing this is who you meant by oversized child.” 

As the normally silent and stoic direwolf now tried to take charge of the interaction by demanding you both pet him, the answer was clear. Watching you smile and laugh at how easy you interacted with his own direwolf, Jon had found enough strength in him to reel back that desperation. You were his after all, and maybe for now just making sure he was taking care of you, of your heart, was just enough for the wolf in him. 

And wolves always take care of their mates, no matter in what way they need.

[welldonebeca]

you said you were gonna grow up (then you were gonna come find me)

Summary: After taking Harrenhal, Robb Stark is plagued with nightmares of his sisters. WC: 2.4k words Warnings: Nightmares. Canon divergence. Angst. Harrenhal being itself. A/N: A moot made this edit of Robb and Sansa on Twitter and I have no self-control. Come suffer with me.

There wasn’t a child in all Westeros who hadn’t heard the tale of Harrenhal, whether from the lips of their nan or while curled up in their mother’s chest. Robb was no exception.

Mother called it a monument to arrogance and cruelty. Its king had enslaved the Riverlands to build the mightiest, strongest castle ever conceived. Yet it failed its first test the very day it was completed—burned down by Aegon the Conqueror and his queen sisters. Since then, it had been haunted by every drop of blood spilt within its walls. It had cursed every family that held it—House Hoare, House Qoherys, House Harroway, House Towers, House Strong, House Lothston... House Whent, his grandmother’s house, now had only one last member bearing its name. And if Robb remembered correctly, the head of House Slynt had just been sent to the Wall, stripped of Harrenhal in a mere flicker of time.

Robb blamed that history for the unease the castle instilled in him. They weren’t meant to stay long; he had plans to follow.

Grandfather was dead, they needed to pay their respects.

Bran and Rickon…

Gods help him, he didn’t know what had happened to Bran and Rickon. The whole day he was looking over his shoulders, every second since the news of Winterfell being put to the torch, he had been on edge, waiting for demands from the ironborn to ransom his brothers. It had already broken Mother’s heart when Robb told her they couldn’t rescue Arya and Sansa, but now she was simply inconsolable.

And why wouldn’t she be? Children, his brothers were boys! Bran was ten, just months before that curse had fallen on them Rickon still smelled like milk.

One by one, Starks were falling like flies, and what had he managed to do?

“Your grace?” a soft voice called for him, and Robb turned around in a snap of his neck.

Talissa stood in front of him.

Gods, it took everything in him not to run into her arms and lose himself in her comfort.

Robb had made a promise to the Freys, to marry one of Lord Frey’s daughters and make her his queen. Yet every day Talisa stood before him, and he wished he could just bury himself in her neck and forget his honour.

Was this how Father felt about Jon’s mother? Alone and burdened with responsibilities, with a distant woman he couldn’t remember the face of waiting for him far, far away, while another stood right in front of him, offering her chest for him to lay on, her lips for him to kiss.

“Forgive me,” Talisa apologised quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Robb waved his hand dismissively.

“What is it?”

Was it a letter? A man sent to discuss the terms of his brothers' freedom? Anything to counter the every second of quiet reassurance that his little brothers had indeed perished?

“Your mother has slept,” she informed him.

He breathed out.

Good. She needed her rest. His men were still angry over her decision to release the Kingslayer. Maybe this news would help them see her for what she truly was—a desperate mother.

“Do you wish me to bring you something?” she offered. “Maybe some tea?”

Robb shook his head.

“No, thank you,” he breathed out. “I would like to be left alone.”

It was best that she wasn’t around to tempt his mind. Robb already felt weak enough.

Talisa curtsied quickly, stepping away. He could feel her eyes lingering on him before she finally left, closing the door behind her.

Robb pinched his nose, trying to blink the tears from his eyes.

They could have escaped. Their allies were strong and faithful; they would not turn their backs on children. Robb would hear of them soon.

But he had been telling himself the same thing about Arya since Father’s death, and no news had ever come.

Gods, if only Father had turned the King away, they would all be together now, and that stupid wall would play far away from them.

He stood and walked to his bed—the best room in the castle, they said. Yet it felt just as haunted and desolate as every other corner of it.

Robb set down his candle and curled up in his furs, trying not to feel like a child in the oppressive darkness as he closed his eyes. Yet sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned, side to side, as the candle by his bed endured, the only source of light in the room.

He punched his pillow, grunting in displeasure. He should have accepted the tea; it might have quieted his mind enough to rest.

Robb sat up, and a distant sound caught his ear, and he squeezed his eyes.

Mother.

Her wails grew in desperation, freezing Robb’s bones. He grabbed his robe and the candle, rushing out of his room, the cold stone floors chilling his feet and the sounds of her cries grew as he entered the corridor.

Robb pushed her door open, and she was on the floor, sobbing into her hands, her face stained with blood and tears.

He gasped, running to her side and taking her hands.

Her wounds… had they reopened? They were already scars!

“My sons,” she cried. “I’ve lost them.”

Robb shook his head, tugging on his robe, trying to rip some peace to cover her hurt hands.

“Mother-”

But her eyes moved to his face, sharp and cold like he’d only seen her looking at Jon.

“Because of you,” she hissed, pushing him away. “My sons are dead because of you!”

Mother pushed him again, and Robb fell back, weakened by confusion.

“My daughters are prisoners because of you!” she accused in a scream. “Selfish little boy, leaving your sisters defenceless while claiming that bastard as your heir!”

“No!” he tried to hold her.

She would only hurt herself more.

Mother slapped his chest with both hands, her bloodstained palms marking his skin, feeling like stabs as he fell to the cold floor.

“And while I suffer, you lust after a woman like your father did,” Mother accused him, her bloodied tears falling down her cheeks and falling on his face. “Putting a spoil of war above your honour! Above your blood!”

He couldn’t even move for a moment, frozen by the shock as she stood, her body wavering like a leaf caught in a winter gale, her cries rising once more.

“Because of you,” she wailed, stepping into the darkness.

“Mother!” he pleaded, scrambling to his feet, desperate to reach her before she disappeared.

But it was futile; she vanished into the shadows, leaving him alone in the encroaching dark.

Robb sprang to his feet, the cool wind slicing through the night and making him shiver. Yes, he was a man of the North, but it was like the castle was made of ice itself.

“Mother,” he called, his voice trembling with a fear he thought he had left behind when he stopped being just a boy. “It’s dangerous here at night. Please, come back!”

He stepped through the dark corridors, but the passageways seemed to stretch endlessly, an eerie silence enveloping him, only interrupted by his footsteps.

“Mother!” he shouted, his voice cracking like when he was just green.

“Robb?” A faint, chilling voice echoed through the walls.

He felt everything in his core chilling.

That wasn’t…

What was…

It couldn’t be.

A clap of thunder roared outside and he turned sharply, seeing a distant light somewhere in the depths of the path.

“Who is there?” he called out.

The little voice echoed again, distant and faint, weaving a melody he couldn’t understand.

He followed it, nearly suffocating as the darkness thickened enough to be felt but he persisted, pushing the door of the room in front of him open.

Robb could have mistaken her for Mother for a moment, with her long auburn hair draped over her shoulders, falling over her back in waves, lit by the hearth.

But she was too small to be his mother, thin and curved over a long grey cloth.

“Sansa,” he whispered.

But his little sister didn’t raise her head from her work.

“I only have a night,” she murmured, her voice hollow and resigned. “I only have a night and they’ll take her.”

He swallowed, stumbling as he walked to her, not understanding.

“They’ll take mother?” Robb asked, lowering himself to her side.

Sansa turned to him, her lower lip trembling, her light blue eyes splotchy and red-rimmed from crying.

Was she always this small? He had grown so much during his campaign, but Sansa was still just thirteen, his sweet sister was just a tiny girl.

Her eyes glistened with tears, and she squeezed the cloth tightly in her hands, her knuckles white from the strain.

“We waited,” she whimpered. “We waited for you, Robb. They said you would come to rescue us.”

Robb panted, desperate to reach her, to comfort her, but his hands passed through her like mist. He looked at her hands, and the light grey fabric was stained maroon everywhere, the intricate embroidery of dead wolves in white marred with drops of red.

Her fingers bled as she held the needle, her movements mechanical and relentless, tears mingling with her work.

“Will you forgive me?” Sansa pleaded, her voice choked and raw. “Did I do something wrong? Did I make you abandon us?”

Robb shook his head, desperate.

“No,” he grabbed the fabric. “You’ve- you’ve done nothing, Sansa!”

But she continued to sob, her thin body trembling as she cried over the bloodied fabric.

“I wrote the letter!” she cried out, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt.

The letter? No, did she think-

No!

“No!” Robb said firmly. “I know the Queen made you do that.”

Yet his little sister rocked back and forth, sobbing and working, crying and bleeding onto the fabric.

“I wanted to come to this place,” she shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “If I wasn’t a stupid girl, nothing would have happened, she would be safe.”

“You’re not!” Robb cried out, fighting against her words. “You’re a child. You’re defenceless.”

“I tried to keep her safe,” Sansa’s voice was barely a whisper, consumed by grief. “I tried to be a good sister, Robb, I did.”

“I know,” he said, trying to soothe her.

“They mocked us,” she sniffed, her voice trembling. “How we waited, how we prayed and hoped… but she couldn’t… Arya didn’t…”

She shook her head, and he tried to grab onto her hands, but they slipped through his grasp.

“Where’s Arya?” he realised

They hadn’t heard anything about Arya since their father’s death.

The light in the room seemed to grow brighter, and Sansa shook her head even more violently.

“I only have a night,” she chanted over and over, her voice a haunting mantra. “I only have a night and they’ll take her away.”

Robbraised his head, looking beyond her, to the bed he hadn’t seen before.

Arya wasn’t like Sansa. She wouldn’t know how to be a hostage; she would never comply, even under Mother’s commands.

Arya was fierce and stubborn and a little fighter, but she was 11 and even smaller than Sansa. She would try to fight and to escape and she would get caught and they would punish her – or even worse.

He stood up, his legs trembling beneath him.

“I had to beg them,” his little sister whispered to nowhere. “I had to use my dress. But I have a night, she’ll have a shroud.

Robb’s throat tightened painfully as he swallowed hard. He reached for the candle on the table, the small flame flickering in his unsteady hands.

“Forgive me,” Sansa whimpered, her voice breaking. “Forgive me, Robb. We thought you’d come for us.”

He stepped up, trembling as raised the candle high, the light casting long, distorted shadows on the walls.

And there was Arya. And Bran. And Rickon.

They lay on the bed, grey and cold, with blue lips and closed eyes.

Robb’s breath caught in his throat and Mother’s wails echoed from all sides as his sister’s words became unintelligible whispers.

His hand shook and the candle slipped, falling onto the bed and lighting it up completely on fire, engulfing his brothers and sister. The flames hungrily devoured the shroud in Sansa’s arms as she continued her futile work, the fire licking at her skin, consuming her along with her mournful tears.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t, his voice just died in his throat as he sat up on his bed, clenching his furs to his chest, feeling his heart beating so fast it threatened to leave his body through his throat.

A nightmare.

A fucking nightmare.

Robb tugged at his hair, trying to ground himself as he stood up, his legs trembling like fragile twigs beneath him. He scanned the room, struggling to make sense of his surroundings.

It was just a nightmare. Dreams, nothing more. There was no blood, no fire, no shroud. The candle by his bed was barely flickering, its flame reduced to a sliver of wax.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart and shake off the remnants of fear as the room darkened, silent.

The sounds of scratches by his door made Robb stand, and his sleep clothes clung to his skin in his sweaty state, and struggled to pull his tunic over his head for a moment, quickly tossing it to his bed as he opened the door, and Grey Wind walked into his room.

He closed the door and sank to his knees, resting his head on Grey Wind’s thick fur. hearing his breath as he tried to calm himself down, still.

Robb had his wolf, and so did Bran and Rickon. Yet, they had found no sign of Summer or Shaggy Dog—no fur, no remains.

His little brothers were protected, he knew that. His men would find them hidden soon.

But Sansa and Arya… they needed him. They had no one – Lady was dead and Nymeria was gone.

They were children, all of them. He was all they had.

But wasn’t Robb a child too? He was just a boy!

Everyone else saw him as their King! They wanted him to be glorious and strong, but he was no conqueror – and he wasn’t ready to be one!

He wanted to run to his mother’s arms and cry into her skirts with his head on her lap, to be protected.

He was terrified! How could he be brave in a state like this?

But Father had said it himself, hadn’t he?

The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid.

Robb sunk completely to his knees, sobbing into Grey Wind’s fur, trying to keep the sounds to himself – what would his men think? He couldn’t be weak.

[agentrouka-blog]

I think Arya was too young to quite understand that Jon being a bastard meant her father cheated on her mother. When she first realizes that, she is so angry she 'others' Jon, by thinking of him as a 'Snow', not a Stark. She doesn't even understand the concept of cheating, for her the mere idea that her father ever loved anyone other than her mother is enough to warrant this reaction. Keep in mind that this was the sibling Jon was the closest to. Now imagine how it must have felt to Sansa, who is the ultimate romantic. Arya's knee jerk reaction is quite similar to Sansa's in that regard, distancing herself from Jon, even in just thoughts for a moment or two (then she decides to never think of it again, its probable her response would've been even more visceral, had she not been undergoing such trauma alone and they all were at Winterfell, happy). It is clear that the children, though they loved Jon, struggled with their father's supposed infidelity, when they came to understand it: Bran and Rickon were too young to realize it, and we see Arya's reaction when she understands it, we know Sansa distanced himself from Jon when she understood it and we don't have Robb's pov, but we see him marrying Jeyne to avoid another Catelyn and Jon situation with his own wife and child. Jon's existence was an emotional conflict, not only for Catelyn and Jon, but for the entire family. I love RLJ because it resolves this issue.

I very much agree with you about Arya and how this is a traumatic realization for her, about Ned and about the idea of what her family truly is. It's a form of family trauma, especially because Ned made it impossible for any of them to form context for it. It's shrouded in forced silence, a dark dirty secret they are not allowed to work through by talking about it. So it comes out in indirect, sometimes damaging ways.

On the other hand, I don't think there's much evidence that Sansa reacted in necessarily the same way (deliberately othering Jon or being angry at him), since all we have to go on is that she called him "half-brother" when she understood what "bastard" meant. In all contexts she actually expresses sympathy for Jon in a way that contradicts blame or contempt. It's unlikely she would have had no understanding of him having a different status at all before this realization hit home, so I think Sansa's greater focus here would always have been Catelyn and Ned specifically. The power imbalance between her parents is made brutally clear. Sansa would have trouble coping with that contradiction to their otherwise loving marriage, and be seeking refuge in an idealized, better future for herself through the idea of true love and romance.

[windriverdelta]

Minimal theory on a Stannis victory in early TWOW

This is really a spin on some theories others have made (namely the "Night Lamp"), but to summarize all in one place:

In the Theon TWOW preview chapter, he's preparing for battle with the Bolton army. We already know from ADWD that the crofter's village has a lighthouse for some reason, that the ice in the surrounding lakes is fragile, everything's snowed in, and the Frey and Manderly armies are heading there for battle. In the TWOW chapter we see he's caught the Karstarks - which were supposed to be Roose Bolton's double agents - but conspicuously spared their troops, he has guessed that the two remaining ravens of Karstark's maester will go to Winterfell, he's inexplicably confident and upon Theon claiming that they don't have natural defences he says that they don't have them "yet", and he notes that Hosteen Frey and Ramsay Snow are stupid/not a threat*. So what gives?

I tend to think that per the Night Lamp theory, Stannis plans to use the fragile ice of the lakes as defence. Hosteen Frey is never set up as a particularly bright person and between his rashness, the low visibility and Stannis possibly turning the lighthouse off and setting a tree ablaze/waving his glowing sword around, he (Hosteen) will almost certainly lose his way, ride over the fragile ice and drown himself and his army. Then all that Stannis and his army have to do is mopping up the survivors, and prepare for the Manderly attack...

...except that the Manderlys will not attack him. If Davos has succeeded in his recover-Rickon endeavour - quite a lot of time have passed since Davos IV and Theon I TWOW - then they'll join him at this point, or fall into the Freys' back. If not, they probably do a Late Walder Frey and desert instead, but I can't imagine them wasting their lives against Stannis. And I think that Ramsay will be busy in Winterfell (see below and **), so he won't attack.

At some point before or after the battle, Stannis will bring Theon to a weirwood tree to cut his head off. I tend to think that Asha succeeded at persuading Stannis to execute Theon by sword. That and the birds (almost certainly Bran and Bloodraven) are all enthusiastic about Theon being brought to a tree. So Stannis gets there, and when he's about to lop Theon's head off the tree/Bran talks to him and pleads for Theon - thus buying him a bit of time. The Northerners will be more easily persuaded if it's their gods/tree pleading for Theon rather than Ironborn reaver Asha, and Stannis is no stranger to magic.

Meanwhile, in Winterfell Theon's and fArya's escape has been noticed - and crucially, the complicity of Abel's/Mance's washerwomen. As noted by @turtle-paced here, there are strong indications that Ramsay is about to lose patience with his father; I think upon this discovery he flips out, kills his dad and Fat Walda and blames it on Wyman Manderly who everyone suspects is planning treachery. Hother Umber (h/t @poorquentyn), Wyman Manderly and their troops fight back; they fail and their heads get mounted on Winterfell's walls, but not without taking down a lot of Bolton soldiers. Afterwards, Ramsay tortures and flays Mance and his spearwives, thus getting the information on Jon Snow's plan that will appear in the Pink Letter. Then the Karstark troops show up with Stannis' sword and news that Stannis is dead, reinforced by raven messages. Ramsay lets them in, and writes the Pink Letter...

...but it's a trap! As soon Ramsay's back is turned, the Karstark troops (sidenote: oh the irony, Stannis using Roose's favourite tactic of betraying an army from the inside against him, with the same people no less) open Winterfell's gates to Stannis' army - or Bran/Theon lets it in via secret tunnels. At this point, Team Dustin turns cloak - they have no loyalty to Ramsay and he's a threat to them -, the remaining Bolton troops are caught by surprise and are defeated, Stannis seizes Winterfell. I think Ramsay tries to hide, but is betrayed by Theon and/or Big Walder Frey to Stannis and/or Ramsay's dogs (which "love Theon"). Ramsay dies screaming, either on a pyre or torn apart by his dogs.

I am not sure that Theon survives long afterwards, but either way the stage is set for the actual Starks to make a comeback.

*Some people have assumed that Stannis dismissing Hosteen Frey as "Ser Stupid" and Ramsay as "which battles has he ever won?" foreshadow his defeat. Problem is, as we've seen with the battle in the Whispering Wood in AGoT, predicating a battle plan on your opponent's stupidity is no guarantee of defeat if the enemy is, in fact, stupid - and sometimes even when he isn't as we saw at the Green Fork; Tywin won, but Robb wasn't there. We've seen Hosteen Frey in Arya's and Theon's chapters, he's rash, rushes to judgment, and while he sees Manderly's potential treachery everyone else saw that before him. There is simply no indication that he'd be able to recognize the ice lakes trap. Now Ramsay did win a battle ... but see above re Green Fork; the only price that Tywin had to pay for underestimating Robb was that Robb himself didn't appear at the battle. As Tywin, so Stannis with Ramsay not appearing in the crofter's village.

**I am inclined to think that Theon's wrong about Ramsay showing up. One, while he/we see the Freys and Manderlys preparing to ride out of Winterfell, there is no evidence for Ramsay. Secondly, Ramsay has effectively conditioned Theon to see Ramsay everywhere. It's an effective abuse tactic ... but a total bluff. Three, Ramsay has other things to worry about besides Stannis.

[sailorshadzter]

remember when i said jon x alayne had struck me?

yeah. this is what came from that day lol

When the music swells, he’s already making his way across the great hall.

For the last hour, he’s done little else but stare at the beautiful, dark-haired woman with eyes so blue they remind him of the summer skies of childhood. She’s lost in conversation with another young woman, but they both turn at his approaching footsteps, both thinking he’s coming for the other. “Lady Alayne,” he greets, bobbing her a quick bow as she curtsies quite prettily, her sage green silk gown shifting with her every move. He’s never been this sort of man before, but there’s just something about her that makes him want to be something more. Something new. “May I have this dance?” Those blue eyes widen slightly and her friend gives a little giggle before she slips away, leaving Alayne standing there alone with him. After what feels like a lifetime, she gives a nod, her hand reaching out for him to take. 

As his hand encloses around hers, warmth spreads through her like she’s stepped out into the sunlight, a feeling she’s not felt in oh-so long. A pain of longing rushes through her but she smiles all the same, allowing for him to sweep her out into the center of the floor. From where he stands at the back of the room, Lord Baelish can only smile, a chuckle escaping. 

“You are graceful, my lord,” she speaks with a teasing sort of smile, rosy lips curving with a smile as they fall into the steps of the dance. She’s recalling the days of youth so long gone, days of dance lessons in Winterfell’s hall, where even Jon had learned to dance at her mother’s instructions. It’s been many years since those days and not so many less since they last saw one another- children grown into young adults, she cannot blame him for not knowing her now. He looks so much like a Stark, there wouldn’t be a single man in the realm who wouldn’t know him, and it brings her an ounce of comfort to know that at least one of her siblings still lives. 

“I learned as a boy,” he replies, recalling the very same memories as she did, ones where he and Robb had hemmed and hawed over such lessons, but now as a man nearly grown he’s thankful to have had them. “But you are far superior,” he observes as he spins her out and back in, falling into perfect step with the other couples out on the floor. However, many eyes have turned to watch the bastard of Winterfell dance with the bastard of Baelish. 

They dance until the music fades and ends, followed by a rousing round of applause from the many guests within the room. “Walk with me?” Jon asks and she surprisingly nods, taking his arm for the second time that night, walking alongside him through the crowd and out the doors into the mostly empty main corridor. But still they do not stop. Out the side doors and into the gardens, the ones she spent much of her time in upon her arrival there in the Vale. “Here,” he slips his furs from his shoulders, simply so he can drape them over hers instead, shaking his head when she opens her mouth to protest. “I’ve faced colder than this.” He grins as they take to the nearest stone bench, but as they settle into place, he finds she’s not smiling. In fact, to his horror, tears are welling in her eyes and he doesn’t know what he’s done to upset her. “Lady Alayne… I…” 

“You’ve done nothing,” she assures him, swiping at her eyes before a single tear can fall. “It’s just… You remind me of someone I once loved.��� She thinks of her father, of Robb, of Arya, of Bran, and even little Rickon… All lost to her now. Once she had only dreamed of this moment, to see Jon again, bastard born or not, he was still her brother. She only wishes she could have seen this when they had been children. And now, at this moment, she cannot even reveal herself to him. Forever, she will only be Alayne.

Jon swallows, for does he not feel the very same thing for her? There was a part of him that kept screaming; he knows her, but he cannot place who she might be, for he knows almost no women but his sisters. Ygritte was the only other woman he knew, but she was lost to him now. “It is as if we’ve met in a life before this one,” he murmurs softly and her gaze snaps back up, blue eyes wide in her startled features. “I feel it too,” he admits, reaching for her hand without hesitation, without fear of what might come next. 

To his surprise, she leans in, tenderly brushing her lips against his cheek, leaving the spot warm long after they’ve parted ways. “I am glad I met you, Jon Snow,” she says quietly, her lips curving with a smile as a single tear falls, though it’s his fingertips that catch it. “Perhaps we will meet again and you will be King in the North.” She thinks of their brother, dead before his time, and the little siblings lost to them, dead or alive they would probably never know. Jon scoffs at her words but she shakes her head, the image clear within her mind. “It will come to pass, you will see.” She rises up then, his furs slipping from her shoulders as she stands, back into his arms as she sweeps him a curtsy. In that moment, for some reason, it is Sansa he thinks 0f- who once practiced her curtsies until she could not walk the next day. “Good bye, Jon.” She smiles and then she is gone, disappearing back through the doors they once had come through, leaving Jon there on that bench, snow collecting in his dark curls. 

He would leave the Vale the next morning, but he would never forget her, that Lady Alayne.

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

I think the reason why people don't think much of Bran and Jon's relationship is because

1. Jon already has his cute younger sibling relationship with Arya and his brotherly relationship with Robb which were developed more, fans just don't think there's to find unique about their relationship besides the dream.

2. Bran got to spend more time with Robb so when it comes to big bro little bro relationship they get a little more focus.

3. It's a shame but most of the fandom just dislikes or ignores Bran.

I get your points, I really do and I can totally understand why people prefer to focus on Jon and Arya or Bran and Robb as those relationships get more focus on the series ( and for some good narrative reasons!)

However, I feel the need to say that the beauty of having so many Stark kids as pov and/or as important characters means that more than one familial relationships can be highlighted within the series.

Bran and Jon having a loving bond and sharing parallels as "second sons" to Robb's eldest one doesn't take away from the other sibling bonds. Jon and Arya are still each other's home ( and they share arguably the the closest bond in the whole series), Bran still looks up and admires Robb who protects him, Robb and Jon are still best friends and rivals and Bran and Arya were childhood playmates. All these family relationships can co exist and they really do within the story.

As for your 3rd point, I blame the show for that. Recently, I saw a post (not a malicious one, made by someone who liked show Bran) that declared that it was a pity Bran wasn't as close to Jon as Arya and Sansa were. I really don't care about show canon which criminally reduced Bran's role but in the book series that ain't truth. It's Jon and Sansa who are the most distant siblings and Bran is actually closer to Jon, not only compared to Sansa but to Rickon, too.

As I've said in previous posts about Bran and Jon, this relationship has so much potential now they are the oldest male kids and are no longer in Robb's shadow. Both have foreshadowing for becoming leaders ( well, Jon already was in ADWD) and both are the Stark kids who are most linked to the North and the magic even beyond the Wall. Bran, with his magical abilities, has already helped his older brother twice in the past. Personally, I can see their magical bond further grow once Jon is resurrected ( perhaps Bran will help with that?). But even if my speculations are wrong it's still gonna be interesting to see how these two powerful semi mythical beings who once were siblings ( and still hold only love for each other) will interact.

[ladystoneboobs]

when it comes to the theon/starks pov trap, so many fans just assume jon's and bran's dislike of theon must be only bc they're just smarter, better judges of character than dumbly friendly robb, even somewhow foretelling theon's later actions at wf in clash. all of them missing that the explanation for why theon was closest to robb is clearly stated in his own first pov, after we've gotten to know jon and bran.

As for their[Ned/Catelyn's] children, the younger ones had been mewling babes for most of his years at Winterfell. Only Robb and his baseborn half brother Jon Snow had been old enough to be worth his notice. -Theon I, aCoK

when you've been sent to live with an unknown family in a strange land and the only boys in that family are ~5 years younger than you, it's natural you're going to learn to ignore that age difference to socialize with the only peers available. but that doesn't mean doing the same with little babies born after your arrival with 10+yr age gaps, that's an age difference too far. jon and robb have to care for all the starklings younger than them, that's their family, but theon was never a member of that family. it's only natural to only want to hang out with your friend and not adopt their hangers-on younger siblings as yours too. idt bran or rickon can be blamed for only robb ever being brotherly toward theon (as he once retorted to maester luwin while hunting for them in the wolfswood), they're little kids, but the point is everyone was reacting in regular kid patterns. bran had no reason to warm up much to an older boy who stole robb's attention from him while having no time for bran in return. (or at least that's how he'd see it.) the notion that bran was rejecting theon from a place of moral superiority implies there was something more there to be rejected. but i think it's more likely that, had it not been for the natural results of a ~12yr age gap, if bran had been a little older or theon had been a little more willing to befriend little kids, then imo bran would have been eager to join the club with all the older boys and truly feel like "a man grown". imho, a closer reading of agot would show that this explanation was also right there in starkling pov all along.

He[Jon Snow] missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. -Jon III, aGoT Even when he was home at Winterfell, Robb the Lord seemed to have more time for Hallis Mollen and Theon Greyjoy than he ever did for his brothers. -Bran IV, aGoT

as for theon/jon ...

The bastard was a sullen boy, quick to sense a slight, jealous of Theon's high birth and Robb's regard for him. -Theon I, aCoK

i think that jealousy for robb's regard must have been mutual, and yet we know who'd win that contest as idt robb would ever yell at jon for saving bran's life. jon had reason to envy theon's station when he was sidelined on special occassions, the same as theon envied jon's relationships with non-catelyn winterfellians. (ie, "Even the bastard Jon Snow had been accorded more honor than he had." theon had a father who was likely a miser with affection even before his wars and here's ned stark and a good part of his household treating even a bastard better than balon greyjoy treated his youngest child, almost as good as the stark heir and more welcome than the ironborn heir who should be robb's equal.) wf castle may have been huge but still not big enough for two liminal quasi-outsiders/not-quite-starks in the same official household with only so much respect, regard, and honor to go around.

there's also just a bit of a personality clash from jon's side of things. idt theon ever really knowingly or intentionally hurt jon, much less bullied him. but look at the rest of his behavior in that first theon pov chapter, casually seducing the captain's daughter and quipping about getting her pregnant, with no thought of ever seeing her again, making it unlikely he'd acknowledge, much less care for, this hypothetical greyjoy bastard. imagine how this attitude comes off to a proudly voluntary celibate teen who at least once declared he would never father a bastard. theon doesn't understand jon's baggage anymore than jon understands why theon, living under an implied threat of possible execution, might make light of beheadings. (some of their reasons for sullenness were similar but others were different enough to ensure that the wf household wasn't big enough for the both of them rather than them finding common ground.) to jon, it's all one and the same, part of theon being a selfish ass. but jon is also the same guy who later kept loving ygritte after she murdered an old man right in front of him, so it's not impossible that he could have befriended theon if they'd met later under different circumstances.

the real difference wrt the wf boys and theon is that robb was just the right mix of naturally friendly extrovert, close enough in age, and without too much baggage of his own to be theon's closest friend.

but we can also see that dislike of theon =/= distrust of theon. bran, as a little kid, is bewildered by theon's invasion of wf, not really getting what it meant that he was always ned's hostage as well as ward. jon may understand more of the background there and reiterated to himself that he never liked theon when hearing of the sack of wf, but he was still confused by the details of what he learned, thinking theon would never do that. and he was right about theon then! the boys theon killed were not bran and rickon, and it's true he would never burn and sack wf, that part was entirely ramsay. theon would emphatically never sack and burn his great war prize, which meant so much more bc he grew up there. that's so true, jon! so, far from sensing a deeper depravity in theon or always seeing him as an enemy, (which rather goes againt the false impression that theon was practically an adopted stark with reason to be equally brotherly to all ned's kids) when jon is objectively right about theon, it's actually in a positive sense, just that he was a skilled archer who wouldn't murder bran and rickon and would never sack wf. that's the jon who sees more and understands when his understanding applies to theon.

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

I know about the entire “Robb’s Jeyne signifies Death and Theon’s Jeyne signifies Life/Rebirth” thing and I understand and fundamentally agree with that interpretation, it makes sense, but I love the idea of seeing Jeyne Poole less as “salvation/redemption” and more as a symbol of culpability. All these interpretations are valid and I like them all, but I just really enjoy seeing her as this type of personification of taking ownership for his worst acts, all committed in the depths of his psychological despair, the ones he would not actually be condemned by the characters in power because they don’t affect people deemed as important.

The Jeyne-Arya / Miller’s boys-Bran & Rickon deceiving

Intending to give Palla to Ramsay / handing Jeyne to Ramsay

Kyra asking for them to stay together as they escape and him trying to refuse her and blaming her for their doom / "Stay close to me," Jeyne said. "Don't leave me." "I will be right beside you," Theon promised (kill me ;_;) + him seeing them both covered in bruises and bite marks and having very different reactions

I will be disappointed once they separate verify we even reach the second Theon POV chapter, but till then I get to fantasise and seeing this silent promise he makes to himself, not her, about staying by her side as an almost solipsistic wish for personal atonement about things none of his justiciars would have ever really considered necessary of atonement.

She is holy and damned at the same time. I think that is interesting. The high priestess silently observing, judging, being the maiden, mother and crone, with her persephonic ruptured virginity. She is a symbolic rupture and not only for Theon-Reek.

I keep thinking about how all the Stark kids cling to Winterfell as a place of strength where they'd be safe and then you have the only Winterfell native who made it back and she wasn't safe, she wasn't strong, she was even in more danger than if she had just stayed at one of Littlefinger's brothels.

[devotionturns]

♛ → THE RIVERLANDS present CYRENE FREY NÉE STARK, the RULING LADY of THE CROSSING / THE TWINS and PRINCESS of WINTERFELL. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the THIRTY year old FEMALE who was SHREWD & RELENTLESS before they saw the first of the flames, is now CUNNING & CYNICAL after seeing the last. they’re often associated with the heavy weight of a winter cloak, heated arguments, and tightly interwoven fingers in a desperate grip. ( olivia cooke )

; physical attributes

— height; 5 ft 6 — eye colour; brown-green — hair colour; auburn — positive traits before the war; confident, daring, shrewd — negative traits before the war; relentless, hot-headed, disobedient — positive traits after the war; independent, cunning, perceptive — negative traits after the war; cynical, stubborn, withdrawn

; bio

— born 114 AC

— eldest daughter of lord rickon stark and lady lyarra blackwood

— her temperament had known no bounds as a girl. willful, stubborn and wild. bold and restless. where she was not adept in sword fighting, she had perfect the art of cutting words, witty quips and burning jests. to the very detriment of her parents, cyrene had developed quite the potty mouth. spite had been the reason, mostly. childish spite for whatever she encountered that seemed to limit her, that appeared to put her in a place she did not feel comfortable in.

— she adored her siblings. owen was the person she bickered with the most. differences of opinion or simply differences in interpretation, the two of them would be found fighting in a manner that would have councils dismissed to retain privacy. due to their closeness in age, cyrene had been closest with her brother jon and her sister dacey. each of them a year apart and a mischievous trio. jon, the aspiring and valiant knight. cyrene, the spitfire lady as a challenge to any suitor that approached her. dacey, the sickly child blooming under her siblings' care and love. cassana was the youngest and carried a soft, overly protective spot in cyrene's heart.

— war broke out in the lands when cyrene was but six and ten years of age. old enough, to be put to use. old enough to advance the war effort. first, her hand in marriage was given to brandon karstark. loud but gentle bran karstark, a walking contradiction that cyrene found joy in figuring out. in provoking and tickling him out of his tightly held shell. when the war effort progressed, the betrothal to the ruling lord of karhold was severed. instead, cyrene was wed to the ruling lord of the crossing and the twins, lord frey.

— as she went to the riverlands, she left her direwolf behind. they were fearsome creatures to those unused to them, and they belonged in the north, just like cyrene knew she did as well. she left behind tala with a heavy heart. cyrene inquired about her in a letter at one point. when she’d read that tala was sat near the gates much of the time, seemingly waiting for her to return, cyrene ceased to ask about her all together. 

— the dance of dragons raged on for two more years. during that time, cyrene played the dutiful wife. subdued in her stubbornness, reprimanded and scolded whenever she spoke out of turn. her place was on no war councils, no space for her advising anyone. in the riverlands, cyrene stark was a stranger. cyrene frey knew her place and cultivated her position. it was something detested at first. and, it was not as easy as it was supposed to be. cyrene did not come to be with child for quite a while, and not due to lack of trying. it was a non-issue at first. sometimes, it took time. as the war found its peak however, and men withered and faded away under blades and dragonfire, the issue of succession in house frey was put under question. a careful alliance had been forged between house stark and house frey, joined in marriage but not yet blood. and the blame was placed on cyrene. her womb had not yet quickened and as time passed, rumours spiralled that maybe it never would. 

— it wore her down to her bones. whittled to pieces and reduced to something that did not resemble herself. quiet and watchful of her every step. it was unlike her to fear stepping out of turn and drawing attention to herself. but, her title mattered little when she could not follow through on what was expected of her. the she wolf, reduced to naught but the shadow of a mouse. 

— and then, two years after her marriage to the ruling lord of house frey, cyrene did fall pregnant. the rumours seemed to vanish into thin air then, replaced by joy for the future of house frey. a heavy burden fell from cyrene’s shoulders at the news, though the fear did not entirely leave her until her child was delivered. or, more accurately, her children. almost in a twist of fate, cyrene gave birth to twins. wylla and mako frey.

— the war ended and her duty done, cyrene could feel what was shattered and ripped apart stitch back together. she was not broken like so many people would’ve had her believe. slowly, she found back to herself. a woman grown, a fierce creature reemerged. no longer the wild and feisty girl that had left winterfell, but instead a woman reborn in the knowledge that she was more than capable of the things that were expected of her. cyrene began to leverage her position once more. she wielded her power, her wit and charm, though there was a hardness to it now. she tolerated no nonsense flung at her, no slight was overseen. 

— for a while, there was peace, the kingdoms of westeros rebuilding themselves. no longer seven, joined as one, but split apart. cyrene no longer only came from a powerful lordly family in the north. her blood was counted to the likes of royalty now. 

— peace was followed by unrest in her homelands. the umbers rose and cyrene wrote letters from her seat in the riverlands, begging her siblings to come to safety. her pleas were rejected. then, her brother jon was killed, his body desecrated alongside his wolf’s. wracked with grief, cyrene wrote more letters, begging for at least her sisters to be brought to safety within her care. more refusals followed. from afar, cyrene would have to simply endure the news of kidnappings and murder. more sadness followed with the death of queen rosalyn and the disappearance of alysanne. she’d never quite gotten along with alysanne, but the news still left cyrene a little more hollow than before. 

— after nearly six years of being away from her home, cyrene decided it was time to return. to get to know her family again, to offer support in difficult times, to receive support in turn even if she did not openly ask for it. she managed to convince her husband to let her take wylla to winterfell with her, with the compromise of leaving the heir to the twins with his lord father. 

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Ableism definitely plays a part in the way the fandom perceives Bran but he's also kind of screwed due to how GRRM hates writing his chapters.

He has so few like only 3 in adwd when the magical stuff is supposed to really be ramping up, the way it's looking in twow Jaime will surpass him in chapter count despite only becoming a pov since the 3rd book.

At the end of the day, how much time we spend with a character definitely influences how attached the fandom gets to them and bran has half far less chapters than the other main characters, literally half of Jon's.

It would've helped having a couple of extra chapters of him in winterfell with more scenes of him and rickon and other characters or an extra asos chapter showing him learning how to survive.

I'm not blaming grrm. He's talked about why he doesn't enjoy writing Bran's chapters, and he has valid explanations. It's just one of those unfortunate things.

I do agree that a lack of screen page time hurts him, a lot. And this means that he doesn’t have a big fanbase that will defend him or further the agenda like most of the other mains. He’s by far the least popular of the central characters so he gets ignored a ton.

I think there’s other issues with Bran that GRRM might be tryin to avoid (which in turn makes him harder to write). On one hand, he’s a very handy character when it comes to lore dumping (especially when it comes to stuff regarding the long night, magic, etc). But you don’t want to overdo it so much that he becomes less of a character and more of an expository machine. This was one of GOT’s biggest problems, Branbot 3000 who only existed to reveal stuff and dip with little no to character growth. Plus, if Bran can see everything in past and present and future, he can/should reveal stuff about the lore (I.e., first war for the dawn) that GRRM might not want to let out just yet. So we’re left with a spattering of chapters between the last five books that seemingly put him in the back burner.

Fingers crossed that TWOW will ramp up Bran’s visibility now that magic is taking a front seat. I have a feeling that he’s going to start cropping up in different plot lines (e.g., Jon’s return + mini magic training arc + journey beyond the wall). And with the book being titled “The Winds of Winter”, we should be able to learn a little bit more about the lore which means more Bran content (yay!). And we’ll have the endgame in sight which should promise a new spring and a resurgence of the wolves. So that would require more chapters and hopefully people start to see how far his narrative influence could reach.