#bran stark angst

[talesof-old]

silence | b.s.

pairing(s): bran stark x reader

warning(s): mentions of death, mourning, grief, gloomy weather brings that on i’m afraid, unedited, reader’s gender isn’t really specified

word count: 1k

masterlist

being back in Winterfell is harder than you thought (fire + cold mornings, snowfall + nighttime)

Dark blue clouds rolled along the hills and hung low, dumping vast amounts of snow on the sleeping earth.

Not even the sun seemed able to pierce the clouds. A somber mood had swept through the halls of Winterfell like a plague, and even you could not escape it. Your husband had yet to wake, leaving you to wander the halls alone like some mourning ghost. You doubted the sun had even risen yet.

The hot floors beneath you proved to do little to soothe the sorrow that gripped you. You thought of the people who died here. It had been years, and yet as your fingers traced over the grey stone, it felt like yesterday. You circled back to your bedchambers. Bran didn’t like to wake without you by his side, even if he could easily find you through whatever sorcery ran through his veins.

The heavy snowfall deafened you to any noises, absorbing them as you walked and walked and walked. Before long, you came to your temporary rooms. The guard standing at its doors bowed. You smiled in greeting before reaching to push open the heavy wood. They swung open soundlessly. He closed them behind you, and you wasted no time to enter the bedchamber.

“I would say good morning, but waking without you dampened it to just ‘morning’.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you shed your robe. It didn’t stop a smile from invading your face. Bran responded in kind. A chill had taken up residence in your room since you’d left, the fire dying and the window cracked. You added a few logs to the hearth, stirring the coals to relight the wood. They crackled as the flame licked over the their surface. Bran raised a brow as you chose to close the window instead of joining him in bed.

“Don’t give me that look. You get cold far too easily.” Bran settled into the pillows beneath him instead of responding. You shook your head and tugged off your slippers, crawling atop the blankets to nestle beside him. “We have much to discuss with Sansa today.” He sighed, taking your hand in his. His fingers traced over yours, playing with them as he stayed silent. His default response, you’d come to learn since you married him.

You hummed, “We could stay here,” leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his temple. The firewood popped, the room filling with its warmth as the moments passed. Sometimes you forgot how cold the North could get. Winter was just starting to make a dent in the Crownlands.

“We have duties, my love.”

Duty was a fickle thing. You’d much rather spend time here, alone with Bran. He had a way of seeing into you that no one else could replicate, and you adored him for it. You hoped he felt the same. His eyes fluttered shut as you brushed dark strands from his forehead. “Good morning, love.”

The hours stretched long, dragging as the snow continued to fall. Bran and Sansa were locked away in the study, pouring over plans on rationing and trade that might grant more food to the people of the North. You’d taken to spending your day helping with the children after finishing paperwork on the trade of textiles.

By the time night fell, the clouds were parting to reveal the moon. Its light glittered along the fresh snow. The beauty of it surmounted much of what you’d seen in your years of living. A peaceful quiet swept through the land as the snow finally lessened.

Snowflakes drifted through the air, dancing across the dim moon rays that spread across the rolling hills and mountains of the North. A sight you’d not seen until recent years. You leaned against the cold stone balcony, eyes focused on the horizon. Winter had shown no signs of stopping, and the families cooped up in Winterfell were beginning to grow antsy.

“Come to bed, my love.” You spared a glance at Bran. Even he was weary, face pulled taut with some emotion you couldn’t decipher. He pushed the wheels of his chair over to you, fingers grazing yours as you went back to looking at the forest. “It’s late.”

You hummed in response.

“The winter will end.” Bran reached for your hand this time, his fingers warmer than yours. Your skin felt like ice, and he raised them to his lips to press a kiss to the back of your hand. You looked to him again. The firelight behind him danced along the dark strands of his hair. He looked every inch regal as he gazed up at you.

A howl sounded in the distance. You almost looked back at the woods, but chose instead to reenter your bedchambers. Bran followed behind you. He was quiet as ever, eyes sharp as he watched you ready for sleep. Your robes were discarded, your hair wrapped in a silk scarf, your hands coated in lotion. He tilted his head back. He wondered if you knew the sort of effect you had on him.

“The silence snow brings is worse than I remember.”

You crossed the room to stand by him, arms outstretched to assist him into the bed. He stayed silent. Perhaps it was to keep you talking, or his way of agreeing--you weren’t sure. Regardless, you carried on. When the White Walkers came and the Long Night descended, you’d been hidden away in the depths of the catacombs. Sometimes, the sounds still echoed through your mind. They haunted you in these halls. Your visiting of Sansa for several weeks had brought forth a wave of conflicted feelings.

Bran settled in bed. “How will they all be remembered, do you think?” You climbed onto the mattress, covering your body with the various sheets and blankets as you laid down. Bran reached out an arm to pull you closer. You obliged, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Such blatant physical affection was rare; not because either of you disliked it, but merely due to the lack of time spent together. “They will tell the stories of it for many generations.”

He rubbed a hand along your clothed arms, the fabric soft and thin underneath his fingers. You reveled in it. “Perhaps we will have a hand in it?” He let you pull away far enough to gaze at his face. Your eyes shone with hope and grief, a far cry from the usual happiness that resided there. His answering soft smile soothed something in your chest.

“We will.”

+++

[stuntdemon-6]

I Survived (but i have not been spared)

Game of Thrones (show) fanfic. Robb Won AU. Angst, trauma and healing, dealing with the aftermath of canon events. 1700+ words.

Summary - A look into how each of the Stark children would struggle and cope, if Robb had managed to win the war of the five kings reunite his family.

Tw - Brief, vague description of a panic attack. Talk of trauma and how it can affect people.

(Title from a quote by Catherynne M. Valente.)

--

The war has been won, and the North rejoices. Free from the tyranny of Southron rule. The King in the North sits tall on his throne, a crown of iron atop his head, his fearsome direwolf companion seated at his side. His family is alive and well, safe within the walls of their ancestral home. The horror of their young lives has passed.

Except, it hasn’t. Perhaps it never will. The world can move on from horror and dreadful times, but the mind cannot. The minds of children cannot. People often forget how young the remaining Stark family truly is. Their name and history goes back thousands of years, but not a single living Stark has yet reached the age of 30. Their king despises being called a boy, but every lord or lady in the North is guilty of seeing him as such the first time they meet him. If it weren’t for the crown on his head they would mistake him for a lordling or perhaps one of the princes. The princes, who are hardly in their teenage years. The princesses only a few years older. 

Everyone knows that war leaves scars. No one truly expected their king to be entirely untouched by the bloodshed he lived through. But nothing puts those scars so viscerally in perspective than watching him have to leave Winterfell for longer than a day. In the time before he departs, his nearest bannermen will receive a call. An order to send a certain number of their men to defend Winterfell while he is away. They are not at war, the Lannisters are defeated alongside the Boltons and the Freys, there is no active threat to defend against. But they will answer the call nonetheless. The few lords who have had the honor, or the misfortune, of accompanying him on these excursions know more than most about why King Robb needs a few thousand men guarding his family.

Have you ever seen a king struggle to breath, through no physical ailment? Simple because the fear that gripped his heart was too much to take? On the worst days, he sits inside his tent or his chambers at whatever castle he’s visiting and he doesn't move. He sits on the floor, clutching at his chest, swallowing gulps of air as if every breath could be his last. He grips his hair so tightly that some are surprised he has not torn it all out yet. One unlucky soul had to stand in his way, physically block his path, so that he didn’t run to the stables in the dead of night and race back home. Simply because of fear. 

Back at Winterfell, the youngest prince mirrors his brother's behavior. Little Rickon isn’t quite so little anymore. He’s still a boy, but he’s old enough and big enough now that some might call the behaviors I am about to describe childish or inappropriate. But I would remind you of how this boy spent his most formative years. Raised by a wildling woman named Osha, on the run, his home destroyed, his father dead, his sister's fates unknown, one brother at war and the others in danger as well. Osha took him to Skagos, and there he remained until not even a full year ago. And what is a little boy in that sort of life to conclude, except that his family has abandoned him? Left him, never to return. He grew up thinking he was either the last living Stark, or the only one not worth the effort to rescue. 

He doesn’t remember this next part, but Bran does. Back at the beginning of everything, when Robb had first called the banners and marched off to war, Rickon would constantly ask when he would be returning. He would wander the castle, some days, in and out of empty rooms as if his family were going to magically return to him. And when he couldnt find them, when he missed them all too terribly, he would sit down right there on the floor and cry. Hiding his face in Shaggydogs fur. 

Rickon wanders the castle again. He passes in and out of rooms on a predetermined circuit around all of Winterfell, his feet carrying him without a second thought. Shaggydog trots along at his side, as always. Every time he sees one of his siblings, a piece of tension bleeds out of his frame. Reminded once again that they are alive. They are home. He is home. They are all safe. And if he can’t find one of them? If Robb is away? If Sansa is not in her solar at her typical time? Rickon’s casual wandering turns into a sprint, he runs from room to room, flinging doors open like a madman. His mind tells him that they are probably fine, but his heart believes that he will find their corpse in one of the storerooms he searches. There is no calming him down, although every single one of them has tried. He gets a wild look of terror in his eyes, and he does not listen to reason. Once, Robb tried to force him to listen, tried to restrain him so that he couldn't continue his frantic search.

Rickon was out of his mind with fear. He wasn’t thinking. The maester had to put three stitches into Robb’s hand, that day. As it turns out, growing up on an island full of cannibals teaches a child that they are never without a weapon, so long as they have teeth.

The girls are still as different as day and night, but where they used to bicker or avoid each other like the plague, they are inseparable now. Or, more accurately, they refuse to be separated. Never again. Arya is the only one with a sliver of understanding about what Sansa’s life was like in King’s landing. Sansa, the only one who understands Arya’s complicated dynamic with the Hound. Neither understands what the other went through entirely, but no one gets it better than each other. If you walk past Sansa’s bedroom at any hour of the night, you’ll hear them both inside recounting again and again the day their father was killed. Trading perspectives, reopening those olds wounds that healed wrong, giving each other the space to grieve. Arya falls asleep in Sansa’s bed, and her older sister simply pulls the blankets over her younger sister’s too small shoulders, and falls asleep by her side. 

Jon Snow is caught in a cycle that just keeps repeating and repeating and repeating. A man of the Night's Watch, still, a sworn brother whose duty and honor demands that he stay at Castle Black no matter what hardships may befall his family. He’s stayed there throughout all of the awful things that have happened. He chose not to leave once, what feels like a lifetime ago, when Robb first marched to war… And some part of him has regretted that decision ever since. Now that his family is safe and the danger seems to have passed, Jon has become a man torn between duty and love once more. His duty is to the Watch, to his post, to his sworn brothers at the Wall. But his love for his family compels him to return home, so that they can finally all be together again, and so that he’ll be there if something goes wrong.

He doesn't leave. He is a man of honor, and he swore a vow. He does not abandon the Night's Watch.

Until he sends a letter to Winterfell, and does not receive a response.

Now, if this were a singular or particularly unexplainable situation, a lack of response would be cause for concern. But their letters are sent by ravens. It isn’t uncommon for a raven to die in flight, or to simply go off course no matter how well trained it is, and for letters to be lost. The sensible thing would be to send a follow up letter, just in case. Jon does not do the sensible thing. Not once, in the many times that this has happened. If he does not get a response from his siblings, all thoughts of his vows flee his mind. He leaves his post every time, deserts the Night's Watch, and rides south to Winterfell.

And every time, King Robb welcomes him into the castle despite the crime he has just committed. He pardons him on the spot. Every time. Jon spends a few days with his siblings, to sooth his worries and assure himself that all is still well. But he always leaves. Always chooses to return to his duty, to his sworn brothers. He goes back to the Night's Watch. Every time. 

Until another letter goes missing.

Finally, there’s poor Bran. The Greenseer. The three eyed raven. Hardly a single night goes by when the castle isn't awoken by his screams. Whether it’s a vision or a simple nightmare, something always plagues Bran’s slumber. He once asked Robb if it would be best to move his bedchambers into one of the towers, so as not to disturb the others so often. Robb’s response was to move Bran into the chambers directly next to his own. No one ever complains about the late night unpleasant wake ups. No one mentions how it makes all of their hearts race, makes them run to their little brothers room as fast as their legs will carry them. Robb doesn't mention how every time it happens, he’s forced to remember the night an assassin tried to take Bran's life in his coma. 

The girls will burst through the doors with the rest of them and check that Bran is alright. Then, they’ll return to bed. But Robb will stay, to Bran’s surprise. Robb doesn't get enough sleep as it is, surely comforting a boy after a nightmare is less important than the King in the North getting his few hours of rest. To Robb, nothing could be more important than being there for the siblings he once failed. To Robb’s surprise, he is never the only one to stay. Rickon doesn't say much. Doesnt offer words of comfort, doesnt ask if Bran is alright. He simply climbs up onto the bed with him, and lies down at his side. This does not surprise Bran. After all, there were several months back when they were both so young, when Bran and Rickon were the only siblings the other had. 

So yes, the war is won. The hardship has passed. The Stark children are alive, and well, and safe. But they will always have their scars.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

#also the weird insistence to leave out sansa is. well. like if you absolutely had to do this at least make it six #bran sansa & arya are all written to closely parallel each other why would you leave out even one of them (via @branwinged)

#lbr these ppl don’t give a shitttt about bran or tyrion the whole key five thing started as a way to malign sansa #that’s all it was and then they played dumb about it like “we just like the main characters?? why do you hate main characters??” #no one hates the main characters everyone is just irritated by you performing your spite crusade as some kind of community passion (via @melrosing)

#<prev #they do nott care for bran or tyrion they just don't want the girl who reminds them of their 5th grade bully to be considered an MC (via @bastardofharrenhal)

#prev tags 100% #that's all there is to it #their weird hatred of sansa was stronger that whatever love they had for the characters they supposedly liked #in order to hold on to this key 5 idea they had to completely ignore grrm himself saying he was making shit up with that outline and #that the story had grown well beyond that #like I'd get if a show-watcher thought these were the only important characters #but not someone who has actually read the books? (via @rorygilmore)

what do you think about the idea of the main 5?

well i don't care what anyone's preferred way to engage with the series is, like, if you're mainly interested in those five characters (and are these bran enthusiasts in the room with us right now) that's fine. it's true there are certain characters that come close to occupying the narrative space of a protagonist within the series (bran, dany, and jon obvs) but i also don't care much for talk of them as the only ones that matter. how grrm outlined his original notes is not of any concern to me, i'm only engaging with the text. and the way i see it those 20+ povs are not meant to be extraneous or tangential to the larger plot, which supposedly centres around five characters. they are all intended to be in conversation with each other and with series themes at large. a question raised in davos's chapter ("If half an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. A man is either good or he evil") may be answered in sam's ("When Craster's wives brought onions, he seized one eagerly. One side was black with rot, but he cut that part off with his dagger and ate the good half raw.") and then bran's chapters ("If ice can burn then love and hate can mate."—the series is about dualism, not absolutes) and claiming otherwise is doing bit of a disservice to grrm's storytelling capabilities, no?

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[novaursa]

The Northern Heart (2/2)

- Summary: Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.

- Pairing: baratheon!lannister!reader/Robb Stark

- Note: Be aware of the time jumps and angst.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1/2

- Alternative ending: you stayed

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The day of your wedding arrived under a sky shrouded with gray clouds, as if the North itself mourned the quiet hope that had once surrounded this union. The air in Winterfell was heavy, filled with the strain of anticipation, not of joy, but of waiting—waiting for news, waiting for Bran to awaken.

In the godswood, where your wedding ceremony would take place, the trees stood like solemn guardians, their branches bare and reaching into the somber sky. You were dressed in the finest gown the North had to offer, a deep forest green that complimented the surroundings, a delicate silver belt around your waist and a shawl lined with white fur draped over your shoulders. Your mother, Cersei, stood beside you, her expression unreadable as she adjusted the drape of your shawl, her gaze flickering with a mixture of emotions you couldn’t place.

“Remember, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice cool and steady, “a union like this is more than love. It’s duty.” She looked into your eyes, her hand lingering on your shoulder. “Bear that in mind.”

You nodded, though her words felt distant, almost irrelevant in the face of the sorrow that hung over Winterfell. Your thoughts were on Bran, the young boy you’d barely had the chance to know, now lying pale and unmoving under the Maester’s care. Yet, despite the sadness, a flicker of warmth remained when you thought of Robb, of the promises he’d whispered to you in the godswood, of a life you might build together.

As you stepped forward, the quiet murmurs of the small gathering around you faded into silence. The ceremony had been scaled back, out of respect for the dire circumstances, and though some guests were there out of duty, the faces of Winterfell’s people were shadowed with grief and worry.

Robb stood beneath the towering heart tree, his dark cloak draped over his shoulders, his face somber. His usually warm, easy smile was absent, replaced by a solemn expression that made him appear older, weighed down by a sense of responsibility he hadn’t known before.

As you reached him, his gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of feeling that momentarily banished the sorrow. He offered his hand, and you took it, the warmth of his palm grounding you even amidst the cold and sorrow of the day.

The Septon stepped forward, his voice quiet yet steady as he began the words of the ceremony. You barely heard them, your mind absorbed by the feel of Robb’s hand in yours, the silent promises exchanged in each shared glance, each gentle squeeze of his fingers.

When it came time to speak your vows, Robb’s voice was steady but filled with an undercurrent of grief. “I, Robb Stark, take you, Y/N Baratheon, as my wife, to stand by my side in times of joy and sorrow. I promise to honor you, to cherish you, and to protect you… until the end of my days.”

You swallowed, fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm you. Meeting his gaze, you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “I, Y/N Baratheon, take you, Robb Stark, as my husband. I promise to honor you, to stand by you… and to hold Winterfell as my home… as long as we both shall live.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight that lingered between you. Robb’s hand trembled slightly as he lifted his cloak and draped it over your shoulders, the Stark direwolf sigil settling against the green of your gown. His fingers lingered for a moment, a gentle touch that offered both reassurance and shared sorrow.

Catelyn Stark stepped forward, her eyes red-rimmed but composed, her expression holding a quiet strength as she looked at you both. She managed a faint smile, though grief flickered in her eyes. “You are one now,” she said softly, her voice wavering just slightly. “Bound by honor and duty… and the strength of the North.”

Robb nodded, his gaze shifting from his mother to you, a silent promise etched in his eyes. He took your hand once more, and together, you turned to face the small gathering, where the royal family and the Starks stood side by side, united in somber witness.

As the ceremony ended, Cersei approached, her expression carefully controlled as she looked at you. “You’re bound now,” she said softly, her tone a blend of pride and resignation. “Remember who you are.”

“Yes, Mother,” you replied, your voice equally soft.

Robert clapped a heavy hand on Robb’s shoulder, his usual joviality absent. “Take care of her, boy,” he said, his voice gruff. “A Stark and a Baratheon… it’s a good match. We may not have joy today, but… there’s still hope for the future.”

Robb nodded, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “I’ll care for her, Your Grace,” he replied, his voice steady. “With all that I am.”

The feast that followed was a subdued affair, the usual raucous laughter and cheerful toasts absent. Servants moved quietly between tables, and the guests spoke in hushed tones, their minds undoubtedly drifting back to the small, still figure of Bran, lying somewhere in the castle.

You sat beside Robb, his hand resting over yours, his touch a constant reminder of the bond you’d just sealed. Every so often, his gaze would drift toward the doors, a flicker of worry crossing his face. You knew his thoughts were with his brother, as were yours, and despite the vows you’d just taken, it felt wrong to celebrate when Bran’s fate remained so uncertain.

At one point, Robb turned to you, his expression earnest. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low so only you could hear. “This isn’t… this isn’t how I wanted our wedding to be.”

You shook your head, managing a faint smile as you met his gaze. “It’s all right, Robb. We’re together, and that’s enough for me.”

His hand tightened around yours, his gaze softening. “We’ll have our happiness, someday,” he promised, a quiet determination in his voice. “When Bran wakes, and the darkness lifts… we’ll find our joy.”

“I believe you,” you replied, and in that moment, you knew you meant it. Despite the sorrow, the grief, the uncertainty, there was a strength in Robb, a resilience that made you feel, perhaps for the first time, that Winterfell could truly be your home.

As the feast wound down, the guests dispersed, the weight of the day settling heavily upon the hall. Robb led you back to the godswood, where the faint rustle of leaves and the quiet murmur of the stream offered a small reprieve from the grief that had followed you through the day.

Standing together beneath the heart tree, his arms wrapped around you, Robb pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a quiet promise shared in the silence of the godswood.

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet strength. “You and I.”

And as you looked up into his eyes, you knew that this bond, forged in sorrow and solemnity, would endure. The North was your home now, and Robb Stark, your husband, was your future.

The morning was shrouded in a gray mist as the royal family prepared to depart Winterfell. The air was filled with the sounds of horses being saddled, carts being loaded, and the quiet murmur of farewells exchanged in the courtyard. Snow flurries danced in the air, a reminder of the North’s unyielding chill even as summer lingered.

You stood to the side, watching as your family gathered their belongings, preparing to leave Winterfell behind. There was a strange ache in your chest, a mixture of longing and relief. This was goodbye to the life you’d known in King’s Landing, the world of your childhood, yet a new life awaited here in the North, beside Robb.

Cersei approached you first, her face carefully composed, though her eyes softened as she took in your winter garb. She placed a gloved hand on your shoulder, her gaze searching. “Remember what I told you, Y/N,” she murmured, her voice as cold and steady as the northern air. “If ever you find yourself… unhappy, if you ever decide that this place is not what you hoped, send word to me. I’ll send a raven, and you’ll be back in King’s Landing before they know you’re gone.”

You nodded, sensing her quiet desperation beneath the words, but you held firm, offering her a small smile. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll remember.”

Cersei’s hand lingered for a moment before she withdrew, the mask of the queen settling back into place. She gave you a small, almost reluctant nod, and then turned to oversee her children, leaving you with a faint chill where her touch had been.

Next came Myrcella and Tommen, their young faces full of both excitement and sadness. Myrcella wrapped her arms around you tightly, her soft voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’ll miss you, sister. Winterfell is so far away.”

You hugged her back, smoothing her hair gently. “I’ll miss you too, Myrcella. But you’ll write to me, won’t you?”

She nodded eagerly, her green eyes shining as she pulled away, clutching your hand for a moment longer. Tommen, who had tried to appear brave, stepped forward, his lower lip quivering as he hugged you quickly. “Goodbye, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll keep practicing my sword skills, so when you come back, I’ll be strong enough to protect you.”

You smiled, ruffling his hair gently. “I look forward to it, Tommen. Be brave, all right?”

He nodded, his small shoulders squared as he stepped back beside Myrcella.

Joffrey approached you last among your siblings, his usual confidence subdued. He shifted awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and the ground before he managed, “Well… I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

“Yes,” you replied, studying him as he avoided your gaze. The cool prince of King’s Landing looked almost uncertain here, his usual arrogance dimmed by the somber air of Winterfell. “Take care of yourself, Joffrey.”

He nodded stiffly, and after a moment, he added, “And… don’t forget what Mother said.” There was something almost grudging in his tone, as though he struggled to convey the sentiment, but you recognized it for what it was—a reluctant offer of support, or at least the closest he could come to it.

“I won’t forget,” you replied softly. He turned quickly, as if he’d revealed more than he intended, rejoining the group with a faint flush to his cheeks.

Tyrion approached next, a warm smile lighting his face as he looked at you. “Well, dear niece, I would say you’re off on a grand adventure, but the North is hardly the place I’d choose for one,” he said with a chuckle. “Still, it seems you have found yourself well suited here.”

You smiled back, appreciating his humor in the midst of the farewells. “The North has its charms, Uncle. Though it might not be quite your idea of a vacation.”

He grinned, raising a brow. “No, certainly not. But I imagine you will do well here. If you need a witty letter or a visit, you know how to reach me.”

“Thank you, Uncle Tyrion,” you replied, and he gave you a brief but warm embrace, patting your shoulder as he stepped back.

Jaime came next, his armor gleaming even in the dull light of the Northern morning. He gave you a smirk, the familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “Princess,” he said, his tone teasing but affectionate. “Are you ready for a life of snow and solemn Starks?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’ll manage, Uncle. Robb has been a kind husband.”

He regarded you thoughtfully, a flicker of something protective crossing his features. “If you ever need anything—anyone here ever makes you unhappy—you know you can call on me.”

The sentiment in his words warmed you, and you squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Uncle. I’ll remember.”

He gave you a playful salute, though his eyes held genuine care, and then he joined Tyrion by the royal procession.

Finally, the moment came for the royal family to mount their horses. You stood to the side, your hand tucked in Robb’s as you watched your family prepare to leave. Cersei glanced back at you one last time, her eyes lingering on you, her expression unreadable, before she nodded and looked away. Tyrion offered you a small, reassuring smile, and Jaime gave you a wink, his usual swagger intact.

Lord Eddard, Sansa, and Arya moved to join the royal party as well. Sansa, looking composed and almost regal, met your gaze with a polite nod, her own excitement clear as she anticipated the wonders of King’s Landing. Arya, on the other hand, wore a scowl, clearly reluctant to leave her home and her brother. She cast one last, longing look back at Winterfell before clambering onto her horse beside her sister.

Jon Snow stood apart, dressed in black furs, his expression solemn as he prepared for his own departure to Castle Black. You caught his eye and gave him a small nod of acknowledgment. He returned it with a faint, respectful smile, his gaze lingering briefly on his family before he turned toward the road that led him to his new life beyond the Wall.

As the procession began to move, Robert bellowed one last farewell, his voice echoing through the courtyard as he raised a hand in farewell. “Farewell, Winterfell! Take care of my daughter!” he called, his gaze briefly meeting yours with a hint of fondness.

You stood beside Robb, his hand a steady weight in yours, grounding you as the distant echoes of horse hooves faded into the morning mist. You watched as your family disappeared down the winding path, the figures of your mother, father, and siblings slowly swallowed by the gray expanse of the North.

The silence that followed felt heavy, laden with both loss and anticipation. The final ties to your old life had been severed, and now, Winterfell stood as both your duty and your destiny. You took a deep breath, the cold Northern air filling your lungs as you turned to look at Robb.

He met your gaze, his face softened by a quiet strength. His hand still held yours, warm and reassuring, his grip firm yet gentle. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded, managing a small smile. “Yes… it’s just strange, knowing they’re gone.”

Robb gave a small nod of understanding, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I understand. But you’re not alone, Y/N. You have me. And this is your home now, as much as it is mine.”

His words, simple and steady, offered a strange comfort. You could feel the warmth of the Stark family around you—their quiet strength, their loyalty, and their acceptance. You had become a part of that now.

Turning back toward the castle, you took your place beside Robb, your hand still in his, as you watched Winterfell’s gates close behind the departing party. The future stretched out before you, uncertain yet filled with promise, and as Robb’s hand held yours, you knew you had chosen to meet it here, together.

The air hummed with hushed whispers and solemn faces of the men marking the grief that weighed on everyone’s hearts. Eddard Stark was dead. News of his execution had traveled through the ranks like wildfire, leaving an ache that no one seemed to be able to soothe. But for you, carrying Robb’s child, it had been an especially bitter blow. Lord Eddard had accepted you into his family with the quiet grace of a father, and his loss felt like a gaping wound.

You sat in your tent, hands resting gently on the swell of your belly, trying to steady your breathing as sorrow and dread churned within you. Outside, the camp was unusually quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of wind through the tents and the distant murmurs of soldiers preparing for the next move in the war that had now become personal.

The flap of your tent was suddenly pulled open with force, and you looked up, startled, to see Lady Catelyn storming in, her eyes blazing with fury. Her face, usually a mask of composure and strength, was contorted in anger, her voice shaking as she spoke.

“You,” she hissed, her tone low but brimming with rage. “How could I have let you stand beside my son, knowing what I know now?”

You stood, heart pounding, uncertain of what she meant. “Lady Catelyn… I don’t understand.”

“Oh, don’t you?” she snapped, stepping closer. “My husband is dead. My son lies broken in Winterfell. And every shred of evidence points to your family. Your Lannister family.”

The accusation cut through you like a knife, and you took a step back, your hand instinctively moving to protect your unborn child. “Lady Catelyn,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “I had nothing to do with this. I grieve for Lord Eddard as you do.”

But Catelyn’s eyes remained cold, unyielding. “You expect me to believe that? You, a daughter of Cersei Lannister? Do you think I’m blind? The girl who grew up under her mother’s shadow, who has every reason to hate the North. And now, conveniently, you’re here, married to my son—carrying his child, no less. How do I know you’re not feeding information back to your family, plotting against us even now?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. The accusation was too sharp, too unfair, and it struck deep. You felt the sting of tears but held them back, meeting her gaze with as much strength as you could muster.

“I am loyal to Robb. To the North,” you said, your voice shaking but steady. “I left my family for him. I would never betray him.”

But Catelyn was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. “Loyal? A Lannister knows nothing of loyalty,” she spat, each word laced with bitterness. “I was a fool to think I could ever trust you.”

Just then, Robb burst into the tent, his face tight with worry. “Mother!” he said, glancing between the two of you. “What’s going on?”

Catelyn turned to him, her expression softening only slightly. “Robb, she is a Lannister. Can’t you see what that means? Do you truly believe she isn’t still loyal to her family?”

Robb hesitated, his gaze flicking to you, and the silence that followed was more damning than anything he could have said. His face was conflicted, shadows under his eyes from the strain of war and loss. “Mother… I know what this looks like. But Y/N has stood by me. She’s my wife.”

You felt relief for a brief moment, but then he continued, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “But… given all that’s happened, perhaps it would be best if she gave us her word… to clear any doubts.”

His words struck you like a slap, and the shock left you breathless. “Clear any doubts?” you repeated, your voice trembling as the realization dawned. He didn’t fully trust you either. After everything you’d shared, after all you’d sacrificed, Robb still harbored doubts.

The silence in the tent was suffocating, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “You think… you think I would betray you? That I would harm your family?” you whispered, pain lacing every word. You took a step back, your hand resting protectively over your stomach. “After all we’ve been through, Robb, you still don’t trust me?”

Robb’s face softened, regret and anguish flickering in his eyes. “Y/N… it’s not that I don’t trust you. But with all that’s happened, can you blame us for being cautious?”

The heartbreak in his gaze only twisted the knife deeper. You felt your chest tighten, a surge of anger and betrayal rising within you. “I have stood by you through every trial, Robb. I left my family, my home, and everything I knew to be with you. And now, when I need you most, you doubt me?”

His jaw tightened, and he opened his mouth to respond, but you shook your head, the pain and betrayal overwhelming. Without another word, you turned and pushed past him, storming out of the tent, ignoring his calls for you to stop.

Outside, the cold air hit you like a wave, but it did nothing to numb the ache in your chest. You walked quickly, each step heavy with anger, with sorrow, with the weight of every accusation that had been hurled at you.

You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere felt better than being in that tent, surrounded by distrust and hurt. As you reached the edge of the camp, you stopped, pressing a hand to your stomach as you felt the first tear slip down your cheek.

The life inside you, the one that you had hoped would bring joy and unity, now felt like a painful reminder of the divide between you and the family you’d tried so hard to become part of.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and iron as Robb approached the makeshift cage where Jaime Lannister sat, bound and bloodied, his face shadowed but still holding that infuriating smirk that had become his signature. Grey Wind prowled by Robb’s side, a silent, menacing presence, his golden eyes trained intently on Jaime, teeth bared in a low, guttural growl that seemed to echo the barely restrained fury in Robb’s own gaze.

Jaime looked up as they approached, his smirk widening even as his wrists strained against the ropes that held him. “Ah, the Young Wolf,” he drawled, his voice tinged with amusement despite his bruises. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Robb’s expression was cold, his blue eyes piercing as he regarded his captive. “I thought it was time we spoke,” he said quietly, his tone even but laced with an edge.

Jaime leaned back against the bars of his cage, eyeing Robb with a sardonic tilt of his head. “And here I thought you’d just come to show off your impressive pet,” he said, gesturing toward Grey Wind. “Quite the beast, isn’t he?”

Grey Wind let out a low, warning growl, his fur bristling as he bared his teeth. Jaime held his gaze, unflinching, though a flicker of unease passed through his eyes before he looked back at Robb.

Robb took a slow step forward, crossing his arms as he stared down at Jaime. “I didn’t come here to discuss my direwolf.”

“No?” Jaime’s brows lifted in mock surprise. “Then what, pray tell, did you come here to discuss?”

Robb’s eyes narrowed, his jaw set in a hard line. “Your family,” he said simply, his voice steady.

Jaime’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something sharper in his gaze. “Ah,” he murmured, his voice softening as he looked up at Robb. “And by family, I assume you mean my sister… or perhaps my nieces and nephews?” His smirk returned, colder now. “How is she?”

Robb’s eyes flickered, a mixture of anger and something else lurking beneath the surface. “She’s as well as can be expected,” he replied curtly, his voice taut. “Given the circumstances.”

Jaime’s gaze sharpened, and he leaned forward slightly, studying Robb’s face with a hint of genuine interest. “You’re treating her well, then? Not as… shall we say, a prisoner?”

Robb’s lips tightened, his expression darkening. “She’s my wife, Lannister. And she’s carrying my child. I don’t treat her like a prisoner. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know who she is… or rather, whose she is.”

Jaime’s smirk froze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed Robb’s words. “Oh?” he said, his tone carefully casual. “And who, exactly, do you think she is?”

Robb’s gaze was unyielding, his voice low and dangerous. “We both know that she’s not Robert’s daughter,” he said coldly. “No more than Joffrey or Tommen or Myrcella are his.”

Jaime held his gaze, the amusement in his expression fading as his eyes turned steely. “That’s a dangerous thing to say, Stark. Especially with so many ears around.” He glanced meaningfully at Grey Wind, who was still growling softly, his hackles raised.

“I’m not afraid of the truth,” Robb replied, his voice firm. “I know exactly what she is. She’s a Lannister—a daughter of your house. And yet here she is, sworn to the North, carrying a Stark child.”

Jaime’s smirk returned, though there was a new edge to it, a cold amusement that glinted in his eyes. “So, you know,” he said slowly, as though savoring the words. “And yet… you keep her close. Tied to you.” He leaned forward, his gaze probing. “Tell me, Young Wolf, what exactly do you think you’ll do if she’s truly my daughter?”

Robb’s face hardened, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to control his anger. “If she’s truly your daughter, then I’ll do what I must to protect my family,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, each word carrying a barely restrained fury.

Jaime’s eyes sparkled with something close to amusement. “Protect your family, you say?” He chuckled darkly. “You mean protect them from her? Or perhaps… protect her from you?” His voice dropped, his tone mocking. “How convenient, isn’t it? You don’t trust her any more than your mother does.”

Robb’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his silence only fueling Jaime’s amusement. “That’s what I thought,” Jaime murmured, his gaze sharp as he studied Robb’s face. “You married her, tied her to you with vows and promises… but you don’t truly believe she’s yours, do you?”

Robb’s fists clenched, his knuckles white. “She’s my wife. That’s all that matters.”

Jaime laughed, the sound low and scornful. “Oh, Robb,” he said, his voice laced with derision. “If you really thought that, you wouldn’t be here, would you? You’d be with her now, assuring her of your loyalty. But instead, you’re here, questioning me, looking for answers that only she can give you.”

Robb’s face flushed with anger, but he held his ground, his gaze unwavering. “She swore herself to the North, to my family. That’s the only loyalty that matters now.”

“Is it?” Jaime asked softly, his voice a mocking whisper. “Or is that just what you tell yourself, so you don’t have to face the fact that she could never truly be yours?”

Robb’s face hardened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might strike Jaime, his fists clenched, his breathing harsh. But instead, he stepped back, his gaze cold and unyielding as he looked down at the man who had sown so much pain in his family.

“Whatever you think, Lannister,” he said, his voice a low growl, “it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one in chains, not her. And no matter what she is, she’s bound to the North now. She’s my wife. And the North protects its own.”

Jaime’s smirk returned, though it was tinged with a faint sadness as he leaned back against the bars of his cage. “If only you believed that,” he murmured, his gaze drifting off as though lost in thought. “If only she did too.”

Robb turned away, Grey Wind falling into step beside him, the direwolf’s growls fading as they left the cage. But Jaime’s words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind, each syllable a reminder of the doubts he’d tried so hard to bury.

You sat alone in your tent, the silence wrapping around you like a second skin. It was a silence you’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks—ever since the accusations, ever since Robb’s words had driven a wedge between you that neither of you had been able to bridge.

You’d barely spoken since then, passing each other with brief, polite nods, or exchanging only the most necessary words. It was as if a gulf had opened between you, an invisible barrier that neither of you knew how to cross. And yet, here you were, sitting in that quiet space, waiting.

Finally, you heard the soft rustle of footsteps outside, and Robb stepped into the tent, his face half-shadowed but unmistakably weary. He paused at the entrance, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, the familiar warmth that once lay between you seemed to flicker back to life. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the animosity and the silence in its wake.

He cleared his throat, shifting his weight as if he were unsure whether to approach or keep his distance. “I thought it was time we talked,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You nodded, your fingers tightening around the edges of the shawl draped over your shoulders. “It has been… a while,” you replied quietly, feeling the weight of the unspoken words settle heavily between you.

Robb stepped closer, his expression guarded, his gaze flicking to your stomach for the briefest of moments before returning to your face. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of regret. “I never wanted… distance between us.”

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “And yet, here we are,” you said softly, the hurt you’d buried these past weeks slipping into your tone.

Robb looked down, his fists clenching briefly before he took a deep breath. “I know you’ve been hurt by… everything that’s happened,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t want you to feel like… like you’re alone.”

“But I am alone, Robb,” you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them. “Every time you look at me, I see it in your eyes. You don’t trust me—not truly.”

Robb’s jaw tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his face as he shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” You met his gaze, your voice trembling with the emotions that had been bottled up for far too long. “I left everything behind for you. My family, my home, everything I knew. I made that choice because I believed that we could build something here together. But now…” You swallowed, struggling to keep your voice steady. “Now I feel like a stranger in my own life.”

He looked away, his shoulders tense, his hands curling into fists as he listened to your words. “You know the situation we’re in. Everything that’s happened—the war, the betrayal, the losses—it’s… complicated. I have to be careful, I have to protect my family, my men. I can’t just ignore—”

“Ignore what?” you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. “Ignore the fact that I’m a Lannister? That I have my mother’s blood in me?” The words tasted bitter on your tongue, and you forced yourself to take a steadying breath. “If that’s all you see, Robb, then maybe you never really saw me at all.”

The hurt in your words seemed to strike him, his face tightening as he finally looked back at you. “I do see you,” he said, his voice raw. “And that’s the hardest part, because I don’t want to doubt you. But I have to think of my people, of my family. And with everything that’s happened…”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his doubt settle over you like a shroud. “I thought you loved me,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

“I do love you,” he replied, a note of desperation in his voice. “But…”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze with a sadness that seemed to echo the empty spaces between you. “But you don’t trust me,” you finished quietly. “And without trust, what is love?”

He flinched, the pain in his expression undeniable, but he said nothing. The silence stretched between you, filled with the words neither of you could bring yourself to say. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his love for you and the loyalty he held to his family, his duty. And in that moment, you understood.

Robb loved you—there was no doubt of that. But his love was conditional, bound by the walls of mistrust that he couldn’t bring himself to tear down. And it hurt, more deeply than any wound you’d ever borne.

“You think I could betray you,” you said, your voice trembling. “You think I could harm the family I chose—the family I swore to protect. And you think that because of my blood.” You looked away, the bitterness swelling in your chest. “But blood is not the same as loyalty, Robb. And I would have thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

Robb took a step forward, his hand reaching out to you, but you pulled back, the pain too fresh, too raw. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret. “I never wanted this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” you replied, your voice hollow. “But here we are, standing on opposite sides of a war we never asked for, bound by promises that have become chains.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to die on his lips, leaving only the anguish in his gaze. For a moment, he looked as if he might reach for you again, but then he hesitated, his hand falling back to his side.

“I wish… things were different,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nodded, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you looked at him one last time. “So do I,” you replied, your voice breaking. “But wishing doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Without another word, you turned and left the tent, the cold air stinging your face as you stepped into the darkness. The weight of his mistrust settled heavily over you, suffocating the hope that you’d once held so close.

You walked through the camp, the sounds of soldiers and the crackle of fires fading into the background as you tried to process the reality of your situation. Robb might love you, but that love was fractured, shadowed by doubts he couldn’t seem to overcome. And for the first time, you realized that perhaps… you could never truly belong here, no matter how hard you tried.

As you looked out over the camp, the fires casting flickering shadows over the tents, you felt the beginnings of a resolve take root within you. If Robb couldn’t trust you, then you would have to trust yourself. Because at the end of the day, that might be all you had left.

And as much as it hurt, you knew that you couldn’t keep waiting for him to see you—not if he refused to look beyond the name you’d left behind.

The camp was quiet as you made your way through the rows of tents, the early morning mist clinging to the air. The soldiers were still sleeping or stirring groggily, barely aware of your presence. You walked with purpose, your mind a whirlwind of doubt, hurt, and uncertainty. Robb’s mistrust weighed heavily on you, and despite all you’d given up to be here, you felt more alone than ever.

At the far edge of the camp, beneath the watchful gaze of guards, lay the makeshift cage where Jaime Lannister was held. He looked up as you approached, his sharp eyes glinting with curiosity and a touch of amusement, even in the dim light of dawn. Shackles bound his wrists and ankles, yet he held himself with a casual arrogance that only Jaime Lannister could muster in such a situation.

“Well, well,” he drawled, leaning back against the bars with a lazy smile. “Look who’s come to visit.”

You folded your arms, keeping your expression guarded. “You’re not exactly in a position to be smug, Uncle.”

“Oh, but I am,” he replied smoothly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. “You wouldn’t be here unless something was bothering you. And I’m willing to wager it has to do with a certain Stark boy.”

You stiffened, unwilling to let him see how deeply his words affected you. But Jaime was perceptive, and the small flicker of pain in your eyes did not escape him. He tilted his head, the lazy smirk giving way to something more serious, a flicker of understanding.

“Let me guess,” he said softly, his voice losing its mocking edge. “Robb’s questioning your loyalty. Treating you like you’re as much a prisoner here as I am.”

You looked away, the truth of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaime leaned forward, his eyes searching yours with a surprising amount of empathy. “You gave up everything for him, didn’t you? Left your family, your title, everything you knew. And still, he doesn’t trust you.”

You clenched your fists, a surge of resentment rising within you. “He says he loves me, but… love without trust? What kind of love is that?”

Jaime let out a soft, bitter laugh. “It’s the kind that makes you feel like you’re suffocating, like no matter what you do, you’ll never be enough.” He paused, his gaze softening as he studied your face. “You and I… we’re not so different, you know. Both bound by loyalty to families who would see us suffer before they’d let us be happy.”

You frowned, struggling to reconcile the man before you with the image of the arrogant Kingslayer you’d grown up around. “You speak of loyalty, yet you killed your king. You betrayed your own oath.”

Jaime’s smile faded, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—a hint of pain, of anger, of regret. “I did what I had to do,” he said quietly, his voice hardening. “Some oaths are worth breaking when the price is too high.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in as you considered your own situation. Jaime was a man who had been defined by the choices he made, choices that had earned him scorn, hatred, and the infamous name of Kingslayer. But beneath the arrogance and the sneer, there was a man who had made those choices for reasons only he could understand.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Because I see what’s happening to you,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “They’ll turn you into a prisoner of their war, of their distrust. And you’re too much your mother’s daughter to let that happen, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, his words striking a nerve. The mention of your mother brought a rush of conflicting emotions—loyalty, resentment, and a longing for the life you’d left behind.

Jaime’s voice softened, almost conspiratorial. “You could go back, you know. Back to King’s Landing. To your family. You wouldn’t be bound to this endless winter, this… constant doubt.”

“I chose this,” you replied, though the conviction in your voice was weaker than you’d hoped. “I chose Robb. I chose to be here.”

“But does he truly want you here?” Jaime’s question was gentle, almost pitying, and it cut through you like a knife. “Or does he see you as a pawn in his game, a piece that’s convenient when it suits him and expendable when it doesn’t?”

Your heart ached as his words struck closer to the truth than you wanted to admit. You thought back to all the moments Robb had hesitated, the doubt in his eyes, the subtle distance that had grown between you. It was as if no matter how much you tried, you could never truly be a part of this world.

Jaime watched you in silence, his gaze sharp and perceptive. “You’re not meant to be here,” he said softly. “You don’t belong among these people who see you as an outsider. You belong with your family, where your blood means something.”

You looked down, your hands trembling as you grappled with the reality of his words. You had tried so hard to be loyal, to be the wife Robb needed, to make a life in the North. But Jaime’s words stirred something within you—a reminder of the life you’d left behind, of the ties that had bound you long before you’d ever heard of Winterfell.

Jaime leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Let me go,” he said, his tone urgent. “Free me, and I’ll take you back to King’s Landing myself. Back to Cersei, to your brothers and sister. To a place where you’re loved, where you’re trusted.”

You looked up, your heart pounding as his words hung heavy in the air. There was a gleam of determination in Jaime’s gaze, an invitation—a promise. He was offering you a way out, a chance to escape the prison you’d unwittingly found yourself in, a chance to return to the world you’d left behind.

But even as the temptation washed over you, doubts clouded your mind. Could you truly abandon everything you’d chosen? Could you betray the family you’d tried so hard to make your own?

Jaime watched you, his gaze unwavering, his expression unreadable. “What will it be, Y/N?” he murmured, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the silence. “Are you truly one of them… or are you still one of us?”

The question lingered in the air, the choice hanging heavy between you. And as you met Jaime’s piercing gaze, the weight of his words pressed down on you, leaving you teetering on the edge of a decision that could change everything.

The tension in the war tent was crackling as Robb gathered with his bannermen, discussing the latest strategies and plans for their campaign. The low light from the candles cast shadows over maps spread out across the table, each marked with strategic positions and paths. Robb stood at the head of the table, his gaze focused and intense, while you stood behind one of the lords, quietly listening as the men argued and discussed. You felt the familiar weight of being an outsider, especially in moments like these.

Just as Lord Karstark was outlining a possible maneuver, the flap of the tent burst open, and a guard rushed in, breathless and wide-eyed, his face pale. “My king!” he called out, his voice filled with urgency.

Robb straightened, his brow furrowing. “What is it?” he asked, his tone sharp.

The guard hesitated, glancing between Robb and the lords gathered around him before finally finding the courage to speak. “The Kingslayer… he’s gone. He’s escaped.”

A stunned silence fell over the tent, and every eye turned to Robb, who stiffened, his face darkening with shock and fury. His gaze immediately swung toward you, the unspoken accusation in his eyes cutting like a blade. For a brief, terrible moment, you felt the weight of that suspicion settle over you, his silent question echoing in the depths of your heart: Did you have a hand in this?

But before either of you could say a word, the guard continued, his voice shaky. “It was Lady Catelyn, my lord. She… she freed him.”

The room erupted into an uproar, the lords shouting in outrage and disbelief. Lord Karstark, his face twisted in fury, slammed his fist onto the table. “Lady Stark? She freed the man who killed my sons? This is madness!”

“Your mother’s gone too far, Robb!” Lord Umber growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. “She’s betrayed us all, and she’s released the only valuable bargaining piece we had.”

The tent filled with accusations and anger, each man speaking over the other, their voices rising in a chaotic swell of fury and disbelief. Robb stood in silence, his face pale as he absorbed the news. He looked stricken, a storm of emotions brewing in his gaze—shock, anger, and betrayal, all flashing across his face in an instant.

You lowered your gaze, the sting of his earlier suspicion still fresh in your heart. Despite knowing that the truth had been revealed, Robb’s silence, his initial reaction, lingered like an unhealed wound. The fact that his first instinct had been to turn to you, to wonder if you had betrayed him, left a bitter taste in your mouth.

One of the bannermen, his voice loud and furious, called out, “Your mother’s actions could cost us everything, Robb. If we lose because of this, it’ll be blood on her hands.”

Robb’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white as he struggled to maintain control. “Enough!” he shouted, his voice ringing out above the chaos. Silence fell as the lords turned to him, each of them brimming with anger and frustration.

Robb took a deep, steadying breath, his gaze hard and unyielding as he looked around the room. “I understand your anger. Lady Stark’s actions were… unexpected.” He hesitated, his voice thick with barely suppressed fury. “But she is still my mother. We will not turn on her.”

Lord Karstark, his face a mask of bitter rage, stepped forward. “My king, with all due respect, this isn’t just about you or your mother. This is about justice. Your father’s justice, which she’s undermined by letting that… that Kingslayer walk free.”

Robb’s gaze flicked to you for the briefest of moments, and you could still see the shadow of doubt lingering there, a remnant of his initial suspicion. The silent accusation was gone, but the sting remained, a reminder of the fracture between you that no apology could fully mend.

You kept your gaze lowered, refusing to meet his eyes. The anger of the lords and Robb’s initial reaction had cemented a sense of isolation within you, a quiet resignation that you might never truly be trusted here. Not as a Lannister. Not as his wife.

Lord Umber turned to Robb, his voice softer but no less intense. “What will you do, then? How will you salvage this?”

Robb’s jaw clenched, the weight of responsibility bearing down on him. “I’ll send men after Jaime,” he said, his voice cold and resolute. “I’ll do everything I can to bring him back.”

The lords muttered amongst themselves, some nodding, others still simmering with anger. Robb turned to the guard. “Have all patrols doubled. Every man we can spare will search for Jaime Lannister. He won’t make it far.”

The guard nodded, bowing quickly before leaving the tent. The lords watched Robb carefully, their gazes sharp and unforgiving. They were looking to him to make a decision, to show strength, but you could see the toll it was taking on him.

In the charged silence that followed, Robb turned to face his bannermen fully, his expression steeled. “I know this seems like a betrayal,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a slight tremor beneath the calm. “But we can’t let this tear us apart. We’ll recover from this. We have to recover from this, or we’ve already lost.”

The lords murmured their reluctant assent, though the bitterness in their gazes remained. As they began to file out, some cast sidelong glances at you, their expressions a mix of suspicion and disdain. It was clear that for many of them, a Lannister among the Starks would always be viewed as a potential threat.

Finally, the tent cleared, leaving you alone with Robb. The silence was heavy, his back turned to you as he stared at the maps on the table, his hands gripping the edges tightly. His knuckles were white, and you could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the quiet fury simmering just beneath the surface.

You took a tentative step forward, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Robb…”

He didn’t turn, his voice low and raw. “You knew, didn’t you?”

The accusation stung, and you flinched, swallowing hard. “I didn’t know she would do this. I only spoke to Jaime once—”

“You spoke to him?” He turned, his eyes blazing, the hurt and betrayal clear in his gaze. “After everything, you went to him?”

“I went to speak to him, yes,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “But I didn’t know she would let him go. I swear it, Robb.”

For a moment, he looked away, his expression torn, and you could see the struggle in his eyes as he fought to reconcile his love for you with the doubts that had festered between you. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looked back at you.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he murmured, his voice laced with exhaustion. “My father is dead, my brother is crippled, and now my mother has freed the one man who could have given us leverage. And then… there’s you.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushing it away. “I’m not your enemy, Robb. I wanted this to work. I wanted to be part of your family, of this… but I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough.”

He looked at you, his expression softened by the faintest glimmer of regret, but the doubt still lingered, a shadow that neither of you could banish. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I don’t know how to trust you.”

The ache in your chest deepened, and for a moment, the distance between you felt insurmountable. You nodded, turning away from him, feeling the weight of all that had gone unspoken settling heavily on your shoulders.

In the silence, you left the tent, leaving Robb alone with his doubts, the wound between you left unhealed and festering, the echoes of mistrust lingering in the cold Northern air.

The night was cold as Robb stormed into his mother’s tent, his face set in a hardened mask of fury and disbelief. The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight danced on the canvas walls, giving his expression an almost spectral intensity. Catelyn sat at a small table, her face pale but composed, as if she’d been waiting for this confrontation.

She looked up as he entered, her eyes steady, but Robb could see the quiet resolve and sadness in her gaze. She rose, meeting his gaze head-on, even as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions brewing within him.

"Why?" His voice was low, laced with betrayal and anger. "Why did you do it, Mother?"

Catelyn’s expression didn’t falter. She clasped her hands together, taking a deep breath. "I did it for your sisters, Robb. For Sansa and Arya."

His jaw clenched, and he took a step closer, his eyes blazing with a barely restrained fury. "You let the Kingslayer go. You released the one man who could give us leverage against the Lannisters, who could help us end this war. You went against me, against your king. All for what? A promise from Jaime Lannister?”

Catelyn’s face softened, but she held her ground. "You weren’t there, Robb. You didn’t see Sansa’s letter. You didn’t hear the desperation in her words. She’s trapped in that viper’s nest, held by the very people who murdered your father." Her voice wavered slightly, though her gaze remained resolute. "And Arya… we don’t even know where she is. If there’s a chance that Jaime’s freedom could bring them home, I had to take it."

Robb shook his head, disbelief etched in every line of his face. "A chance? You traded our best leverage for a chance? And what of the lives lost in this war? The men who followed me, who died believing we’d bring justice to our family, that we’d make the Lannisters answer for what they did?”

Catelyn’s expression faltered, a flicker of pain crossing her face. "Do you think I’ve forgotten that?" she whispered. "Do you think I’ve forgotten the men we’ve lost, the sons and fathers who’ve given their lives for this cause? But they did it for more than just vengeance, Robb. They did it to protect our family, to bring your sisters home. And if freeing Jaime means I have to make sacrifices, then so be it.”

"Those sacrifices weren’t yours to make," Robb shot back, his voice rising. "You put everything at risk. You put us at risk. Your sons, your people, our cause… all of it thrown away for a promise that Jaime Lannister might help us? Did you think of what it would cost us if he betrays us?”

Catelyn’s composure slipped, and her voice rose in response, tinged with frustration and sorrow. "And if I did nothing? What then, Robb? Leave Sansa in the lion’s den, to suffer at their mercy? Let Arya’s fate remain unknown, just a shadow in our minds? I couldn’t sit idly by, not when there was even a glimmer of hope."

"Hope?” Robb’s voice was sharp, his gaze unyielding. "Hope that the man who threw Bran from a tower, who killed Karstark’s sons, would suddenly grow a conscience? Did you even stop to think of the betrayal that would bring upon us all? Or was that outweighed by a promise Jaime made while bound in a cage?”

The words hung between them, thick with accusation, and Catelyn’s expression softened with regret, but she did not back down. "You weren’t there, Robb," she repeated, her voice quiet but firm. "Sansa is my daughter, your sister, and I will do anything—anything—to bring her back to us."

Robb’s face twisted with a mix of anger and pain, and he took a step back, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to contain his emotions. "And what of me, Mother? Do I mean so little to you that you’d defy me, ignore my command, and risk everything we’ve fought for?”

Catelyn’s eyes softened, her own voice breaking as she spoke. "You are my son, Robb. My firstborn. I would do anything for you, you must know that." She took a step toward him, her voice pleading. "But you’re also a king now, and kings must make hard choices. I didn’t do this to defy you—I did it because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing any more of my children.”

Robb’s gaze was hard, but a flicker of understanding, of shared pain, crossed his face. “I am a king, yes. And as a king, I have to answer to my bannermen, to the people who follow me. And now they question me because of what you’ve done. They’re angry, furious that you would release the man who killed their kin. I cannot lead if my own family undermines me.”

Catelyn’s face fell, and for a moment, she looked vulnerable, her strength faltering. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Robb. But as a mother, I couldn’t stand by any longer. The Lannisters hold so much power over us… they hold our children, our family, and they’ve taken so much from us already. I just… I wanted to bring some of them back.”

Robb’s expression softened for the briefest of moments, a flicker of sympathy breaking through the storm of his anger. But he quickly steeled himself, his face hardening once more as he took a step back, putting distance between them.

"Do you realize what you’ve done?" he asked quietly, his voice cold. "You’ve cost us our advantage. You’ve sown doubt among my men, our allies. You’ve put everything I’ve built at risk, all for a promise that might mean nothing.”

Catelyn’s gaze wavered, but she held his gaze, her face etched with sorrow. "Then I will bear that burden," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I will live with the consequences of my actions, Robb. But I did what I thought was right, as a mother.”

Robb’s eyes filled with pain, and he shook his head, his voice raw. "Right or wrong, you’ve betrayed me, Mother. And I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and final, and Catelyn looked away, her expression crumbling as the weight of his accusation settled over her. She took a shaky breath, struggling to hold back tears, but she did not try to defend herself further. She simply nodded, accepting his words, knowing that nothing she could say would change his mind.

Robb turned, his face as cold as the Northern wind, and without another word, he left the tent, leaving his mother behind, her shoulders slumped as she sank into a chair, the quiet grief settling over her like a shroud.

Outside, Robb took a deep breath, the anger and sorrow swirling within him, leaving him feeling hollow and adrift. He had lost his father, he had lost his trust in his wife, and now… he had lost faith in his own mother.

And as he stood alone in the darkness, he wondered how much more he could lose before there was nothing left of him at all.

The morning sun was a pale, cold light filtering through the muted haze that settled over the camp. It did little to warm the chill that seemed to grip Robb as he strode toward the war tent, the echoes of the previous night’s confrontation with his mother weighing heavily on him. His heart felt raw, torn between duty and family, and now he had to face his men, men who questioned his leadership, men who waited for him to set things right.

Inside the war tent, his bannermen were already gathered around the table, their expressions grim and expectant. Lord Karstark was there, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with anger, while Lord Umber stood with his arms crossed, his face hard and unyielding. They turned as Robb entered, offering him a nod of respect, but the tension in the room was palpable.

Robb took his place at the head of the table, looking out at the men who had pledged their loyalty to him, who had sacrificed for him. He could feel their resentment simmering, the weight of his mother’s betrayal casting a shadow over his authority. He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he prepared to address the situation.

“We’ve lost Jaime Lannister,” he began, his voice firm, though he kept his tone measured. “I won’t pretend that this isn’t a setback. We lost a valuable bargaining piece, and I understand your anger. But we cannot allow this to break us.”

Lord Karstark scoffed, his voice filled with bitterness. “A setback? Your mother has let the very man who murdered my sons slip through our fingers. This is more than a mere setback, Robb.”

Robb clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his composure. “I understand, Lord Karstark. I share your anger. But Jaime Lannister is gone. Wasting time on anger won’t bring him back.”

Lord Umber leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Then perhaps it’s time we consider other options, my king.”

Robb’s gaze flicked to him, his brows furrowing. “What other options?”

Umber exchanged a look with Karstark, then turned back to Robb, his expression calculating. “The Kingslayer may be gone, but we still have… another Lannister close at hand.”

Robb’s heart stilled, a flash of unease tightening his chest. “What do you mean?”

Karstark’s mouth twisted into a grim smile, his voice cold and unfeeling. “Your wife, my king. She carries the name Lannister in her blood as much as the Kingslayer did. If you want to draw Tywin Lannister out, what better way than to use her as bait?”

Robb’s face paled, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of what his bannermen were suggesting. “You’re speaking of my wife,” he said, his voice low, dangerously quiet. “The mother of my child.”

Lord Karstark shrugged, unperturbed. “She’s also a Lannister. Do you think Tywin would stand idly by if he knew his granddaughter is in our hands?”

Lord Umber nodded, his tone practical, almost cold. “Think about it, Robb. This is war. Your personal feelings can’t come before the needs of the North. If using the girl could give us an advantage, then we should consider it.”

Robb’s fists slammed onto the table, his face contorted with anger as he looked from one man to the next, his voice shaking with fury. “She is not a pawn. She is my wife. She is carrying my child. And you would suggest using her like a bargaining chip?”

The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but Lord Karstark remained defiant, his gaze unwavering. “With respect, my king, this isn’t a game. We’re fighting for our survival, for justice. If we have a weapon we can use against the Lannisters, we should use it.”

Robb’s voice was ice, a low growl that cut through the room. “No. I will not hear any more talk of this. My wife is under my protection, and she is a part of this family, as much as any of you.” He turned his gaze to each of them, his eyes fierce. “If any of you even consider acting on this suggestion, I will see it as an act of treason.”

Silence fell, the men visibly taken aback by the ferocity in Robb’s voice, but Karstark refused to back down entirely. “You’re a young man, Robb,” he said, his tone bitter. “A young man who has let his heart cloud his judgment. War requires sacrifice. You cannot afford to place one person above the entire North.”

Robb’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with barely restrained rage. “I know the cost of war, Lord Karstark. I’ve buried men I’ve called my brothers, seen lives destroyed, families torn apart. But I will not sacrifice my wife and my child on the altar of your vengeance.”

Lord Umber’s voice softened, though there was still a note of caution. “We’re only suggesting that we consider all options, my lord. No one wants to see harm come to your lady, but if we’re to win this war, we need every advantage we can get.”

Robb took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger as he looked around at his bannermen, his voice tight with restraint. “I understand the risks. But we will find another way. I will not allow my wife to be used as a tool in this war. This discussion is over.”

The lords fell silent, some looking away, others muttering under their breath, but none dared to argue further. Robb could feel the weight of their disappointment, their doubt. But he stood firm, unwilling to compromise on this matter, no matter the cost.

Lord Karstark shook his head, his voice a quiet mutter filled with disdain. “You’re a fool if you think you can win this war with a conscience, Robb. This is a mistake, and it may well be the death of us all.”

Robb’s gaze hardened, his eyes like steel as he met Karstark’s glare. “Then so be it,” he replied, his voice unyielding. “I’d rather face death with honor than live knowing I betrayed the people I swore to protect.”

The lords exchanged glances, some nodding in reluctant acceptance, while others looked away, their expressions a mix of anger and disappointment. Robb could feel the rift growing between him and his men, the chasm widening with each hard choice he made. But he knew, in his heart, that this was the right decision.

As the bannermen began to file out of the tent, Robb stood in silence, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he struggled to steady himself. The weight of his choice pressed heavily on him, and he felt the creeping isolation that came with command, the loneliness of standing by one’s principles in a world that demanded compromise.

When the last of the lords had gone, he let out a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping as the anger drained from him, leaving only the ache of weariness in its place. He had chosen to protect you, to keep his promise, but at what cost? His bannermen’s loyalty was waning, and the unity he had once relied on was beginning to fracture.

Yet he knew, as surely as he knew the North’s bitter winters, that he could not—would not—allow harm to come to you. Not even for the sake of his war.

...

The early morning mist clung to the ground as you stood in the quiet edge of the camp, saddling your horse with hands that trembled only slightly. The air was cold, stinging your skin, but it felt like a balm to the storm raging in your heart. Each buckle, each strap you tightened, was a silent answer to the questions you hadn’t been able to voice aloud. You knew this wasn’t a decision that could be made lightly, but after days—weeks—of silence, mistrust, and feeling like a stranger in your own life, it was a decision you had to make.

The quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps behind you, and you paused, a chill running through you that had nothing to do with the air. Turning slowly, you saw Robb standing there, his face pale, his expression etched with disbelief and something close to panic. Behind him, at a distance, Catelyn had stopped, her gaze fixed on you with a mix of sorrow and regret.

“What are you doing?” Robb’s voice was low, strained, as if he could barely bring himself to ask the question.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you turned to face him. “I’m preparing my horse, Robb. I think it’s time… I think it’s best if I leave.”

The words seemed to hit him like a blow, his face paling further as he took a step closer, his voice shaking with urgency. “You’re leaving? But… you’re heavy with child. You can’t just ride out like this.”

Your hand instinctively moved to rest on the curve of your belly, a reminder of the life growing inside you, of the love you had once shared so freely with the man standing before you. “I have no other choice,” you replied, your voice quiet but firm. “You doubt me, Robb. You’ve doubted me for weeks, maybe even longer. I can’t stay where I’m not trusted. Not like this.”

Robb’s expression crumbled, and he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours. “I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered, his voice thick with desperation. “I know… I know I’ve made mistakes, that I’ve let my own fears blind me. But please, don’t do this.”

You looked away, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. “How can I stay, Robb? How can I raise our child in a place where my loyalty is constantly questioned? Where every glance feels like a reminder that I don’t belong?”

Robb’s hand found yours, his grip gentle but firm as he held you close. “Because I love you,” he said softly, his voice filled with a raw vulnerability you hadn’t heard in weeks. “I love you more than I can say. And I know I’ve been a fool. But… please, don’t punish me for that by leaving.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and the anguish in his eyes struck deep, stirring memories of the love you’d shared—the warmth, the laughter, the quiet moments of solace and comfort that had once filled your life together. But those memories felt distant now, like echoes of a life that had slowly slipped away.

“I’m not punishing you, Robb,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m trying to protect myself. And our child. I can’t… I can’t keep waiting for you to trust me when every day feels like a test I’m doomed to fail.”

Robb shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “No. You’re not doomed to fail. You’re the woman I chose, the woman I love. And… you’re the mother of my child.” His voice broke, and he looked down, swallowing hard before meeting your gaze again, his eyes filled with tears. “Please… don’t take that away from me.”

The words hung between you, heavy with the weight of everything you’d both lost, everything you still had yet to say. You could feel his desperation, the silent plea in his gaze, begging you to stay, to forgive, to give him one last chance. Behind him, Catelyn watched silently, her face shadowed with regret and sadness, but she said nothing, merely bearing witness to the fracture between you and her son.

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand against yours, the familiar strength and comfort you’d once found in his touch. But there was still the lingering ache, the wound of betrayal that hadn’t yet healed, the knowledge that even now, doubt lay between you like a dark chasm.

“I don’t know if love is enough, Robb,” you whispered, opening your eyes to meet his gaze, your voice trembling. “Love without trust… what kind of life would that be for us? For our child?”

Robb’s face crumpled, and he took a shaky breath, his voice raw. “Then let me earn your trust back,” he said, his words filled with a quiet, desperate hope. “Give me that chance. Stay. Please.”

The silence stretched between you, the decision hanging heavy in the air. You looked at him, at the man you’d once given your heart to, the man who had given you hope, love, a new life. But now… now there was so much pain, so much mistrust, that you couldn’t tell if those promises still held the same weight.

Your gaze drifted to the road beyond the camp, the path that would lead you back to your family, to the life you’d left behind. And then back to Robb, his eyes filled with silent pleading, his hand still holding yours, a reminder of everything you’d built together, of the future you’d dreamed of.

And as you stood there, torn between two worlds, the decision loomed, uncertain and unresolved, like the misty dawn stretching before you, waiting for you to choose which path you would take.

There will be another part with the ending if Y/N decides to stay. 😉

[spxllcxstxr]

Protected • R.S

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hi!! Can I request a angst/fluff with robb stark & the prompt: I’m going to protect you. Thank you so much :))) — anon

Summary: The aftermath of Ned Stark’s death

Warnings: canon character death sprinkled with a wee bit of canon divergence?, grieving, reader wears a dress and is referred to as wife (no pronouns used)

Word Count: 769 (i'm so sorry for the short length lmao)

A.N: first time writing Robb! i actually really like this ngl, hope you enjoy!

•

“That boy is going to ruin his sword.” Lady Catelyn mutters from beside you, her eyes trained on her eldest son on the edge of the tree line. Her hands fidget with the end of her braid.

Your own eyes gaze out to see your betrothed, hacking away at a tree stump, his grunts echoing throughout the silent camp.

News of Ned Stark’s horrid death spread through the camp quickly only hours prior, and the men had hid in their tents to mourn the Lord of Winterfell. It was a gloomy day, appropriately reflecting the mood of the solemn North. The clouds were heavy and grey, the air still smelling of the earlier rain.

Sighing, you watch Robb hit anything within arms reach. His moves are erratic, it's obvious even from this distance. Your teeth tease your bottom lip uneasily.

“I should go to him…” Lady Catelyn sighs, her lips tilted down into a frown.

Your hand rests on her shoulder, stopping the older woman from moving. “My Lady, you just lost your husband…go grieve. I will talk to Robb.”

Lady Catelyn nods, her eyes vacant as she turns towards her own tent. You watch her leave, making sure she gets to her destination safely before trudging through the mud to your betrothed.

The mud clings to your nice shoes, and at this point you don’t bother hiking your skirts up to avoid the filth below you. Your eyes stay trained on Robb, his forceful movement never ceasing.

A few feet away from him, you hear his grunts of anguish and frustration, his tunic dotted with sweat. You let his take one more swing at the rotting stump before you cough to gain his attention.

“Robb, I think that is enough…”

Robb freezes before slowly turning to face you. His auburn curls untamed and his blue eyes burning brighter with rage. You’ve never seen him like this at all, not when he first heard his father was taken prisoner in King’s Landing, nor when he discovered that someone had sent assassins to kill Bran. Your eyes widen at the state of your betrothed, fidgeting in place. He pants heavily as he looks at you.

“I’ll kill them! I swear to every god out there, I will kill the Lannisters for what they have done!” Robb seethes, his face red with anger. “It is only what those murderous pricks deserve.”

He flings his sword down, taking deep ragged breaths. You don’t flinch at his uncharacteristic anger, instead you inch closer to your betrothed.

All at once, as if the adrenaline drains out of him, Robb falls to his knees, his blue eyes trained on the mud beneath your feet as they glimmer with tears.

You drop down with him, taking his head in your hands, leaning your forehead against your lover’s.

“Oh darling…” You whisper, watching the grief take over his features. Your heart breaks seeing him so vulnerable.

“My father is dead,” He sobs, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. “They have to pay for what they have done.”

“They will, Robb, they will suffer for their cruelty towards the North," You tell him softly, lifting your head to place a delicate kiss on his forehead.

Robb glances up as well, his tears subsiding. “And I will protect you, my dearest. No Lannister will ever harm you,” There is a quick burst of fire behind those usually cool eyes. “they would not dare.”

“Robb—“ Your fingertips brush over his stubble.

“They have taken my sisters hostage and they have killed my father, but they will not take my wife from me.”

Heat creeps up your neck at his passionate words. You and Robb had not yet been wed but hearing his call you his wife causes you to shiver.

“I swear it to you, my love,” Robb continues, taking your hands in his rough hands, squeezing them tightly between your two closely crouched bodies. “They will not touch you.”

“I believe you, darling, I do.” You reply lightly, squeezing back, attempting to convey how much trust and love you’re filled with for him.

The sky seems to lighten, clouds parting ever so slightly to let the sun peek through enough to shine down on your camp. The moist air of the Riverlands clings onto your skin as the few rays of sun beats down on your exposed skin making your position unbearable.

Wordlessly, you and Robb rise, chins up despite the situation that just occurred. Your hands hold onto his arm as the two of you, side by side, walk back into the center of camp, ready for war.

•

[entitled-fangirl]

I’m procrastinating doing my hmwk that’s due today so lemme get another poll here

These are all from my current drafts :) (Little Doe series not included hehe)

..............................................

Virgin!Battinson x girlfriend!reader (SMUT)

Bruce's nerves were at an all time high. You'd think his hand would crush your thigh with the grip he has on you. His other hand is on the steering wheel as he drives.

"You look dashing," you say to try to ease the tension. And you mean it. You rarely get to see him in a suit anymore.

He squeezes your leg as a 'thank you.' 

It takes a while, but you finally get a verbal response. "You look-" he hesitates, deciding what to say, "gorgeous."

He'd always liked that dress on you. Simple. Black. 

"I know you're only going to try to find the Riddler, but please, please avoid confrontation."

By the way his top lip quirked up, you know he's amused. "I'll do my best."

"Bruce," you scold. "You're not Batman today. Not right now."

He sighs and lets his smile fall. "Alright." He agrees, but you both now that's far from the truth.

2. Jace x wife!reader (FLUFF maybe light smut)

He smiled, the toothy one that made her head go fuzzy. The one where he was happy beyond reason. "What?" He asked as his head tilted.

She gave him a little shrug, going back to choosing dresses.

"No," he laughed, pressing his chest against her back and peeking over her shoulder. "Tell me." His hands ran up her sides, pulling giggles from her lips.

"Jace!" She laughed, attempting to pry his fingers away to no avail. He tugged her further against him, and wrapped his arms strongly around her waist. He was insistent on getting an answer.

"My pretty wife has decided to make me ask what she was thinking. It's awful," he teased. "I'd rather she just say it."

It felt taboo for a husband and wife to have such fun together. But the two were beyond tired of 'taboo' things. Targaryens often walked the line of acceptable and taboo, more wandering towards the latter.

"I think of you as handsome, is all," she giggled. "Am I not allowed to?"

"How caring," he mused. "My wife. Melting over the sight of me in riding gear."

3. Cregan Stark x ill wife!reader (ANGST and FLUFF)

His hand soothed over her forehead, brushing the hair away. Sweat had built up on her skin, gleaming in the light. "You should rest, my love. I can manage one meal without you."

"No," she reassured. "I feel fine."

She didn't feel fine. She hadn't felt fine for a few days now. She had waken up tired and had to focus on holding her head up at the table as they supped now.

"Wife," he softly reprimanded. "Your eyes are closing as we speak."

"'S just a chill. It will pass."

He sighed. He looked to the nearest servant. "Have this brought to our chambers, yes?"

She wanted to fight against his words but truthfully she was relieved. 

"Get up," he chided. "C'mon." He offered his hands to her as he stepped around her chair. 

…

That was yesterday, and now the morning had come. Cregan was worried. 

4. Ned Stark x second wife!reader (FLUFF & ANGST)

She worried that maybe they hated her.

The Stark children hated her.

Ned's hand brushed up and down her spine as she laid on his chest. He noticed her overactive mind. "You alright?" He asked softly.

She hummed, tucking her face into his neck.

He chuckled at the tickling breath. "Don't do that."

She let out a laugh too and rolled onto her back. "It's just… the children."

His brows furrowed immediately, her words catching his full attention. "What of them?"

"We've been married for a few moons now. I just… I haven't connected to them as well as I'd hoped."

She'd connected quite well to Jon, Sansa as well. Bran and Rickon were still young boys and connecting to them had been easy. 

It was Robb and Arya.

Robb had been close to his mother until her death, and Y/n knew she could never replace that relationship. But he hadn't even given her a chance. It hurt.

As for Arya, she had no idea what to do.

So now, in bed, she ranted all of that to Ned. He listened intently, keeping her close as she neared crying over everything.

5. (AK) Jason Todd x past childhood love!reader (ANGST)

"Come look at this," Bruce ordered.

Y/n pushed off the desk, her chair rolling over to Bruce. "Wh-" Her voice trailed off.

One the large screen sat a picture of Jason. Her Jason. It had been years, and still every picture made her eyes water. 

She remembered that night.

"Jason, don't do this."

He huffed and spun around to her. "What else should I do? Sit around while he blackmails my mom?"

"Just stay here," she pleaded, following him through Wayne Manor. "When you leave, I'll just alert Bruce."

"Do not," he warned.

................................................

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

The Stags Lone Wolf

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

Length: 17.7k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, insecurities, self loathing tendencies, mild smut, allusions to neglect/emotional abuse

Notes: Did you ever wonder what the very first chapter looked like from Jon's point of view? No? Well just in case you do, here we go. Companion Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Jon had tried very hard to consider that this was a sign of things looking up. The day before had been one of many twists and it was difficult to come to terms with what he thought he was not granted, to one standing out as if just for him. There felt something wrong in the thought of leaving the direwolf pups, or worse, killing them out of mercy. Everyone had argued around him over his fathers decision, but Jon only stood.

Looking down to the five pups, save the one being pulled from Brans arms, all still cowering by their dead mother and by the maggots around meaning Jon knew it was a miracle they had lasted this long with nothing to protect them. But too he looked closer, the one he picked up and handed to Bran was a boy, and he could now see clearer that there were two more boys and two girls. It matched. But, only without him. Not six pups, and not four boys.

But it couldn’t be about him, Jon knew that it couldn’t be about him if he was going to save them. And something deep called to Jon from within to do so. A chilling in his blood as he looked at them and on an instinct did Jon turn. With everyone around and the formal proposal he was about to present, he separated himself as much as possible in order to make this work. Looking to his father did Jon call out, “Lord Stark,”

It wasn’t just his words that stopped them, it was what words he spoke. Most of the time there was not a single issue in calling him father, but saying something showcasing Jons true position caught everyone off guard. Finally did he gesture to the pups, and pled his case.

“There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. You were meant to have them.”

Silence, everyone waited and looked to him to see his answer and very quickly did his father break. He did not do so with much softness towards them, but Jon could read that softness in how he folded regardless. Looking to both Bran and Robb, “You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.”

With a little smile, Bran happily took back the pup Jon had handed him initially, from Theon who had been ready to put it down then and there. Both he and Robb then came around to take hold of the other two each. Jon only watched, something grateful in his heart that he did what he did, but there too was something darker. A piece of him missing as he realized he was not graced to be part of this. Something had sent direwolves to the wolfswood outside Winterfell and meant for the Starks to find them, but that was it. The missing part of him that meant this wasn’t his place to be involved.

Bran himself seemed to pick up on this if only the slightest bit. Looking to the nothing in Jons arms and asking what about him. But Jon just told him the simplest truth, of why he didn’t have one, and why he had to be the one to propose it to their father the way he did. “I’m not a Stark. Get on.” Prompting his little brother to make his way with the rest up the creeks hillside and back to the horses.

Still Jon didn’t know why he sensed it. Something telling him to stop in his tracks and look. Not search, but look in one spot. Hidden in the bushes not making a sound, Jon could hear Robb having turned to him with a curiosity. “What is it?” Then he felt it. Something soft, and small. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t a Stark, this wasn’t his place, the gods knew that.

And yet, Jon picked up what felt like the scruff of somethings neck and raised it out of the bushes.

Looking at him now, there was nothing capable of being on Jons face but a smile. He was tiny, he was different then the others in more then one way, but, he was his. The fur a pure white, and his eyes a pinkish red. The other pups were darker and varied in colour with golden eyes but none could see yet. It made the ride home for Robb, Theon, and Bran a bit of a trip as the small things didn’t know what was happening yet or where they were going.

But Jons? He was silent. Tucked carefully away as to not disturb him as he made the horse ride back to the castle, and scantly did he make a single sound. They had all sought out the rest of their siblings, showing the wolf pups and explaining what happened. Bran, Robb, nor their father notably did not include in the story that rescuing them had been Jons idea, while Lady Catelyn was hovering by. Clearly beside herself that her children now all had not just wolf pups, but that of direwolves. Ones she knew would grow to a massive size if the stories, and Neds account of how large the mother was, were true.

She had silently glared to Jon as he was knelt down beside Rickon who was equally as excited as somewhat afraid. Jons pup had his full sight, why he didn’t know, but it meant he was a comfort to the scared and bumbling blind ones. Coming over to the one which seemed to be Rickons with a darker fur closer to black. Knocking his head into him to comfort him as the growling settled.

Only then did Jon put a hand on Rickons back as he leaned down more to his baby brothers level knelt there, “Go on, he can’t see so he can only get used to your touch and voice right now.” Carefully did a shaky hand reach out as if the thing was going to bite his hand off. Initially it looked like it to the small six year old, a tiny nibble that had Rickon gasp and almost pull away. Jon shifted, putting a hand more around to hold at both arms to steady him. “It’s alright, he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s just getting used to you.”

Slowly did he and the dark wolf pup get used to one another, his baby brother looking up to Jon with a bright smile, only for Jon to sense Lady Catelyns on him. But now, not even that was bothering him. Not for this.

That night Jon had tried to make a small bed for the wolf pup, a comfortable place to sleep and multiple times had to pick him up and put him back on the bed. Each time he would step off and follow Jon throughout the room before Jon just settled down in his bed, alone and tired. It didn’t last long. Jon hadn’t even fallen asleep before he felt something jump onto his bed, and then a small bundle of fur nearly smother his face. Turning in the spot, the wolf pup had snuggled his head right up against Jons as if asking to cuddle and who was Jon to kick him off his bed?

He and the pup slept like that the whole night, with the feeling of tiny licks waking him before even he would’ve normally. It wasn’t long before he settled on a name. The way he could hear the other wolf pups howling constantly, very cute little sounds trying to get used to the world, and even though he could hear his making small noises, he never howled himself. He was silent both in his voice and how he seemed to walk against things making no noise.

Ghost. He settled on Ghost.

And for once, Jon thought he could think perhaps not everything looked so grim. Only to be wrong. So utterly and completely wrong that even as he still stood there now, he was almost in shock. His father and Lady Catelyn had called them all, Jon included to news that had arrived that morning.

It was twofold at first, and that seemed like enough. Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King and a man who was like a father to many, including Jons own father, has passed. Which meant that King Robert Baratheon rode for Winterfell. With the Queen, her children, and the rest of them. They all knew what that meant. What it was implying and their father thought his children should have the time to brace themselves to realize things might change in not so distant of the future.

It was Arya who started it. Asking with a genuine curiosity if you were coming as well. And thats when Jon knew something was wrong. No one but him saw and he didn’t know why, the way his fathers eyes flickered so quickly to Jon and back it wouldn’t have registered to any but them. It was Lady Catelyn who delivered it, and Jons heart sunk from his chest and down crashing through the stone floor deep beyond as she turned to look directly at Robb.

“The King has determined it was time she were wed.” Slowly everyone turned to look at Robb with the same falling expression realizing what she was not saying for him to put together. Something, not outrage, but perhaps frustrated at what was being implied.

Robbs face twisting as he spoke up with a bit more force in his voice, “You mean married to me?” Catelyn nodded, and instantly did Robb not hide his feelings about it. “Mother, you can’t mean it.”

Jon knew the problem wasn’t you, it was the idea, the suddenness, the out of nowhere feeling. All his siblings had conflicting ideas about how to feel, but too did Jon sense his fathers gaze which he didn’t return. Just watched Robb and Catelyn go back and forth with not a shift in his posture or expression in the slightest as she continued. “You are both to be wed before she returns to Kings Landing.”

There was no more way to argue it. It was a command brought by a raven from the King, there was no fighting with that kind of order. As his father and Lady Catelyn begun to discuss things amongst themselves did the siblings disperse. Jon felt Aryas knowing gaze the entire time he turned to walk away, and made no motion to indicate he noticed. Jon made little indication of anything, as if he was the only one unaffected by the news. Following almost naturally in stride with Robb, it was his instinct to let him vent the moment they were out of earshot.

Robbs face was still twisted in a frustration, his hands gesturing out with emphasis showing how rattled he was by the suddenness. “Her fathers spent years trying to keep her from getting married, and now he ships her off without so much as a thought?”

Swallowing the weight in his throat Jon hoped his voice came out a lot less forced and on edge then he felt. “If father does go to Kings Landing, a marriage could help.” Robb only argued back that it didn’t matter, only that there was no getting out of this. Jon asked and almost regretted it, he knew why he asked it. But he didn’t want to think about it. Not yet. “Is it getting married at all, or just that you’re marrying her?”

If Robb picked up on anything, he didn’t let it be known. Shaking his head with a huff of a false chuckle. “We’ve known her since we were ten, I’d rather marry her then some girl I won’t even meet until the wedding day.” The hand opposite from Robbs easy view clenched into more of a fist before relaxing again. The tension needing to be dispersed somewhere, but still unsure as to what to do around so many people. He couldn’t feel this yet, he needed to be alone first. His brother must have glanced to Jon, and made a judgment of what his tense expression could’ve been trying to silently convey. “Beside, I’d rather marry her then watch her get shipped off to some southern Lord who’d have no patience for getting used to her.”

It was short and muttered out through hopefully not gritted teeth, “None of us would want that for her.” It was normal Jon cared. He was your friend, you were his best friend. Of course it would come to a shock to him as well to learn of this betrothal. But did it come off that way to Robb? Jon didn’t know, he just kept walking and kept trying to feel that tense numbness as long as he could hold off the rest of it from flooding him too fast. “You should write to her. About it.” Meeting Robbs more questioning gaze, Jon elaborated looking back forward as he said your name. “You know her. She’ll be too worried to write to you first about it, it’ll be easier if she knows you’re not mad at her.”

Robb only asked for a moment. “Why would she think I’d be mad at-” Cutting himself off, both brothers gave knowing expressions in a bit of a flat manner one could’ve called bemused in a better scenario. “Right.”

By the time Jon had a moment to himself to go back to his chambers, he was at least relieved that his were a bit further away from the other Starks. He could slam the door closed behind him and no one of meaning would hear it. Sleeping in the middle of the fur atop his bed, Ghost perked up right away with a whine at the sound but Jon didn’t look at him. Running a hand over his face before stepping into the room swiftly where his desk was. Palms bracing against the wood, Jon stared intensely at the wall, eyes bleeding from grey to black as the rest of his muscles begun to shook.

He wasn’t ready. It was too soon, he wasn’t ready. One hand slammed into the desk, startling Ghost again before Jon turned and leaned his back against the surface as he ran a hand over his mouth and kept it there. As if containing what wanted to come out, whatever too strong emotion was fighting for control of him each passing second. Eyes closing it felt as if his heart was pounding in his chest as the thought kept repeating. He wasn’t ready.

His eyes tore to his bed, and he felt warm. Too warm. Unpleasantly warm as if he was being burned from the inside. Just a few short moons passed, Jon had you on that bed. With only his breeches on, and you nothing. How beautiful you looked. Your skin soft and plush and perfect as you laid back not knowing what to do, but how he didn’t need you to do anything. You let Jon climb up onto his bed, and carefully pry your legs apart and look at you, at what he’s always wanted. How he could see the traces of your wetness as if your walls were clenching around nothing in anticipation. Your breasts begging to be grabbed and marked up as they heaved with your nervous breaths.

The way your hands shook underneath his as Jon guided you to take his shirt off. And too, the way you both asked if he wanted to stop when Jon hesitated, and asked in a quiet, gentle voice if he wanted to wait for you, so you could wait for him. How for just an hour, Jon had the time to keep you bare in his arms, hands running over your skin as your hands rested along his chest. If Jon went through with that day, it was the worst case scenario that made him stop. What if he got you pregnant? He was nothing but a bastard. He couldn’t give you anything. Less then anything. Only a shameful surname he would never curse you or any children with in a lifetime. You were a beautiful, royal, highborn, popular Baratheon girl. Jon was a bastard dragging you down. And he almost shamed you by taking your maidenhead no matter how desperately Jon would’ve treasured it for the rest of his days.

When his eyes closed he had no idea, but he opened them to feeling Ghost at his feet nudging with a whine. Sensing Jons rise in distress, he picked up the direwolf pup and kept him high on his person as he his voice rasped in such a quiet tone for the pup alone. “I’m not ready, Ghost. I’m not ready to let her go.”

Ghost just bumped his head into Jons. Who turned to press a kiss to the top of his head, keeping close to the other his only comfort. He hadn’t even told you yet. He hadn’t found a good time to tell you he loves you, how much he’s always been in love with you. He and you were supposed to share your first times together, explore the others body in such intimate ways the way you and he had been each others firsts for everything else.

He wanted you to get to Winterfell, take you with him and leave in the middle of the night. Jon would take you north, so far north he’d end up beyond the Wall where no one could tell him that he couldn’t love you. He’d build you a warm cabin, nothing special, but something for you two. In that world, Jon wouldn’t have reason to hesitate. No one out there would care. He’d drape you on his bed just like last time but match how bare you were.

If his eyes closed he could see it, how he’d mount you atop the furs. His cock sinking deep inside of you over and over as you cried and begged his name. He’d take you as much as it needed. Out there, you could have his child and not have your life ruined over it. He could see at least four. Running around free as he’d come up behind you. Wrapping his arms around you, hands resting on your stomach as you swelled with his fifth child.

But he couldn’t do that to you. You had a good life, and you would have a good life with Robb. He’d treat you well, better then Jon ever could. His brother was a trueborn Stark, the heir to Winterfell, he would adore being married to you. He couldn’t not. You were perfect. And Jon was only tormented by it. The day after he thought the old gods were sending him a message that perhaps he was a Stark deep somewhere in his blood, the thought was ripped away from his hands. Casted out and reminded he was nothing but a bastard who would ruin you and your children’s lives.

Ghost slept close again that night. Jon barley able to stop seeing you in his mind, realizing how unprepared he had let himself become for this day. He knew he couldn’t keep you forever, and it was his fault he hadn’t at all readied himself for the day he’d have to give you up. Jon just wasn’t ready.

He’d been thinking about it a lot. More and more the past few days.

It wasn’t out of nowhere. For years now each time his Uncle Benjen came to visit from Castle Black, Jon thought just a little bit more about leaving with him. But he was needed here. His family was here, and Jon knew his father would never let him take the black if he asked. But as he sat there that morning, once again the conversations around him turning to the inevitable wedding, Jon felt more and more like maybe this was a sign.

He had been selfish in trying to keep you for himself, and now he was being punished for it by listening to his little sisters boast about finally having you really be part of the family like they always wanted, and the quieter discussion between Robb and his mother. That though, was more of an argument.

Catelyn it seemed thought a wedding in the small sept would be the obvious choice, you were raised in the Light of the Seven and Robb was raised under the old gods and the new, it only made sense. Robb however, knew you as well as Jon did on this matter. “Mother, she’s not going to want a big ceremony in front of the whole castle.”

“It is a traditional-”

His voice was more exasperated then normal, as if Robb too wasn’t sleeping as well as he was pretending he was. Jon wanted to be there for him, wanted to assure his brother that he knew you wouldn’t make him miserable and that it would be fine in the end, but he didn’t want to say that. Because by giving that to Robb, it meant taking all of it away from Jon. And he still wasn’t ready for that. But still, Robb argued regardless about much of the wedding preparations. “She won’t care about tradition. If I asked her right now if she was alright with getting married in the godswood-”

Catelyn cutting in, “You know she would say yes?” Robb affirming he would, and Jons hand around the fork he was holding got a bit more tight gripped.

Sensing eyes on him, Jon dragged them up to see Arya looking right at him, narrowed eyes asking no doubt if he was alright but Jon just looked back down to his plate without much acknowledgement. She was the only one who knew. He never confirmed it to her himself, but she had caught Jon kissing you in the stables one day and confronted him about not telling her. But he certainly didn’t want to talk about it now.

And as the days shortened to the one where the King would finally arrive, so it seemed the direwolves grew. The morning after they found them, Jon could recall all of them in the kitchens trying to decide on names. Some came easier then others, Bran didn’t even yet have a name for his. All of them though, seemed to grow fast. Each of them outgrowing their pup size in a matter of weeks, it would be no time surely before they grew to be the size of the mother they found them cowering around.

Training was going better for some then others. It seemed as if the direwolves matched the traits of the one they were with, like they were meant to go to that person. Arya named her wolf Nymeria, after the Dornish Princess who had let the Rhoynar to Westeros. Though, it seemed both of them had much time to go before reaching that point of legend. In private, Nymeria was calm and comforting to Arya, but in the public eye? She was just as stubborn and difficult to train as Arya could some days be to teach, they matched well.

Rickon seemed still somewhat scared of his. Naming his Shaggydog, he was young and unsure of what to do when the pup would get aggressive. More then once Jon and Robb would step in to teach him to stand his ground, as if Shaggydog didn’t see fear in Rickon towards him, he’d stop feeling the need to prove himself as aggressive. More then once Jon would see Rickon looking across the yard with wide eyes, only needing him to nod supportingly and he’d shift his voice to project more and tell the wolf to listen to him. His little brother had always been so easy to spend time with.

He was still young, barley even six at that point, Rickon understood many things and was quite smart but he was young enough that there were things that passed his knowledge. He had yet to truly grasp why Jon was different then his other brothers, not really coming to the conclusion of what being a bastard really meant. Not understanding why Jon couldn’t do certain things, or wasn’t involved in others.

So vividly he could remember a feast they had not a year passed, other Northern lords and their families attended and the tables up at the top of the dining hall were immaculately decorated for them all. Some of the Starks escorted other guests to their seats, with Rickon tailing more in the back being so young. Jon never sat up with them at feasts. He never stood with them at formal events. That wasn’t a bastards place.

But Rickon? He didn’t get it. At only four then, Rickon had scrunched his face up as he was walking to his seat, before stopping and walking right over to Jon. In front of everyone he simply went to go greet him, wanting him to just come with them because he didn’t yet understand why his brother wasn’t sitting with him. Jon had to get up, crouch in front of him and prompt him to go on, that he’d see him later. Rickon had done so, but turned to look with an even greater frown at Jon nodding at him to keep going.

Hardly anyone ever gave him such freedom from his status. The only one who did it with ease other then him, was you. Not that his other siblings looked down on him, but they knew he was different and why. Rickon didn’t. You did, but you didn’t let that change anything. You never had. Always referring to him in the plural as “You Starks,” when lumping the whole family in together. Always joking he was a wolf, never letting him put himself lower then his siblings. You never even hesitated in being with him in any way.

You had been worried you’d get him into trouble because you weren’t supposed to be doing things, not because he wasn’t supposed to be with a highborn girl. You didn’t want him to get into trouble, because you knew him being a bastard wouldn’t be appreciated if anyone found out about you both. It was a miracle honestly that Lord Stannis, your father, had seemed adamant about keeping you from marriage.

Robb had figured out that in a two year period you had suddenly been sent to Winterfell, was because the Queen was trying to set up marriages for you after you had your moonblood, and your father had kept you away from the capitol to put an end to them. By the time you returned almost a woman at six and ten, you had two sides to work with. The first was how your father was busying you with work and intimidating away potential suitors, the other was Jon.

You had no interest in any of the highborn men or talented knights around you, because you were content going back to Winterfell to be with Jon no matter how that would be. You just didn’t care, you were happy having everything with Jon that a trueborn lord could’ve given you. But, now it wasn’t enough.

Jon knew he was being selfish with you. He knew he couldn’t keep you forever, and that one day he would have to give you up. But he had made it so much worse for himself by being as in love with you as he was. He was too deep to let go completely. He had to, and he would, but his heart would never move on.

And worse? When you married Robb, you’d go to Kings Landing, then what? Return one day to live with your new husband? Have beautiful children? You deserved that, but Jon couldn’t handle it. The thought ate away at him more and more thinking about it. He couldn’t do it, he wasn’t going to be able to take watching you get everything he wished he could have with you, with the brother who already was and had everything Jon never would.

He hadn’t said anything to his father yet, he wasn’t sure how he would handle that. But he had made his mind up. Maester Luwin didn’t think much of it when being told who the raven was for, but he did pick up on how tense Jon was. How much more troubled he had been for days. But he couldn’t say it yet. Luwin cared, but he’d be likely to bring it up to his father if he heard, so Jon let it drop for now. It was in the raven, but nothing else.

He felt bad saying it there. He knew you’d have so much overwhelming you right now, and this would not help but he didn’t want you to show up and be blind sighted by his choice. So Jon wrote to you on the Kingsroad, telling you that he wasn’t going to be at Winterfell much longer after you arrived, because he was going North and taking the black.

You didn’t write him back, not did he expect you to on the road. But you had to know. Jon had to now figure out how to convince his father to let him join, a fight Jon knew he would likely fail on his own. Despite being a bastard, the stain on his fathers reputation, never once did he let Jon fall to the sidelines.

He raised him in his home, with his other children, let him feel as much as the family as one possibly could. The older Jon got, the more he found himself working at his father side. Robb did too, but as he would take over one day, Robb had a degree of distance to prove he could stand on his own. Jon had no such future obligation. Many times it was he who stood right by his father as they’d discuss things back and forth. Jon would be sent to do things a lot, while Robb was asked to oversee things. And more then one nights as men, did Jon find himself in his fathers study with a drink or two between them as they could just spend time as father and son without hangups.

He knew it would be not an easy fight on his own, but he knew one person who could convince his father, he just hoped he could to convince him to make that fight on his behalf in the first place.

The castle was amok with people everywhere. They weren’t yet sure when they royal company would arrive, but it would be in no time. Days at most. Sometimes Jon would find himself and Ghost in the godswood at night, and he’d sit down. The still small direwolf jumping into his lap as he and the old gods would listen to Jons plight. Only for them to hear and no one else, that he wished he could hate Robb for it.

His brother seemed to be getting used to the idea of being married to you, and as much as Jon tried to be there for him, he hated every second of it. He wanted to hate Robb, that would make his feelings so much easier to figure out. Just a pure jealousy, but it wasn’t. He loved Robb, and he didn’t want Robb to be miserable nor you. But, did that come at the price of Jons happiness? Perhaps.

The King and his company must have been closer then they all thought though. Lady Catelyn came up to them during the morning, he, Robb, and Theon and told them all they were to clean up before the King arrived. Facial hair all clean shaved, and hair trimmed short and neat. All three men gave each other looks knowing it wasn’t really ideal, but the tone of her voice gave no room for interpretation.

Robb was first, his hair normally kept on the short side compared to how Jon would let his dark curls grow wild, he was though just as unhappy being shaven as the rest felt. It had been so long since Jon would’ve had nothing. Since he was fourteen maybe. As soon as facial hair begun to grow, it came in fast and coarse and he didn’t care to put in the work to constantly keep it shaven. You liked it too, which may or may not have been a much greater contributing factor to why he kept it then anything else.

Arms crossed as he waited for his turn, Jon let his general dismay he known. “Why’s your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?”

Before Robb could answer, Theon piped in first as he said your name. Both wolves eyes darting towards him as he elaborated. “It’s for her I bet.” Nodding towards Robb in particular he elaborated. “And if you have to look all nice and fancy for your betrothed, then so do we apparently.”

He didn’t want to comment on it, the manner which you were so easily now discussed in terms of being Robbs. But something more flat slipped out before he could stop it. “Not like she’d care.” Both eyes directed up towards Jon as he tilted his head in a dismissive manner to ease the tensity he might have originally carried in his words. “We spent half her life roughing her up in the training yard. Looking nice for one day won’t change any of that.”

Neither of them suspected anything, and Jon could at the very least relax in the slightest that his immense attitude in his heart hadn’t been noticed by anyone else who didn’t have reason to suspect otherwise.

Theon could only smirk to himself as the image came to him. “I’ll wager the Queen will spend half the morning tomorrow trying to doll her up. Might get to see what a royal girl is supposed to look like on her for once.” Robb had passively asked with a jest if he had been thinking about that a lot, only for Theons face to scrunch up before falling amusingly flat. “You assume I’m thinking of her, when we got the Queen coming our way?” His focus now shifted entirely, at least Jon could relax in that it was off you for now. He could tolerate whatever the discussion of Queen Cersei had become far more. “I hear she’s a sleek bit of mink.”

Robb however, much like Jon would’ve, did not even bother to entertain that specific discussion. “I hear the Prince is a right, royal prick.”

By the time Robb was done, he stood up with no restraint in amusing himself by smacking Jon on the arm as he switched places. A taunt on his lips as Jon begrudgingly made his way over, almost needing to be shoved down in the chair at his purposely putting off demeanour. “Go on Tommy, sheer him good. He’s never met a girl he’s liked better then his own hair.”

Jons face said one thing feeling the blades slice into his curls, but his heart said another. Wishing to look at Robb and tell him that he had not a single clue what he was talking about, and that he had no idea what Jon secretly had and always would have over him about you.

Jon was your first. Your first kiss, first touch, first orgasm, so many firsts between you both. He knew how addicting kissing you truly was, and how you only knew how to kiss because you and Jon learned together. And Jon was the first to know what you looked like, what you really looked like. What a sight your bare frame was and how he would never forget it, nor want too. Robb was about to get many more firsts from you, but Jon and you shared so many of your firsts together, and just maybe Jon could hold onto that.

Because even though neither of you ever said it, he was certain he was your first love, as you were his first and only. He wouldn’t hold it against you, if you found real love with Robb, he wouldn’t hold it against either of you, but Jon could at least say he had your heart first, and you’d always have his.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, everyone had begun to gather in the main courtyard. The Kings company had been spotted by Bran as he was climbing around up on the battlements and now everyone stood in preparation. Or, they should’ve been.

Catelyn noticed first as she glanced down to her children beside Ned, “Where’s Arya?” Seeing her nowhere, Catelyn asked specifically, “Sansa where’s your sister?” Naturally, Sansa only had a single shrug that she didn’t know, which wasn’t very surprising to Jon. It wasn’t as if those two spent more time together lately then they had too. They usually were better at getting along when you were there to mediate their issues and force them to set things aside, but just them on their own was more arguing lately then anything.

Jon understood that. He’d been down that path with Sansa, though, at this point they mostly ignored one another instead of her trying to get into arguments with her far older brother. His grey eyes could slide to Lady Catelyn and be sure where that negative attitude towards him had been influenced by.

Seemingly out of nowhere did Arya come running up urgently, only for their father to grab her, making her stop. Looking down at her, a helmet sat on her head he asked confused, “What are you doing with that on?” Arya didn’t even have an answer as he took it off her and motioned for her to stand beside her brother. Passing the helmet behind to Ser Rodrick in the queue where Jon stood beside Theon. The bastard brother in the back, as normal. Though, the back wasn’t the worst place he’d be delegated today.

One by one did horses begin filling the air with their trotting before they were spotted. First the riders in the front holding the banners, the golden crowned stag flying bright as it always did on one side, and the deep red of a lion on the other banner. The Baratheons and the Lannisters. First them, then guards, then two Kingsguard rode passed, and then he saw you.

You rode next to what he could only presume was your cousin, the Prince Joffery. He looked as opposite of you as possible. Short, golden hair, rich and clearly luxurious clothing as he rode in with a look that felt more smug then it should’ve been for where he was. But hardly did Jon pay any mind.

He knew to anyone else, he looked angry. Maybe he was, but in another way, a stranger would presume he was angry at who he was looking at instead of in general. But truly, he felt a painful break in his heart at the simple truth watching you ride in. You looked astoundingly beautiful. No doubt hand maidens had taken the time to paint your face more then you’d ever do alone, making the best of you stand out. Somehow not ruined at all by the stern scowl as you looked around in knowing. You didn’t look at him, not that Jon expected you too, but nor did you look at Robb. You were clearly just trying to keep yourself together, and play the part you were expected too as a member of the royal family.

Not that you’d ever want anyone to say that about you, but watching you here ride in with the luxury of them all, it was clear how much you belonged with it. You had done your own hair, some parts loose, some done in many braids, a style you had once told him was more common amongst highborn women in the Stormlands to contend with the weather as Dragonstone had all the same storms and more, and you had simply gotten used to it.

But it was your dress. It was a golden yellow, draped along you perfectly as he could see the antlers of stags sewn into the design, and a thick, deep brown shall wrapped around you to keep you warm. The dress meant to stand out, and clearly the Queen had thought a cloak would hide too much of it. It wasn’t the title graced to you, but in some regards, its exactly what you were. The daughter of the Kings brother, in some places, you wouldn’t just be a lady, your position would be close enough to call a princess. And you looked like one.

And he hated it. Because he knew Queen Cersei had dressed you up as such, to make sure you appealed as much as possible to Robb. He had a feeling the Queen would be offended if she knew a bastard like him even had eyes for such a beautiful princess no matter how much it was his kiss you knew.

Eventually the carriage no doubt holding the Queen in question and her other children, as they were not seen riding in with the procession, did two more Kingsguard ride on either side before he appeared.

Jon had never seen King Robert Baratheon as much as he heard about him. Grew up with his father in the Eyrie as a ward. Half raised by Lord Jon Arryn, the now deceased hand of the King and as little as he personally knew about him, was the man Jon was named after. Much like how Robb was for the King before his eyes. He knew Lord Arryn had a son named after Robert as well, or Robin as you had once stated was the nickname the strange boy preferred. But none of the Kings children held any name resembling Ned Stark.

It itched at something in Jons brain that he hated thinking about. That if he could take you north to run away with him, he’d give you a son first and name him after his father. But he couldn’t think that, because you were here to be married to Robb, under the Kings command.

King Robert was…not what Jon was expecting of a King. He held the same green in his eyes, the same dark hair, and the same fierce demeanour and scowl that matched you perfectly. He could see how you looked more like Roberts daughter then his own son actually did. But he was large. Much larger then he thought, as the songs all described the great warrior King as a lean and fierce man. He could see someone who was once fierce, but perhaps, not anywhere close anymore to the word lean.

But he was the King, and as his father knelt down to the ground so did they all too. He could see in his peripherals that the King approached suddenly, a hand waving to his old friend to stand as they all followed. His father bowed with a greeting as he would any man, “Your grace.”

All waited in silence for the Kings words, but it was not what he expected, or any. “You got fat.”

No one said a word. His eyes did though, and so did yours. It was so natural, looking to you to read his eyes as he did yours. And like you were meant for one another, your sternness broke only for him. You both looked to the other right away, flickering with hidden smirks as if to joke about which one of their family members had gotten fat before you had to stop and look away lest a grin break out on you more. Jon could barley smother his, but it made him feel just a bit warmer on the inside knowing that not even the news between you both had ruined that you and he never stopped gravitating to one another.

His father though, too had a natural reaction not as proper as one expected of him. Only nodding down to the Kings very large belly as both of them burst into a laughter and bringing the other in for a hug. It wasn’t often he heard much of the King from his father, but he knew how close they one were. The King even once betrothed to Jons own Aunt Lyanna before the rebellion. Though, that felt strange to think of.

What his life would’ve looked like towards you had that taken place as was planned, and Jon wasn’t so sure he liked the thought of not having you in it the exact way you had been for fifteen years. Around him the King continued, “Nine years, where the hell have you been?”

His father only jesting with a knowing that he was guarding the North for him. One by one he greeted everyone, a jovial hug for Lady Catelyn, and personally greeting each of the Stark children. Even with a joke towards Bran asking to show him his muscles, only to tell the boy of then with a laugh, “You’ll be a solider.”

The next to approach made Prince Jofferys appearance much more obvious who he took after. The Queen was as blonde as he was and looked just like him, as did her two children beside her. The look on her own face was not quite the natural scowl it seemed the Baratheons had, but one more of genuine disdain. For what, Jon didn’t care to know. But it only grew as the King demanded Ned to take him to the crypts to pay his respects, and Queen Cersei in a rather flat tone tried to say otherwise. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

The King didn’t listen, and thus the party begun to disperse.

He knew his place, and as Jon watched you preoccupied with climbing down off your horse, did Jon decide to leave now. He didn’t need to make you feel more conflicted by hovering around you right away, especially as he could see Robb making his way over to talk to you. Besides, between the Queen, Lady Catelyn and all the other eyes, Jon knew better then to let the bastard of Winterfell hang around these far more important people, no matter how much he wanted to talk to you.

But it was not likely. The Starks were to feast the royals at sundown, and for all the effort into making Jon look as cleaned up as the rest of them, he wasn’t permitted. Not sat down at a further table for his little brother to stop by to see him, but not at all. Told very firmly by Catelyn herself only the day before that it would be insulting to the royal family to travel all this way, only to have a bastard feasting with them. She didn’t need to say that she simply didn’t want him there in general, but neither her nor Jon needed many words for him to know that anymore. They barley talked, and when they did, it was as if Jon and Catelyn spoke a language all of their own, but that one was simply filled with spite and hate.

Weird as it was to say, but Jon and Catelyn knew each other extremely well in a way no one else did, only it was nothing but an angry and ugly side to either of them that they both tried to keep from the rest of the family for their sake. They could hate each other when they were alone, they didn’t want it to ruin the rest of the family. So she didn’t need to tell Jon she didn’t want him there, it was loud and clear without the words.

Why did he torture himself like this?

Jon hadn’t seen you, nor most of anyone all day as they prepared for the feast. Outside in the cold of the training yard, he could hear the muffle of the music inside with that bitter anger building that he wasn’t welcome. That everything was better without him in there. A painful reminder once more that Jon was raised with the Starks, but still wasn’t one of them.

Instead he tormented himself by staying close enough he could hear them in the cold, as he took his anger out with a practice sword. Something rather animalistic in him of just needing to let the anger out by hitting something. It only half worked, really. But as he was there for some time, did he hear the sudden approach of a horse. Turning to look, it was the first he smiled all day as he sat the sword to the side.

“Uncle Benjen.” Both men came in for a hug with glee. It had been a while since they saw one another at that point, but a welcome one. Always a man Jon felt like he could rely on. Even far away on the Wall at Castle Black, did his uncle always feel like someone Jon connected with. In the Nights Watch sometimes it felt like he could arrive to visit as a bit of an outsider, and Jon, the true bastard outsider would spend much time with him during his visits. Hearing about the Wall, and his brothers. Many of whom sounded too wild to be true but he swore on his mothers name that he was telling the truth.

And always glad to see him did his Uncle Benjen reassure him with an amusement. “Rode all day. Didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters.” Though, in the pause it was obvious. No one was outside but Jon, and the music was muffled further away where he wasn’t. Benjen knew, but Jon appreciated that he asked anyways. “Why aren’t you at the feast?”

“Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst.” His Uncle nodded in knowing. Saying that he was always welcome on the Wall, that no bastard was ever denied a seat there and Jon all but jumped on it. He had been thinking on it more and more, he was right. His father never would let him go, but he would, if it was his own brother who proposed the idea. “So take me with you when you go back.”

“Jon-”

Cutting whatever protest he was about to say, Jon continued on jumping right to the point. “Father will let me if you ask him. I know he will.”

Both only stared at one another for a moment. Something difficult to discern on his uncles face, but Jon looked with a tense but hopeful stare. He couldn’t stay here. He had no place anymore. His father would accept being the Hand, he’d take the girls and Bran with him. Robb would act as Lord of Winterfell in his absence and Jon would be left with the mother who hates him, waiting for you to return one day and live out your new life outside of him. There was no place for Jon in Winterfell anymore, and there was only one place a bastard of the North with no meaning could find belonging in.

Sighing a bit deeply, he knew where his uncle was going with this. “The Wall isn’t going anywhere.” Jon tried, more clam and assured that he ready to swear their oath. But his Uncle had another argument, with something deeper in his eye that Jon couldn’t quite read well. “You don’t understand what you’d be giving up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons.”

Jon though said it without thought. If he dug deeper, he’d find doubt, but that doubt was marred in the knowledge that he wouldn’t ever be able to have it with the one woman he always dreamed of it with. Jon had spent hours at night as a boy wondering how to convince his father to find a way to let Jon marry you when you both grew up, only to know it was never going to happen.

If it was true, Jon wasn’t sure, but he said it anyways just to convince his uncle. “I don’t care about that.”

There was a look in his uncles eye though, one Jon had no idea how to read. Something knowing that he didn’t understand, and yet something filled with almost a bit of sorrow. “You might. If you knew what it meant.” Jon only looked away, something he couldn’t connect in his mind with what Benjens had thought separately. Adding to him, “If you knew the cost, you might not be so eager to pay the price. You can always ask me again after you’ve fathered a few sons of your own. See how you feel then.”

Jon said nothing. Were he the young and impulsive boy he was as a teenager, he would’ve let that feeling turn to anger. Maybe burst out that he’d never have sons, because he refuses to father a bastard. To ever have a child know that life or force his to live it. But he didn’t, and he kept it all inside. Perhaps too because those thoughts of fathering sons sat a little too close to his heart, knowing the only woman he’d ever want that with, was going to be the mother of Robbs sons in no time.

If it wasn’t with you, Jon had no wish to even consider having a child. And even then, he hadn’t even gone through with that day because he refused to ruin your life or your childs life by giving you a bastard.

Instead, as a crash and laughter was heard inside, did Benjen shift the subject. Too likely suspecting Jon needed some time to linger on the thoughts. “I better get inside. Rescue your father from his guests.” Both hands came up to grab at Jons upper arms, with a reassurance that Jon could barley nod at. “We’ll talk later.”

Watching his Uncle disappear into the castle, Jon finally turned around. Picking the sword back up, but something in his bones had little energy for it left. The Wall might be Jons only chance to find purpose, and he couldn’t be denied that too. It was the one place left Jon could see himself at, could see himself being. With everything left to him being taken, he needed something and this had to be it.

Interrupting his thoughts though did an unknown voice from behind take him off guard. “Your uncle’s in the Nights Watch.” Turning around, did Jon see an approaching figure. A rather short figure with a flask in his hand but no sign it had been sipped at too much. It didn’t take an expert to know who he was. The hair and the height said it all.

But Jon looked at him with a narrowed gaze, “What are you doing back there?”

Coming close with a flat jest on his tongue he said, “Preparing for a night with your family.” Leaning against a wooden post, he glanced up to Jon with a genuine curiosity. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.” Jon only asked to be clear, preferring to know the proper name and title of the man he was speaking too that he was Tyrion Lannister, the Queens brother. Only for him to reply in a more sarcastic tone Jon recognized. “My greatest accomplishment.” Only to look up at him, and say it at the worst possible time for Jons mind. “And you. You’re Ned Starks bastard, aren’t you?”

Jons face just fell. No words even spoken did Jon turn to walk away entirely, he didn’t need this, not tonight, not now of all times he didn’t need to be reminded of what he was plagued with his entire life.

Tyrion Lannister for what it was worth, stopped him in his tracks with a shout that seemed both a bit surprised but genuine. “Did I offend you? Sorry.” Turning to look back at him, he swept away that apology and instead dug the knife deeper. “You are the bastard though?”

It was as good of a yes as Jon could possibly say without the word. “Lord Eddard Stark is my father.”

But it didn’t get passed Tyrion what Jon was trying to avoid. Anything to do with this discussion. And thus he spelled it out to ensure Jon understood exactly what about him he was pointing out on purpose. “And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you, the bastard.” Jons jaw clenched looking away, hand around the hilt of the practice sword tight behind his gloves needing something to let the energy out on as it rose once more. “Let me give you some advice bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour, and it can never be used to hurt you.”

Truly, whatever time it would take for that to sink into Jons mind, it would not do so tonight. Hardly letting the man walk three feet away before all but shouting in an accusatory tone, “The hell do you know about being a bastard?”

Jon though certainly didn’t forget the answer, a look he knew too well on himself, something almost a bit angry yet self loathing. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes.” And thus finally, Jon was left back alone in the cold.

Neither conversation gave him hope, and neither provided him with a single scrap of comfort. Until there were none left in sight but him alone did Jon finally turn around. His plan had been to put the sword away, and just abandon this place and go to bed entirely. But now that feeling returned.

Everyone had everything to say about him being a bastard as if he hadn’t been one his whole life, as if he wasn’t ruining other people’s lives by being the bastard he was. Instead of putting it away, Jon felt that anger rise to the top and burn through him before much more violently letting the sword hit at the training dummy as if hacking away at something.

If one more person tried to talk him down tonight, he might lose it. That was, until a soft, high pitched voice called to his heart from somewhere behind him. “Think he’s dead yet?”

Spinning around in an instant did Jons anger melt away, leaving nothing but that need to fill his heart. Eyes wide and bright as he looked at you, as yours were just as soft but more hesitant. You hadn’t come close as you normally would’ve. He knew why, he knew you were afraid of what he was thinking or feeling, and afraid he was mad at you for it. So you stood further back, your hands not even gloved out in this cold wringing together.

You had changed for the feast. Something a bit warmer then before, and just as beautiful but this time there were more shades of blue and dashes of what in the light may be orange. It was fancier then anything you wore when you were here, your dresses of Kings Landing likely being much more beautiful, fit for a princess. But you looked stunning no matter what to him.

Barley muttering your name, did Jon put the sword away for good and circled around to the empty space between you both. You looked behind him as Jon looked behind you and saw nothing and no one. And thus neither of you hesitated.

You approached him but Jon all but ran up to you. Grasping you in a hug, his strength easily able to pick you up and spin you in place as he held you tightly as you did him. Your voice gentle in his hear making his heart sore in his chest, “I missed you.” Only putting you back on two feet to see your hesitation had left somewhat, leaving just the softness and adoration to make the main priority.

His hands remained more firm on your upper arms, about to tell you how much he missed you, how much he missed everything about you these past months, but looking up and around he stopped himself. No one was around still, but twice now his peace was disturbed and it could again. Instead, wordlessly did Jon turn and pull you with him.

Following without protest or question, you let Jon lead you anywhere he wanted. Pulling you both into a smaller, empty armoury. Turning you to face him again, Jon almost said something, anything, but it was you. He didn’t need too. You knew what was going through his head as much as he did yours, words weren’t needed between you both. Instead, Jon pulled you into another hug.

The embrace lasting much longer then it should’ve were you somewhere eyes could spot you, and his arms hovering too long and probably too low to be appropriate for a bastard and a highborn maiden, but he didn’t care. Only pulling back enough to hold you at one upper arm to keep you there, and a hand at your waist, Jons eyes darted down to yours.

Again between you both but not touching him back now in the slightest. He knew why. You were nervous. You didn’t know what to say or do anymore and Jon hated that you felt so insecure about your future that you couldn’t even hold him as he was you. Muttering your name gently, you looked up at him with those eyes he adored more then anything.

Your voice though, cut right to the chase of what he had told you in his letter. “You’re really joining them?” Jon wouldn’t even try to lie about it, so he nodded confidently. Barley able to get half the start of a sentence out to say his peace he’d been thinking for weeks, you cut him off with something distressed. “Don’t give me that.” Your fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to him and Jon certainly caught the movement. “Don’t tell me what you think everyone else wants to hear.”

Was it the reason? Or was it just Jon cutting right to the chase of your issue as you did his? He couldn’t be sure, but in a deeper tone he said it. “You’re marrying Robb.” Instantly Jon could tell you bit your tongue, a nervous habit of yours and without hesitating did Jon reach up. His hand cupping your cheek as his thumb traced along your jaw until he felt you relax under his touch. Leaning down more he made sure you looked into his eyes as he said it. “I’m not mad at you. Neither of you really had a say in it.”

Ever so slowly, you hesitantly reached out so the tips of your fingers could start to rest against his stomach, knowing that anytime before now you wouldn’t have hesitated to touch him back when alone like this. Neither of you were really addressing the topics between you, but you continued anyways. “And you think the Nights Watch is the only place you belong?”

After everything else tonight, were it not you, Jon would’ve pulled away in frustration. But not with you, and not when his time with you was suddenly so little. “It is now.” Your head rose up to look at him again as your brows narrowed. “You’ll marry him, go back to Kings Landing with my father and sisters, and leave me what? Here with the brother who gets the one thing that used to be mine, and his mother who hates me?”

You shouted it a bit louder then you meant too, a worry and an anger that Jon had gotten the wrong idea. “Jon, I’m not trying to leave you behind.”

He only sighed, he knew that. Jaw clenched as the hand on your waist tightened he tried to reassure you but only came with words you both knew were of zero comfort. But you too were you both aware that comfort between you both was swiftly running out. “No. You’re doing your duty, and I’m doing mine.”

For a good while you both stood there, his hands on you, yours barley on his but it was too much. He missed you so desperately and he had you right here. Jon thought not of it being a good or bad idea, but he had you close, and he wanted to do it. Suddenly shifting you with the hand on your waist, Jon moved you to press your back against the wall behind you.

Stepping more into your personal space, Jon hovered over you as he leaned down. Your eyes slipped closed as he let his dark ones flicker down to you, then your lips and back before letting his close as well. Not quite kissing you yet, but no doubt he was close that you could feel his breath against your skin when you exhaled nervously. Jon almost smirked, how cute you were about being physical with him even now.

But just as he was about to press his lips finally to yours, months after almost making love to you for your first times, did it stop. A sound in the distance like a door opening and voices reminding you both where you were and why. Your head dropped suddenly as your eyes opened and something sad came over you both.

Jon never took his hands off you, instead cupping both of your cheeks and turning your head downwards a little to press a firm kiss to your forehead before resting his against it with a muttering rasp. Not telling you anything but what he didn’t say before. “I missed you too, darling.”

Everything went wrong after that. Most of the men left for a hunt with the King in the wolfswood, and somewhere between that, did Bran fall. A climber only matched by you when you were his age, Bran had climbed a thousand times. In the wind, and the rain, and he’s never fallen. But this time as he climbed the run down, empty tower on the edge of the castle walls, did Bran apparently fall.

Now in bed, none of them knew if he would make it and they could only hold on to find out. But in the middle of that new pain and grief, did the Queen make it all worse by declaring, “We still have a wedding to put on.”

He tried to keep his distance, but it wasn’t an easy task. Being around you came so naturally to Jon that he barely sometimes thought about it when he’d begin to seek you out. Many times normal you’d be found with him or him with you, but with everyone around including such watchful eyes of royals, things were different. He couldn’t spend time with you the way he wished.

Queen Cersei kept a tight leash around you much of the days. Always seeking you out or sending a handmaiden to fetch you for her, always fussing about one thing or another and he could only guess it was wedding preparations. Many times you would emerge hours later fussing with the skirt of your dress as if you had to smooth it out from changing out of it multiple times. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it. What it was going to look like. Jon knew what he could imagine, but likely it was nowhere near as elegant as what it could be.

Just another reminder to Jon that this was inevitable. He was always going to have to give you up. A bastard couldn’t provide you with those sorts of things, things that you deserved. But, as it turned out, a bastard wasn’t welcome in many regards with the royal family around. He spent much time it felt on the outside looking in, not being part of the dynamics around the castle in front of such grand company. And much of that time as his father thus spend with King Robert, he found his duties more lax especially as the time ticked away.

It was another inevitability now. You were going to marry Robb, and Jon would leave the next day for the Wall. How his Uncle Benjen convinced his father to say yes he wasn’t sure, but he did, and now Jon sat in the waiting for it to happen.

One afternoon he recalled finding himself sitting up on a landing with Arya, watching in the training yard as the spoiled Prince Joffery had demanded to spar with Robb. When Arya asked why he wasn’t down there, she needed little more explanation as he told her bastards aren’t permitted to spar with princes. They laughed as they watched Joffery fail time and time again to match Robbs skill, many times yelling and getting angry when Robb would knock him down, only for The Hound to remind him that he was the one who demanded Robb fight in the first place.

He had thought on the idea a lot, but now with his time here limited, Jon had looked at Arya and knew what he was planning. He could recall how according to his father, Arya reminded him of the spirit of his sister. Their Aunt Lyanna, the one whom passed after Prince Rhaegar Targaryean had kidnapped her. Their father didn’t speak of her often, but when he did it was always memorable. Jesting once that had their own father allowed it, Lyanna would’ve likely carried a sword just as her brothers did.

It was all ready to go, to be picked up the next day for the final touches and it was one of the only things Jon had to look forward too now. Others, not so much. The feeling drew further close to the day you would marry, and Jon tried to tell himself to keep his distance.

Really, he knew he had to accept this. He didn’t want to leave and you have him stuck in your memory. You knew Robb just as long as you did Jon, you were just as close in a platonic sense. You were a match that made sense, and Jon didn’t want Robb nor you to be unhappy with each other. He wanted this to work, because he knew he couldn’t give you what Robb could. It didn’t feel good, it pained in his heart to consider what life you’d have that was so much better when he wasn’t the one keeping you down, but he knew he had to let you go.

Not his love, that would remain for the rest of his days and beyond them. But, Jon was ready to bring your heart with him to the Wall. He’d keep it safe, protect it with everything he had left. That love would come with him, so you could make room for Robb. He was giving up any chance at a wife or family in the Watch anyways, and he had no plans for eyes for someone else. He’d protect your little secret love so you didn’t have to have the memory of it getting in the way of your new happiness. But that didn’t mean he was ready.

The night before he had seen you leave the castle late into the night when you should’ve been sleeping. Seeing you go to the godswood, Jon smiled. Knowing that sometimes you felt lost and confused and the sept never felt the right place for it, so you’d sit in front of the Weirwood and hope something made sense in your head there. All it took was once single glance to Ghost before he nodded.

The still small direwolf making his way down to the ground as Jon followed, only for you to be taken by surprise as Ghost thus jumped onto your lap. Almost not registering how natural it was when Jon sat down next to you, that he pulled you in close with an arm around you as your head rested against his shoulder. The perfect position for Jon to lean more over you to take in the last quiet you two would ever have together.

Your fingers running along Ghosts fur by his ears, he almost didn’t hear you, you whispered it so quietly. “We never had a chance did we?” His brows narrowed in a confusion, looking more down to you as you elaborated, not taking your eyes off the direwolf. “I mean, being with you is easy. It’s always been easy, but being together?”

Jon rested his chin on the top of your head. Breathing in deeply before rasping into the cold air, “No. No, we never had a chance.”

It stung to say, but it was the truth that you both had spent years pretending would not happen. Yet it was, and there was no more running from it. You turned your head suddenly, a tenseness in your muscles like something overwhelming came over you, partially hidden by the soft fur of his cloak. “You know right? Even if I don’t say it?”

Oh he did. Jon knew, he knew for a long time. But two scared teenagers started this love off, and never did you both quite get passed that fear to speak it out loud. But, he refused to let you and him depart the others lives with you thinking he didn’t love you. Moving to pull your face to look back up to his by your chin, his eyes were bright down at your much more sorrowful ones. “I know. And you do too.”

Back and forth for a bit you both went, jokes about wanting to kiss as if it didn’t pain you both to avoid it. Eventually, a silence simmered over when the idea came to him. Jon had his own fantasy, but his was of escape. He didn’t want that. Jon didn’t want anymore for you to think about leaving your life to make a new one, he wanted you to accept what was coming as he had to. But that didn’t mean he had to give all of you up. “Where’d we meet?” Chuckling instantly at your confused expression. “If we had a chance, in another life where’d we meet?”

“Are we still not us?”

His tone felt much easier, something more free and normal within it as if nothing was happening around you both out of your control. Pulling you a bit closer, “No, well I mean I’m still me, and you’re still you. But we’re not highborn, no titles or duties. Just two people somewhere in the kingdom. Where’d we meet?”

You squinted in thought for a while, and Jon couldn’t say he was disappointed in your answer. “I hear Highgarden is beautiful in the summer.” As far from the cold or Kings Landing as you could get, a perfect spot for two people in a new life.

Without even hesitating, Jon said it without even realizing your eyes went comically wide. “Alright. So you’re a bar maid in Highgarden, and I-”

You laughed loudly, tried to pull away as Jon kept you against him, an audacity in your tone. “Excuse me, why am I a bar maid? Isn’t this a fantasy?”

But Jon didn’t need to elaborate, he’d thought of a thousand and one scenarios in his head at ways he and you could marry and live out your lives together. There was practically no fantasy Jon had not long since thought of in depth about your future together, knowing it would be the only future you’d have. “Yes, and if you’re a bar maid, it means I have an excuse to pull this pretty little bar maid in Highgarden down onto my lap as she passes by.” Muttering with a held back amusement that such a thing was rather aggressive of him, Jon only smirked. “Maybe this particular bar maid makes me aggressive.”

Back and forth you both went. What he would do, if you stayed in Highgarden or travelled the realm elsewhere. How many children you’d both have, to which Jon kept adding to your seemingly final conclusion of two, until he managed to bend your arm and get you to agree on five. By the time it was too late for you both to be awake, your other lives had been planned and settled.

Ghost sensing Jon was ready to leave, leaped out of your lap to the ground. Shaking out his fur to wake himself up as you both watched with fond smiles. You turned to look back up at him first, his hands resting without care at your waist and you held gentle at the wrists holding you. Jon knew better then to try and kiss you the night before you married his brother, it would put a selfish need for him onto you and add to the guilt he knew you were already going to struggle with. And Jon didn’t want that.

Raising one hand to cup your cheek, Jons heart skipped at how easily you leaned into his thumb running over the soft skin. “Don’t look for me in the ceremony.” Your eyes widened before narrowing in what he knew right away was a panic, and he put out that fire before you could even think otherwise. Leaning down to meet your eye level better, he spoke slower to make sure you understood him. “I’ll be there, but don’t look for me. You’re going to be Robb’s now, and I want you to be okay with accepting that.”

Nodding, he made you promise out loud to ensure you understood him.

Never letting the thumb running along your cheek stop, Jon told the painful truth. It didn’t feel good for him to say, but he said it for you. He knew you needed to hear it, he didn’t want you to go into tomorrow upset about betraying Jon when he’d never feel that way about you, or about Robb. “You’ll be each others tomorrow, and I’ll be at the Wall. I want you two to be there for each other. No matter what. Besides,” With a bit of brevity he just told the truth he’s seen in the countless girls who gave Robb those very looks. “Robb’s easy to fall in love with, and I think it’s impossible not to fall at least a little in love with you.”

Swallowing roughly you nodded again before Jon carefully pulled you into his arms. A hand running down your hair he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, before muttering for you to go on and get to bed. Sending you off first was on purpose. He didn’t want you to linger with him on your mind. Jon needed you to be okay with being Robb’s, and he himself, just needed to get through these next few days. He had an entire life at the Wall to grieve about you.

In a complete truth, Jon as sure your wedding as as much a blur to you as it was to him. Not even your father was there to walk you, not the King who did it, but Ned Stark himself. It seemed fitting, the man who was more of a father to you then any of your family by blood, and he walked you to the Weirwood. As if not giving you away, but being the one to welcome you to being a true part of the family from here on in. As he moved to stand with the rest of the crowd, Jon pretended not to notice his father giving him a look.

Jon was too distracted. He hated the dress you wore. You looked beautiful, but you didn’t look comfortable at all. It was…well it was rather tight fitting for a girl like you. You preferred long sleeves, gowns that flowed along the ground like a curtain in the wind, and less bold designs but more colours that were sewn into the stitches to make things stand out ever the slightest. This was not you. His eyes glanced to the Queen and he knew right away whose dress really this was made for, but just forced onto you.

Northern weddings were quiet. No septon, no one up there but the bride and groom. Some spoke words out loud, some didn’t, but the man would drape her with his fur and they’d prey before the Weirwood. Jon watched, but didn’t seem to pay attention to it. Robb would never make a scene out of it anyways, and certainly not when it was clear you were incredibly nervous. Perhaps it was the only thing Jon focused on. The gentle way Robb tilted your face up by your chin for a short, and gentle kiss. Normally such events were followed by more festive acts, many times the man carrying his new bride to the feast with a rambunctious energy, but their father clearly understood better right now. Giving the crowd the chance to go there first and give yourself and Robb a moment alone.

Jon didn’t hesitate to leave the godswood. It’s what he asked of you, and it’s what he wanted, but he couldn’t take it. The kiss was just the tipping point. You didn’t look at Jon once the whole ceremony, and he couldn’t get to the Wall fast enough.

Jon remembered very little of the feast he actually had indeed attended, by the time morning came. Sitting more down away from the main table you and Robb sat at, he couldn’t stand any of it. He knew the look on your face better then anyone. It was the same apprehensive one you wore for him when he undressed you completely only months before. Wanting not to appear scared but coming off as it anyways in such an innocent way. Only, it wasn’t Jons bed you were nervous for.

It was Robbs. And Jon knew better then to think that you’d back down tonight. You backed down with Jon because you were scared, and there were no duties. You both thought you had all the time to get there, and there was nothing attached to it. Robb would never insist on it, but Jon knew you and he knew you would go through with it tonight no matter what.

In your head, you still had one duty left to become a proper wife and-

Eyes closing as his hand tightened around the mug full of ale, he let an exhale forced out through gritted teeth. A darkness was starting to rise in his chest. Something much more like a wolf as he watched you both. Robb would try and calm your nerves, just small mutters in your ear and a hand on your leg to ground you. You both looked good together. You fit well at Robbs side. Of course you did. You were basically a princess, of course you fit married to the Heir to Winterfell.

But Jon knew you first. He was the one who spent three days and three nights taking care of you. He was the one who brought you out of your shy shell. He kissed you for the first time, he touched you for the first time, your first orgasms were his, he was the one who knew first what a beautiful sight your bare body was. It was Jon who almost made love to you first. And yet, the one last act that mattered most, and Robb was the one who would get it.

The logical part of Jons brain knew it was the alcohol doing it, drinking more then he should’ve. He knew it was the part of him that was drunk that was angry and jealous, and he didn’t really blame Robb for any of this. But that dark, drunk part of Jons head despised all of it. Around him too he heard whispers of a bedding ceremony.

Never in a million lifetimes would Jon put you through that, and were he sober, Jon knew Robb would never either. But drunk? He feared it. He feared it would happen, and being Robbs eldest brother he’d be forced to participate and there was no chance he could handle that right now. Looking up at you once more, Jon barley let his eyes stay for a second before suddenly pushing up from the table.

Lucky for him, he was just a bastard, and no one who noticed cared when the bastard abruptly left the table and disappeared into the darkness beyond the hall. He thought nothing of it at the time, a little too drunk and rattled to care, but on his angry way out he nearly ran right into Ser Jaime Lannister.

The man only standing there with a curious expression for a few seconds still in his way before Jon roughly snapped out, “Pardon.” Before he relented with what looked like a mocking expression as he moved out of the way. The Kingslayer said nothing to Jon, but he felt the mans stare until he turned the corner out of sight, nor was he sober enough to care why.

Jon stayed well away from any of the main bedchambers that night. The walls of Winterfell were thick stone, made to act as an insulation to keep the warmth in, but it also muffled most sounds. He’d never be able to hear anything, and certainly not from his further away, but he couldn’t risk it. He wanted to know nothing about what you’d be like laying with his brother.

He didn’t sleep at all in the end. As if to torture himself, Jon ended up back in the godswood. He felt lost, and sometimes the eyes of the old gods were the only ones where Jon could go to try and bring himself back down to the ground. He sat with his back firm up against the tree near the carved face, Ghost following closely before laying in Jons lap with a whine. Perhaps trying to comfort him, but it too felt a bit like something in Ghost was just as upset as Jon was. As if in the short time the direwolf knew you, he was losing you as well.

Luckily for Jon though, by the time the morning sun rose its weary head did he feel what was left in his system disappear for good. Pushing himself up, he looked down at Ghost with a sigh, the direwolf matching in expression. “You better go say goodbye too. Might be a while before we see any of them again.”

Jon had a lot to do in a short period of time, but at least was awake before most to ensure that he was ready to go. What of his belongings he was bringing packed up, but Jon had a few stops to make, but two were the most important. Though, the first of which required an extra trip. Down outside as Jon waited for the last of the details to be finished with the blacksmith, the very last thing Jon wanted to happen, decided to do so.

He somewhat recalled running into Jaime Lannister the night before, but he was pissed off and rather drunk at the time, but it seemed it was enough to catch his attention. Approaching him from behind, he called out first. “A sword for the Wall?” Turning to look at the approaching figure, Jon could only comment that he already had one. Yet the questions kept coming, “Have you swung it yet?” Of course he had, but the man had a different direction in mind. One Jon couldn’t comprehend why he was asking. “At someone I mean?” They both knew the answer was no, but instead of mocking like he wondered if the man would swing at him, Jaime Lannister said something rather honest yet odd. “It's a strange thing, the first time you cut a man. You realize we're nothing but sacks of meat and blood and some bone to keep it all standing.”

Jon didn’t trust when he held his hand out, but took it out of courtesy anyways with a suspicious look in his eye. The mocking came then, just as he knew it would. “Let me thank you ahead of time for guarding us all from the perils beyond the Wall. Wildlings and White Walkers and whatnot.” Instantly Jon tried pulling away, but was yanked back forward with an equal strength as the man twisted the knife just a bit further. “We’re grateful to have good, strong men like you protecting us.”

Trying to walk away, he didn’t get very far almost as if he assumed Jon would say something, which he did. Trying to keep an even tone, and not start anything despite the anger sitting with him. “We’ve guarded the kingdoms for eight thousands years.” Mockingly, Jaime Lannister asked if he were speaking as we already, asking with a condescending tone if he took his vows yet. “Soon enough.”

The look the man gave Jon, he had no idea what it meant. Something more serious flashing across his eyes before he sauntered back over and covering whatever that emotion was with more mocking. “I can only hope you got everything out of your system before hand. Or, gotten into something you’ve always wanted before you can never have her.” Jons grey eyes grew darker and narrowed, as the man leaned in for only him to hear. “Do yourself a favour, and do one last dishonourable thing with such a pretty girl before you never have the chance again.” Neither of them expected a single word out of Jon, as he begun to stand back more, louder this time for all around to hear. “Give my regards to the Night's Watch. I'm sure it will be thrilling to serve in such an elite force. And if not, It's only for life.”

He had to ignore it, any of it. He didn’t have the time nor patience to figure out what he meant, if he knew, and if so, how in the seven hells did Jaime Lannister put that together when years around the same people everyday hadn’t yet. He had to focus, it was his last day, and his time was growing ever shorter.

Arya reacted just as he expected, excited by the idea but more touched he actually did it. A small, skinny sword made special for her. He couldn’t be there to teach her, but he could give her the first step, and her first lesson if just a handful of playful words she all but rolled her eyes at. Having to pull back when she went in for a hug, “Careful.” Realizing the sword still in her hand, she’d have a long way to go, but Jon would be proud of her no matter what.

Without much thought, Jon expected it as much as she did. Short as ever, Arya jumped high into Jon as he caught her without a second thought, and with ease. He loved all his siblings, but he’d miss Arya a great amount as she would him. They were always the outcasts in their own family, in their own unique ways and that made it easy to always look out for the other. “All the best swords have names you know.”

Thinking for a moment, Arya found a fitting name only she could ever come up with. “Sansa can keep her sewing needles. I’ve got a Needle of my own.” Neither rushed to pull away, but she had to finish packing and Jon had another stop to make. One that would be much more unpleasant then this.

Catelyn glared at him the moment she turned her head to see him. Jon stood in the open door, seeing his little brother still as unconscious as he was the day before, and the one before that for countless nights now. He didn’t blame her as a mother for staying at his bedside, but it meant he had to do this with her there. “I came to say goodbye to Bran.”

Dismissive as ever, she managed to just spit out without looking back at him, “You’ve said it.”

Were this years ago, when Jon was still a teenager, it would’ve been worse. Their relationship then was hostile and volitle. He had an impulsive temper and she had no patience to put up with it the way his father tried to get her to do. He may have challenged her, she’d have threatened to call the guards and Jon would’ve called her bluff knowing she’d never cause a scene like that.

But he wasn’t that teenager anymore, he was a man who knew better. So instead, he ignored her completely. Walked into the room to the other side of Brans bed, looking down to the boy who would wake up and not realize Jon even had plans like this to leave. He felt Catelyns eyes on him, angry he had walked in regardless of what she tried to convey to him.

It wasn’t about her though, it was about Bran. Only a boy of ten, but Jon had seen his face nearly every single day since he was born and for that he considered himself extremely lucky. And leaving him wasn’t easy, especially like this, especially when he knew if he were here when he woke up, Bran would be upset he was gone. “I wish I could be here when you wake up. I’m going north with Uncle Benjen, I’m talking the black.”

Eyes glancing up to Catelyn, he knew this was out of his comfort. Doing this in front of her, but he wasn’t going to push it and ask her to leave and he wasn’t going to leave Bran without saying goodbye. So, instead Jon knelt down to Brans bedside, leaning more to him with a soft and gentle tone hoping his little brother could hear him asleep. “I know we always talked about seeing the Wall together, but you'll be able to come visit me at Castle Black when you're better. I'll know my way around by then. I'll be a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. We can go out walking beyond the Wall, if you're not afraid.”

Jon risked the glance, and regretted it. There likely was a lot running through Catelyns head towards him. Even when he only wanted an honest moment with his brother, she still didn’t have it in her to just ignore him, no she always had to haunt over Jons life and remind him exactly why he didn’t feel welcome here anymore in the first place. With a force to say it, but a seething anger whispered behind it she nearly hissed it at him. “I want you to leave.”

The footsteps caught both of their attention. Turning to look, was Ned Stark standing there, watching the unusual and tense scene. Rarely could Jon ever be found alone in the room with Catelyn, but with the sleeping Bran between them, it was clear what was going on and he said nothing. Knowing Jon picked up on the silent indication to give him and his wife a moment alone. Standing up, Jon leaned over the bed. Running a hand over the top of his brothers head, pressing a kiss to his forehead with the only hope that he indeed, will wake up one day.

He said nothing further to Bran, Catelyn or his father. Only shifting around him to leave as his father eventually closed the door behind him. Jon didn’t want to linger anymore then he had too. He was the sore spot between his father and her. The stain on her husbands reputation, the walking memory living with her own children that her husband brought another womans son home. He was the rift in the family, and he knew if was the spite and hatred of Catelyn that was the driving force behind getting Jon to this point.

But, as the morning continued, his time grew short.

He hadn’t seen you until that moment. You were around, but you were avoiding him. Not that Jon blamed you. You of all people would have no idea what to say. Not just being a married woman now, but what to say about all of this. About leaving, both of you. He could see you as he prepared his own horse, you having clearly tended to your own for some time no doubt as a way to try and distract yourself from everything away from people.

But he heard Robbs voice before he saw him, and for once, didn’t feel that jealousy. “You say goodbye to Bran?” Nodding, Robb did as he always did. Even when he himself wasn’t sure, he spoke confident for the rest of them. If he was calm and sure, then his younger siblings would be and Jon felt something warm yet tight in his heart that no matter what, Robb did the same for him here too. “He’s not going to die, I know it.”

Jon, covered his own up with something clever, which Robb knew too well was hiding his real worries. “You Starks are hard to kill.” Asking with a wonder about his mother, knowing no doubt Jon would’ve had a run in with her, but he wasn’t here to cause problems. Leaving was supposed to solve them, and he started with a lie he knew Robb likely didn’t quite believe. “She was very kind.”

“Good.” Facing the other finally, he only jested towards him. “Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

With a shrug, he returned the light gesture. Nothing needing to be heavy said between them. “It was always my colour.” Jon and Robb had the other for their entire lives. Their closest companions since the day they met as mere infants. Raised together, trained together, did everything together and only ever added others to that already close dynamic. Before you came along, Robb was Jons only real friend and Jon was Robbs.

No matter the jealousy about who he was, what he was and who he got, there was not a single part of Jon in his bones that could ever hate his brother. Not even close. Robb knew that, he knew all that, but never let that get in the way either and neither of them needed to say that this was the first time they’d be truly apart in their entire lives and it wasn’t as easy as either of them were making it out to be.

“Farewell, Snow.”

“And you, Stark.”

Both went in for a hug at the same time. Tight and full of everything they didn’t say, that they were brothers, and being apart was going to be harder now then if they had done so in easy times. Pulling back, Robb though nodded his head to the side. Indicating over to where you were now very obviously trying to ignore both of them.

Jon knew what he meant. If he let you, you would leave right now and not say goodbye to Jon, because you didn’t know how to handle the fact that you were taking this a lot harder then you let on. Robb wasn’t the only one who was watching someone who was a massive part of his life, seek out a new one away from them.

Nodding, he watched his brother walk away before turning to look to you. It was more then that though, something strange felt like it was settling in Jons stomach. Something unpleasant he couldn’t understand, but that begged him to go to you. As if he would let you leave this way in the first place.

Grabbing what remained of your things not yet packed up, Jon did it for you with more ease then you could. Nothing about you looked any different, in fact, you almost looked like you felt that same bitter sensation inside that Jon was beginning to feel. More then the heartbreak of saying goodbye, but something much stronger as if trying to warn him of something.

As you turned to look up at him though, it was all still there. One night didn’t take it away, that love still flourished in your eyes looking up at him and it gave Jon the only comfort he could get left. That you still loved him and he still loved you. He’d take your love with him, so you could be free to give your love to Robb, but you both could part knowing that Jon would protect your love for the rest of his life.

Company be damned, Jon didn’t care. Pulling you tightly into his arms, you wrapped your around him just as needing as he felt. His hand gently cupped the back of your head as your face was hidden halfway between his neck and the soft furs muffling your voices. He spoke first, a deep rasp in your ear only for you. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.”

You both knew what you wanted to say, but mourning the loss of it was easier to start now then to finally say then when it was too late. Pulling back, your hands held at his shoulders while Jon shamelessly cupped your cheeks both both hands. It slipped out with a grin, but it have you a watery laugh that made it all worth it to him. “Think I could get to the Wall before they catch me, if I kiss you now?”

Tilting your head with a smile you muttered softly, “Now or never, Snow.”

Slowly Jon leaned forward, truly almost as if he was to press his lips to yours, but turned to leave a sweet and lingering kiss to your cheek. The closest he could get for the rest of his life. And he’d take it. Not pulling away he pulled you close once more, letting himself take his time for the last time.

A small whine interrupted though, you glancing down with a sudden bright grin. Ghost ran up to you it seemed before you could leave without saying goodbye to him as well. Kissing Ghost on the forehead, he licked your other cheek as you ran your hands along his fur. A loving whisper you knew Jon could hear as he watched you with his wolf, in a way that only you were ever so soft with him. “Protect him, no matter what you hear me?” Next time I see him, you better make sure he’s as healthy as you are now.”

You, Jon, nor Ghost could’ve had a clue how painful in irony that would come to fruition one day.

It wasn’t a goodbye the same as others, but along the Kingsroad there was a parting way where you turn south to go along to the path eventually leading to Kings Landing, and the other the path eventually leading to Castle Black. Jon Snow and Ned Stark both sat at that crossing atop their horses, a moment for only the two of them.

Jon could see you in the distance waiting. Staying far away enough so you could ensure you did not accidentally hear them, but enough you could still watch them. Waiting for his father to return and you’d join him. But it was his father who spoke at that moment with something both proud yet almost worried in him that he didn’t say. Or didn’t know how to. “It’s a great honour serving in the Nights Watch. The Starks have manned the Wall for thousands of years.” He had no words to say why, but hearing his father say what he said next, never left Jons heart for years to come. “And you are a Stark. You may not have my name, but you have my blood.”

Looking down, Jons brows furrowed. It was a chance, a chance that never worked before. He never got any answers from his father about her, but Jon asked because he always wanted to know. “Is my mother alive? Does she know about me? Where I am, where I’m going?” Looking at him, the real question came out in a raw, gentle wonder. “Does she care?”

His father though, it was a look Jon had never seen before. Something painful, truly painful. A conflict weighing so heavily on his shoulders that he spent Jons entire life keeping it to himself no matter the cost it was taking on him. But, he looked at Jon and was as honest as Jon had been asking. “The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother. I promise.”

Jon nodded, it was more then he’d ever gotten about it before and he’d take it. Watching his father ride off, you didn’t yet turn to join. Instead, you looked to Jon as he did to you.

Why Jon knew, he couldn’t have an idea, but he did. You felt it. This feeling dark and ill in the pit of your stomach, you felt it. As if screaming not to leave the other behind in a way that was so strong it scared him. But you said nothing, and neither did he. His life was up North now, and yours was family and duty, both of which Jon couldn’t get in the way of any longer.

He always knew he wasn’t good enough for you. He was a bastard, he could never give you anything of value beyond the love in his heart and that wasn’t enough for a girl like you. You deserved everything, and Robb would give you everything. Jon would have your love and keep it tucked away with his, and you both would at least know that even if you loved another, Jon would always love you. That was all he could ask for that this point, that you never forgot that he loved you more then anything.

You took off in the other direction as suddenly as he did, needing to turn and leave before that screaming feeling caused Jon to go after you. Riding off in opposite directions, that sinking feeling just screamed louder and louder the further away you both got.

Neither of you having any idea, what horrors would bring you two back to one another.

[claymoresword]

Come Out And Haunt Me

Cersei Lannister x Catelyn Tully Stark

Summary: When her raven goes unanswered, queen Cersei Lannister decides to pay the Starks a visit herself.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Disclaimers: omegaverse, alpha!cersei, omega!catelyn, cheating, angst & fluff, robert baratheon does not exist

Note: hi! so i initially only planned to post this on Ao3 but I've decided to share it here as well

honestly not sure what this is i just had a random burst of energy one night and decided to write it lol

to all 2 of you who clicked on this, welcome! hope you enjoy <3

The parchment clutched tightly in her hands, Catelyn skims the letter once more. As though dwelling would make a difference to the words already etched into the page.

An egregious insult.

Nine years; Catelyn had been forced to wallow in the harsh and cold North. Nine years and she had just managed to find a sort of peace amidst her sorrow.

Ned no longer insists on sharing her bed and her children, aside for Rickon, have all outgrown her attention.

She is finally comfortable.

Perhaps even happy.

Now the queen intends to summon her to King's Landing– like a dog.

The alpha is as bold as she is cruel.

I am not meant to be Hand any more than Cersei is fit to be queen.

Catelyn traces the crimson seal with the pad of her thumb, a war raging within her.

It is a cruel jape, even after everything, she still yearns to be in the alpha's presence once more.

To thread her fingers through golden curls, look upon delicate features in which time has certainly only made more beautiful.

Catelyn scoffs at her own feebleness, she harshly wipes the tears that have already began drying upon her cheeks.

This is all folly.

The omega allows her eyes flutter shut for a moment; she banishes Cersei from her mind.

Wringing the letter in her hands as she rises from her seat, Catelyn storms towards the hearth, eventually feeding the crumpled parchment to the fire.

Cersei Lannister; ever delicate and enchanting. The worst person Catelyn has ever met, once the love of her life.

This is what it has come to; for all of her sins, the Gods see fit to mock her.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

A month has come and gone since the queen sent a raven, and Catelyn is content with the knowledge that Cersei has taken her silence for an answer.

She will not go to King's Landing. She cannot set eyes on the queen once more– for the omega is certain she will not survive it.

"Brandon Stark! How many times must I tell you? No climbing." Catelyn exclaims, she watches her son descend clumsily from the roof.

Bran appears unfazed by his mother's warnings, as always. A genial expression covers his features; the careless joy of a young boy.

"I just saw hundreds of people riding down our road." The boy exclaims amidst a grunt, hoisting himself off the parapet before finally landing on his feet in front of his mother. "I saw a large wheelhouse, with horses.. and men in armor."

"It must be your uncle Benjen and his men who have come to visit your father again." Catelyn decides, but her son pays her no mind as he continues.

"They were carrying crimson banners, with a lion–” Catelyn's expression falls at his son's words. Suddenly she senses a gnawing in her belly, as though she might wretch.

"What did you say– about the banner?" The omega asks as she grabs her son by the shoulder, urging him to look up at her.

"It was crimson, with a yellow lion." Bran repeats as he stares at his mother.

"–Lannisters." Maester Luwin emerges, overhearing their exchange. "Is it possible the queen has come to Winterfell?"

The man asks as he searches Catelyn's expression; she has gone quiet, all colour drained from her face.

"My Lady.." Maester Luwin then attempts to coax a response, with a light hand on Catelyn's forearm.

It restores Cat to her senses just enough to muster a single sentence. "Please, inform my Lord husband. Tell him, the queen is on her way."

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Catelyn smooths out her gown for the dozenth time, not having been given much option or time, she was forced to don a dark blue gown, one that her Lord husband often insists match her eyes.

Although the dye on the fabric has now faded, and the sleeves wrinkled– but it matters not. Most of her dress remains covered by her sheepskin cloak.

Nearly all of her dresses always are. The weather in the North does not warrant beauty, only practicality.

Catelyn breath catches in her throat as she observes the queen's approach. Cersei leads the assembly on a gold and white palfrey, she halts infront of the gates before dismounting her horse with grace.

It is no secret that the years have since done its work on them both. The queen is no longer the young woman she had served at court, the same way Catelyn is no longer a girl of ten and five.

Cersei wears a few wrinkles around her eyes, yet, her beauty remains as ethereal as Catelyn remembers it to be. More than anything, the sight of the alpha makes her ache; she has no choice but to focus her gaze elsewhere.

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.” Ned declares after placing a chaste kiss on the back of the queen's hand.

He remains kneeling on the ground as Cersei studies him. She regards him with a piercing emerald stare before instructing him to rise.

“I hope you can forgive my sudden attendance, I have rather urgent business with your wife.” The queen avows, not appearing to be sorry at all.

Whilst Ned is visibly taken aback by Cersei's declaration, any doubt or query he may have on the matter– he keeps to himself.

The Lord of Winterfell steps aside as the queen swiftly turns her attention towards his wife.

“My queen.” Catelyn greets the golden haired woman with a curtsey. The omega only manages to hold Cersei's gaze for a heartbeat before once again, willing herself to look elsewhere.

The alpha moves to reach for Catelyn's hand, but as though just only recalling the importance of propriety, she stops herself.

Cersei is not given a chance to do much else before her wife falls in next to her.

Taena smiles brightly as she envelopes Catelyn within her embrace, without much warning. “Cat, it's been far too long!” The Myrish woman exclaims.

Catelyn feigns a smile of her own, out of courtesy, she embraces the queen consort in return.

“You are just glowing.” Taena states as she breaks away to look at her. Catelyn soon feels a hand upon her cheek.

The omega wears a bashful expression; one that is just as contrived as the other woman's attempt at a compliment.

She gently pries Taena's hand away from her face. “You are far too gracious.. you look well yourself, Your Grace.”

Taena sighs, as though she wishes for Catelyn's words to be true. “Oh, please, I look a fright.”

“We have been travelling for weeks.” She adds, and the glare Taena throws at her wife calls attention to the barely concealed asperity within her tone.

Yet, Cersei only smiles in return, no doubt her way of retaliating to Taena's grievance is to simply ignore it entirely.

She addresses Ned instead. “My Lady wife and I hope to lay in a proper bed tonight.”

“Of course, Your Grace. We have rooms enough to accommodate you both.. and your children, if it please you.” Ned states curtly as he ushers the queen through the gates.

“Good, I look forward to seeing your castle.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

After a busy morning, Catelyn had decided to lock herself away in her solar for the remainder of the day. In truth, aside for a desperate solution to escaping the queen and her lady wife– solitude was also the only way Catelyn could avoid Ned's incessant questioning.

Of course his confusion is warranted, and her husband means well, to be sure, Ned always does– but Catelyn cannot stand to lie to him anymore.

-

As the lady of Winterfell sits by her window, she manages to get a view of Bran and Arya, currently playing in the yard; their direwolf pups by their feet.

The queen’s children have since joined them. Tommen and Myrcella are no doubt every bit like their mothers, both with emerald green eyes of the Lannisters and olive skinned like their Myrish mother.

The sight of their children playing together strikes Catelyn as something that was painfully ironic. In fact, it was nearly amusing, in a rather bleak way.

Lost in her thoughts, the omega fails to hear the latch on the door behind her.

The oak doors open, and soon shuts. It is only when Catelyn notices shuffling behind her that she turns around to inspect the cause.

“Are you hiding from me?” Cersei asks. with her question, she tilts her head slightly. The same way she used to when they were mere children together.

The sight unsettles Catelyn in a way she does not care to acknowledge. She scrambles to her feet, hugging her robe around her slender frame.

"Your Grace. I- no, I'm just not well." She tells a half-truth and she prays for a miracle.

Catelyn hopes, stupidly, that the other woman will decide to leave her alone, without much interrogation.

"Are you ill?" Cersei asks, as expected, approaching her.

The alpha's tone of genuine concern only makes Catelyn want to weep, but she shakes her head, forcibly suppressing the urge. "It must be something I ate." She lies.

"Oh, then you must rest.” Cersei suggests in response, a smirk tugging on the corners of her mouth.

The omega's brows furrow at the sight. She mocks me. Catelyn observes.

The lady of Winterfell decides she no longer possesses the will for feigned courtesies. All she has the strength to do now is stare at the other woman, unamused.

This works to unnerve the queen slightly, as though thrown off balance, Cersei clears her throat.

The alpha averts her gaze before resting her hand on the hilt of her longsword, assuming a confident stance once more.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” Cersei finally states it plainly, and Catelyn scoffs in response.

The alpha possesses just enough audacity to appear confused by the other woman's reaction. “What?”

“Stop that. Don't pretend as though you have given me a choice.” Catelyn hisses, and she watches as Cersei opens her mouth to retaliate, but she swiftly cuts off the attempt.

“If that was true, you would not be here.” Cat challenges and Cersei merely shrugs, unconcerned yet dignified.

The queen always does so in a way that managed to make others seem small, inconsequential.

It was infuriating.

“Come to King's Landing, serve as my Hand.” “and you should take Sansa, our daughter will do well in the capital.” Cersei renders aloud as she advances forward.

Now standing close enough that Catelyn can smell the lavender oil in her hair.

“Such beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here.” Cersei continues, reaching up to caress the omega's cheek.

Catelyn stiffens and then sighs involuntarily against her touch. Once again she feels the urge to weep, to scream. The omega wants to lean in and kiss the other woman, to feel her warm embrace.

Instead, she slaps her hand away, bristling. “Don't. do not do that.”

“and don't call her your daughter.. as if you have ever been a sire to her.” She mutters, a scowl covers Catelyn's features as she tries to slip past the alpha.

Although Cersei quickly catches her by the arm before she can go far at all, forcing a proximity between them once more.

"You know that I regret– I regret how it all ended between us.” The queen utters, her voice low, only for Catelyn to hear.

The sincerity in which Cersei speaks her sweet words does nothing to douse the rage within her.

Years of longing and wanting for a woman that has no regard for her honor, no respect for her feelings. Cersei has been nothing if not careless with her; with her heart.

Catelyn does not believe a word the alpha says– she cannot allow herself to.

“Do you?” She challenges, her jaw clenched in anger.

“Nine years without a word from you.. not so much as a raven.” She adds with a raised voice, though Cersei appears entirely unfazed by it, this time her arm slips around Catelyn's waist.

“Don't touch me.” She tries, attempting to wriggle out of the alpha's hold, but it is no use.

"I missed you.. I wanted to write to you, I truly did.” Cersei reveals, cupping the other woman's cheek once more.

“I just thought–”

“What?” Catelyn provokes, unsatisfied.

“You thought what?” Despite herself, she feels her eyes begin to well with tears.

“You told me you loved me... I gave myself to you, and then you chose her.”

Cersei own expression shifts at the other woman's declaration. She wipes away the omega's tears with the pads of her thumbs tenderly.

“I had no choice.” The queen insists, her tone gentle and sincere– almost vulnerable.

“I assume you are happier.. with your husband.” Cersei alleges, and Catelyn feels the urge to laugh in her face.

“How could you possibly think that?” She questions, and Cersei acknowledges the mistake she had made, at long last.

“Forgive me.. I never meant to hurt you.” The queen articulates, threading her fingers through auburn locks.

Catelyn allows herself to lean into the other woman's touch, her brows still furrowed as she speaks. “Well, you did. You broke my heart.”

The omega attempts to shove Cersei away once more, but still, she refuses to budge.

The alpha is stronger, and far more determined.

“I know, I am sorry.” The queen says again, this time she boldly kisses the shell of Catelyn's ear.

As the omega continues to try and fight out of her hold, Cersei kisses her again, this time further down, her tender lips meeting her jaw.

Catelyn shivers at the sensation, just as instinctively, she rests her hand on the nape of Cersei's neck.

“I'm sorry.” The alpha mutters once more as she kisses the corner of Catelyn's mouth.

This time, she does not fight the urge. Catelyn turns her head, capturing the other woman's lips with her own for a real kiss.

As their mouths moved against each other with aching familiarity, Cersei's hand shifts to the small of the omega's back, causing the other woman to lean further into her.

They kiss for what feels like an eternity; only breaking apart when both their lungs clamour for air.

Catelyn's face burns from the intensity of the moment, she soon wraps both her arms around the other woman properly, concealing her face in the crook of Cersei's neck.

“I despise you.” The omega mutters, almost petulantly.

Cersei merely lets out a light chuckle at that. A kind of acceptance and forbearance; a quality she truly only finds less of a challenge to display around Catelyn.

“I know.”

[nanoland]

back to How To Fix Arcane:

have Mel stay in Piltover at the end!

Mel is a crucial part of the Piltover/Zaun conflict that was, in s1, the driving force behind the whole plot. this is a story about inequality and she's the richest woman in the city. she's arguably the MOST powerful character in the story, before boring nonsense magic shenanigans happen to Viktor and he comes bran stark v. 2 pouting lord of time and space or whatever.

so... have her DO something!

i mean ideally don't kick her out of the main narrative early so that she doesn't interact with most of the cast or the plot or the themes at all in s2. but if you gotta do that shitty thing, at least have her rejoin the story properly at the end!

why doesn't she stay in Piltover?

why doesn't she help repair the damage she and her family have done? why doesn't she consider using her enormous wealth to help Zaun, giving that Zaun is still incredibly poor and downtrodden and that is still the number 1 problem that lead to all the other problems?

why doesn't she stay on the council to help Sevika, who is now fighting this battle completely alone? why doesn't she use her political intelligence? why doesn't she offer to compensate the families of the people, especially the Zaunites, that her mother killed? why doesn't she do anything?

she just.... leaves!

did she care that Caitlyn gassed people? did she care that Jayce is dead or gay or lord of time and space or whatever? did she care about what Viktor was up to in Zaun? does she have any opinions on Jinx's actions or Ekko's actions or anything? does she get to have any character whatsoever outside of her mom angst? what's she gonna do when she gets to Noxus? are we supposed to think she's going to be a good leader? to help people? because she had plenty of chances to help people back in Piltover and she absolutely did not!

Mel was a fascinating character, a gentle and kind yet deeply flawed, selfish woman who wanted to make the world a better place but didn't seem to know how. there are so many places you could take that! so many stories you could tell! and they did nothing with her. they gave her a pretty new costume and a handful of utterly empty badass one-liners and that's it. ugh. the waste.

[lovebaela]

THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH

Chapter 1: A New Life

masterlist l next

(a/n) hello! I decided to restart my “Ice and Fire” fanfaction because I have so much more ideas for a better story :) even though it’s discontinued, if you would like to check it out here’s the masterlist! I hope you guys will enjoy this one 🤍 I’m working on the masterlist for this series right now!

UPDATED VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER IS ON WATTPAD

https://www.wattpad.com/1439910833-dragon-of-the-north-b-stark-𝐢-a-new-life

Divider credit: @dingusfreakhxrrington @valeskafics

°❆⋆Bran Stark x Targaryen OC .ೃ࿔*:･ CW: fem!oc, betrothal (forced marriage), topics of abuse and racism, angst, a lot of fluff, smut (I’ll try lol), and murder.꙳·❅°*˖ Rating: Mature audiences - The mature moments will happen later on. In the beginning, it will mostly just be cute fluff.⋆⁺₊❅.

Why must the gods be so cruel to me? What could I have possibly done to deserve this life? To be sold off like a slave by my own flesh and blood…I’ll never forgive Viserys. Without Dany, I am alone. Without love. I want to go home. But…where do I belong? The summer isles? No, that can’t be my true home, I never had the chance to live there. Do I belong anywhere?

Daughter of the mad king’s younger brother. Rhaella never knew her mother. She died after giving birth in the Summer Isles, killed by assassins under the command of the new king, Robert Baratheon. When he found out Rhaella’s mother was pregnant, he wanted both of them dead. Rhaella was smuggled out of the isles and sent to her cousins, the last Targaryens.

“I know you’re upset,” Lord Eddard Stark said, placing his hand on top of hers.“But please, believe me when I say this. I will never let anyone harm you. You are under my protection now.”

Rhaella gave him a weak smile back. Rhaella, the same name as the Mad King’s sister and wife. Daenerys gave her the name. Viserys despised the idea of his mother’s name given to the likes of a foreign girl. Even though she was still a Targaryen, he only considered her half and not pure. She took after her mother, with more summer isle features. Her skin wasn’t pale, instead, a light amber and tan that would get even darker in the sun. She had long silver curly hair, unlike her cousins who had straight silver blonde hair. The thing Rhaella hated the most was her eyes. Instead of being a pretty violet color, she had dark purple eyes that almost looked black.

Rhaella looked away from the carriage window to make eye contact with Lord Stark, “My Lord?” She asked, “Why did you accept my cousin’s offer to take me?”

“Well, you see,” he explained, “The rebellion caused great loss for everyone. So many people, loved ones, dead. Especially your family, unfortunately. I’ll never forgive him for his order of murder. When the king found out 3 Targaryens were still out in the world, he wanted you all dead. I wanted to prove to him that even though Areys was mad, that doesn’t mean you all don’t deserve to live. By taking you in and marrying one of my sons, we can show him that you are not our enemies. It took him a while to be fully convinced, but he agreed to let you live.”

”But, my eldest cousin,” Rhaella said. “He…he wants to take the seven kingdoms. I’m not sure how, but that is his plan.”

”I highly doubt he is a true threat,” Lord Stark said.

”you’re right,” she admitted. “He can be a big coward at times.”

That comment made him chuckle.

He has a nice smile, very warm and welcoming. Even though he did come off as cold before.

“Will I have to marry now?” Rhaella asked.

“Oh gods no!” He chuckled, “you are far too young, my son as well.”

“Will he like me?”

“I believe so, you have nothing to worry about. Bran is a good kid. He will treat you right.”

Once they made it through the gates, the carriage stopped. Lord Stark exited first so he could get the door for Rhaella. He gently held her hand as she took her steps down. Once Rhaella looked up from the steps, she saw the Stark family before her. Not letting go of her hand, Lord Stark approached his family to introduce their special guest.

“This is Rhaella Targaryen. As you all know, she will be with us now. Treat her as you would treat each other. If anyone disrespects her, let me know.”

They all nodded. A very handsome older boy approached her, “Hello, my lady, I am Robb,” he told her, “I hope you enjoy Winterfell and welcome!” Before walking away, he kissed her hand. That made Rhaella blush, “T-Thank you.” He had blue eyes and dark auburn hair. It was so dark you could barely tell if it was red. He had to have been the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen.

An older girl walked up to her gracefully, “Hello,” she smiled, “my name is Sansa. I hope we can grow to be like sisters! Maybe even brush each other’s hair, make dresses together, and so much more!” Rhaella gave a slight smile back, “I would love that!” Then a girl, who looked not too older than her, approached saying, “My name is Arya! Don’t worry, we don’t have to do girly stuff together. There are other ways to have fun!”

Then, she met Rickon, the youngest in the family, and their mother Lady Stark. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed, “aren't you just a lovely thing? Such a beauty.” Rhaella blushed at the compliment, thanking her.

She must be lying to me. I mean, just look at me! The journey to Westeros was so long that hair became wild and poofy.

”You must be frightened,” Lady Stark said. “Trust me, I never favored the cold myself. I still don’t, but you grow to appreciate it.”

Rhaella couldn’t keep her eyes off Lady Catelyn Stark’s features. Like Robb and Sansa, she had long auburn hair and pretty blue eyes. Her gown was also blue, making her eyes stand out even more.

“Where is Bran?” Lord Stark asked his wife.

“I told that boy to stop climbing,” she explained. “Brandon!”

“Sorry mother!” A voice yelled from above, “I’m coming down!”

When Rhaella looked up, she examined him. He looked to be the same age as her. He had dark brown hair and eyes with freckles on his face. He approached her and bowed, “Welcome to Winterfell, I hope you will take a liking to it.” “Thank you,” she replied.

The atmosphere quickly grew awkward. The two children didn’t know what to say to each other.

Lady Stark took Rhaella’s hand, “You must be exhausted, here, come with me.” She guided Rhaella to her bed chamber and had the handmaidens start a bath. After the bath, she laid on her bed for a quick nap.

After waking up, the handmaidens helped her get into a gown for dinner. The dress was purple with roses embroidered across the neckline. Then, they helped her with her hair. They clearly did not know what they were doing. They aren’t used to doing curly hair like Rhaella’s, but they managed to make something of it. They brushed out her curls, putting them in a half-up-half-down style. The ponytail was braided and put into a bun. After the handmaidens left the room, she looked at herself in the mirror.

I don’t even look like myself anymore.

Tears began to fill her eyes, I just want to go home.

She bolted out of the room, not knowing where she was going. She ran outside the big castle but didn’t dare to leave outside the castle walls. She eventually found an area that stood out to her. The whole vibe was strange as if something or someone was watching her. It was nothing but an old forest with no snow. In the middle of it, was a pool and a tree. A tree she’d never seen before. The huge tree was white with red leaves and a face carved into it. She stared deeply into the tree’s eyes for a while.

Is it staring back at me?

She snapped out of it, shaking her head, and climbed up the tree to sit on a huge branch.

Without Daenerys, I am lost. She didn’t know how long she’d been crying in the tree for, but she didn’t care. Winterfell wasn’t her home.

“Rhaella?” She heard a voice ask.

When she looked up, she saw Bran with a concerned look on his face, “w-why are you crying?”

She wiped her tears. “Sorry, I just miss my sister…how did you know I’d be here?”

“I like to go to the godswood, and climb up this tree,” he said. “Whenever I like to be alone and think. I’m sorry you had to leave your sister.”

“Well, she isn’t my sister, not really,” she admitted, wiping her face. “We are actually cousins. We just call each other sisters.”

He sat next to her, “my family was worried about you. They thought you might have ran away.” He nervously chuckled. “I…I know that we are to be married one day. The idea of marriage scares me.”

She doesn’t respond, only looking down at her hands as she fidgets with them. “I have something for you,” Bran showed her a beautiful blue flower. “That was the reason I was climbing.” He told her. “I wanted to give you something as a gift. I was going to give it to you at the dinner table but here. If I hurt your feelings not being there to greet you, I’m so sorry.” Rhaella took the flower and sniffed it.

“It’s called the winter rose,” he continued. “A rare flower that can grow around the castle.”

“It’s so beautiful,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

”You know, just because we’re betrothed doesn’t mean we have to be in love right now or anything,” he said. “Let’s just be friends!”

”Yeah I’d like that!” She said.

”And just so you know,” he whispered. “I liked your hair better before. Your curly hair is much better.”

She laughed, “You and me both.”

”You’re laughing!”

”So?”

”This is your first time laughing here,” he said. “You have a nice smile.”

”Thanks, Bran,” she said. “You know, my eldest cousin ,Viserys, told me and Dany that you guys were evil monsters. But, you guys aren’t monstrous at all!”

Before Bran could respond, they both hear a voice from down below calling for Bran. An older boy who looked the same age as Robb. He was very handsome with black curls and dark eyes. “I found her Jon!” Bran shouted.

”Well, what are you sitting around for? They are all waiting for you two!” The two of them climbed down from the tree and walked with Jon.

“Forgive me, my name is Jon Snow,” he told Rhaella. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

”I never heard of the last name ‘snow’ before,” she confessed.

Bran began to explain, ”That last name actually means he’s a…well—”

”Bastard.” Jon said. His voice was cold and somber.

”I don’t know what that means,” Rhaella said. “But Viserys called me that sometimes, I assumed as an insult.”

”It means that my father, Lord Stark, had me with another woman. I wanted to meet you when you arrived, but Lady Stark thought it would be disrespectful.”

Rhaella couldn’t help but feel awful for him. There was something about Jon Snow that made him stand out. As if they had a connection. She wondered if Jon felt it too.

“You said that Viserys called us evil,” Bran said. “Then why did he want to send you away to us?”

“He hates me,” she answered. “He saw you guys as an opportunity to get rid of me…”

Once they all made it to the dining hall, all eyes were on Rhaella and Bran. “Well, aren’t you just beautiful?” Catelyn smiled. “Please, have a seat.” Bran escorted her to her chair and went back to his. Before Jon could leave the Hall, Rhaella asked, “Can Jon eat with us please?”

”Ah, I see you met him while you were gone,” Lord Stark said, amused. “Would him eating with us please you?”

Rhaella looked over at Jon, whose eyes lightened up. She looked back at Lord Stark and gave a nod. He looked over at Lady Stark, “What do you say?”

She looked into Rhaella’s sparkling eyes and sighed, “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

Rhaella gave a big smile. Jon pulled a chair next to her whispering, “Thank you Rhaella.”

“I hope you like the dress,” Sansa said. “I made it myself! I wanted to test my embroidery skills and decided to make you one!”

“It’s beautiful,” Rhaella told her. “You should teach me!” Sansa nodded gleefully.

“You know, we all thought you ran off and escaped!” Arya laughed.

“I…I didn’t mean any trouble or offense, I apologize.” Rhaella announced, standing up from her chair and bowing her head. “It was rude of me.”

“No,” Lord Stark said. “You have every right to feel the way you do. Your life changed right before your eyes. But please, believe me when I say this, we are here for you.”

“Aye.” Robb agreed. “If you are having trouble with anyone or anything let us know.” She thanked the both of them for their kindness.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was it like outside of Westeros?” Catelyn asked.

Rhaella told them everything. Even about the abuse Viserys had done to her. He always yelled at her for the littlest things. The worst thing he ever did was sneak into her bedchamber with a knife. He threatened to cut out her insides if she didn’t cooperate with his plan to send her to the North.

They all had concerned looks on their faces. The abuse never got to her until explaining it out loud. She really did have it rough.

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” Arya said. “You are with us now!”

“Safe and sound,” Sansa added.

Rhaella didn’t realize she was smiling.

”So, Rhaella…you said you were from the Summer Isles right?” Theon asked.

“Yes, why you ask?”

He smirked at Robb before asking, “I heard the women there are quite breathtakingly beautiful?” She could have sworn she heard him whisper “and have nice bodies.”

”Well, I’ve never actually stayed there, I had to flee because of the King,” she explained. “But from the books I’ve read and from what I heard from some servants in Pentos, yes, the women there are quite beautiful.”

”I also heard that they have a passion for love making,” he said. “Maybe I gotta visit there sometime-.”

”Theon!” Lady Stark snapped. “Don’t be disrespectful-.”

”Oh that’s okay!” Rhaella reassured her. “You’re right, Theon! They do have a passion for it. If I were to stay in the Isles, I would have been a prostitute myself!”

Sansa and Lady Stark almost choked on their food, as Robb, Theon, and Jon bursted out laughing at the table. She didn’t understand what was so funny, but she laughed along with them.

”What’s a prostitute?” Rickon asked, innocently. That made the boys start crying from laughter. Theon even fell out of his chair.

”Y-You’ll know when you’re older!” Lady Stark said.

”You’ll fit in with us just fine, child,” Lord Stark said. “Welcome to the family!”

°❀⋆Daenerys.ೃ࿔*:･

Daenerys never felt more lonely. She missed Rhaella, her real family. She’d never forgive her brother for what he did.

“Daenerys!” Viserys shouted.

He entered her bed chamber, “do not tell me you’re still upset about that savage.”

She felt rage enter her body as he said those words. “She is not a savage, she’s my sister,” she replied softly. “And I don’t understand why you sent her to our enemies.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said. “We both know that’s not true. She’s our cousin. Daughter of our uncle and whatever foreign whore he married. She’s not a pure Targaryen like us, Dany. And she never will be. I gave her away because we need allies, even if they are enemies. The Starks are a strong house, and I knew that Lord Stark would gladly take her in. The fool won’t even know of my plans to destroy him and his dear friend Robert.”

Daenerys always considered Rhaella her sister, even if it wasn’t true. They spent all of their time together, never leaving one’s side. It felt like it was yesterday, the day Rhaella arrived in Braavos as a baby. Viserys wanted nothing to do with her while Daenerys cherished her. She had no idea why Viserys was so upset about naming their cousin after their mother. It was only a name after all. She always thought it was much deeper than Rhaella being a “savage.” She never dared to ask him though.

“I have good news.” He announced. She examined his face, his grin looked devious. Truly it wasn’t good news. “I found you a husband,” he said. “His name is Khal Drogo, Magister Illyrio said. A Dothraki savage. When you two wed, I’ll have his army. We can finally go home, sweet sister.”

Home.

All she ever wanted was a home. A home with Rhaella, where they could finally be happy together. With her gone, Daenerys wasn’t sure if it would be home without her.

“And what about her?” She asked him.

“The savage?” He scoffed. “Those Starks have her now. I don’t care what they do to her. As long as we have our alliance with the North.”

Daenerys wanted to cry, but she stayed strong. I will meet her again, one day.

°❆⋆Bran ೃ࿔*:･

It had only been a couple of months, but for Bran, it felt like he had known Rhaella his whole life. Rhaella also grew close to his sisters but mostly Arya. The three of them were inseparable. Rhaella even taught them some of the Valyrian language. Some nights, the three of them would stay up and read history books about Targaryen history until they got caught by the Septa. For fun, they liked to go sledding and have snowball fights. The older Stark boys and Rickon joined them sometimes, but never Sansa. Ever since Rhaella arrived, Sansa and Arya fought less. It’s like wherever she went, she spread joy. That’s one of the traits Bran liked about her.

Now, everyone is preparing for the arrival of the King.

He overheard his father saying that the King was almost there. Bran felt sorry for Rhaella because she was so stressed out. “What will he do to me?” She asked. He always reassured her, “You are under our protection now, the King approved of you. Don’t worry about a thing.”

At that moment, it was time for Bran to practice his archery. He hasn’t been getting any better. He wanted to show his family he could hit the bull’s eye. First, only Robb was watching him. Then, came Jon and Rickon. Before he knew it, his parents came to watch as well.

“Keep practicing, Bran,” Lord Stark insisted. “Go on.”

Jon leaned in towards Bran, placing his hand on his shoulder, “Alright, father is watching.”

Jon looks over and sees Rhaella and Arya watching as well, “and her…” he whispered.

Bran took a deep gulp. He didn’t like to get teased about Rhaella. They only do it because we are to be married. We are just friends, good friends.

Bran nodded and started to aim his bow and arrow at his target.

“Relax your bow arm…” Robb commented.

Just before Bran could release the arrow, someone else’s hits the target and another shoots right through it.

All of the boys turned their heads to see Rhaella and Arya giggling. “Hey!” Bran yelled. The girls both curtseyed but quickly took off once they saw Bran chasing them. The kids kept on playing until their father took all of the boys to see an execution. Bran was finally old enough to see one.

“Are you scared?” Rhaella asked him as he was mounting his pony.

“I’m not sure.” He answered honestly.

But I can’t be afraid. My father told me I won’t be a boy forever. I’ll be a man-grown soon. I mustn’t be afraid. I need to be brave. Like Robb and Jon. Wolves are never afraid.

Taglist: @lover-of-books-and-tea

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

Do you think that the Red Keep is haunted (In the books of course), like Harrenhal is said to be? I need someone to discuss ASOIAF lore and concepts with but I don’t have anyone so I’m asking here 😩 I like to imagine that since the Targaryens who are a more magical family built and lived in it for 300 years, the castle would be more susceptible to be affected by all the atrocities and events that have gone on there. The dead all leaving behind an imprint, their spirits and memories haunting the place, echoes of memories from a time long past.

I can imagine some random servant jumping out of their skin as they pass the throne room, later swearing up and down that they saw a figure sitting impaled on the Iron throne, blood dripping down to the floor, but that it disappeared in the blink of an eye. Another one swears they saw a young woman with silver hair standing dangerously close on a windowsill, but that it was too far away to make out who. A woman wearing a dark gown and long black veil is seen lurking around the corners, but her back is always turned to the observer and she slinks away into thin air before anyone has the chance to catch up to her. A woman in a green dress, chains rattling about her wrists as she runs down the corridors. The distant laughter of a little girl running after her black cat. Pounding and clattering behind heard from the Maidenvault at night, despite it being empty at the time. A little girl with silver hair in a white nightgown walking around the halls, looking for her mother to tell her she’s cold. A woman with a long braid being seen amongst the mist of the training yard early in the mornings, when no one else is there, practicing her swordplay. People swearing they saw the fearsome shadow of a dragon flying overheard, even a hundred years after their deaths. If you look at them out of the corner of your eyes, you could catch the portraits of the former Targaryens following your every move, their gazes burning into you. A woman dressed in red and black, crown on her head, seen walking the corridors at night and leaving trails of blood behind her. Hues of green fire illuminating windows of empty rooms as seen from outside, distant yells echoing through the corridors, screaming to burn them all. Worst of all is the little girl in a ragged red dress, hair matted and tangled, body emaciated and eye sockets empty, unspeakable creates crawling all over her tattered body, seen peeking out from behind the corners.

I don’t think it’s actually haunted like this since there’s nothing in canon to support it, but I love the idea so much!

Anon I absolutely love this idea!! I'm a huge fan of horror and this just totally speaks to me! I have to admit, I kinda wish GRRM would go more into the gothic horror themes he has in some parts of the story. The Targaryens definitely have a lot of potential for some great horror stories. I would love to see like a fanfic that focuses on something like this.

I think the idea of Dany encountering spirits of her ancestors when she goes to Dragonstone would be awesome. Especially since she's already had visions of her family members (except Rhaella), so it'd be interesting to see her actually interact with them as she is now.

Jon also has some great potential for horror, especially after his resurrection. Like he could have a connection to the dead and be able to see ghosts or something. I feel like him being literally haunted by Ygritte and Jeor could have some great angst potential.

I could totally see the same thing happening with some of the other houses. I feel like the Starks are a pretty obvious answer, what with their connection to the Others and the Old Gods. Plus Bran is basically already living some gothic shit.

Arya though, I could definitely see her encountering ghosts in the Trident when she returns to Westeros. I think her connection to the Faceless Men could definitely lend some great horror themes, especially if combined with ghostly encounters.

One family that definitely has some major horror vibes is the Boltons. Like the family being haunted by the spirits of their skinned enemies. Guards in the dungeons hearing screaming from unoccupied cells; prisoners having surprise cellmates. The ghost of Roose Bolton hanging over Ramsay slowly driving him to insanity (well more than he already is).

Related to that, Theon also is someone who, like Bran, already has some major gothic horror themes. However, there's still so much more we could lean into. Like him literally being haunted by Robb, Balon, and his brothers. Maybe meeting the original Reek during his time as Ramsay's prisoner.

I think there's soo much potential for this idea anon! These are all just some surface ideas, but I would love to talk about this more lmao!

[kzen-sno]

Pretty Lady

Theon x Reader Fluff

A/N: Part 2 will be angst, I'll update when it's out.

_______________________________________

"Why did you do that George?" I mutter frustratedly as my eyes run over the sentence again and again. I rest my face on my hand in exasperation while my other hand is holding the romance novel I was reading. The main protagonist admitted that he loved the love interest but could not be with her, which resulted in the love interest running off and crying.

I folded the corner of the page and closed my book. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a few seconds because of the strain I'd been putting on them.

I inhaled, the scents of Winterfell entering my nose and out. I was relaxing in the courtyard of the castle, my favorite spot by the bow and arrow range so I could be in the presence of my siblings. I am the oldest Stark daughter, 14 years old, with Robb one year older than me.

I open my eyes and see Bran and Rickon goofing off, running around playing pretend knights. They're such idiots, but I love them nonetheless. I smiled and opened my book again, ready to confront George's stupidity. Suddenly, my book was snatched up from my lap.

"Theon! Seven hells! Give me my book back!" I exclaimed, standing up. Theon grinned at me, already halfway down the courtyard. "Come get it, Y/N!" He shouted as he ran off. Furious, I ran after him through the courtyard and into a stone hallway. He stopped at a dead end and I caught up to him. His shit-eating grin was making him so infuriating but even more handsome, so much that I wanted to smack it off of him.

"Give my book back." I gritted my teeth. "Now, now, my lady. No need to be all worked up about it." He chuckled and moved the book out of my reach as I tried to snatch it away from him. "You know I hate being called that, especially by you," I said. "Plus, you're 15 now, how could you be more immature than me when I'm younger than you?" I glared up at him.

He stepped closer to me and I stepped back. "I'm not being immature." He smirked, voice dropping. He stepped closer, and I stepped back. "It's just..." he stepped closer, I stepped back, my back nearing the ledge, acting as a wall and an open window to the village. "...very..." He stepped closer, I was leaning on the ledge. He sat my book on it and he hoisted me onto the ledge. "What are you doing?" I whispered while sitting on the ledge, him getting closer.

He placed a firm hand on my back to prevent me from falling backwards and he got so close to me that I could smell his woody scent. "...very entertaining to me." He murmured, smirking. I felt my heart about to bust out of my chest. "You're blushing." He commented, looking very amused. I was suddenly very aware of the burning sensation in my face. "N-no I'm not." I stuttered, looking at his chest.

He smiled as he looked down at me. He took my chin gently and lifted it up so he could look at my face. "You're pretty like this." He said. "Am I not always pretty?" I challenged in a spur of the moment, staring into his eyes. He was caught off guard and he laughed. "That you are, my lady." He chuckled. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Lady Y/N." He smiled. I rolled my eyes, knowing he did that intently. "You want off of this ledge?" He asked. "You know I can do that myself, Theon," I said, annoyed at him. He chuckled and suddenly grabbed my waist and set me gently on the ground and started to walk away. "Did you not hear me, Greyjoy?" I called to him, angrily. "I did." He said back. "I just decided not to listen."

I huffed angrily as I took my book. "Also, Lady Stark wanted to speak to you. She's in the dining room!" He called. "You could've told me that earlier! I'm going to get scolded!" I yelled back angrily. "Till the next time, Y/N!" He laughed and walked away. I quickly went to find my mother, fuming. "We live together! What is he talking about?!" I muttered angrily to myself, secretly wishing I could hear him calling me Lady again.

[thethreeeyed-raven]

⋆♱ GAME OF THRONES ♱⋆

navigation

🕷️fluff | 🕸️angst | 🐈‍⬛suggestive | 🪦platonic

⋆♱ Arya Stark ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Bran Stark ♱⋆

headcanons

🕷️ • 🕸️ • i will wait | x gn!reader

🕷️ • 🕸️ • 🐈‍⬛ • a love which cannot be | x gn!reader

🕷️ • 🐈‍⬛ • we shall have to wait and see | x fem!reader

🕷️ • 🐈‍⬛ • bran with a secret s/o | headcanons • part two

🕸️ • 🪦 • my dear brother | x sansa stark

🕷️ • wanna go on a date? | x gn!reader

⋆♱ Brienne of Tarth ♱⋆

🕷️ • brienne with a short!reader | headcanons

⋆♱ Jaime Lannister ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Jon Snow ♱⋆

🕷️ • 🕸️ • my watch has ended | x wildling!reader

⋆♱ Jorah Mormont ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Margaery Tyrell ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Oberyn Martell ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Petyr Baelish ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Sansa Stark ♱⋆

🕸️ • 🪦 • my dear brother | x bran stark

⋆♱ Sandor Clegane ♱⋆

nothing yet

@lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom • @fangsp1der-2099 • @knight-of-flowerss

[welldonebeca]

bloodbrothers (1)

Summary: Jace meets Cregan Stark at a party in Winterfell and gets swiped off his feet. He always loved playing with fire. Set in 2023; Pairing: Jacaerys Targaryen x Cregan Stark WC: 3k words. Warnings: Modern AU. Flirting. Tension. A little of angst. Comfort. Quick burn relationship. Fluff. Family dynamics. Canon bending.

Set in March 2023.

masterlist

Jace rubbed his hands down his jeans, feeling every little bit of his body tense as he looked into the rear mirror, adjusting his hair, the sight of it dark still foreign after those two years of bleaching it.

Everyone from school would be there. Would anyone notice the change? Harwin had.

He stared at his phone, waiting for Arya to pick up, waiting at the gate.

Maybe he should just go back.

She wouldn’t miss him there. He could say he got sick! Everyone knew he didn’t do well up North.

It was cold!

“Dude,” she groaned.

It was her birthday. Arya was turning 18, and it’d been a month since they broke up and they’d found out they had a cousin in common.

And yes, that had brought them into a nicer place and a… kind of friendship.

But this was her birthday party, and Gendry was coming, and he was so fucking anxious about it.

“Please tell me you’re not calling to ask if you really should come,” Arya requested, her patience already gone.

Not that she had a lot of it to start.

He bit his lip. Well, what did she expect? For him to be happy and thrilled to be attend a party where her will-they-won’t-they-hot-ex was going to be after they’d broken up, at a place he’d barely just arrived and only knew maybe three people, and two of them were her and her little brother?

“No?” he lied, his word so slow he knew she could pick it up. “I’m… at the gate?”

Arya sighed.

“Yeah, just say your name and they’ll let you in and show you where the garage is, you’ve been at Winterfell already, dude.”

“Okay,” Jace breathed out. “But are you really sure it won’t be awkward?”

“Just get the fuck in, Jace!” she groaned. “I swear to the old gods and the new, if you ask me that one more time I’ll just tell them to not let you in.”

His face burned in shame.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

But Arya had already hung up.

He drove into the place, stopping by the first gate and being directed to the garage, past the second gate, and he could already her the music playing the moment he left his car, shivering in his jacket when he did so.

Did they not believe in heating up rooms?

He tried to make the way to the hall quick.

Winterfell, the true castle – not just the extension to include modern stuff – was built over hot springs and they kept the castle kind of warm. Well, warm for a Northerner. It was huge, as well, he supposed it as the size of the Red Keep. Maybe bigger?

Arya lived all the way inside. It felt like walking through a maze when he tried to visit her, worse than when he was a boy and he got lost in the old part of the keep while playing hide and seek with Luke.

Jace rushed his way away from the cold and into the great hall, trying not to look like he was shivering and about to freeze to death to the people at the party.

The place wasn’t packed, maybe because the hall was the size of a whole average house, but it was certainly filled with a lot of people.

He greeted everyone he knew with waves and nods, thankfully not freezing but also not comfortable.

Bran was gonna be there, right? He… talked to Bran? A little?

Kinda. Bran would do much better as Luke’s friend, not Jace’s. But he was nice.

He wandered around the room, taking a glass from a waiter and some… finger food thing?

Jace was still holding the drink, untouched, as he looked around the room for Arya, pushing the food into his mouth when he heard a small chant, somewhere, growing louder as it filled the room.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss.”

Jace turned around to where it was coming from. There was a tall platform at the end of the room, probably something that was once for important people, but it now had food spread around for people to just take.

And Arya. With a tall and really strong guy he could only suppose was Gendry.

They obeyed the chant very happily, apparently, because Gendry dipped her like this was some sort of movie, and kissed her very dramatically as everyone cheered.

Jace swallowed down, his discomfort fully settling in as he chewed through the finger-snack.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I really shouldn’t have done this.”

And he was ready to turn around and go back to where he’d come from and maybe chill in a parking lot of a fast food chain so Harwin would think he had enjoyed the party, when a deep voice interrupted him.

“Done what?”

Jace… wasn’t ready. He turned around and any thought of Arya left his brain as fast he could blink.

That was… that was a man.

He swallowed down hard, feeling his mouth dry. That was a tall man. Really tall. Broad.

The dude raised his eyebrows, as if he was waiting for-

Oh, he had asked him something. What was it?

“What?” Jace managed to blurt out.

He laughed, deep grey eyes closing for a brief moment as he blinked, and Jace swallowed again.

“What shouldn’t you have done?” he asked, grinning.

Jace couldn’t stop staring at his face.

How did he speak Westerosi again?

Words. He knew words. He was supposed to know words.

Simple words would be easier, he should start with them.

“A… food?” he decided.

"Food?” the guy echoed, looking completely amused, and his legs felt like jelly.

“Finger food,” Jace raised his hand. “Dry. It was dry.”

Another laugh.

“Was it, now?” he asked, smirking.

Jace’s heart raced in his chest as his face burnt. He was making a fucking fool of himself.

“Jace,” he blurted out.

The guy raised his eyebrows.

“My name,” he added quickly. “Sorry, my name is Jace. Well it’s not, it’s Jacaerys. Targaryen. Velaryon. With a dash. But everyone calls me Jace.”

“Jace,” the man repeated, as if testing it in his mouth.

It sounded good in his mouth.

“Well, nice to meet you Jace, Jacaerys Targaryen-Velaryon with a dash,” he spoke it slowly. “I’m Cregan Stark.”

Jace nodded slowly, wordlessly. Yeah, his name sounded really good on his mouth.

“Hi,” he answered back.

“Hi,” Cregan answered.

“Hi,” Jace repeated.

But he had already said that.

“Sorry,” he spoke up quickly. “I… sorry.”

Cregan laughed at his face again.

“It’s fine, take you time,” he teased him, his voice as smooth as his brain felt.

Jace’s face burnt even more, and he turned to the side suddenly when someone touched his arm.

“Oh, you two have met!” Sansa exclaimed. “Cregan, this is the… friend I was talking about.”

Cregan simply nodded.

“The cousin,” he remarked. “Who happens to be a model as well.”

Jace raised his eyebrows. Oh, he modelled too?

Well, he absolutely had the face and body for modelling.

“Jace, this is cousin Cregan,” she told him.

He nodded. Well, that made sense, with the name.

“It’s great to meet him,” Cregan declared, sipping his drink.

Jace felt those words in his bones.

They all kept silence for a moment, until Sansa cleared her throat, looking at them both with side eyed.

“I can’t take a second one of these sober,” she decided, clapping her hands. “I’ll leave you to it,”

Jace didn’t even look at her as she walked away, and Cregan just stepped closer to him.

“The cousin’s cousin,” he remarked. “Robb told me about it.”

He nodded along.

“Yeah, it was… nice?” he guessed. “It’s… complicated, my family is complicated.”

Cregan smirked.

“You have a dashed name. Those usually come with complicated,” he shrugged.

Jace looked away. Well, he wasn’t at all interested in talking about his family’s story right now.

“Sansa said you modelled,” Cregan remarked. “You’re with Castleblack?”

He turned back to look at him.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, running a hand up to adjust his hair, suddenly anxious about it.

Did it look good? Did Cregan think his hair looked good.

“Me too,” Cregan agreed. “What a shame they haven’t put us on anything together.”

Jace opened and closed his mouth for a moment.

“Well, I was blonde before,” he told him. “Bleached. Maybe we’ve met out there?”

He hoped they hadn’t. Jace would be really ashamed if he had completely forgotten about him.

“No, I don’t think so,” Cregan disagreed. “I wouldn’t forget you.”

Jace felt his cheeks and ears burning like a volcano.

“You have a very unforgettable face,” he added, sipping his drink.

All the words escaped his minds completely, so Jace sipped his drink too so he wouldn’t look like he didn’t have anything to say.

“How old did you say you were again?” Cregan asked suddenly.

Jace raised his head quickly.

“I didn't. I mean... Eighteen,” he corrected himself. “In January. You?”

That stupid mouth of his running quicker than his brain.

“Eighteen,” he answered back. “Nineteen in the end of the year.”

Jace nodded slowly, hesitant for a moment. Would he think he was too young?

"Good thing," Cregan said simply. "Aunt Cat would be terribly unhappy if Arya was giving booze to a kid."

He couldn't help his nervous chuckle, relaxing his shoulders a bit.

Cregan looked around the room briefly before looking to his side and setting his empty cup down on the nearest table.

"And do you dance, Jace with a dash?" he moved closer to him. "Or do you just stand around and look pretty?"

His eyes widened. Wait, he thought he looked pretty?

"Yeah!" Jace blurted out quickly. "Yeah, I do!"

Cregan menaced with his head and Jace just brought his cup up, downing the whole thing quickly.

Bad idea, yeah.

It was strong. And it wasn't just strong, it was as fucking cold as the weather outside, with two ice cubes that were happily freezing the way down his poor oesophagus while the alcohol burnt his tongue and his head hurt from brainfreeze, and he couldn't help wincing.

He could hear Cregan’s laugher as music started playing, and his hand reached for Jace’s before he even opened his eyes.

And… well, they danced. Together.

Cregan was a good dancer, Jace supposed. He moved. It was hard to look away from how the top buttons of his shirt slipped opened and he could see so much skin it was… distracting.

Jace had never wanted to kiss someone’s exposed skin so much in his life.

He could see his chest hair. Jace never knew he liked chest hair before.

Gods, his mouth was terribly dry.

Maybe he was warm for the first time in ages in this damn icey place. The way Cregan looked at him absolutely made his brain melt.

For the first time in his whole goddamn life Jacaerys had cursed how fucking short he was.

He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him so bad.

So he tried his best to show him he wanted to kiss him, because he couldn't do it himself.

Cregan had to know, right?

The way he looked at him - the way he fucking looked at him.

Like he wanted to take a piece of him.

But they danced, and that was what they did, until Jace found a spot they could get to and he could sit that boy down and fucking kiss him already.

He was the one to tug Cregan along with him to the bar with the high chair, and maybe he was the one to push him to sit down, but in the end he was seated and they were on similar heights.

A bartended looked right to them, staring at them up and down for a moment, striding to them quietly.

"What can I get for you, gentlemen?"

Jace had to think quick. Cause if he thought quick, then he would find something to do do impress it.

But Jace couldn't mix drinks. Nor he knew some fancy drink name or... anything that could surprise Cregan, so-

Oh!

"Do you have anything with a cherry?" Jace asked the bartender. "Please?"

The man straight up rolled his eyes to him, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Coming right up. Cherry drink."

He slipped away, and Jace could see how Cregan's lips were curled in half smirk.

Still, he said nothing as the bartender slipped two glasses in front of them.

"A Pop My Cherry and a Cherry Mojito," he introduced. "You decide which one you're gonna be enjoying."

And he stepped away.

Jace reached for the Pop My Cherry, orange with a red top and ice. And a cherry on the top.

"There this really cool party trick," Jace told him, picking the cherry up.

Cregan tilted his head.

"Yeah?" he asked.

Jace nodded, picking the fruit up.

He could do it. All he had to do was calm down, and be smooth.

Smooth and... sexy. Sexy, he could be sexy.

"Yeah," Jace told him. "And... uh..."

Cregan leaned in a bit more.

"Yeah?" he asked.

Jace nodded, taking the stem and putting it in his mouth. It was really simple, all he had to do was hold it down with his tongue and make it curl up-

Well, he didn't quite have the chance, there was something else right there on his way.

Cregan. And Cregan's mouth, with Cregan's tongue, and Cregan's hands holding onto his waist and pushing under his shirt and against his back, and Cregan's teeth and Cregan's smell...

And the cherry stem was irrelevant.

Jace pulled him closer, settling right between his legs and leaning in, kissing him back and clinging him the best he could.

He didn't want to let him go at all.

Jace pushed his fingers into his hair as he felt his fingers hooking on the loops of his pants to hold him in place.

He was breathless when Cregan pulled back from his mouth, and yet it ended way too fucking soon.

Jace chased right after him, and Cregan just ran his nose over his, but didn't let him kiss him again.

"What a nice trick," he chuckled, grinning teasingly right at him as his thighs kept him in place.

Jace tried to lean into him again, but Cregan leaneed back, holding the stem in between his teeth, tied into a knot Jace was sure he hadn't been responsible for.

Cregan lifted his hand, taking it and holding it between them, like he was holding a flower.

"You managed to put it in my mouth," he spoke, completely serious. "How did you do that?"

Jace swallowed down.

"I can do it again," he mumbled.

Cregan just smirked, pushing his fingers under his shirt once more, caressing his lower back with one hand and pushing his free hand right into his pocket, squeezing his ass with his full hand.

"Why don't you keep it safe?" he told him. "And show me what else you can do with those pretty lips?"

Jace didn't lose his chance, pushing his fingers into his dark hair and tugging on it as he kissed Cregan again, hard, as hungry as he could show himself to be.

They kissed the whole fucking night, right there on that spot. There wasn't any finger food, drink, cake or natural disaster that could pull Jacaerys away from Cregan Stark.

Except. His fucking. Phone.

Jace had a shoot to attend tomorrow at one, he couldn't miss it.

"What's that?" Cregan clenched his hands on his back pocket, speaking right against his lips.

Jace didn't remember how to say his own name, and there he was, asking him questions.

"Hm?" he hummed back, trying to fish for his phone without pulling away from Cregan.

It couldn't be four already, right?

Jace unlocked it without thinking, feeling his teeth biting and tugging on his lower lip.

Four in the morning, on the dot.

He just moved to kiss Cregan again.

"What's that?"

Gods, Jace wanted to shut him up with his mouth.

"Got work tomorrow," he groaned. "Videoclip for some band."

Cregan kissed him again, both os his hands pulling from his pockets and up his shirt.

"Yeah?" he moved his hand around his waist, his thumbs caressing Jace's abs, and gods forbid him, he wanted him to push them lower.

He could just bring him home with him. Harwin wouldn't mind.

"You gotta go look pretty for a band?" Cregan bit his lower lip again.

That... that was making it all much harder.

It was good pay. And Jace wanted his own money to buy a good car and not just use Harwin's old car.

Dammit... Harwin was waiting up for him. And he had promised to leave.

"My father's up waiting for me," he groaned.

Cregan's lips curled in a grin.

"Poor Mr Targaryen-Velaryon with a dash," he taunted him. "Being kept up cause his boy can't stop kissing."

Jace tugged on his hair, kissing him right away again.

That fucking tease.

But Cregan pulled away from him, standing up and stopping him from chasing him.

"I'll walk to your car," he told him.

And what else could Jace do but walk along with him to the fucking garage, stopping at every possible spot to steal another kiss from him, and then let himself be pushed against the fucking door and kissed more?

He wanted Cregan to push his body against his, but that wasn't much of a chance.

Damn tall man.

"Good night, pretty boy," he pulled back from him, unlocking the door by his side. "Don't stay up too late, you can't miss your shoot."

And he walked fucking off.

It took Jace at least five minutes to calm the fuck down and not drive home with the hardest boner he had ever fucking had in his life.

When he locked himself into his room and looked at his jeans, he had a pre-cum stain on them. On his jeans, not just his underwear.

Of course, it was only after he'd gotten himself off that he realised he never got Cregan Stark's number.

. . .

"bloodbrothers" is a Jacegan modern AU, part of my Keeping Up with the Targaryens series. To have early access to each chapter 3 months before they are posted her and on AO3, consider subscribing to my Patreon. It's just $2 and I promise you won't regret it. Chapter 12 is just up 😉.

Tag list is open and +18. DM me to be added.

[atopvisenyashill]

Idk if you've answered this before, but like, what would be a scene between Theon & Sansa that you would look forward to reading in either TWOW or ADOS? For me, I get soft thinking about Sansa talking to Theon about his rescuing of Jeyne, but I also wonder if the scene where Theon asks to fight for the Starks in The Long Night will be adapted. These two, man ;w;

oh godddddddddd okay

i've always loved the idea of him telling her about his feelings on robb being super angsty. slight sidebar here but i guess one of my guilty pleasure sort of romance tropes is when someone marries the younger sibling of their dead lover, double points if its gay. one of my favorite romance novels, wrong to need you by alisha rai, does this (widow gets romantically involved w her dead husband's younger brother) and the current book i'm reading now has this but bisexual (younger sister marries her dead brother's male lover), i think it's soooo juicey on the ~yearning~ level, i love the concept of like, "I wouldn't have loved you so much if you didn't love this other person so much" and so the idea that Sansa is just so mad at Theon, even after the Bran/Rickon reveal, because he betrayed Robb and oh Robb loved you he treated you like a real friend and not a hostage and he trusted you and he would have backed you against your family and Theon blurts out the whole "i should have died with him at the red wedding" thing like that's GREAT for me. I need the ANGST.

I would also love to see him asking to fight for her in the books, Sophie and Alfie did such a good job with it, and I think the public aspect is what really gets me. Like, Sansa spending so many years never knowing if someone is interested in her for who she is and not what she can offer, all those times being trotted out at court to be abused or fawned over or insulted or whatever, and Theon shows up to ask her specifically not anyone else, not her house, just her if he can fight for her....amazing.

I'd also love some sort of similar soup scene. Like, a quiet, calm moment that's just for them. A moment where they choose to spend it with each other over everyone else.