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sasagehoes · 9 months ago

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THE NECROMANCER

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈 ;𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𓅨˚₊‧⁺⋆♱;; The fruits of necromancy start taking roots inside of you, and your older sister's warnings didn't prepare you for the horrors that were to come.

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previous chapter ~ next chapter

CW; This series contains a LOT of sensitive topics. Just like the show, there will be individual warnings for each chapter, I'm not responsible for what you read.

graphic depictions of blood and gore/ canon typical violence / assault/ murder/lots of change in POV/ war/ assault and rape/ mentions of purity culture and virginity / arranged marriage/ typical game of thrones warnings.

3.6k words

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

As soon as the boat arrived with her on board, everyone went crazy. It wasn't that big of a deal, I was planning on rejecting the proposal,

why would I marry a complete stranger?

I knew they would make me go receive her and her family, so I hid until they left, I knew my mother would reprimand me, but as much as I could avoid her, the better.

I came down from my hiding spot to see my older sister, Sansa, standing there with her arms over her chest. I was clearly mad, I tried to run, but she caught up to me

"Don't you know just how in trouble you are right now," she said, pulling my ear slightly to not injure me, but enough that it would hurt

"Let me go!" I said."Stop whining! mom's gonna give you an earful"

As we entered the mess hall, i could see my mother standing with a displeased face, looking directly at me

"Why do you not want to see her, Bran?"

My mother said, annoyed. I just ignored her and looked to the side

"Answer me, Brandon," she repeated herself, this time mad.

"Why would I marry someone I've never met!" I snapped, now standing up

"You think she chose to get married, chose to be sent away from her family to come into this one?" She replied hastily looking into my eyes.

I stopped, and I never thought about her situation, I knew my sisters would have the same fate. Yet I still couldn't stomach the thought of being with a complete stranger for the rest of my life.

"...no, I'm sorry," I said, embarrassed, looking at my mother

"When she gets here, treat her nicely, you don't have to like her immediately.. you'll have time to learn how to love and cherish her."

With that, she left, leaving me there pondering on how my life would be with a stranger.

𓅨˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

The harsh cold wind was unfamiliar to me. My fingers felt like falling off. I couldn't imagine how it would feel once winter came.

The Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark, got off his horse and came up to us. He looked around, clearly expecting more people

"I thought Lord Caius would come to send you off, I guess I was mistaken," he said sincerely

at the mention of my father's name, my eyes went wide, coming out of my trance. My sister noticed and grabbed my hand firmly.

"My apologies, Lord Stark, some..commotion has started in our land, both our parents had to stay to re ensure the safety of our people."

He nodded, "No worries, I understand. You'll be taken care of here, until your leave." he said.

Robb, the oldest, helped to mount my stuff on the horses. I smiled at him, muttering a small 'thank you'

The man I've learned to address as Theon tried to start small talk once in the horses,

"Bravoos is a beautiful place from what my friends say," he started

"I suppose it does have its own flare,"

I say out of it, just mentions of Bravoos made my stomach churn.

not wanting to seem rude, i forced the conversation to continue

"Winterfell is even more beautiful than what I had imagined. You must feel proud of being born here, my Lord," I say, looking at him, his eyes drop for a second too long.

"I'd have to agree with you, my Lady, it is indeed a beautiful place, yet I'm not form here, I'm form the Iron Islands, a Greyjoy"

"Oh, well, it must've been hard getting used to the weather," I say, mustering up a dry chuckle. He nodded and was about to continue till Robb told him something, and he stayed by his side until we arrived.

It seemed my betrothed was nowhere to be seen.

𓅨˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

Once you arrived at Castle Ward, you couldn't believe your eyes..it was beautiful, a sense of comfort and warmth that radiated from it.

All of the remaining family that didn't go out to receive you and your sister were all lined up, two girls, two boys, and a woman.

As all of you approached them, you heard whispers in the crowd

'She's to marry the little lord?'

'Isn't she a doll'

'so beautiful'

'Bravoosi ey?'

you payed them no mind as you plastered a small smile on your lips and bowed to the family, waiting to be risen you looked up briefly, and the boy, who seemed your age was already looking at you, as soon as the two of your eyes met, they disconnected.

So that was to be your husband, your salvation.

"Rise child," Lady Catelyn said sweetly, and so you did. Looking at her in the eye, you smiled. "Pleasure to finally meet you, my Lady." you say.

"Likewise, you are more beautiful than what the books described... So glad you could make it safely,"

"This is Sansa and Arya, my only daughters, and I've seen you've met Robb, my first born already, we'll this is Rickon, the youngest and Bran, you're betrothed" she continued, pointing at each one of the children as she named them.

"Pleasure to meet you all, I hope we can get along." Your eyes met Bran's as you finished. He avoided them as soon as he saw you.

"I can't wait for us to be sisters," Sansa exclaimed in her place as she went up to you to pull your hand. "Would you like to see your room?" she asked hands, holding yours. You nodded, and she took off running with you in tow.

"Careful not to fall!" Catelyn yelled at the both of you.

Ophelia looked at Brandon and walked up to him.

"I trust you'll take care of her, My Lord?"

she said to him, a trail of worries behind her words.

"I promise, she won't be sad as long as she's with me" Brandon replied, with a smile looking up at her, she nodded and bowed slightly l, mouthing a small 'thank you'

𓅨˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

The food was wonderful, the smell of wine was everywhere in the dining room, and people danced and sang, up until Lord Stark stood up and held his cup of wine and hit it with his spoon

"Today, we celebrate the soon to be union between House Stark and House Corvus!" he said loudly, everyone followed suit, cheering and clapping rather obnoxiously.

Your face was dull and expressionless, staring off into the abyss that were the walls. You couldn't escape it.

You heard her everywhere, like a taunting reminder that you got a better chance that she could've ever gotten, you hated yourself, even if it wasn't your fault.

a hand on your shoulder helped you out of the trance, Arya. If you remember,

"Want to spar outside? If you don't know.. I can teach you!"

You smiled genuinely for what felt like the first time in weeks and nodded, running off with Arya outside.

"Grab one!" she said to me, throwing me a wooden sword that was left on the floor. I caught it after it almost escaped my hold, Arya giggled, "Just you wait," I told her jokingly, making her get into a stance, a bad one, and so did I.

We sparred for almost an hour when their Septa walked out of the mess hall and froze in her steps

"Arya Stark!" she yelled in disbelief

"Oh no.." Arya sighed

"What do you think you're doing, young lady?" the septa said as she dragged Arya by the arm

"Im not a lady," Arya bickered

"Your father is a lord, making you. a lady, now get inside!" the old woman said, annoyed, clearly having dealt with this more times that she could count. Once Arya made it inside, and after she flashed you a smile, the septa came up to me

"My Lady, please don't humor her, I hope i won't have to deal with the both of you from now on," she voiced out as nicely as she could

"I promise i won't become a problem." My eyes squinted as I smiled at her.

Pleased with my answer, she bowed slighly and left.

'maybe this wouldn't be so bad' I thought as I gazed at my surroundings, the tall grey walls of the castle were mesmerizing, although the castle back home was more lively and more colourful, on the inside it was dull and bleak, now even more so, with everything currently going on.

"Lost on your thoughts again, little lady?" a man whom i've never met said to me almost invading my personal space."Please don't call me that sir, " I say, trying to sound as polite as possible.

He got closer. "Your father sent me," he said, and my eyes went wide, I opened my mouth to scream, but he covered it "Scream and you'll end up like Leiana, understood?" He asked, I nodded as tears escaped my eyes,

"Your brother ever told you what I did to the little whore?" He continued now moving to the stables, I couldn't breathe, "Answer me!" he screamed.

"NO, no he didn't please let me go, I won't say anything!" My words were rushed, I didn't want to end up like that, broken and destroyed.

He threw me down on the hay that adorned the floor of the empty stable, my cries were drowned by the music that played in the mess hall and the cheers.

"Oh, I'll let you go, just after im done with you," he said, standing up, undoing his belt.

As I tried to scream once more, trying to get anyone to listen to my cries, a sword pushed through the back of the man, blood falling on my skin.. I froze.

"Are you alright?! Did he touch you?!" The man with dark shoulder-length hair said, picking me up, the sword now thrown on the floor.

I hugged him tightly "Thankyou, thank you!" I sobbed trembling.

"What happened?!" I heard Ophelia yell from the doors of the mess hall, once she saw my sobbing figure and the man dead on the floor, she ran to me.

"Please tell me he didn't touch you," She said now on her knees in front of me, holding my face. Her voice was shaking, I shaked my head.

"He asked if Amadeus had told me what he did to Leiana." I tell her as much as my hiccups would let me. Her eyes went dark for a moment.

"Those bastards!" She yelled

The music had stopped, and people were coming outside, Lord Stark came out worried, and once he saw the scene, he hurried to ask what had taken place.

Once everyone calmed down and explained what had happened, I saw Brandon looking at me with worried eyes from afar. He came up to me and offered his coat and left, not knowing what to say. After that, everything was a blurry mess.

When I woke up, a sleeping Ophelia was at my side sitting on a chair. Feeling a shift in the bed, she woke up. "Are you alright, my dear?" She asked me worried, I nodded

"I'm leaving today sister..I can't delay my trip to house Reed" she spoke, my eyes went wide

"What if another one comes after me or worse you!" I exclaim

"I'll be protected by some guards, and so will you, Lord Stark was very understanding"

I sat up abruptly "You told him?!"

"No! Not the whole truth.. I have to be careful"

I relaxed, it wasn't safe for anyone to know as of now, anyone could betray us. Anyone.

𓅨˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

You hugged your sister tightly as she bid farewell to everyone, not knowing if this would be the last time you two would see each other

"We'll meet again" she said caressing your hair

"Once snow comes"

"Blood shall fall"

This would be the last time you heard of Ophelia..alive.

𓅨˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

The days went on rather banal, nothing new, taking sewing and embroidery lessons with Sansa and sneaking off to play with Arya in the courtyard once you got bored.

Everytime you went to talk to Brandon he was dry and cold, sometimes just flat out ignoring you.

you couldn't care less, most royal marriages were only for one thing - unions.

or that's what you told yourself.

One particular day, you noticed you were feeling rather drained, not having done many physical activities you felt worried,

Apparently someone noticed and left you a snack with a note that said 'rest, you look tired', with an apple next to it.

You asked around thinking it was either of the sisters but none knew what you were talking about so you just left it at that.

At around noon, you where playing with Arya on top of some tables, pretending to be knights, when a puncturing pain burst in your lower abdomen making you almost fall off. Arya, worried, dropped her stick and went to you thinking she had hurt you

"Are you okay??" she said panicking "Yes I'm alright just an old bruise I suppose"

you knew it wasn't a bruise, you knew what this pain entailed. You were petrified. this was only the begging.

your sister, Leiana, had explained what happened go the woman in the family once their first blood takes fruition, it's not only blood and pain, it the nightmares of death that plague you, and the smell of blood everywhere. it was too early you thought..way too early.

One morning you woke with the pain gone but a slick feeling in your thighs, you uncovered yourself and saw the crimson red stain that now adorned the bed sheets.

Although you wanted to think you were saved, Leiana also had gotten it, yet that didn't stop them. Nothing stops them

"You know what this entails right my dear" Lady Stark asked you, as you told her what was happening. you nodded slightly, she smiled.

"Don't worry, I know other houses make the girls marry as soon as there first blood occurs, but not here, neither of you are ready so don't fret, your still a child, I couldn't do that to you" she said empathicly. you just nodded and thanked her, and as she left you could only smell blood, it irked you, you felt disgusting.

Sansa was next to you at dinner talking about how wonderfull this was, you could have children now, give birth to little lords and ladies, which made Brandon's cheeks dust a light pink. You giggled, but there was a part of you that felt a nauseating feeling at the pit of your stomach.

If you had a girl would she deal with the same thing your sister did? Would she be chased down the streets and tainted by the men who swore to protect her?

No. you'd make sure she'll never go through that horrible, thing you'll make sure. Even if it's the last thing you do.

The following day you could barely walk, the pain was getting worse and Maester Luwin said ot was normal. saying it was because you had gotten it sooner than it should.

If only.

As you were walking with Sansa trying to withstand the cramping pain, talking about how you two would want both your futures to play out, the pain got worse, in an instant it felt like soemone took a blow to your lower stomach, making you bend over and groaning in pain. Sansa noticed and went to your aid, but before you could say anything everything went black.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

You opened your eyes and the bright light blinded you briefly, your head throbbed as the distant noise got closer.

You weren't quite sure where you were, but it wasn't Winterfell. It was red, everything, the snow was crimson red, the dew falling off the trees was red everything was red. You looked at yourself in the nearby bloodied river.

it wasn't you.

you felt around the face that was reflected on the river, it wasn't yours yet you could feel it, it was c aked in blood as well as the hair that came with it.

before panicking you remembered your sister's words;

"apart from the normal symptoms, you'll be ridden with nightmares for days might even be weeks"

You felt and indescribable hunger and as you saw the crimson snow it became appealing - appetizing even.

you took a handful of it and ate it, and then another, and another until your hunger was satiated.

everything went black for a while and when you awoke, you still weren't in Winterfell, but in the palace of Corvus. Castle Ravenna.

It wasn't you, you had to remind yourself before any panic would settle in your bones.

It all looked so different, The sigil on the banners was the old one, the walls were relatively new, even the throne looked more polished

this was clearly long before you had been born, who's body you were inhibiting, you didnt know, but it felt... different than in the snow earlier, the blood on your veins wamer, and faster.

"Amelia! are you listening?" the voice of a man said

Amelia? if the stories the women in blood told your sister were true, she was the first necromancer of house corvus.

"Yes dear?" you answered, the voice not your own.

"What have you been doing in the outskirts of the city, I've told you a hunded times. do not." he kept going

"The snow, i helped get rid of the red snow"

You didn't know how you knew what to say. You just did. It was automatic.

"We can't keep escaping from our marital duties.. we need to produce an heir"

Your stomach churned at the thought.

The blackout ensued again, yet this time you were in the garden, your hand was bleeding profusely, and a white rabbit squirmed on the floor, its head was detached.

You wouldn't move, couldn't, it felt as in a second your body was still and then you were looking through the rabbits eyes.

You've heard of wargs, yet they manipulated live animals.. not the dead.. as you snapped out of it, you gasped and quickly jid the beheaded rabbit in a bush, washing the wounded hand on the fountain.

The night you finally consummated your marriage with your husband, he was gentle, truly, he was, but we both longed for someone else. We didn't belong to the other, yet our destinies were written long before our conception.

Another black out. Gods, did you hate them by now.

You held your first born in your arms, a beautiful baby girl, eyes like the forest and caramel skin. She cooed at you and you smiled.

Her father seemed mad, only came in the room to corroborate the gender of the child and left.

Your nightmares showed the many children you or better said, Amelia, had through out the years. Five boy and five girls, only two made with love, the other out of necessity.

The last one was the most brutal of them all

Your body was now old and wrinkly as you could only stare in shock as the torture that was inflicted on your daughters was laughed at, and sang about, the remaining two sat on the table ridden in fear that they would wake up with a man in their chambers, putting the through hell, and you couldn't do anything.

Their daughters' daughters would go through this hell, and their daughters after that. Amelia couldn't bear it. You could feel it in her veins. She mustered any bit of energy left in her old bones and killed the man whom she had married all those years ago

The man who let men do whatever they pleased with your daughters for the sake of the kingdom. It was her last straw.

"You stand here accused of practicing the dark arts, and the worst crime..regicide, how do you plead?" The man asked loud for the whole city to hear

I stayed silent.

"Any last words then?" He asked

I looked up and said:

"My daughters will not be able to use their gifts, but be worry of the ones to come, one will be born so fierce, she'll fear no man, as no man will come to harm her, the loss of her sisters will only strengthen her, and the downfall of the tyrants of Bravoos will come"

The daughters cried as they were held by the perpetrators as your neck was sliced from ear to ear. Everything went black for the last time.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

When you finally woke up, it was in a cold sweat, pawing at your neck with one hand. You looked hastily at your surroundings and saw a sleeping Bran at your bedside, a hand holding yours. Your heartbeat slowed a little, and you smiled

"Brandon, wake up," you say softly, shaking him

He woke up slowly, eyes groggy, but when he laid his eyes on your figure, his eye widened, and he jumped to hug you. "I thought you wouldn't wake up," he said distraught

You hugged him back and said, "Didn't know you missed me," grinning.

He glared at you playfully "Maybe..maybe not, are you okay? you were gone for days, mumbling things in your sleep.. you had me worried, " he said the blush in his cheeks eminent.

You couldn't stop the giggles that exited your mouth. After being cold and distant for so long, who could've thought he would be so concerned for your well being.

"Don't laugh." he added as he tried to storm out the room, but your hand pulling his stopped him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude," you say in between laughs. He furrowed his brows and quickly kissed your cheek, making you shut up. your brain malfunctioned, and you just stared at him, eyes wide and cheeks red.

Before you could say anything, he bolted out the door, yelling, "She woke up!"

And you just stared at the door in disbelief.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Thank you so much for getting this far, can't wait to continue this series!! If you'd like to be added to the taglist,let me know ♥︎

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taglist: @etyaty @tcapter

DO NOT;; RE-UPLOAD, TRANSLATE NOR COPY MY WORKS!!

This belongs to;;

-SASAGEHOES

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shiggyshita · 2 years ago

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(this is the first user sign ive made, sorry its crappy)

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-MINORS DNI WITH MY 18+ CONTENT PLS!-

this is my first time writing on tumblr, so id like to do some requested hcs first (seems easier to start off with) but im always open to fics, drabbles, oneshots, etc.

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If you have a fandom/character you’d like me to write on that’s not on my list, pls req it anyways and I may write it!

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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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. 😉

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #asoiaf x reader #got/asoiaf #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #got robb stark #robb stark #robb x reader #robb x you #robb x y/n #house stark #house lannister #house baratheon

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spxllcxstxr · 6 months ago

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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.

•

#game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got #got x reader #robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark fanfic #robb stark blurb

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rise-my-angel · 3 months ago

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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.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

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nanoland · 2 months ago

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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.

#mel medarda #arcane #arcane critical

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lovebaela · 10 months ago

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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

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arkivsantorina · 2 years ago

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And I might be okay, but I'm not fine at all (r. stark)

And I might be okay, but I'm not fine at all r. stark imagine

Pt. 3 of Oh, all I used to do was pray, Right when I felt the moment stop

Pairings - Robb Stark x female!Reader

Summary - You have finally healed but the tension in Winterfell looms higher than ever before. A new arrival to the keep threatens any progress Robb has made with you.

Word Count - 1,203 words

Warnings - Angst, mention of infidelity, Robb being a shitty husband but I swear he is trying

A/N - I'm having way too much funny writing angsty Robb Stark so this has now become a multi-chapter imagine. I'm thinking about having two endings: one hea and one where it's just all angst. Let me know if you would enjoy something like that or if you prefer one ending over the other.

Songs I listened to while writing: Cherry Wine (Hozier), Cinnamon Girl, Carmen (Lana Del Rey), Midnight Rain, All Too Well (Taylor Swift)

It had been a month since the attack and you had finally been allowed to resume your normal duties. It had been dreadfully boring being stuck in bed but no one wanted to take any chances with your health. If there was a positive outcome from your encounter with Ramsay, it was that the Stark family had finally opened their hearts to you. Catelyn and Sansa had taken up much of the charity work that you had been doing in prior. They would bring you embroidery projects and sit beside your bed as they updated you on the progress of your work as you all stitched new designs. Sansa showed you quite a few new embroidery tricks. If you were not joined by Catelyn and Sansa, it was Arya and Rickon in your room. The two looked as if you had hung the moon and the stars since you had sacrificed yourself to save them, unknowing if you would survive facing off against Ramsay or not. Arya had decided that she would teach you sword fighting like Brienne had taught her or maybe archery, whichever one you took to best. She did want you to be left defenseless again. It was Arya’s belief that if you were brave enough to protect them, you had to be smart enough to know how to protect yourself. Rickon was less energetic but still just as attentive. He would use your room as an escape from his lessons by bringing you pictures that he had drawn and books so that you could read to him. Once or twice, he even brought you sweets that he had snuck from the kitchens. Even Bran visited you from time to time. He could sympathize with being stuck in bed and how bored one quickly grew from it. Bran had shown you card games that could be played from bed and you were quickly becoming quite the gambler, even though he often bested you.

The issue arose from the eldest of the Stark boys. Robb and Jon were quite sparse in their visits to your bedside, not that you minded Robb’s elusiveness. It still left you with an uneasy feeling whenever he showed you sympathy for what had happened. You were unsure how to accept his kindness after six months of trying yet still being brushed to the side. What concerned you was the rumor you had heard of Robb and Jon fighting over you. Some maids had been whispering when they thought you were asleep about how Jon wanted to keep Robb from visiting you after he had made you cry when you had first woken up. Jon believed that Robb’s presence would be a reminder of the pain you suffered and would therefore only hinder your recovery. He limited his visits so as not to fuel rumors that you and he were engaged in an affair as revenge for Robb’s infidelity. That, of course, was not true. Jon was your first true friend in Winterfell and he cared and looked out for you the way he would Arya or Sansa. Robb, thankfully, did not have to face Jon again for his visits were also few and far between even though he wanted to be by your side. He had duties as the King in the North to attend to as well as a very pregnant Talisa quickly approaching her due date.

You were sitting at your dressing table after having just bathed that evening. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you gently traced the scar on your neck that had been left by Ramsay. The area is still tender and you hiss at the sensation. Another flaw is to be pointed out.

Unbeknownst to you, Robb had entered your chambers and was watching you from where he leaned against the closed door, watching as you carefully trace the scar. He can’t imagine how much pain you are in. How there are scars both physically and emotionally marring you. He frowns at the thought. He walks over to you. Robb wants to ask you if you are okay but he can’t find the right way to do so. He desperately wants to make things better between the two of you.

You shriek in surprise once you look up into your mirror and notice Robb standing close to you. “My lord husband. What are you doing in my chambers? Is there something you needed from me?” You pull your dressing gown tighter against you as if the fabric could protect your heart.

Robb is startled by your reaction. He doesn’t respond to you for a few moments as he processes your reaction. Why did you scream like that? Are you afraid of him? He can see the vulnerability, the pain, the fear in your eyes and it breaks his heart. Robb reaches out his hand to rub your shoulder in what he hopes you will perceive to be a comforting gesture. “I was worried about you. I know today was your first day returning to your duties. I wanted to make sure that you did not overexert yourself.”

You flinch slightly at the hand on your shoulder and possibly the sentiment behind your husband’s words. Before you can answer him, a servant knocks on the door to your chambers. You call for them to come in. The servant enters and bows to both you and Robb before turning their full attention to him. “Your grace. Talisa Maegyr has given birth successfully. The babe is a girl.”

Robb stares at the servant in disbelief. He knew that Talisa had begun her labours but believed he had more time before the actual birth. His voice grows quiet. “A…a girl?” Robb looked down at his hands, unsure of what to do with himself. He wants to be happy. Robb had loved Talisa once and would make sure she and the babe are cared for but he can’t help but feel resentment towards himself that every moment he tries to make peace with you is ruined by his own actions.

You shrug off the hand on your shoulder and get up, wanting to put distance between you and Robb. A pained smile is on your face as you speak. “Congratulations on the birth of your daughter. I’m sure you are eager to see her and Talisa. Go.” You turned to walk to the bookshelf of your room. Busying yourself with scanning the titles so that Robb can’t see the tears in your eyes.

Robb stares at the back of your head. His face is pained as he looks at the ground. A stray tear slides down his cheek. He closes his eyes and sighs. What should be a happy moment for him instead feels like his heart has been broken into a thousand pieces. Robb has come to regret the way he treated you. He should have tried to love you the same way his father had tried to love his mother. It had worked out for them. Robb felt like a failure.

When he finally opens his eyes after a few deep breaths, he plasters a fake smile on his face and follows the servant to where Talisa and his new daughter are resting.

Next Part

#robb stark fanfic #robb stark imagine #robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n

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claymoresword · 4 months ago

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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.”

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister #cersei lannister smut #catelyn tully #catelyn x cersei #ned x catelyn #house stark

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pessimisticpigeonsworld · 4 months ago

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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!

#answered asks #asoiaf #asoiaf thoughts #house targaryen #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #arya stark #bran stark #house stark #house bolton #theon greyjoy #fanfic ideas

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thethreeeyed-raven · 10 months ago

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⋆♱ 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

#game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones smut #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones x you

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sasagehoes · 4 months ago

Text

THE NECROMANCER

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ;𝐂𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐏𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𓅨˚₊‧⁺⋆♱;; Your days in Castle Ward are far from peaceful ever since that eventful night. And now with the announcement that the King's arrival is near, who could sleep well? So you ask yourself, will the gods be satisfied with all the bloodshed that shall take place outside of these walls?

masterlist | series masterlist

previous chapter ~ next chapter

CW; This series contains a LOT of sensitive topics. Just like the show, there will be individual warnings for each chapter, I'm not responsible for what you read.

graphic depictions of gore/ caracasses/ dead animals/ death/ death/ and more death/ violence towards humans and animals

2.6k words

READ AT YOUR ONE DISCRETION

After everything subsided and countless visits from the maester you were told you could finally leave the chambers, your mind was so confused at everything, the nightmares, the horrible stench that everything had, the subtle ire that consumed you at the looks men started giving you around the time of your 12th name day.

Arya occupied most of your time with the sneaking about to spar, ending with more than a couple of bruises, mud stains, and scoldings from both the septa and Lady Stark.

After the whole kiss ordeal Bran had avoided you like the plague, not out of ill intentions, that you knew, simply out of embarrassment. You found it hilarious, shouldn’t you be the one embarrassed? He kissed you not the other way around.

You made it your mission that week to annoy him the most, see how much it would take for him to break the silence.

At dinner one day you sat next to him and smiled. His body visibly stiffened, and his face went red, you tried your hardest to not let a cackle slip, but to no avail, as soon as Robb mentioned something about his reaction, you broke in laughter, the rest of the table followed suit. His eyes were fixed at the table in shame.

“Are you alright my dear?” you asked with a knowing smile.

“W-what? Yeah, I’m good” he said with a slight stutter.

The interaction earns a few other giggles from the youngest Stark.

Once dinner culminated Bran was the first to bolt out the mess hall, you followed suit

“You’ve been avoiding me like Greyscale Brandon” you say

“I have not,” you cached up to him and started walking by his side

“Yes you have, can't we just be normal friends? I'm not asking you to love me right away, hell I know I do not” you laughed and continued; “just, don’t be a stranger”

His steps met a stop and he replied, looking at the floor “Fine, don’t keep teasing me about it, and…sorry about the other day and the days before that’

You knew what he meant, the constant cold shoulder, and the peck on the cheek the day you woke from your nightmare fueled slumber.

Now it was your turn to go red “I didn’t mind...next time just ask, good night my lord” you waved and left, quite in a hurry to avoid any other questions from the boy.

The next morning the avoidance was gone, and you exchanged a couple of words in between duties, the hesitance was there but it was a step forward. Over the months that followed the shy conversations turned into full on banter.

Once he had tried convincing you of climbing a small wall on the castle which led to both of you on the floor laughing, gathering yourself quickly to avoid a scolding from his mother.

One of the climbing escapades had worked out fairly well apart from the subtle scrapes on your knees and hands from constant slips, both of you now on the top of a wall hidden away, looking at the falling sun.

“Did you have any dreams before you were told you had to marry me?” he asked you abruptly, even he caught himself by surprise “You don’t have to answer that, it's none of my business” he retaliated. “It's all right, I do not mind... I can’t really say if I longed to do something, but I know I’ve always wanted to serve my people no matter what...although now my views have shifted” you say calmly, the sadness in your voice palpable

“What about yours, did you have any dreams before the news?” you asked, not letting him ask any questions about your newfound hatred against your people back home.

“I wanted to be a Kings guard” he said slowly, your eyes went wide for a second.

“Do you resent me for depriving you of your dream?” you ask. His head turned to look at you, eyes wide “No! of course not, neither of us had a say in this arrangement, even if my parents said I could decide whether i would marry you or not, i knew they were only humoring me” he said holding your arms, you winced at the cuts getting irritated by his sudden touch.

He took them away quickly “Sorry, we should go down before the sun goes down, the others might get the wrong idea” he said looking at the floor below the both of you.

“Alright lead the way” you say not wanting to imagine how difficult the journey to descend was going to be. He seemed to notice and chuckled “I'll go first and wait down there, if you fall I'll catch you my lady.”

“You better not or ill poison your food at dinner” you throw him a small scowl at his teasing.

At the end no one fell, and no one was poisoned yet as expected your little escapade resulted in a brief scolding about how dangerous that climb was.

“You, Brandon Stark may be experienced climbing, yet she isn’t, what if she falls? '' Lady Catelyn asked exasperated, “I would catch her mother, I helped her up and down, she’s fine” he replied. “Truly my lady I’m fine, just a couple of scrapes, nothing serious, I promise it won't happen again”

It did happen again.

The day of your 13th name day was just around the corner, and although the Starks prepared a small feast to commemorate the three years you had spent with them, you couldn’t get a pestering feeling that crept up in your head. Every night for the last week, your dreams were filled with the corpses of people you have never met before, dead animals, but one was a recurrent resident in the abode of your mind. A raven, as black as the night, sometimes it would stay still and quiet, while sometimes it opted to be more aggravating, screaming in your ear, flying in your line of sight to stop you from gazing at something you should not.

Every night you would wake up in a cold sweat, it was slowly eating you alive and it was eminent in your eyes. The bastard, Jon Snow was the first to notice, although he and you did not really interact, you considered him someone that would bring you safety, having saved you from that horrible man, moons ago. You often sat next to him in silence, as he went about his duties, he never questioned it really, the silence was welcomed and so were you.

“You’ve seen better days my lady” he said as he polished his sword, not looking at you. “Have you seen death my lord? Does it haunt you in your dreams?” you ask now looking directly at him

To say he was surprised was an understatement, he's never been in a war nor a brutal battle, but he had seen his father execute men who take the black and proceed to break their oath.

“It used to but then I got- accustomed to it as I got older” he said looking back at you now, “Does death plague your dreams?” he asked with a frown

You thought for a second for an answer, saying yes would entail him asking about said dreams which would-

“No, just wanted to ask” your response was rather quick, “I'm sorry to bother you, do carry on” with that you left the room, leaving the snow's son quite disturbed to say the least

You sprinted back to the courtyard, the stench of blood emanating from every crevice of the garden, your insides contorted as a way to seek relief and as a final effort to do just that, the food you had eaten earlier that morning ended up on the ground. Your breath was heavy and your hands were supporting your body from touching the floor as you cursed out to the old gods and the new. You felt a piercing gaze near where you were, unmoving. You looked up and saw a raven staring right back at you, for a moment you thought you were having one of those hellish nightmares again since its eyes were as white as the snow that was said to decorate the land beyond the wall. You tried moving your hand its way to make it go away but to no avail, “What is it that you want from me you bastard” you scoffed at the feathered animal. As soon as those words left your mouth you felt your eyes go to the back of your skull, and just as it happened many nights ago. Everything went black.

You stood in front of an out of commission tower in Castle Ward, one that you failed to climb with Brandon during one of your escapades.This time it felt much taller than it did that day. In the blink of an eye, a bird fell from the upper window, falling right at your feet, making you gasp. After that, another came crashing down, and then another, and another, until the ground was covered in bird carcasses and you could only stare at it in disbelief and terror. As the last one fell, a soft scream could be heard. It sounded vaguely like Lady Catelyn’s voice, as you understood what the screaming voice said, your blood froze, Brandon it called. Brandon it wailed.

You jolted awake in the same soft grass you had fallen, the raven nowhere to be seen and the smell of rotting flesh nowhere to be perceived. You stood and went running to go find the boy, when you spotted him holding his bow, pointing the arrow at the target, you heart felt at ease once more.

After that scare, the day went on rather normal, though your mind kept going to the Lady’s screams, the ravens and all the blood, you couldn't bear to relive that again. As the night fell, everyone returned to their chambers. You felt restless, you didn't want to succumb to sleep because the nightmares would haunt you, but at the same time the less you slept, the more irritable you became. Once you decided to go to bed at last, your mind was filled with blissful images of your family before all the atrocities that went down. Leiana chasing Ophelia down on the corridors as Amadeus taught your younger self how to read

‘All ladies should be well informed of the worldly matters’ he used to say

The images soon changed settings to the gorgeous gardens that reside in Castle Ravenna, the tulips that would only bloom in the warmer months, the lilies that often decorated Ophelia’s hair as soon as they bloomed, and the red roses that-

There were no red roses in Castle Ravenna.

Mother hated them.

You gasped as you woke up in front of that dreadful tower back in Winterfell, the ravens still surrounding you, yet instead of lifeless they were now croaking at you, all at once. If the nightmares wouldn't make you mad, this certainly would. You ran as fast as you could to the main entrance of Castle Ward yet the doors would not budge. From behind you, you could hear countless horses trotting your way, as the horses came closer and showed no sign of stopping only then did the doors open. You hurried back inside of the castle yet no one seemed to acknowledge your presence, everyone focused on the..King.

The King hopped off his high horse and went closer to the Stark family. Starting out with Neddard Stark, as soon as he hugged him, a horrible image flashed in your vision. Heads mounted on spikes, flies grouped around them, feasting on the rotting flesh, and among them all one stood from the others.

It couldn't be.

As if to not let you know more, the vision ended, and you were once more back in front of the family being greeted by the King. Next was Robb, at the shake of their hands another vision struck you. A man with the head of Wolf was paraded as a laughing stock in a gathering. The blood from the wolf intertwined with that of the man’s, linking them as one. Your vision panned to the view of a horrified Arya, a few years older than what she was now, age not the one weighing down her features, but the things she had seen and gone through. As soon as your ears heard the words “King in the North” being exclaimed by one of the perpetrators, you were pulled out of the nightmare. You opened your mouth to scream as the king neared Lady Stark, but the chords down your throat were not being strung, as if they were cut completely. Yet that didn't stop tears from welling in your eyes as you fell to your knees, another vision engulfing your tired mind.

You found yourself in a quiet hall as bodies littered the floors, a heaving Catlyn could barely muster any words as she held a young girl by the hair, dagger in hand, pointed at her neck. As if thunder had struck, the lady’s neck was slashed such as quick, all while her hostage held the same fate.

You couldn't handle anymore, this was your new found family..how could you stand this.

Once back at the entrance, you walked with all your might to try and stop the king from touching another family member. Yet a man with eyes as pale as snow, whom you had never seen before stood right in front of you.

“The God’s make things happen for a reason, all for which you will see with time, you were never supposed to see this. Sleep now child.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, a murder of ravens engulfed him and everything around you.

You awoke from the living hell you were just pulled from and sat up, slowly, you noticed that instead of the comfort of your chambers, you laid in the cold ground outside. In the very center of Castle Ward. Afraid this was another one of your mind’s cruel tricks, you grabbed the sharpest stone the floor could provide and gashed your hand. You let out a wince as the blood now trickled down the creases of your palm. Your body and soul were too tired to let out sobs, so you opted to stare at the abysmal darkness that the outside provided. Soon enough your eyes caught the one of a dead bird not too far away. Like a predator salivating after its next prey, the blood on your palm oozed quicker, and your mind only had one thing resounding in it, take it.

And take you did, like a rabid animal you ran to take it, your blood mixing with the birds still one, interlinking as one.

In the blink of an eye it felt like how it felt back when you were Amelia, yet this time it was more intimate, more.. Personal, it was your body getting traded for that of a carcass. Your soul transfering itself into the empty vessel of a bird. Your eyes went to the back of your head, the pearly whiteness quickly turning stygian. The lifeless bird no longer so, as your limp body fell on the ground with a thud, the bird took flight, standing atop of the tree near your sleeping figure.

In some way or another you must have regained your body’s soul back to its rightful place, since you were awoken by Sansa as you laid comfortably in your chamber bed.

“Wake up sister! I come bringing great news, the King is to come to Winterfell, and I shall marry his son Joffrey!”

The Gods have abandoned us long ago, we just pretend we are still in their presence.

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Thank you so much for getting this far, can't wait to continue this series!! If you'd like to be added to the taglist,let me know ♥︎

(っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) ♡

taglist: @etyaty @tcapter

DO NOT;; RE-UPLOAD, TRANSLATE NOR COPY MY WORKS!!

This belongs to;;

-SASAGEHOES

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atopvisenyashill · 3 months ago

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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.

#chena h #theonsa #book theonsa

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justadram · 2 years ago

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A 19th c. New York City Jon/Sansa drabble

angst, longing, complicated relationships

The announcement is made--Miss Sansa Stark's engagement to Willas Tyrell--at the party thrown precisely for the purpose of a grand announcement. Raise up the family in this trying time, brush all the unpleasantness under the imported rugs with music and food and the press of a crowd gathered to witness it.

Dany did say it would be an engagement. Swore to it twice as they rode down Fifth Avenue, carriage rocking. She sounded rather too pleased about the prospect when she usually has very little in the way of kindness for his cousin. Jon refused to believe it. Too old for her, Jon insisted, and he still thinks so, as he attempts to grit out a smile and his wife lifts her champagne.

"Raise your glass, Jon," she says, lips barely moving.

He does, but only to bring the crystal rim to his waiting lips. He won't toast the happy couple, nor will he do Dany's bidding. Not tonight. He's in no mood to be agreeable.

Dany does say he's taciturn and overly sensitive, so he might as well play the part the way her opera friends do nightly on a stage lit too bright.

"She's your cousin. Pretend to be pleased."

"I'm happy for her of course."

His hand flexes at his side.

Dany looks sidelong at him, pale brow arched. "Oh yes, very. Listen, try not to murder the man in front of this lot. They'll sue and I'm not sure your confidence would stand up to the task of self-representation."

Her dress is red. Blood red. Her favorite color. She never fades into the background. Not even among these people who whisper behind fans about her. Nor should she, and yet, her bold temperament is perhaps not as well suited to his as he once believed.

She'll insist he dances with her tonight, though he would prefer to hide in the palm room, nursing this damnable ache that's spreading through his chest. Just long enough so that he can pull himself together to congratulate Catelyn on the match. Or Bran if he isn't feeling up to facing the matriarch of the family.

"It's a shame she couldn't get what she wanted. I suppose that's a new sensation for her." Her head tilts, as the musicians begin to play. She brings the coupe to her mouth, covering it as she amends, "Who she wanted. But the Tyrells are climbing like roses, aren't they? She'll add a lovely old-world aura to all that vulgar American newness."

Sansa Stark is America, she's as American as they come, first family and all, but he understands the import. There is the New York of old and what's coming to sweep that all away in a cloud of coal dust.

"That mansion is a monstrosity."

Willas looks down at his bride to be as if she's made of moonlight, twinkling in the Stark ballroom that is half the size of the Tyrell one.

White. Virginal. Untouched.

Just last week Jon spread his fingers until they spanned her jaw and tipped her head back, so her perfectly pink lips parted like an opening bud before she fled from the glass gardens, trailing the smell of hot house gardenias.

Not unsurprising behavior from a bastard relation, even one who pretended to be decent.

His heart throbs.

If only it was just sin tucked in his breast. The right preacher could drive it out.

"I didn't know you had architectural opinions."

Yes, moonlight. Sansa Stark is a moonbeam captured in Willas Tyrell's open palm, as he tows her towards the dance floor where she and Jon have never publicly stepped out together.

He frowns down into his glass and grimaces against the burn of the bubbles as he swallows. "I don't."

"Perhaps they'll let her decorate it in her own style. There's endless money there." Her voice lilts, teasing, prodding at the wound. The right family was important once, now the right amount of money is the only thing that matters. "Or is it the family you object to? Such a snob for one born on the wrong side of the blanket, aren't you?"

"If Old Ned was alive--"

"Yes, he was very fond of you, I'm sure, but Catelyn Stark would have never, Jon. Never allowed it. You could be as rich as Croesus and she'd look down her nose at you. You know that. She's as provincial as they come. You too for some unknown reason."

She's only hissed out the assertion when Sansa's eyes meet his through a gap in the crowd. He might only imagine the fleeting swoop of unhappiness pulling at her features, the same thing he imagined on her pretty face when he returned from Vienna with Dany wrapped around his arm in a silk dress cut too low for Fifth Avenue society.

It seemed a fortuitous event when he met the beautiful widow with old family ties to New York, though Dany had never seen the city herself. There was a hint of scandal about her. But there was about him too, thanks to the circumstance of his birth and his newly acquired habit of staring rather too long at a girl meant for a grander gentleman than himself. What he wanted was outrageous in its presumption, and then the perfect solution to all his pitiful longing presented herself with almost silver hair and eyes like the lilacs that dripped before his mother's dressing window in the spring.

They were happy. But he missed New York. So they boarded a ship.

They ought not to have come here.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters, chest rising and falling inside his starched shirt, as he stares across the ballroom.

"Catelyn Stark despising you or you spending too much time with your dear little cousin? I can expand on both."

"No need," he says, as the gap closes and Sansa's watery gaze is blocked out by tuxedoed shoulders. "But you could lower your voice."

"You ought to be glad people like the Tyrells are rising in this world," she says without paying him any mind. "Catelyn Stark will never allow you to sit at the head of her table, but the new standard won't care about your birth or my two dead husbands."

Only one is dead, but Jon wouldn't think to correct her.

"The new way will only care about what's between your ears and in your pocketbook. I know there's some intelligence in there," she says as her finger trails the shawl collar of his jacket. "If you would only use it."

"I'm sorry my profession isn't impressive enough for you and your aspirations."

She'd like to conquer New York, his wife, though she has the wrong personal history and the wrong husband for it. She imagined she would shine here the way she did in Europe thanks to her beauty and boisterousness and willingness to make a bold bet.

She boldly bet on him too. Her worst gamble.

"Even in the law you could prosper more than you do," she insists still too loudly. It's a well-worn argument between them now. "If you'd make the right connections."

Not the kind of connections Ned Stark would approve. The people she wishes him to befriend hold no appeal.

"I'll do my best," he says, mostly to prevent any further upheaval.

Her cheeks already are starting to heat and Jaime Lannister has turned his eye on them, lip curling in amusement. It's the effect of too much champagne, too much dancing around the truth. And while he wouldn't mind calling for the carriage, making a scene at Sansa's engagement party is not at the top of his to-do list.

What he'd like is to go to her, and profess things he ought not to. He wishes he could sink down on his knees to beg forgiveness. Either for loving her when she is so above his notice or not confessing it before she was lost to him, bobbing away like foam on the sea. He'd beg with his fingers grasping the embroidered hem of her ballgown, wrap his hands around her delicate ankles, kiss up the side of her stockinged calf, and then peel the silk down until his heathen hands touched flesh. He wants her hands buried in his curls.

She would never.

He's mad. Like his grandfather, the one they committed to Bellevue.

Before his misstep last week, he'd never even touched her bare hand since she entered society.

"And there might be hope for us yet, you and me. With pretty little Sansa wed and times changing," she says, lifting her glass, "you might even say our marriage is saved."

#jonsa #jon x sansa #fanfic #game of thrones #actuallyjonsa

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rise-my-angel · 5 months ago

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

61 - Scattered Pieces of Truth

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

Length: 18.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past traumas, past character death, possessive tendencies, smut, handjobs, p in v, accidental voyeurism,

Notes: You may notice that leading up to a certain accidental incident, that I didn't build up to it with a horribly ill fitting contrast of beheading a toddler. Take notes, Condal. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

To the few in the room, the sight could be seen as a rather strange one. At least in context. To Olly, you had been introduced in his life as a fierce figure commanding an authority which granted him mercy at what he felt like was the end of his path. You offered him empathy and forgiveness but showed none of the same to Ser Alliser Throne and beheaded him the day you had arrived. In a way you were the image of an intimidating Queen to the boy in ways stories only whispered about Targaryean women of the past. But in other ways, you also were the closest thing to a mother he had left.

Counting his blessings, Olly knew that whatever older brother sort of figure he had once seen in Jon, he had ruined the night he shoved a dagger through his heart. But yet somehow you took Olly in regardless, and found a place back in the world for him when many times over he felt as if he lost his. So to him, being allowed to stand at your side in moments like this were odd, a side of you he had only ever seen before in memories of his own mother. Perhaps he was a bit jealous, but after he had done everything to warrant you executing him, you took him in as your own and kept him by your side so that he served someone who understood his complications.

On the other hand, he was not the only traitor in the mix whom you spared. Theon stood with a life so vastly different then the one he once lived, he felt practically a stranger to him. The day Ramsay Snow had sent him into Moat Cailin to negotiate the other Ironborn to surrender, he could remember such a wave of conflict. The way blood was spit into his face and called a woman for trying to say there was honour in a fair defeat. How on one side he could hear himself trying to voice through a shaking in his muscles that he was actually Reek, but then he would also stand there and see you.

In the dungeons of the Dreadfort, sickly, ill, covered in so much sweat, grime, and blood that he almost did not recognize you. The way you had tore your head up from hiding in your arms with tears staining your cheeks as he told you he didn’t actually murder Bran and Rickon. The way you looked at his state, his circumstances and he knew you had forgiven him. How no one had called him Theon Greyjoy but you. When one man had murdered the commander in order to desperately accept Theons terms, he had remembered who he felt like next to you and Robb. Someone who could be better then his worst parts, only to have Ramsay lead his men in and flay them all alive.

Theon had stood silent as Ramsay wrapped an arm around his shoulders insisting that traditions were important, as to why he had done it. But all he could do was stand there. Not even shaking or twitching as he normally would. He wasn’t really Reek then, he was Theon. And afterwards when they had returned to the Dreadfort to prepare the move to Winterfell was when Roose Bolton gave Ramsay his legitimization from King Tommen.

Once Ramsay was no longer a Snow, the less Reek did Theon feel on the inside, and the more he felt determined to not let Ramsay turn you into that either.

Finding the only bravery he had in years, Theon had shot Myranda in the back with arrows to stop her from attacking you. When you had found your only bravery in you, you plunged a kitchen knife so deep into her mouth that you had been covered in her blood for days. All he could do was hear how close you both were to being caught and how frozen in fear you were. How weak as he was Theon managed to find that strength, he had picked you up to jump from the battlements, a height you yourself had once hoped would kill you. He had shaken you out of your daze, and Theon never forgot that what convinced you to stand with him and run wasn’t even the promise that he was taking you to safety or taking you to Jon.

What got you up and standing was Theon offering his hand and promising that he wouldn’t leave you behind. Yet if he looked back then and seeing now, it was night and day. Not a hint of the same person stood there and it was difficult for Theon to put into proper thoughts. The relief of being able to witness you getting to this point, but also the conflict of truth coming this way, quite literally.

Of course, for all of them, Maester Wolkan saw it in the most direct way. He hadn’t met you before, or after escape. Hardly days had passed by the time he was summoned to the dungeons to examine you, since you had awoken to new life. He had seen you at every part of your worst. Once he had walked out in the courtyards here in Winterfell to a scene of Ramsay. Your dress torn off, shivering in a short shift in the snow as Ramsay had knocked you to the ground and threatened to slice the remainder off when he had to interject. Saying that marrying you would not be possible if the boy let you freeze to death.

He had shoved you to the snow even more as he got up to storm away, Wolkan managing to get you gently to your feet and covered to guide you inside but had so little reaction from you. Numb like your skin felt bare in the freezing air. Most of that year he knew you, there was not a hint of life in your eyes, and it was truly a feat he could claim saying you were the saddest girl he’d ever known. Yet here you were now, something nowhere near that sight.

A smile bright and shining on your face as you looked down to little Eddard, toying with his small kicking feet as if to tickle the bottoms of them each time he got to wiley. It had been close to a week passing since arriving home and Maester Wolkan had insisted on seeing the baby again to check both his health and state of growth. Question after question and it seemed the little one had gotten fussy laying there on his own.

Causing you now as Wolkan made his final examination for the day, you had knelt down closer so your eye level was more with where the baby lay. Hands always on him in one way or another, distracting him sometimes long enough that Wolkan could do something that might have otherwise been distressing. Or leaning up closer to his forehead with a kiss and gentle shushes to soothe him or pull out a small babble.

He was much how he was in your womb, a constant trouble maker. Always demanding of your attention, but the more affirmations he was healthy, the better you felt. The less as if you feared you had doomed your son to a difficult, short life simply because you had birthed him for too early. At the very least however, with both Theon and Olly in the room, you would be spared any questions regarding yourself for now. The less you thought about your state of mind, the better.

“I suspect within a fortnight, the little Prince will have caught up in growth to any other infant his age should be.” Glancing up to your side, your hands almost automatically moving around little Eddards grabbing insistence to dress him properly and warm once more. The others had been correct, there had been more then enough people around Winterfell and Winter Town whom wished to bring gifts and clothes to the newborn.

Nodding a bit, you had glanced down every now and again to give a little narrow eyed smirk to the trouble maker before finally giving him what he wanted. Carefully picking up him in your arms and resting him carefully up high on your front, as it seemed your neck and shoulder being his favourite place to hide away. “And you’re certain there is nothing more I could be doing to help with that?”

Shaking his head, Wolkan reached out to very playfully nudge a knuckle against the baby’s cheek whom both gave a small amusing sound but also squirmed closer to you at the same time as if he couldn’t decide. “You and the King have done a tremendous job in the face of a very unfavourable start. I assure you there is nothing more you need do then what you are right now.” Face only falling troubled a small it you clarified in asking if it was normal that at this young he seemed so shy. “Many highborns are surrounded by people all day and night when they are born. Always attended to by many, they get used to it rather quickly as a result. Little Eddard however had a start very reliant on his mother and father alone. It is only natural he will take more time to get used to being around as many as he is living in a castle.”

Glancing down, you could see his little hands mindlessly grasping at strands of your hair that sat closer to your shoulder. Almost holding it close to him as a young one may do with a plush toy, the thought no doubt crossing your mind if what happened had made him too reliant on you. Which was not at all what you wanted, people thinking you were raising your son to depend on his mother rather then grow up learning to be strong and stand on his own. Boys like Joffery, raised without being taught what being a leader entailed and hid behind his mothers skirts at every instance he could not yell and shout into getting his way.

The flash across Wolkans face with the growing concern of doubt on yours had you stand up straighter before the issue could be even slightly brought to your attention from his point of view. “I thank you, Maester Wolkan. I know you have much else on your plate, I won’t keep your time any further.”

Always a man not perturbed by dismissal in your manner, he was nothing but understanding likely of what you avoided. “No thanks needed, your grace. This is exactly what I am here for.” A nod given, before turning and gesturing to Olly to make leave, knowing Theon would follow.

At this point, even if you told him not too. Nevermore were he and Jon on the same page then when it came to watching you like a hawk. If it wasn’t Jon it was Ghost, if it wasn’t Ghost it was Theon. And somehow if it were neither of them, you still could not shake that feeling like eyes kept following you. The wrappings around your healing hands were cause for some concern, but not enough you couldn’t figure out why it felt as if eyes all around were watching you.

The only people who knew so far of the other day were Bran, Jon, and yourself. No one else had any reason to think they should keep an eye on you for that purpose, and yet they still did. It was odd for some to watch you of all people so motherly with such an easy smile attached, as it was odd for you to grasp the idea that it was somehow more complicated and difficult being back here then it had been for months out alone in the far North.

Another pair of eyes though, scoured the letter sent his way. The pile which came before were all of mystery, this one of answer, and yet it all felt as complicated as before.

Everything was complicated. Jon couldn’t condemn you nor Bran for what you were not saying about what occurred yesterday. He wasn’t even so sure Bran understood whatever he had spent over a year doing that far North. These sights, these visions Jon had. They always felt different then the way you’d describe yours. The dreams different too. Jon had walked your dreams, you never did his. Jon had never found himself lost in whatever visions he saw, he was here and saw there. It felt like it matched more of what Bran was experiencing then you, but if Bran didn’t really understand what this all was, Jon knew he had not a chance for himself. Let alone expecting you to explain it to him in ways he could grasp.

Instead, Jon focused on other things. Things which he’d rather not but were right in front of him. Or, the thing, the person. The man with the pin of a mockingbird attached to his cloak wandering his home as if he had a plan that would fall into place. Out of everything Petyr Baelish had done, he was smart enough to lie and cover his tracks to the point he stood in the Stark home as if he were not an enemy.

Both men were well aware Jon did not fall for it, but that made it worse. He already knew to navigate the suspicions of a man whom did not trust him. There was little Jon could prove, and what he could had to be careful. He and Arya had debated it just hours earlier.

Irate and pacing in his study, only Arya felt comfortable enough with Jon to rant and rave and yell the manner which she did. It wasn’t personal, so Jon felt no reason to tell her to calm down. With her, that would certainly not calm her any way. “We know everything he’s done to the point we could write a book about it. How is that not enough?”

Gloved hands braced against the wood of his desk, Jon stood behind it looking at her with a lower, more firm tone. “We can’t just accuse him of anything, you know that. If I drag him into court and throw nothing but accusations I can’t prove at him, he walks out of our walls for good.”

Arya’s face scrunched in frustration, Jon did know the feeling to well. An antsy sensation as if to physically fight back against a man only capable of mastering the art of mind games. Your name coming from her mouth, Jon too could sense the strong anger over it. “What he tried to do to her, and you think it’s safer having him here?”

A pit of something dark sat in Jons stomach. You had gone to take the baby to see Wolkan, he knew where you were and who was with you. He needed to swallow down that swirling void telling him to never let you out of his sight. Saying that to you was one thing, but to control you to that degree was another no matter what a specific part of himself said. Pushing through, a roughness was no doubt evident in his voice. “He almost had her killed when he was a thousand miles away in the Vale. I don’t know who he controls out there, but I know the limit of his reach here.” As soon as Arya tried to argue back, Jon continued on. “And if I accuse him now and can’t prove it, if I banish him from Winterfell or the North, Sansa leaves with him.”

Stopping in her tracks, Jon recognized the hesitation in her eyes attempting to smooth over with indifference. “You don’t know that. She came all the way back here, why would she leave if-”

Cutting her off, Jon felt uncomfortable with the why, but he explained it regardless. Arya needed to understand the gravity of the problem, even if he was hiding it from you. “Haven’t you wondered why even though you two spent your whole childhoods arguing about everything, why is it now it seems Sansa is only interested in fighting with me?”

The hesitation again he knew, she hadn’t quite considered that until then. “She’s just upset about learning she has no claim.” That was more of an excuse of cope and both knew it.

Jon just had to be the one to vocalize it more then he had to you. “Littlefinger knows he can’t manipulate me into giving him what he wants.” Your name coming from his lips, “And he can’t just try to do it with her either, with how much of a past they both know about. He’s smarter then that. His only chance is to use Sansa. And put her against me. And who’s the easiest person to do that with right now?”

Your name came from both of them, Jon in a tense frustration, Arya in a sort of defeat.

Walking around his desk, Jon leaned back to it’s front. Arms crossing in front of him as he watched Arya cease her pacing before he continue. Arya first asking how he was doing that. “I’m a bastard. It’s easy to find things about bastards to look down on.” Demanding more of what specifically, he knew that these sorts of things to Arya of all people, were not what she’d ever consider. Certainly not now. “I’m a bastard, married to a highborn girl. Who before me, was married to my highborn brother. If you’re assuming the worst about me, what does that look like?”

Face twisting into disbelief, Arya tried fighting back. “She knows you better then that, Sansa knows you’d never force anyone into being with you-”

The truth though hurt more then that, far more. “She doesn’t think I forced her into anything. All Littlefinger needs to do, is give Sansa the idea and she let it grow on her own.” It always came back to you, and he hated it. “People look down at me like I’m a liar, like I’m manipulative on purpose. If you tell someone bastards are born from sin, it’s not too hard to convince that person that I seduced her into being with me for my own benefit.”

It did take a good moment for Arya to connect what he was implying, but Jon knew it. The signs all begun to point to it, and now he was sure. The easiest way to keep Sansa from accepting the circumstances of Robb disinheriting her, is to use the one person Sansa always looked up to as an older sister and paint her as a victim of a bastard’s lust and deceit. To convince her that Jon was using you to keep his title and favour amongst his men. And Jon returning to Winterfell with you and a newborn made that look worse.

He and you had joked of it on the ship home from Dragonstone, but it was true. It is far harder to separate a King and a Queen from one another, if the man gifts her a child. And a son and heir no less. “I was always protective of her, but now it’s different..it’s..more intense and to someone looking for the worst in me-”

Finishing for him, again Arya’s tone had been defeat and a tinge of frustration, understandably. “It just looks like you’re controlling her.”

Jon was protective of you, possessive to the point sometimes he wondered if controlling you that way would make things easier for you, so you didn’t have to worry. But he also knew that wasn’t right, that wasn’t the part of him that Ned Stark raised. He struggled already, having to be apart from you during the day when for over six months he had you all to himself every single hour, but this was something else. This was a despising burning feeling in his heart at being apart from you, wanting you to just stay beside him and listen to what he told you for your own good.

He didn’t want to be that way, but a dark part of him always felt now like it would be so much safer for you if you did, even though the man in him knew that wouldn’t be good for you in every other way. He had tried to vocalize it to you in a softer way, and you had tried to dissuade him from such thoughts, but it continued to fester. Those parts of Jon that Sansa was worried for you about, weren’t made from nothing. Because part of Jon was that way, or wanted to be that way with you. She was just wrong about the why.

Being a bastard had nothing to do with this obsessive feeling. Just the blood running through his veins.

Sitting there now, Jon knew he had to still be careful. Sansa was his sister, and she belonged here, in her home with her family, but if Jon made the wrong move or was too bold too early, she might leave and not return. And with what winter storms approached, Jon knew that couldn’t be an option. He had to be careful, he had to stick to not only what he could prove, but what he had the right to prove.

Littlefinger had done many things, but Jon knew if he was using you to manipulate Sansa against him, if Jon could prove to his sister that the man tried to have you killed, that would sway her. Perhaps make her realize the extent of the manipulative things he spoke about Jon. Proving in a trial that Petyr Baelish had orchestrated an attempt on the Queen in the North’s life was as good of something to end this shadow he held on the Stark family, then every other crime he’s committed.

But between Jon and Arya, both knew they had a good chance at finding a conclusive way to do that, he just had to be quick about it, and somehow he needed to get it across to Sansa that even if just for the trial, she needed to trust him. Whatever other problems the two of them would have after, could be dealt with later. Right now, he needed to ensure two things alone.

Making Littlefinger pay for his crimes, and ensuring those crimes would not bring his little sister down with him. So as he wrote a raven to send off, Jon knew this was just one of the many people whom he needed to reach out too. His father would have done this as thoroughly and as properly as he could, and so Jon would do no less then that.

Jon just had to remind himself, he was only like one father. Not the other. He didn’t know how he’d handle being more like one then the other, so if he refused to think about it, maybe it this one problem would just disappear.

If only Jon didn’t spend most of the next hours after that, tense trying to figure out where you were and who you were with, and certainly not summon you to his side like a servant just to appease that darkness. Though as he descended the dark steps down further into the undergrounds, Jon did for once that day, find himself grateful that you were not here.

He knew what his men had informed him of, and for all accounts, she had been acting quite a good prisoner. Her brother in law had not protested any of it, nor did the members of House Ryswell. Jon had laid out very publicly what he was accusing her of, informed them he had the written evidence to back himself up, and his men had taken up in defence when she had suddenly stood from her seat in an aggression.

Having written to Lord Dustin and Lord Ryswell both, he knew the options were there. They were not protesting to her having been in Winterfell's dungeons these months, but he also did not wish for his time spent as her jailer, to be seen as keeping her from everyone else she knew.

Dark eyes peeking from more messy dark hair, Jon could see Barbrey Dustin while physically looked more worse for wear, she did not appear to be in ill health. Fed proper meals twice a day, accommodate her needs within reason, and allow her to be attended too should she need aid in her health. But according to Maege, she had not been much of any fuss. Kept to herself, and didn’t speak to anyone on the matters she was arrested for.

If Jon were honest, he was not expecting any respecting gesture whatsoever, nor would he really blame a prisoner for not doing so. Yet she with an expression twisted into her permanent frowning scowl, stood up with ease, and gave a half effort curtsy. “Your Grace.”

A nod back, Jons response seemed to act as fair permission to sit once more. “My lady.”

Coming closer, circles under her eyes were prominent, but they looked less hateful then the day she glared up at him being accused of a crime. Jon had not spoken to you what they had discussed alone, but just enough to ensure that he got the information he needed. Information, which was to be of use in a different way he ever intended to use it. Her voice came out more in a strained husk as if speaking was more on the side of foreign to her at this point. “It has been many months since I’ve had any sort of visitor. The last I expected of them would be yourself.”

Jumping right into the point, Jon spoke with an even tone and not with much in the way of easing her into his purpose. “Are you aware that for the past week, Lord Petyr Baelish has been in Winterfell?” Past the dim shadows casting onto her with firelight, Jon may have been able to more clearly see her skin pale, her shoulders stiffen. “He returned my sister Sansa, now that it is safe in the North for her.”

Both were patient in the silence, and the flickering away of Barbreys eyes spoke many stories all doused in a degree of fear until a more push for sternness came through. “I called you a fool once, I suspect needing to do so again for thinking that is all his intentions, would be unnecessary?” Only a single nod, and it forced her to find her words. Switching between looking up at him and drawing away in thought as if the fear had only just occurred to her. “So, what? Are you here to feed me to the wolves?” A breath passed between as she tilted her head in almost an amusement for herself. “Or, so to speak.”

Once more, Jon did not bother addressing the worst of whatever she would say to him. Pandering to her ire was not how he got a full and fair confession out of her, and he would not start now. “Lord Baelish has done more to hurt my family then you know, and finally we have him here. Right in front of us. If we were at war, I’d be able to keep him here, in our lands where I could surround him and kill him. But you and I both know he isn’t a man that fights with weapons. He’s smarter then that. Which means if I am going to bring him to justice, then I need to be smart too. Fight things his way.”

Glancing him up and down before turning away, Barbrey inhaled as she leaned her head against the wall facing forward once more. “Every man and women in the North despises him, why not simply drag him into court? Cut his throat and be done with it.”

Quick to respond, Jon held no room for doubt on his meaning. “That isn’t the kind of leader I want to be, and that isn’t who my father raised me to be.” A small lift of her eyebrows in some gesture of her own understanding, Jon pushed passed it. “I can only charge him for crimes connected to the North. To my family. But if I’m going to do that, I need to leave no room for doubt. If I declare him guilty, then I need all of my men to know what I know that led me to that conclusion.”

Muttering, she still did not return to look at him. “So what is it you want from me?”

Thinking for only a moment, Jon crouched down to much more evenly meet her eye level, his voice dropping in tone and volume as if to match. Without the furs adorning him, not standing over her, Jon knew making himself look less intimidating here was the right approach. “You told me the truth, all the truth. And for that I thank you, but right now I need more then honesty. I need your help.” Allowing a moment of quiet before continuing, Jon knew to give her the time to process each stage here. “I’ve written to your father and brother in law. Both have agreed to my terms, that you will be allowed to return either to Barrowton or the Rills for the remainder of your sentence. You’ll be stripped of your title, and to any right of Ladyship you’ve once had, but you can walk in whichever home you choose without chains.”

There was only one plausible caveat to that kind of offer, and her eyes rising up to the ceiling with a deep inhale and exhale from her nose told Jon she had put it together. “The sheer fact that a slimy weasel such as him hasn’t already sent an assassin in to murder me is my only remaining proof the Old Gods even vaguely care about my life. And now you come down here after months, and ask me to step into a public trial and give all of those same details but for him to know I betrayed him over?” A false laugh which did not reach her eyes left. “If this was an attempt at a joke, your grace, I would return back to your depressingly humourless self. Making others laugh does not suit you.”

Little had even hit his skin with such words. “Tell me. Do I look like the kind of man to come down here and make jokes about your safety? Make light of a man who I know tried to have my wife murdered?” Dragging dark eyes over to his, only a spot of guilt did Jon see within her gaze before she once more broke it.

Another laugh that time more of a huff leaving her chest. “Forgive me, but some days I’m not quite sure which wolf’s blood you really came from.” Were Jons blood capable of freezing so suddenly his heart would stop, it would’ve happened all in a laughing breath of Barbrey Dustins words. He made not a single indication as such, but he felt his heart unfreeze from the fires around and beat faster and more painfully then before. “Brandon had no children as far as he knew, but women looked to him like no other man. Were I not to know any better, I’d say you were more likely to be Brandons then Ned’s, given how impossible either of you seem to have been able to take a joke.”

If Barbrey was implying that Ned Stark was funny compared to his Uncle Brandon, Jon crouched there more understanding why many southerners all deemed Northerners as cold and humourless. Either way, the cut was meant more as a jest to entertain herself then force Jons mind to spiral. Stay focused he told himself. “If I hold a trial for Petyr Baelish, and I can’t prove his guilt, then he will leave Winterfell and take my sister with him. If he leaves now, my brother and sister will never see Sansa again and they only just reunited. Winter is coming. You know it, I know it. There isn’t a worse time to allow him the chance at keeping my little sister from her family then now when they all need each other the most.”

Jon had yet to know how he was going to mend that long since broken bridge between he and Sansa, but giving her reasons to distrust him more and leave with the one man who Jon knew had nothing but ill intentions towards her, was not an option. Their father had confessed to a crime he didn’t commit for a chance to try and protect her, and Jon would not let him down now by making him die for that in vain. Sansa could hate and distrust him all she wanted, but she was a Stark, and Jon had to keep what was left of them together now more then ever.

Giving Barbrey no room to even speak before he continued. “You were someone important to my uncle. I don’t want to dishonour that memory by keeping you locked down here for the rest of your life, you deserve to be home. You won’t have any power, but you won’t be down here in chains being fed whatever the guards are kind enough to give you in hopes it’s warm. Do this for me, and you will return home. I swear it.”

It was not a promise made by a heart tree, but Jon was a man who would hold himself to a promise as such regardless. He had to keep his family together, and Jon would be damned by all of the gods if he didn’t do every single thing possible to protect you from the man who tried to murder you.

Still though, as Jon returned to the ground level he couldn’t shake off one thought. No, it was not the blood of Brandon Stark making Jon as intense of a man as he was, it was someone far worse.

It was someone he was struggling day by day, to pretend he was still nothing like.

Tormund Giantsbane loved his people, he really did. But he also would be the first to admit what a bunch of stubborn pains in his ass they all were. It had taken Mance Rayder over twenty years to get them all to stop fighting and work together, and even now it was as if they were incapable in their blood of not getting on his nerves.

Yet if there was one perk of his people, and him having spent so much time around fancy southerners, it was that settling problems was a lot easier. More then once Tormund would simply walk up to a pair ready to rip each other to pieces, and grab at both their collars and yank them apart or throw one off the other with a yell to shut the fuck up.

The free folk worked better with someone leading them, each clan always had one chieftain but as a whole group someone needed to tell them what was what and keep them in order. So from town to town Tormund would travel keeping everyone in check and on track with their purpose out here. The last time he had been in this place, what the southerners called the Gift, felt so far away it was a lifetime ago in comparison to where he was now.

Sure he had climbed the Wall more times then he could count, but none of those times south mattered beyond what ended up being the result of the last major time. The whole lot of them had followed where Orell said he saw something. Arriving at the Fist of the First Men, they had all gathered around the spiral formation of dead horses bloody and scattered. He and Mance had the same thought as the later knelt down with a frustrated disdain looking it over. “Always the artists.”

He knew for a fact who there didn’t quite get what was going on, two for a fact the way they spoke briefly about it. Ygritte had spoken up, “I thought you said there were dead crows.” When Orell confirmed that there had been, it seemed as if it was only Tormund and Mance who understood what was going on.

Well, them and the crow. Back and forth Jon and Mance went about what happened, how many men Mormont brought out here and a silent unnerved understanding in him about what he knew had happened here. Mance noting that Mormont took a big gamble coming out this far, and that the best fighting men had to be dead, and they were far from home. Which was when he said it. “Tormund, climb the Wall.” Telling him to bring the crow with him since he may be useful. “If not, throw him off the Wall.”

Tormund had spent much of that time south really not caring what Orell kept going on about. Jon hadn’t given them any reason to not trust him yet, and Tormund knew what was really getting him worked up. It was pretty pathetic if you asked him, the fact that he felt so threatened by a crow of all men. Orell wanted to fuck Ygritte, she was into the crow. He was mad and made it everyone else’s damn problem. That was, until Orell was right.

“Make the crow kill him. You’re one of us now. Prove it.”

A fight broke out in the rain, and in truth, Tormund had more then his fair share of time to think about after he was thrown in a cell in Castle Black months later. His size, his skill? And he didn’t even try fighting Jon, not once. Instead he all but held Ygritte down to stop her from losing her shit, yelling at her to accept that he was still one of them.

He knew her for a long time, she was one of them, but he’d be damned to say she was unbearable to deal with after that day. All she could do was walk around in a mood, or rant and rave about wanting to kill him. Once telling her as simply as he could, “When you actually do, then tell me all about it. For now, I’d rather talk about anything then your crow.”

Then they attacked the very villages his people lived in now. Tormund now didn’t make excuses for it, he did what he did and couldn’t take it back, but in their own way he and Jon understood each other. Tormund was a solider, did what his leader told him to do and he did it well. Attack the villages near the Wall to draw them out, but that didn’t work so they kept hitting more and more until it was clear they were forcing them to hit them at Castle Black directly.

For Jon, that night was probably as good a win as he could’ve imagined for how few men it turned out he lied about having. A thousand he said, and maybe there were a good two hundred at most, and still he managed to hold them all off on both sides. In his memory though, was Tormund ever angry.

He liked Jon, always did. Came into the tent with attitude, snapping back to his threat by saying all men die the same no matter what size they are. Liked him from then on, and truthfully, of course he saw it coming. Orell kept saying it, little signs kept coming from Jon that told a different story then what he was pretending to say, Tormund knew it was coming and that made him angry the most.

That he saw this coming, and liked the crow anyways. And now he was mad for it. Out of his whole band of men he led, only he was left alive. Surrounded by crows but none wanted to get anywhere near him with his anger. He’d cut anyone down who came close. Only for a deep rasping voice to approach him in a frustrated defeat. “It’s finished, Tormund. Let it end.”

Not his best moment it was, hissing out, “This is how a man ends-” Only for the moment he moved with his blade, did Jon shoot him in the leg with a crossbow and knock his blade out of his hand and sending him to the ground. Not bothering to even stay as he told the other crows to put him in chains for now. Dragging him away, Tormund had shouted spitting that he should’ve thrown Jon from the wall when he had the chance.

But everything after that stayed in his mind. The way Jon spoke about the now dead Ygritte with something clearly angry saying he had no choice in what he did with her, and how Tormund got the clear sign what went on between them wasn’t quite what Ygritte would walk around boasting it was. The way Jon spoke of the woman he really loved already being dead and slaughtered like an animal, and the way he admitted that this King who showed up was the father of the woman Jon loved.

Gods help him there was way more about this Jon Snow for Tormund to think about then he expected in those days. But despite it all, as Tormund walked through the village all but yanking a passing child up by his neck telling him to “Hand it over.” Putting the knife attempted to be stolen back on his person, and the child to his feet telling him to scram, did Tormund know that somehow he still wouldn’t have traded any of where he was now for a better version of how he got here.

That dark eyed crow who walked into the tent that day, and yet now Tormund walked the village wondering when he’d get his ass back. He went off beyond the Wall and took you with him, but the other men around Jons castle weren’t quite the same. Part of him still could laugh, Tormund had not fathomed how insufferably protective of you Jon was going to be out there. He wished some days he could’ve joined this journey just for a chance to see him keep you tied to his side like you were a baby who couldn’t be left alone.

Dalba asked once what if you two were dead, and he never bought into that. Weaker men then Jon had survived out there, and at least he had a real cause motivating him. Still though, waiting to know what was out there, what happened, what would happen and when you two would get back was tedious and aggravating. And Tormund could only push around his daughters husband so much before that stopped amusing him.

Which was why almost on instinct, did Tormund at first swear it was Jon and yourself riding into that village. From a distance he sure as hell looked like him, and he could only see a blur that looked like a darker haired woman on the horse behind him. Though the closer they rode as a crowd gathered, did Tormund not have a single clue who the woman was. Hands tied in front of her, a narrowed brow as she sat in a silence but he did certainly recognize the rider.

It wasn’t Jon, but gods knew Tormund was more then familiar with what black haired Stark just came riding up. Years ago, Tormund would’ve used getting this close to sink a blade deep in his head, but both men approached the other in almost amusement as it was not much meaningful apprehension. “Everyone thought you were long dead.”

A tease on his tone that Tormund could pin as so close to Jons came right back without hesitation. “I’m surprised you didn’t hunt down my corpse and bring me back, just to kill me yourself.” Tormund lamenting that he had thought about it and the silence between could’ve turned the air.

Instead both men shook hands, a strange understanding it seemed of where both were to stand with each other now. “The fuck are you doing all the way out here?”

Gesturing back to the woman on the horse, her eyes tore through the village no doubt putting together that they were not the average Northerners. Benjen Stark at the very least, was always a lot less annoying to listen to then the bloody Halfhand used to be. “Taking this one to Winterfell. She’s Jons prisoner, should be in his dungeons where he’d want to keep an eye on her.” Asking what she did, she finally looked away from them and down with something no doubt of guilt, and Benjen hesitated. Dark eyes twisting behind in what to say before settling on a non answer. “Nothing good.”

“How the hell did you find a prisoner of Jon when hes all the way out north?”

Benjen’s answer was short and rather matter of fact. “He’s not anymore.” Taken back, Tormund only stared at him for an explanation when he elaborated, including you this time. “Both of them have been back for a few days. They found his little brother, my nephew out there. Poor lad can’t walk anymore, so beside bringing him back and a newborn, they had no room for a prisoner going home.”

Out of everything just spoken, Tormund asked one thing in question. “Newborn? What he find an abandoned baby out there?” As if turned out, the truth was even more baffling.

Much like Jon though, Benjen skipped passed any talk not of the matter at hand. “I need to take her to Winterfell, and Jon asked to get you to come with me when I did. Hasn’t had time to do it himself if you can believe that.”

Unable to help himself, Tormund looked to the side where Ryk stood, a mocking tone of strong condescension dripping from his words as he brought up your name. “She’s been married to Snow half the time you have my daughter. How come she already had a baby and you can’t even manage to shoot out one long enough to even flirt with the idea?”

By the time Tormund was up on his horse, his eyes found that of the woman tied up to the back of Benjen's, asking before the man walked up to interject. “What the hell did you do to piss Snow off? Try to kidnap his girl?” The way she said nothing, and the way she looked down to nothing and no one by the time they set off spoke volumes.

Something serious had happened that neither she nor Benjen were yet willing to slightly share. That was fine though, he’d get it out of Jon one way or another.

Knelt down, you had the wooden side pulled down just in front of you. One hand rested soothingly on the baby’s front while the other sat atop his head, your thumb running back and forth as finally you watched his eyes slip closed and the rest of him falling asleep. All day no matter what you were doing he was a fussy little thing, always being mischievous and demanding of your attention it felt.

Not anything close to frustrating but certainly much more tiring then you had been expecting, almost feeling as if you weren’t finding the time to do what other things you should’ve been. Staying knelt there, your hand on his front slowly moving to rest beside him, your chin propping your head up on your forearm and yet the sight before you struggled to match your thoughts.

Taking care of little Eddard wasn’t unpleasant, you adored having him with you and getting to watch him get used to having a real home. But another part of you would then glance to the men always hustling by in the castle, someone going this or that way, the work piled onto Jons desk and how he was always so busy. Filled to the brim his days were, and you had always been there to do what he couldn’t get to, or shouldn’t have too. You were his Queen, and so you acted it.

Now though, it wasn’t so simple. Your day was dedicated to the baby, it had to be. He was a newborn, brought into the world a month early and had to always be watched. That not even mentioning how you did not feel comfortable leaving him alone with people for long periods of time, perhaps your mother was the exception but none else. You didn’t trust that he would be alright being away from you or Jon for so long and he didn’t like it either. But that meant you had begun putting so much on Jons shoulders that you should’ve been lifting.

Slowly pushing up from your thighs to stand, you slowly paced over to his desk. Not messy it was, but not as organized as you knew he preferred it with so much to handle. One thing then the next, you found yourself growing that guilt inside with seeing everything he had to deal with and you had done nothing. You weren’t just his wife, you still were a Queen. And you had not been supporting him as such.

Ink scratching away at each paper, everything strictly organized to what you knew was preferential to Jons way of thinking. How frustrated he must have been you thought. Days now and he worked all alone, doing everything until so late and that was your fault. He would never say it, but it was. You had let yourself off too easy.

Jon worked harder then anyone, what right did you have to not push yourself to the exact same level?

In the back of your head you knew little Eddard was awake, but he had seemed content with staying comfortable in his cradle as you worked away. Brows narrowed almost in a scowl the more you worked, ignoring the strain it felt on your eyes to look only at the sights of paper, ink and candlelight for what must have been well over an hour if not two. Yesterday Jon had even said he wanted you by his side more, but what if the thing he truly meant is he wanted you back in your position as you used to be?

The door behind you both opened and closed without your notice, and yet it was the sudden high pitched yet excited nonsensical noise coming from the baby which drew your gaze to look at least over to him. Sounds of weapons being stored away with a clank indicated where he was in the room, but returning back your narrowed gaze kept writing instead of addressing it. Him arriving was not an excuse to stop.

Jon pulled down the wooden holdings, at the same instance the baby’s hands shot up asking either to grab or be picked up, his babbles a language Jon understood on his own. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you could hear Jon lowly mumble, “I missed you too.” Releasing him a bit more from his swaddle, you could hear the grin in his voice alone as he responded to his son as if an average discussion was being had. “Were you good for her...now we both know that’s not true.”

You hadn’t at all seen Jons gaze try to flicker over to you as if to bring you into his little moment with the baby only to hesitate. A pause in voice and eyes as he took in your demeanour and what you were doing before turning back.

Pressing another kiss to his forehead Jon murmured, “Behave for me, alright? I need time with your mother too.” Whatever babbling noise came from your son, you hardly noticed until a warm figure came to your side. A hand running down the hair at the back of your head while he leaned against the desk beside you, without sacrificing being able to see you. Murmuring your name one, twice before Jon took the liberty to use his grip on your hair to tilt your head to look up at him, disturbing you only when your quill left the paper. “I asked how long have you been at this?”

Opening your mouth to respond, you found yourself closing it just as fast in a question Jon no doubt picked up on. How long had you been here? You thought no more then an hour, but if the light filtering in from Jons window in a tinted golden glow spoke anything it must be treading on multiple hours. Dipping it once more in the ink, you shook his grip off in a dismissal and continued on. “Just finishing up a few things while he was asleep, is all.”

If he believed that or not, Jon yet gave no indication. Leaning down to catch your eyes, Jons face twisted in something more troubled as you did not even seem to realize he wanted your attention more. Instead, his hand moved around to grip your chin, turning you to look back up at him. Gesturing with a nod to the work sitting out, Jon asked a little more firmly, “What’s all this?”

It seemed there was a disconnect between you both, the majority laying in your hands not really picking up that something only started to bother him right then, your tone light and without suspicion of his narrowing eyes. “Nothing that I wouldn’t normally help you with.” Gesturing to one pile and continuing as if everything was fine. “These are all written up, they only need your signature before being sent off-”

Calling your name a little more firmly, Jon leaned forward to invade your personal space, not yet letting go of you. “No, I meant why are you doing all of it?”

Your silence was genuine. Lips parted and unsure as to what was going on when you were doing what you were always supposed to have picked right back up for him. Stammering in a quiet until the correct words slowly and carefully formed as your gaze drifted away. “I’m not sure what you mean, I always handle these things for you. It’s just the-”

Shaking his head to cut off what specifics you had worked on, Jon now looked as confused as he was growing frustrated. “Darling, that’s not what I’m asking.” Genuine in asking what was he asking you then, Jon drifted again to let his hand cup your cheek, running his thumb along your jaw. “Why are you doing all of my work for me?”

It came out as naturally as it did instinctively. “I’m sorry-”

The sigh leaving Jon was followed by his hand dropping from you entirely. A grimace as he exasperatedly pinched the bridge of his nose before his equally as frustrated gaze melted into his voice and tone as if in scolding. “Why are you sorry?” He knew you didn’t have an answer to that, nor did he let you waffle about in silence trying to consider the right answer to placate him. “I didn’t leave all of this here, expecting you to do it for me. It’s my responsibility, not yours.”

Oh there was quite a gap in the air of understanding the more you attempted to find the point he was making. “I..I am aware you didn’t tell me to do it, but I always do things like this for you. It’s my responsibility to help you.”

Jons interjection increased in a tone you were misreading as annoyed with you. “I never asked you to do the work I created for myself, for me. You know that I didn’t.” You tried to defend yourself more confused inside that he didn’t need to order you to know what was expected of you. “What is it you think I expect you to do?”

In your own mind, in the world you knew and understood of women in your position you thought nothing of the way you said it. Jon however, just stared down at you in a disbelief for a good heavy number of seconds as if you had spoken it to him in a foreign language. “To raise your son, to help you rule?”

Standing up, Jon passed by you for merely a few paces. Turning around halfway, your hand gripping the top of the chair with something more wide eyed as he looked back to you, seemingly not at all considering your confusion. “What is this?” You didn’t respond, you didn’t know what he was trying to even ask and he knew it. “Think about what you just said, and tell me when you figure out what the problem with that is.”

Truly he hadn’t said it rude or in any condescending manner, but it clawed at your insides thinking it did while too notably misreading the expression on his face as directed towards you personally. Nothing you said stood out, you didn’t understand. The words spoken were a pure guess and both you and Jon knew that. “I shouldn’t be helping only when possible, I should always be helping you no matter what-”

Cutting yourself off, Jon turned from you pacing even further into the room as he ran his hand down his face. Now much further away, it was even harder to read his real intentions of emotion. Gesturing out to you and motioning to his desk with his eyes growing darker. “And you think this is the way I expect you to do that?” Clarifying that you didn’t say that directly, Jon cut you off almost the moment your mouth finished forming the letters of the end of your sentence. “Since when have I ever expected you to do all this for me?”

Something was wrong, and you felt that unwelcome heat growing behind your face at not knowing why or for what. “Jon, we’ve always shared work this way since before-”

“Since before you gave birth to our son.” Before you even had a chance to let that thought drag you down into it’s depths, Jon elaborated. “I didn’t want you forcing yourself to work into the night when it was just me and you. I certainly don’t expect you to stretch yourself thin when you’re caring for our baby on top of that.”

Taking pity in you, Jon sighed out before holding his hand out to you. Gracefully pulling you to your feet, Jon guided you close enough that both of his hands could settle firmly along your hips. Voice small against what his had been, but still not on the correct path. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you-”

That time, Jons sigh was followed by his eyes closing shut. Forehead dropping to rest against yours but his tone was no longer filled with what you thought was annoyance. “I’m not upset, darling. And don’t apologize you didn’t do anything wrong.” Muttering gently that you didn’t feel it was that way, Jon lifted his head. Pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting back against you in a similar fashion as before. “How about you tell me where all this is coming from, because I know you’re not getting it from anything I said to you.”

When you found not an answer right away, Jon shifted both of you. Sitting you down on the furs at the edge of his bed, him now kneeling on the ground in front of you, both hands still by you sides up at your waist now. Grey eyes bright and wide looking up at you, with his hair pulled back making them stand out so perfectly in the hint of golden glow beside him. Your own hands sat in your lap, partially holding at the skirt of your dress in a manner indicating to Jon clearly that you were more on edge then he thought.

Your voice was quiet, trying to find a way to explain it to him without saying the wrong thing again. “I only was trying to say that, I’ve been taking care of the baby so much that I have barley helped you with anything. And last night you said you wanted me by your side more, I thought you meant by your side as in, doing the work with you.”

“With me or for me?”

As it so happened, your answer of apologizing for overstepping was not the right one still. Yet, it was not frustration or anger which came from Jon as a result. His head dropped a bit as a laugh freely left in a bit of a breathy manner. Eyes shining with his smile attached so handsome it was a cruel sight each time you always wanted to keep.

Lifting his head back up, Jon ran a hand that time down the side of your face, cupping your cheek with his grin still beaming with something holding no shred of frustration like before. “It’s a good thing you’re beautiful, because sometimes it is exhausting getting through that thick skull of yours.”

Face dropping flat only drew more of a laugh freely out of him, and smothered in you which he no doubt had caught you trying to hide. Dryly you let your eyes drag to the side of the room away from his grey ones.

Surging upwards, that time Jon caught both of your cheeks, bringing your flat expression to meet his grinning one to press his lips to yours. Nothing needing, but keeping you against him in something more deep then chaste alone, but not guiding you enough into anything to work you up too much with. Just his soft lips against yours taking what breath you had for himself, as you’d always chose to.

Just barley pulling away, you could feel his lips brushing yours with every word. Your hands resting along his shoulders as if trying to dig into the muscle for him. “I’ve never met a woman more stubborn then you.” Asking with a bit more light in your tone, asking if that was an insult or not, Jon just pulled you right back to his lips. “Yes.”

You pulled free that time as your head dropped, a laugh slipping through pulling a softer one from Jon. Running a hand down your hair again, Jon nudged your nose with his to gain your attention. Eyes dark but not angry or annoyed as you previously feared. “You gave birth what? Nearly two weeks ago? And for six months before that I dragged you all through the far North almost your entire pregnancy. I almost lost you twice after you gave birth, and we get home only to realize we still have to watch our backs.”

The tips of your fingers reached out, scratching gentle against the facial hair coarse against his jaw. “Sometimes you say things and I don’t always understand that they mean something different then what I thought. You said you wanted me by your side more, and because we already spent so many hours apart today I thought that you meant you wanted me doing my equal share of the work like we used to.”

Jon only nudged your nose gently again, that time not quite moving away as he kept you there in the near nuzzling like gesture, his breath warm as it draped across your skin. “Right now, you’re duty is to be my wife. To take care of yourself, and help raise our son.” The hand on the back of your hair gripping you a little firmly as if to grab your attention further. “Not my son, our son. Everything you went through to bring him into this world, darling. I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down by putting your importance here as less then me.”

Only a gentle murmur as your hands still toyed across his shoulders. “I didn’t want you to think I don’t want to help you.” Rather then addressing it, Jon only brought your lips back to his.

Barley managing words through each chase of your lips he pursued when he himself tried to pull back. “Right now, our son needs you more then he needs me. I never had a chance to be with my mother when I was his age, I don’t ever want to take that from him or you.” Nodding, you didn’t say anything further, nor did you need too. As if your lack of protest sometimes spoke better of your understanding then words spoken in the air. “I’m happy dealing with all of this, if it means I know you’re taking care of yourself. But I’ll make myself clear this time, even if you have the baby, I want you in more of my meetings from now on. You take care of him, and I’ll feel better having you by my side. But that’s all I expect right now.”

Not yet any response to him directly, your eyes opened, peeling to the side to the sound of a small sound you were growing familiar with. The fussing of a grumpy wolf pup. “I have two needy wolves vying for my time now, I can’t disappoint either of them, can I?”

Jon chose to go get him, the mumblings spoken to his son as he picked him up and you felt such a shine of sunlight sparkling in your heart at how Jon truly had a son that is just like him. You almost couldn’t wait for a few more years to pass, you wanted so much to see right now how close they would both be the older he got. Sitting back on the bed by your side, Jon only moved an arm enough to tug you closer to him. Your head without thought resting more down against his shoulder, your own hand letting go of your dresses skirt.

Dancing across little Eddard’s front as he right back made those same motions being grabby while a smile came about all three of you. Jons gaze being swapped between you and the baby, the sight more then either of you could’ve ever dreamt of to have with one another. Leaning more into your hair, Jon rasped lowly in your ear enough you were sure he may have been able to feel the slight shiver down your spine. “We have enough going on, don’t add to it by worrying I expect more of you then what you’re already doing.”

Little Eddard toying against the wrapping now fresh once more around your palms, tone a little distant but not so out of the room that you felt disconnected from the present. “And if this starts getting worse again?” You needn’t elaborate, you could all but feel Jons heavy gaze drifting towards the wrappings.

“None of what I said about this changed. Whatever all of this means, it isn’t just you anymore. We take it slowly, but I’m not watching you get worse trying to understand it.” Nodding gently, as the baby begun to settle better with both of you there, so did you turning more to hid away a bit in Jons neck. Feeling him turn his head enough to nuzzle against the top of yours as he whispered gently. “I won’t tell you to stay out of it, but for right now let me handle Littlefinger.”

Another small nod, your voice was apprehensive. “And Sansa?”

But Jon too was firm. “Right now, her problem is with me. I have to be the one to handle it.” Asking gently if he truly thinks Sansa distrusted him the way he suspected, Jon did not waver. “I know she does. But she has to accept just because she doesn’t understand you and me, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. If I could change the way I am with you, I would. But I can’t.” Arguing there was nothing wrong with the way he treated you, you sensed that hesitation. But also, the sense Jon today did not wish to discuss it. Which was fine with you for now, that one was at his pace, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t make him feel more at ease over it.

Murmuring for him to let you take the baby, you watched his eyes drift closed just as you picked him up to lay him back down, the amount the little one needed sleep as active as he had been all day. You turned, and that time prompted Jon to stand. Slinking in behind him, you only just took off enough layers from him that his softer undershirt remainder. Beckoning him to sit right back down, you took an easy spot up on the bed behind.

Just as Jon asked what you thought you were doing, did you reach up to his shoulders, tense as anything. Digging deep into the muscles, within an instant no doubt his head dropped with a grunt leaving from deep in his chest. “I’ll always find ways to take care of you to, you know.” Muttering your name almost in a not very impactful warning, you continued on kneading into his muscles until they relax and massaged the remainder until you moved along his shoulders to more of his back. “We both take care of the baby, you take care of me. Someone has to take care of you, and I’m your wife. Which means, yes, it is my responsibility.”

A small huffing laugh left him, muttering low and a bit slurring together the further into leaning back into your touch he got. “Is there even a point trying to argue this anymore?” Your answer only a short no, and that huff turned far more into a laugh you could feel under your palms. “We’re both too stubborn for own own good.”

Reaching forward, your lips found his cheek almost pressing there gently to his suprise. Moving back to behind him just as you caught sight of Jon intending to turn around to try and kiss you much more urgently, and the frown attached to his face now a symbol of the grumpiness which came from not getting it. Slowly however, you let one of your hands drift up to his shoulder again only to make your own path sinking down into the open top of his shirt.

Grey eyes fluttering closed as he leaned back into you much more noticeably that time, you let your hand drift down his firm torso over to his heart. Your fingertips tracing over the deep wound never to be healed but yet the strong beating underneath it spoke of the most unusual of truths. Reaching behind, you read his ask without needing to be told.

Letting your other stop its work, Jon brought you closer to drape across his back as he tugged your other hand up to his lips. Pressing a kiss firmly to your hand and keeping a hold on it. “Do you really want to do something for me?” Your nod was nothing but genuine and innocent, yet not even did you quite yet register the lower bass vibrating through into your chest as he spoke. Jons other hand reaching up under the end of his shirt to grab at yours, pulling it slowly but with a purpose downwards to his hips.

Glancing back as much as he could, your breathing picked up as they flickered over what he could manage to see of you. Your voice something almost meek or unsure. “You want me to..”

Brows narrowed slightly, Jon almost teased unfairly. “Everything we’ve done, and this makes you nervous?” Your nod again was only innocent, were Jons intentions innocent he may have laughed. Instead the deep exhale only made your blood burn a little hotter. That time, Jon only shifted long enough to rest both of your hands down by his hips, the laces of his breeches toying at the edges of your finger tips. “Come on.”

Biting down on your tongue roughly, you willed yourself to keep the air calm and not doubt what he was asking. Out of anything you had the least understanding of what to do here, but Jon rested both of his own hands against the fur beside him. One lace then the other, any other man would’ve accused you of taking this long to tease or put a show on. But Jon let you go at the slow pace knowing it was simply what you were comfortable with.

Enough room for your hand to slink in, only an exhale left Jon as you did so but otherwise remained steady as he looked over his shoulder at you with a steadily darkening gaze. Wrapping a hand around his cock, already rather hard, a whimper nearly left you much to Jons dismay at you covering it up at the fact that you couldn’t even wrap your whole hand around him. How thick his cock was and you never got used to how intimidating it could be.

But you held at his hip to steady yourself, trying to move gently. Grip loose, and nothing but light strokes inhibited by the clothes in your way but he made you work around it. He didn’t make it easy for you. Just a husk of a voice drawing your senses into something hazy as he muttered, “Tighter. Grip me tighter, darling. You know that.” Jon inhaled deeply as you did, his cock twitching somewhat in your hand as you tried to continue. Barley moving far from the base of his cock, but now tighter in holding him you were still slow and kind, Jons head shaking with a voice any but you would mistaken for annoyed. “Think about how rough I am with you.” Barley did you pick up the pace, and that time an order came out almost in a growl. “You’re nowhere near close to how tight your cunt is around me.”

Again you tried to follow his instructions, and each time he let you stroke up and down his cock until a rising animal inside Jon once more reared its feral head. Telling you to pull him out, both of your hands had to do so. You always were so gentle with his cock as if he didn’t fuck you with it until you would pass out. As if you were incapable of being anything close to rough with him, and it only made Jon throb in your hand thinking about it.

The moment his thick length was out for your eyes widening and audible swallow, Jon sent a hand down to cover yours. His head whipping back to meet your surprised ones almost jumping back, the glare in his eyes took up so much space no grey remained underneath the black as he held your hand so tightly around his cock you could almost feel the blood rushing through him under your palms. “I fucked your ass until you cried for me, and you still do this.” It truly felt like his words did not match the angry looking darkness staring back to you. “I’ve tied you up and left you bruised and you still touch me like I’m the delicate one.”

It wasn’t an accusation but you felt lost for an answer as he started to move your hand with his own. Rougher strokes, faster and not even allowing you to ease the raw feeling by running your hands over where seed leaked from the tip of his cock. “I was too afraid to try and do things like this for you before, now more then ever someone should be gentle with you.” Jon muttered as his cock throbbed in your hand, teeth gritting as he watched his much larger hand almost hide yours completely against his thick length, that he didn’t treat you gently but your words made that growl in his chest come out as his head dropped back a bit. “I want you to do whatever you want when you have me in your bed, you deserve to have that much.”

Jons eyes fluttered shut as you diligently followed the pace he kept your hand moving up and down his cock at. As if he were alone, he was getting you to stroke him the rougher way he would handle himself. Only a fluster rose in your chest at a rather indecent thought, that before your time together now, you had never known just how much he would get himself off each night, and how often it was apparently about you.

Had you both been people that were allowed to be together back then, would Jon have truly stopped that rain filled night where he kissed you. He had you alone, wet from the downpour of rain in the sky and his lips urgently attached to yours pinning you against a tree. How far would he have taken it, had Jon felt the severity of the animalistic instincts he harboured for you now? Even more improper you thought, how far would you have been happy to let him take it with you?

Jon had been too unsure back then together to let you try it, but in another world where he was truly the wolf then as the one in front of you today, what sight would it have been? Shoving you down to your knees, nowhere to go and the sounds of your mouth taking his cock deep smothered by the rain but not hidden from his dark eyes.

But you weren’t the only one with images in your head, yanking your hand from his cock suddenly, Jon turned on you in an instant. Shoving you higher up the bed and roughly forcing you flat on your back. Shoving the skirt of your dress up enough he yanked your thigh high up on his hip, leaning over you stretching you out more and more indecently as if to let his cock run against your core, growing wetter and wetter at the feeling.

His other hand was pressed into the fur beside your head as he looked down at you with such a raw need that his eyes almost looked that of a wild animal. His voice rasping with a scratch against it, a growl asking for release. “And if I want you on your hands and knees?” Your eyes were wide, almost unfairly innocent as your hands reached up to his shoulders, Jon did not blink. “If I flipped you over now, dragged you back on my cock, show you how a wolf breeds his mate, you’d want that?”

Your nod almost did him in. You did not do anything but increase your breathing to match your racing heart blazing inside your torso, but to Jon it was torture. You answered his depravity with such innocence every single time. Voice light and breathy gazing up at him with not even lust, but an adoration against his own lecherous thoughts. “I promise, anything.”

Jons breathing was almost in heaves, his muscles tense looking down at you as if seconds away from ripping your clothes off with his bare hands to tear open the fabric for good. Dragging his eyes down your body and back up, tilting his head as if to implore you to make him proceed with caution. Your name much sweeter on his lips then his gaze and touch. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t keep giving me permission to do all of this. I-” That time he swallowed roughly, leaning his forehead down to yours, the hand beside you now cupping your hair at the back of your head to keep you where he needed. Rasp still rough but much more of a whisper against your skin. “I was only born because his men didn’t stop Rhaegar from doing whatever he wanted. You can’t keep letting me act like that with you, you shouldn’t let me treat you this way.”

Nudging up to run your nose brushing against his, a barley there kiss left to his lips as you cupped his cheeks. “This is nothing like that, you know this. You aren’t him just because you feel more passionate about your wife then other men.”

Shaking his head, it was as if he could entirely ignore how hard he still was against you. “One of Eurons men said something to me after they took you. That they were surprised I hadn’t locked you away in a tower so other men wouldn’t touch you.” Just as you had begun assuring him with a soothing comfort that someone else saying it didn’t mean anything, did Jon cut you off with something struggling inside his own self admitting it. “They aren’t wrong.” Pulling back to look you better in the eye, he was as intense as he was bright in his eyes looking down at you. “Sometimes I do want that. Tie you up, lock you away. Anything to stop the world always trying to take you away from me. Hide you away from everyone else because I don’t know how else to protect you.”

The words he said were one thing, yet another was who he was. Had Ramsay spoken such words to you, if Euron ever did now, you’d be filled with that very terror of a past you had only seen in dreams of nonsense. Yet, not a shred of that fear existed in you looking at Jon. Anything that which would terrify you with other men, Jon was the exception. Perhaps it was the wrong way to encourage it, but you were nothing but genuine. Thumb running over his cheek. “And I’d still love you.”

One leg still high on his hip, Jon nearly tore at your dress. The fabric ripping at a seam along it’s edge as he yanked it up, shoving your other leg wide. Both of you nearly on one side of the bed more to the point it almost obscenely hovered in the air with nowhere to go. Jon didn’t bother undressing any further, the hand on your leg moved to your hair only long enough to force you up to his lips in the same moment he pushed deep inside of you.

The kiss hardly gotten off the ground when he pulled back, a snarl growling from him as he sunk as deep as he could inside of you. The stretch had you gasp, but also a bit of pain mixed in. You weren’t nearly as wet as Jon would’ve prepared you to be, and yet that pained burned inside your core with something in need. Twisting and turning like a coil, as if however you were now, was all you truly needed to take such a thick size.

Forcing your leg higher up his side, he left your hair to hold open your other leg wide. Dark eyes stared down at you, barley even blinking as he took no time to build you up. Pulling only halfway out, Jon roughly thrusted back inside of you, drawing a blatant cry from your lips, head falling back against his pillow as he did it again and again.

Your leg hurt from how wide and strained he held it wide, but his cock sunk so deep every instance, and yet your already tight walls clenched more and more around him begging not to leave. The pain bled into your veins, floating across your body in a sting and yet the growing wetness you covered him with masked the part of it which would be too much. Your heart floating inside of you as it raced to seek out breath your lungs did not have.

Jon so roughly pounded inside of you, staring down with dark eyes near black and a grunt trapped in his chest the more and more he went. Harder and harder no doubt tears had welled in your eyes, the sight alone drawing a growl out. “Fuck..”

Pushing your leg on his hip wide against the other side of the bed, Jon let both go as he reached up to your dress. The laces attached to the front hardly making it to halfway undone before Jon roughly grasped at the fabric and just tore it with a hiss. Hovering over you more, his eyes stared down now at your breasts moving as much as he fucked into you with force. Were his own clothes not in the way, the sound would’ve echoed off the walls and out the window for any to hear. Husking out as he dragged his eyes from your breasts to your eyes again, “I know they’re still sensitive right now,” One again Jon grabbed your legs, kneeling up straighter as he shoved them wide again, ignoring any pain the stretch might have put you in because he was so utterly deep inside your soaking cunt. “The way I love you isn’t normal, I know that. It never has been, but I can’t change that and I don’t want to scare you away.”

He could not do this as he dragged against your sensitive walls each slide of his cock deeper and deeper as if you were designed by the gods to fit him in perfection, created after Jon so that you could be made to fit everything about him and only him. That maybe you had always existed for him, it was always him your purpose was supposed to be, and death only intertwined you both together in a way that would never separate that connection again.

Wrapping a hand around to the back of his neck, your eyes hooded, lips parted as small noises of need kept leaving you as the sound of how wet you were each time his cock slid inside of you filled the air beyond your need of sound. “Never,” You had so little air to give and it all drenched into your voice like a siren in his ears. “I belong to you, I’ll always belong to you..”

Truly, it was something of a fight. The man inside of Jon desperate to kiss you and assure you that he’s always belonged to you too, but the animal in him, the predator pounding his cock into your walls which never once even thought to resist him, said something much more possessive. One which spilled from his lips, hardly even noticing to Jon that he said them aloud. “The moment I laid eyes on you, you belonged to me, and I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me. Anyone.” Rambling further, Jon shifted so that he could stay atop you, mounting you as your feet pressed against the furs at each of his sides, arms wrapped around him as he held your face in his neck by a grip on your hair, the other grasping at his headboard, the leverage forcing his cock roughly inside of you to the point Jon would later be able to see his own nails having carved into the wood. “You were born for me, made for me- fuck I’ll never let you go,”

Neither of you really heard what he said, Jon pounding so deep inside of you, the feeling no doubt going to make standing delicate. You knew already you would be able to feel his cock sliding in and out of you so perfectly until he finally would fill you again next. Jon hid in your hair as he held you to hide his neck, your words somehow sweet and soothing as if he had spoken nothing terrifyingly depraved. “I love you.”

Jon could hardly give himself the space to pull you back to look at him before he captured your lips, kissing you so deeply that the second your lips even somewhat gave space he slid his tongue inside of your mouth. Brushing with a greed to taste you as he would anywhere else he wanted to feast, not even able to pull himself from your kiss long enough to say it back as he was so desperate too. He needed your lips more then he needed to tell you how much he loved you back.

Legs at his sides shaking, Jon could sense your end was racing towards you. Not as roughly, but Jons hips fucked into yours faster and faster. Forcing your orgasm sooner and sooner, he needed to feel you cum around his cock. Unable to even move back with his pace, you had no choice. Laying back in his kiss, legs spread wide and just taking it when his cock dragged again and again over such a perfect spot that you nearly tore from his kiss. Jon only pressed your head further into the bed to keep you to him the whine singing into his mouth.

One pound, another and another, rougher then the last if his skin was bare as yours, it would’ve sounded almost on the edge of violent. But sinking deeply, Jon never ceased even as his orgasm came over him during the middle of your own.

An ankle wrapping around his calf as if to beg him closer, you felt Jons cock throbbing with a growl vibrating against your front before you were suddenly filled with a hot feeling. Fucking so steadily in and out now that both of you had so thoroughly soaked your core, Jons seed spilled inside of you with thick spurts one after another as if to fill you as long as he was still hard.

None of it even slightly could escape, his cock so thick inside of you that he knew if he did this every single day, sooner or later your body would be ready to get pregnant again. Jon filled you over and over as your head grew dizzy even in his arms by the time his hips slowed. His cock still deep inside of you as your hearts raced. Jons head dropped, resting against your forehead, as you both barley were coming down.

If the gods were cruel, and they were, they had planned this just to humiliate you. But the guards weren’t at the door, and with it closed, that typically meant that you were likely in there. Guards stayed outside the door to protect the King, you preferred your own leave you be. So slipping in quietly, there was no mistakening what this was, nor the roughness of the scene having been walked in on.

The gasp of shock was enough, the sudden rise Jon moved from your front, but to wrapping an arm around your front to all but shove you to hide your bare form. His eyes formed in a significant glare automatically and hardly found it within him to ease up upon realizing what happened. His voice tore through your ear in a husk, a breathless rasp seeped with something that was much more detectable as anger. “Sansa-”

You hidden in his front, Jon could sense the humiliation within you rise at being caught, as if you had done something wrong. It was not the time nor the place, but Jon certainly didn’t want you feeling embarrassed that people knew he took you as such. He wanted to throw away that guilt women like your septa growing up had taught you to be ashamed of. But moments like this did not help.

Sansa stood still somewhat by the door with eyes wide looking at the fire by the wall. Her voice a clear high pitched embarrassment in a whole other manner but just as stammering of a strong wish to turn the time back a few minutes and knock first. “The door was unlocked,” Jon could feel you practically trying to melt away from this situation, your name being the next thing Sansa said. “I thought she was alone, I was looking for her.”

Looking down to you, and then trying to look to the other side where clearly the baby had been awoken by the sudden shift in the air and raising of voices. Jon knew there really was no hiding what she walked in on, a hand tucking himself back in as the other prompted you to move a bit, Sansa turning around now facing the other direction with a whirlwind of regret for just this once deciding she didn’t care to abide to boundaries.

She had no idea what was worse, walking in on her own brother having sex with his wife, or laying in bed in the Vale forced to endure her aunts insufferable screaming and grunting on her wedding night.

Already knowing Jon was modestly dressed, he mostly tied the laces of his breeches properly with a jaw clenched in tense frustration before grabbing something for you to wear. Turning you to face him as he slid the sleeves down your arms, his eyes sought out yours as he tightened the laces at the front. An apology ripe in his gaze for not locking his door. Though you would’ve argued that he hadn’t come in for that intent.

Turning you once more so your back was to him, Jon gently moved your hair to lay in front of you gathered to one shoulder, now doing the final ties at the back. His voice truly stern in a manner that sounded just like when their father was as frustrated with one of them, also using it as an indication she could turn back around. “What was so important you couldn’t stop to knock?”

Facing you both once more, it was clear now that a bit of the embarrassment had subsided in most parties, save for you Jon knew, considering you had just stood in a silence letting him take charge of the conversation. Once more, there it was, plain as day on his little sisters face a distrust that he hated that it conflicted with his own struggle inside presently. Her throat clearing a bit, Sansa stuck to a more diplomatic route then perhaps she had intended on the walk over, indicating to you. “I wanted to talk to you.”

To you both, Jon spoke for you as there was a large pit in your stomach feeling ill for being walked in on in such a manner that you were too embarrassed to speak, trusting Jon knew your words for you, which he did. To Sansa though, Jon was aware it appeared as if he wasn’t allowing you to speak for yourself. “About what?”

Eyes flickered between both of you, Jon finally finishing your dresses laces. Palms smoothing down your upper arms, an unspoken gesture to calm yourself down, knowing the whiplash of such an intense, unplanned encounter was not clashing well with having to shift to everything being normal without any time to come back down to your head properly. Sansa though, didn’t see it that way even if she chose to address on but glance at you as well. “There were just things on my mind I wanted to talk to her about.” Asking what things in a gruff manner, it did stand out to Sansa how much like their fathers short tone Jon reminded her of. “About Petyr.”

Jon read the lie and she knew it. She wanted to talk to you alone about Jon. But as unfortunate of a time as it was, he may as well get it out there. But not quite yet, or at least, not this specific part. Talking about Jon was too talking about Petyr Baelish but he was going to address one alone before the other together. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes turned to meet as if reading his mind seeking you out.

Leaning down, Jon pressed a lingering, but chaste kiss to the side of your head. “Do me a favour, go find where Arya and Bran are and bring them to Wolkans study.” Your eyes narrowed, the silence a question and his nod the answer, you knew it was not a dismissal. Asking if he wished for you to take the baby, Jon ran his hand up and down your arm more. “I’ve got him.” Hesitating as you were to walk passed, Jon picked it up. Your head was a mess no doubt, he had been rough and spoken rough and sending you away this soon was confusing your ability to reclaim your senses as normal. Pulling you back to him, Jon captured your lips in a small kiss, murmuring finally back, knowing only you’d hear it. “I love you.”

Nudging you to move, he could imagine the uncertain, tight lipped smile you attempted to give Sansa as she watched you walk out of the door. Jon moving towards his sons bed, he reached a hand down, pressing gentle against his front with brighter eyes and a smile hinting on his lips already calming whatever building distress little Eddard had picked up on in the room.

His tone was more commanding of authority then Sansa expected. It felt no doubt, more like she was speaking to the King rather then her older brother as he didn’t even look up from his son to speak. “We do need to talk about him, and you. All of us. But this needs to be brought out into the open.” She didn’t say a word. Jon lifted his head up to meet her eyes with a more serious narrowing then he just had before, prompting her to be the one to say it. “Say it. Whatever it is you’re thinking, Sansa, just say it.”

One could describe it as a stare off, nothing in the air between glares that were not the crackling of the fire and small tender sounds from the baby Jon stood beside. Grey and blue with something that had been brewing for days and days now. Jon had once tried to talk to her about this, but she wanted to argue, so he shut it down before it got out of hand. Then Sansa continued to escalate things by arguing with him publicly in front of his men at every chance. But this was something he wouldn’t ignore.

Jon had his insecurities, he held his fears of turning into the blood father he never wanted, but he knew without any doubt he was not mistreating you the way Sansa was painting him to be. He was certainly not using you to be King in the North.

By the time Sansa found the words to spit it out, both knew this would escalate again, and part of Jon wished he had told you to take little Eddard with you. Knowing he did not like losing his temper around him. But she now alone in the room, found the right time to say it in a very spitting manner. “I wasn’t brought up the same as you and Robb were, but even I know our father didn’t raise you to act like this.” Pressing her on what specifically, Jon almost regretted it considering how quickly he felt his temper flaring up as she said your name. “The way you treat her-”

Already Jons voice raised in an anger. “You mean the way I treat my wife?”

Sansa’s jaw twitched, something he knew what she was trying to not say but he could see it clear as day as she talked around it. “I’ve known her almost as long as you have, you know. You’re not the only one here who cares about her well being.” Jon had interjected, something to the subject of he’s never claimed otherwise but Sansa had other idea. “No, you haven’t. I’m claiming it.” Pressing her again on what, “Claiming you don’t really care about her well being.”

Keep it pushed down, Jon thought. He truly did not want to get this angry at his own sister but bringing you up was always going to be a subject that had Jon a bit touched. Through an even tone of gritting teeth did Jon force himself to not let the worst of his impulsive temper get to him. “No offence, Sansa, but you have no idea the thing’s I’ve done to protect her. To keep her safe, to take care of her.”

Stepping forward, Sansa waved dramatically over to the bed were the fur was clearly still rustled by specific activities as she too raised her own voice. “By what? Pinning her to your bed so she can’t leave like you’re a dog?”

Not to her fault, but Sansa naturally had not a single clue why Jon stared at her in quite an enraged manner that spoke a little more surprisingly to her, that Jon was withholding something quite serious inside. His words low and carefully chosen as he spoke them slowly. Taking his hand from his sons bed, hoping he understood Jon didn’t want that anger near him. “The way I spend time with her, isn’t for you to start speculating over. You walked in on something you shouldn’t have, and you’re the one assuming things without having any idea what you’re talking about.”

Moving closer to meet her more in the middle of the room, nothing of their glares changed, save that Jon held an eerily unblinking stare towards her as she spoke. Now attempting to match his volume at a minimum. “The last time I saw you, you were leaving for the Wall after we both watched her marry Robb. Then I finally come home after Robb’s dead, I find out she’s alive, and you’ve left the Wall to come here, call yourself King, and marry her.” She was smart, leaving the fact of giving you a child was part of her original issue, but pressing that with the baby in question in the room at least to her, felt like an inappropriate part. “And everytime I see you with her, you’re always all over her. Trying to seduce her. What am I supposed to think?”

Breathing deeply in and back out, Jon reminded himself. If their father never spoke to him in that kind of anger, he wasn’t going to start doing it here with his little sister. But Jon also had to be careful what he approached, and how to unweave this web of endless falsehoods that had been placed into her head about him. “The only times you’ve seen me with her in that manner is when you’ve walked in on it, or spied on us when you knew you weren’t supposed to.” It said a lot to Jon that she had no rebuttal to that. “You may not understand my relationship with her, but that doesn’t mean you get to start judging me for it without any context. I can’t tell you what to think, but I will tell you that jumping to the worst conclusion isn’t fair. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to her.”

Motioning to her almost as if he were talking down an animal, Jon continued before giving her a chance. “If you think I don’t know what he’s been saying to you, you’re wrong. I know exactly what he’s been telling you about me.” Asking more on the quiet side how he knew, Jon let some of that anger go. More wide eyes pleading with her to just listen to him about this for once now that they were both adults. “Because people have been saying those things about me for my whole life. I’m a bastard, a walking reminder of sin and lies all because of a birth I had no control over. Highborns get told to look out for people like me, because I’ll just seduce and manipulate someone into giving me what I want. People hear what my surname is, and judge me because they already decided I can’t be trusted.”

If it was guilt sitting on Sansa’s face, he didn’t go out of his way to point it out. Nor how she remained rather quiet in her slow formed attempt at any kind of fair retort. “You’re my brother, I do trust you-”

Jon didn’t yell, if anything his voice lowered to more of an exasperation, something tired and knowing and finished with hearing that over and over. “You don’t. If you trusted me, you wouldn’t be standing here accusing me of using the woman I love for a title I never asked for.” Sansa blinked away multiple times whatever she was considering saying. “I can’t change what happened, or what Robb decided. I can’t even tell you why. I wasn’t there.” Your name came next from his mouth. “But she was. And instead of asking her why she and Robb did what they did about his crown, you’re blaming me. And choosing to accuse me of using her for my benefit, when I’m the one who owes everything to her. Including my life. I’m sorry you’re hurt, and I’m sorry you came back for something you didn’t know was already decided could never be yours.”

Closing the gap between them, part of Jon wondered if his sister had always been this noticeably tall. They almost didn’t even stand eye to eye, in fact she was a breath taller now. Or maybe she always was this tall, but too he wouldn’t have known that. Before this past week, Jon wouldn’t have been able to even say the last time he and Sansa spoke just the two of them. Jon felt like he didn’t even know her, but he had no way to even try as long as she was ready to paint him out to be something he wasn’t.

In truth, it was likely the most honest Sansa had been since that night she sought you out by the glass gardens, even if it seemed not even Jon knew of that night. You had kept it to yourself as long as she wanted it to be just between you. But here of all places, Sansa let herself just say what was truly on her mind. “Sometimes I don’t now if I really came home. Or if I’m still just a liar doing whatever Petyr tells me because I don’t know what else do to anymore.”

Head shaking the slightest, Jon stepped closer as his tone lowered. Were he to ask in that moment, Sansa could’ve pinned exactly who Jons demeanour reminded her of so vividly it took her off guard.

“If it must be done, I will do it myself.”

The exasperation and defeat once the anger had simmered out, realizing that nothing was as simple as he had thought it would be, and how no matter what being said or done would hurt her, her father never stood forth to kill Lady because he wanted to. He did it because allowing an outsider to so strongly dictate what happened in his family was not something he’d allow. She had rarely considered how much of their father Jon was like, but in that moment, it was like looking at a darker haired version of Ned Stark.

Speaking softer, but still with that heavy weight behind of something bigger then just this argument weighing him down came through. Jon only hoping some of this was sinking in over the words of people like Littlefinger. “I know you’ve been through too much, you, Arya, Bran, all of you lost your chance to still be children after father died. But you’re still a Stark, and you’re my sister. Winter is coming and something more dangerous is coming with it then fighting over who gets to be crowned what. But I can’t even try to protect you from that, or anyone if you keep doing this. He’s not helping you because he wants whats best for you. He wants you to think I’m using her, to hide the fact that he’s using you.”

Eyes wider, something more human in them then he’d seen in days, or perhaps years in her. The voice speaking nothing like the woman who came back, but much more the naive girl who left years ago. “I don’t know if I’ve ever trusted him, but I had no choice.”

Jon was firm, but still that familiar comfort she recalled in their father as Jon held her arms to focus her to look at him properly. “I won’t tell you what to do, but before you decide what you really want, you need to hear the truth. The full truth about who he really is. He’s a dangerous man-”

“I already know.” Looking up to Jons confusion, he could see something much like what he felt just then. A truth that she hadn’t seen coming, but this time he was the unknown party. “I know he’s dangerous. And I know why.”

As it turned out, Sansa’s why was not anywhere near close to yours and Jon why.

Sitting at the head of the table, Sansa had relayed the story. Arya, Bran and Jon all taking it in with the same understanding between them, and the same questions of why. The day Joffery had been poisoned, Ser Dontos whisking her away to something he called safety. Only to get to the ominous ship and slowly put together the truth of what Petyr Baelish had done and the lengths he went to frame it otherwise. Maester Wolkan helped direct the discussion, he and Jon both sharing the same glances of trying to piece together where this all fit into what they already knew. “He had me keep the poison without knowing it, and already knowing he was helping me escape he must have known too they’d blame me.”

Arya leaned forward with numerous questions of her own, the present one being the same on her brothers minds as well. “But if they arrested Tyrion Lannister right away, then he would’ve also assumed they’d blame him, since you running makes him look more guilty.”

“Like he was covering for her to escape.” Jon added of his own, his own eyes you felt glancing to you at the other end away from everyone else. Your pacing had gotten to the point you needed someone to take the baby for you because now you were the one who couldn’t settle. Something was eating at you this entire story.

You could believe Petyr Baelish had the resources to kill Joffery, and you knew why. It was the same why to the question of his betrayal of you and Ned Stark that day in the throne room. A man with seemingly no motive is a man they never expect. Until you thought darkly, until he plays that card too many times.

If your time with the Seaworths had taught you anything about gambling, and gods know Ser Davos’s eldest son Allard certainly spent much time teaching you to gamble when out at sea, you knew the best cards could only ever be played once. Otherwise the pattern be recognized too often. How many times now had Petyr Baelish played that card of feigning ignorance of his own betrayal. First yourself and Ned Stark, tricking Catelyn into betraying Robb, betraying Sansa herself by lying about his involvement in the attempt on your life.

But there was one element that kept picking at your brain. One person that came up again and again in Littlefingers lies and something stood out to you without knowing what. Your palms under the wrappings almost felt as if they were bleeding again, the feeling of the blade Catelyn fought against to save Brans life. The events played after were ones no one was left alive here to know but you, you and-

The moment the thought came to you, your head rose up slowly. Something washing through your veins in a realization so stunning you hadn’t even felt it’s cold take over the room and direct attention to you.

Your lips parted the moment it you regained your senses to focus on it, and yet the very second your eyes looked to Brans, to neither of your controlling, did yours and his both turn white.

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