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catsteeth · 1 month ago

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Turn Your Cloak - Pt. 2

Benjicot/Davos Blackwood x reader

+:✿ Request ✿:+ Original One Shot

Request: “A part 2 of the Benjicot Blackwood one shot. Reader returns to Dragonstone and shows Rhaenyra the letter from Benji, the two of them bond. Benjicot staying at Dragonstone for the remainder of the war. Benji being a huge simp for reader. A little spicy with dry humping, but no actual smut” CW: MDNI, grinding, making out, afab reader, alcohol consumption, mention of arranged marriage, mention of medieval sexting, mention of violence, A/N: woof woof Word Count: 9K

It had been a long night at Dragonstone for your Mother Rhaenyra. She had expected you back home late that night, but the sun began to rise and you had yet to return. She spent the night restlessly pacing back and forth. She would have taken Syrax to the Riverlands herself if it weren’t for the Knight whom burst into her chambers to announce,

“Your Grace, the Princess and Silverwing were spotted approaching over the sea.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Rhaenyra stormed into the gantry, ready to either berate you for causing her such distress or declare war on whomever harmed you.

As she saw you dismounting Silverwing, unharmed, her concern faded and her anger rose.

Her steps were heavy and quick, she huffed as she began to shout “Where have you-”

Before she could finish her question, you extended your hand towards your mother. Holding a scrolled piece of parchment, sealed by red wax stamped with the Blackwoods symbol. “An official proposal of marriage from Benjicot Blackwood.” You said with a prideful smile, knowing you had completed your task and accomplished it on your own terms.

Your mother’s angry demeanor dropped, surprised by your words and happiness. “Blackwood?” She questioned with furrowed brows, confused.

You nodded with a smile, “I wish to marry him, mother.”

Rheanrya looked at your smile with confusion, then looked at the scroll in her hands, “I-” She began, but soon took hold of your hand and pulled you along. “Come here.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─

As she pulled you into a secluded room, she preyed the wax seal off of the parchment and began to read it in haste.

You furrowed your brows, unsure of why she would not rejoice with you. She wanted this afterall. “Do you contest it?” You questioned, genuinely confused.

She shook her head, “No.” She said calmly, looking up from the parchment and back at you. “I am simply surprised.” She said, a small smile creeping its way onto her face. “You left here begging to not wed, no more than a day ago. And here you are, handing me a proposal of marriage with a smile.” She said with an amused smirk as she stepped towards you.

You shrugged, “I admit I did not enjoy the men who contended, nor did I enjoy being contended for.” You said with a raised eyebrow and annoyed huff, thinking back to that horrid procession.

She let out a breath of a laugh, “Well then he must have contended well enough.” She said, rolling up the parchment.

You smiled to yourself, though you tried to conceal it poorly “He did not contend for my hand.” Your mother looked at you with confusion. “He fought valiantly against a Bracken who defiled our name, and questioned my parentage.” You looked at your mother and smiled warmly, “When I thanked him, that was when he proposed.” You couldn’t contain the blush creeping onto your cheeks as you thought of it, “Away from prying eyes and ears.” That was true. But you would leave out the bit of that night where his fingers were pleasuring you. You looked at your mother with much more earnest eyes, “I feel I can depend on him, lean on him. And I feel he has humility. And he feels he can lean on me.” You said as you stepped closer to her, placing a hand onto hers.

Your mother smiled, and took your hand that held hers. “Then you have done the crown and your mother the queen a great service. A raven will be sent to the Blackwoods in haste. And we shall invite… Bran?...” She drawed out, attempting to remember the poor boy's name.

“Benjicot-” You corrected,

She immediately interrupted you and corrected herself, “Benjicot Blackwood will be invited warmly to live here at Dragonstone until the end of the war. Once the war has been won, you and he shall wed.” She and you smiled at one another. She, happy her daughter whom was forced to pick a spouse not only did so but found one she loved. And you, happy you found the person you would commit your life to. You mothers eyes, became slightly narrowed, “Gōntan mirros massigon rȳ ao se bisa valonqar?” “Did something happen between you and this boy?” She asked in Valyarian. Not wishing for anyone else to hear. She looked at your look of surprise and confusion, “Ao istan hen ry bantis. Nyke daor, issa hāedar. Nyke sepār- īlon līs sagon. Lo jorrāelagon sagon nyke kostagon syt nykeā sūmar naejot sagon-” “You were gone all night- I am not placing judgment, sweet girl. I just- we must be cautious. If need be I can arrange for a tea to be given-”

You shook your head, “No.” Though your mothers eyes still narrowed you realized that you had not explained why you were gone all night. “We were trapped within the Riverlands from a storm.”

And with that, she was convinced. Though if the honest truth was told, you wished you were in need of such tea.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

And so the raven was sent, and eagerly Lord Blackwood responded with great enthusiasm as you expected. Benjicott would of course accept the invitation to Dragonstone. You wanted to take Silverwing to the Riverlands and bring him back home yourself. But your mother insisted on a more traditional manner.

Your grandsire, Corlys and your brother, Jace escorted you to the harbors of the Vale. You stood at the front of your Grandsires ship. The Queen Who Never Was. You watched the land before you came closer and closer with a growing anticipation. It nearly startled you when you felt a strong hand caress your shoulder. You looked over your shoulder to see your Grandsire, Corlys.

“I was about your age when I was wed to your grandmother.” He said with a comforting smile. “I was more nervous than when I first sailed to battle.” He said with a comforting pat on your back.

You smiled at him and shook your head, “I am not nervous.”

He let out a low and dry chuckle, “You never are.” He said as he watched the land approach the ship.

You looked at the party waiting at the harbor. Blackwood's banners flew in the wind. And you could see from such a distance, Lord Willem Blackwood already waving down your ship. You grimaced and then looked towards Corlys, “Grandsire.”

“Hm?” He hummed.

You looked at him as you scrunched up your face, “I should warn you of his uncle, Willem.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked at you with confusion, “Warn me?” No one would ever frighten Corlys, much less pose a threat to him. But what he did not know is that you were not speaking of a threat to his safety but to his patience.

As the ship docked into the harbor, you smiled at Willem and waved back as you leaned into your grandsire, “Just smile at his words and ignore the rest.” you spoke through your teeth.

As soon as you and your grandsire stepped off the boat, Willem Blackwood stepped forward, embracing you firmly.

Your eyes went wide, surprised but unwilling to push the man off. Your grandsire debated tearing the man off of you but soon enough he let you go as he announced with great enthusiasm. “The princess!” He said as he patted your arms excitedly, “You’ll be my niece now eh? My niece the princess-” Soon your eyes darted behind him. You saw him, Ben. You watched him approach as he carried a bag of his belongings while scowling at his uncle for embarrassing him and annoying you and your family. Once Willem noticed his nephew coming he then excitedly announced, “And my nephew the prince!” He said with a hard pat to Ben’s back.

“Uncle.” Benjicot said in a deep and annoyed tone. Both a greeting and a warning for him to stop talking.

You smiled, trying to hold back blush as Ben’s eyes fell onto you. You bowed your head slightly as you greeted him. “Lord Blackwood, a pleasure.” You tried to remain formal around your families, for they did not know how intimate you both had become.

Ben’s gaze softened as he looked at you. He took your hand, kissing your knuckles gently, then bringing your hand close to his heart. “My Princess, I am eternally honored and grateful for your hand.” Ben then looked to your Grandsire who stood protectively by your side. “Lord Corlys, an honor to meet you and board your ship.” He said with a respectful bow of his head.

Corlys’s lips began to curl into a smile, he might have even patted the boy on the shoulder. But he was interrupted by Lord Willems' voice booming once again.

“Suppose that would make Lord Corlys your grandsire by law!” He said with another hard pat to Ben’s back. Benjicot closed his eyes and grimaced from the embarrassment.

Your grandsire let out a sharp exhale as he placed a hand on your shoulder, “We’d better board.” He said with a put on smile.

Benjicot nodded, “Agreed.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Once you boarded the ship, you found Benjicot standing at the railing of the ship alone.

“Do you like the sea?” You asked as you approached him. Ben’s eyes lit up as he turned to see you.

He smiled softly, turning his body to face you completely leaning against the railing of the ship. He shook his head, “Never seen it before. Only seen the rivers.” He took the sight of you in, “Quite different.” You continued to come closer to him. You stopped as your feet nearly touched his own.

You shook your head, “Not so different. Rivers flow to the sea, and the sea to the rivers.” You looked out to the waves of blue that surrounded the ship, “It’s such a thing of beauty.” you said taking in the sight.

Ben looked at you with loving eyes, “Yes it is.” You blushed, knowing he did not mean the ocean but you. He then finally turned his head to look at the water, “You’ll rule over it all someday.”

You nodded, “That is true enough though I am unsure how fit I am for it.” you said as you looked down at your fingernails picking at your nail beds nervously.

Ben looked at you confused at your statement, “How do you mean?” He crossed his arms and looked at you closely. Wanting to listen to you as intensively as possible.

You looked at him with a slight annoyance. Surely he knew what you meant. The world knew what you meant. You looked over your shoulder to be sure no one was there to hear your words, “You understand what you are marrying?” You asked him with narrowed eyes.

He nodded confidently without hesitation, “A woman, a woman as brave and intelligent as she is beautiful.” His words were earnest.

You sighed, looking at the sea. You debated whether you should say such treasonous truths openly. But you were alone, and he was to be bound to you for life. So you began, softly speaking “My father taught me to fish, sea shanties, the ways of the sea and how to sail a ship through it. He loved me, my grandmother loved me too. So does my grandsire. They are my family, but they are not my blood.” Ben did not look surprised, nor did he look disappointed. That was when you knew he knew it. “You know it. They all know it. So do you, you are not an idiot.” You said, rolling your eyes.

He shook his head and took your hand into his, “I don’t care.” He was not in denial as your grandsire Viserys was. He knew it was the truth, he simply did not care about such pious, hypocritical, and righteous shit.

You narrowed your eyes at him, “You should care. Your children by my womb will-”

“Will be my only children.” He interrupted you, not willing to hear you speak ill of yourself or your future children, “I do not care, if you had the blood of swineherds. I do not care what color your hair is. What I care for is you.” He asserted firmly.

You felt your heart melt. Though you knew the real consequences of your birth, “If the greens win, they’ll kill me.” you said somberly, wanting to prepare him for such a possibility.

“No one will ever touch you.” He said as if it were a fact.

“Sister.” Jaceryous’s voice called out startling you.

“Jace.” You said out of breathe, “This is Benjicot Blackwood-”

Jace interrupted, “Seven blessings to you both. Sister, I must speak with you alone.” He said, his voice devoid of any earnest happiness.

You sighed at your brother, “Alright. In a moment.” you said, waving him off dismissively. You waited for him to walk back inside the ship before you turned to Ben, “I am sorry for him.”

Ben shook his head, “It’s alright, he is distrusting of me for good reason. He does not know me and wants to protect you and your blood.” He trusted Jace more for it, and appreciated him more for it as well.

You however did not share such sentiments. You held his face in your hands, “You are my blood now.” You said as you kissed him one last time before making your way into the ship to follow after Jace.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

As you entered his cabin you huffed, “That was behavior unbefitting a prince.” you sneered at him.

Jace however did not care of your concerns of how he treated your betrothed. He handed you a piece of parchment, “Read this.” he said quickly.

As you read the letter it unveiled the plans your mother was planning in you and your brother's absence. To send ships to King's Landing to bring back Targaryen bastards to become dragon riders for her claim.

Though you were thrilled with the idea, it was better than defeat. “This is good is it not?” You questioned.

Jace took the parchment from your hand and huffed at you, “How could that be good?” he asked with his ever present attitude.

You raised a brow at him “Was this idea not of your own doing? You thought of a Tarly on top of a dragon because it is better than death and defeat.”

“A bastard on a dragon?” He said as if it were ridiculous.

“It’s not unheard of.” You mumbled to yourself.

“This is serious.” Jace affirmed, “If she follows through with this plan, she brings more questions to our parentage.” He said as if you were a fool.

You scoffed at your brother’s vanity. “People need nothing to question it when they’ve eyes.” You looked at him, your eyes softening. “Make your peace with it.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Back on Dragonstone, though the war was not over, preparations for your wedding were underway with haste. It was clear as soon as the war was done, your courtship would be as well. Making good on the promise your family made to the Riverlands.

You stood in front of a mirror in your wedding gown that was being tailored to you. It was not like a traditional Targaryen gown. It was ivory with thick lace embroidery throughout the fabric, like the way sea foam floats against the surface of the ocean. Adorned with pearls sewn into the fabric sporadically. The sleeves were fitted up to your elbow, where they flared out, flowing freely like the way seaweed flows in the ocean. Underneath these bell sleeves were a second layer of sleeves with a distinct pointed design. Your inner sleeves were more fitted around the wrist as they extend out into a sharp point over the back of the hands. Pearls were sewn into the thick embroidery that lined the pointed cuffs of your sleeves that cascaded over the backs of your hands. The dress was long and flowed behind you like a river.

You’d even worn a pigment on your eyelids. A shining blueish, pinkish, silver, that came from crushed seashells. Your lips and cheeks blushed as the veil was placed onto your head. The veil drapes elegantly over you, slightly covering your forehead, draping against your shoulders before flowing behind you and dragging along the floor. The veil is crafted from lace, with an ornate pattern. The intricate lacework is densely populated with aquatic motifs. Along the edges, the lace appears scalloped. The most eye-catching feature along the veil’s border are teardrop-shaped pearls, hanging like delicate droplets from the edge of the fabric.

“I never thought I would see you in a veil.” Baela said as she fixed how the veil hung around your shoulders admiring the details of the fabric.

You smiled at your reflection, and shook your head. “Neither did I.”

You really didn’t. You were content to live your life on dragon back. You were content to die on dragon back, in fire and blood. But now the tides had shifted. You felt more reason to continue, more reason to live, a reason that was not revenge.

Baela smiled as she looked at you in the mirror, “He certainly seems taken with you.” She’d only seen glimpses of he and you, but even in those moments, the look in his eyes told it all.

You blushed and looked down, fidgeting with the pearls on your sleeve, “I must admit I am taken with him.”

She breathed a laugh, “I assumed as much. You’d never take a husband if he were not truly exceptional in your eyes.” She said with an amused tone.

You nodded, “Beat a Bracken to a bloody mess in the mudd over an insult against my name.” you said with a girlish smile on your face.

Her eyes widened slightly, “Exceptional indeed.” she nodded.

“How beautiful you look.” Your mothers voice chimed in unexpectedly, making you almost flinch. Her voice was soft, and her eyes looked like she just might cry seeing her daughter in a wedding gown.

Baela looked to Rhaenyra and knew she wanted this moment to be alone with you. She bowed her head to her before leaving the room.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, fidgeting with the fabric, “It is not quite traditional for a Targaryen.” you noted.

“No.” She said as she approached you. She placed her hands on your shoulders and looked at you in the mirror, smiling at how beautiful you looked. “Traditional for a Valyrian.”

You did not say anything to the remark, but turned your head to your mother, “Have you met him yet?” You asked softly, “Benjicot?”

She shook her head, “I have not, I intend to do so as soon as I am able. But your grandsire says he seems quite loyal to you.” She said with a soft smile as she ran her hand over your hair that hid behind your veil.

You smiled though you tried to hide it, “He is.” you nodded. You looked back at yourself in the mirror, “Do you think it’s too much?” You fussed with the neckline of your dress, “I feel I look silly.”

“No. Not at all.” She said, still smiling as she took your face into her hands, “Skorkydoso biare aōha kepas sagon.” “How proud your fathers would be.” She spoke in High Velaryon.

Her words though sweet made you feel melancholy, “I wish they could be here. I did not often think of my wedding as a girl. Though when I did, I imagined them, and Luke, Viserys, and Rhaenys. I imagined them all there.”

“My sweet girl.” She tried to comfort you, “You will have your mother, your brothers, your grandsire, your cousins who shall soon be your sisters.”

You shook your head, “Nyke jurnegon hae iā pirtir” “I look like a pretender.”

Your mother huffed, “Iksā lopor se embar, ānogar se perzys. Kesan rȳbagon daorun tolī hen bisa. Iksā iā Targārien, konir sagon mirre bona.” “You are salt and sea, blood and fire. I will hear nothing more of this. You are a Targaryen, that is all that matters.”

You bit your lip, not knowing what to say. But soon your curiosity got the better of you. “Are the smallfolk you summoned arriving today?”

Her eyes softened, having sympathy for your grief, “Yes.” She soon became slightly defensive, “Do you disapprove of this as your brother?”

“No.” You lied. And tore the veil from your head off. “I mislike it. My fathers dragon being passed to someone I do not know. But we need more riders. I want revenge. I want you to win. So, whatever must be done.” You said reluctantly as you began to take off the gown you wore.

Your mother, feeling guilty, tried to help you. She felt your skin, surprised at how warm you were, “You feel hot.” She said, worried you were ill.

You shook your head, continuing to take off your gown, “I get angry when I think of it.”

She did not know if you meant the war or the bastards and did not dare ask. “You should take to Silverwing.” She said, If she could not comfort you, perhaps your beast would.

“I intend to.” You said stepping out of your gown.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As you took to Silverwing in the sky, you and she danced over the sea. You practiced the same commands and movements again and again. You rode her, plunging her down, her feet and tail slashing against the surface of the sea. Just as you would in battle. You would get her low, and say the word… “Dracarys!” Her flames would envelop Criston Cole's armies, though only now they died out as they hit the water. Then you pulled her back up, and up, and up into the skies until you and she met the clouds. You were getting good at navigating through clouds, mist, and fog. You’d not allow Aemond to get any advantage over you.

Though soon again you and she twirled and glided back down. Weaving through the sky as you imagined the battle.

Though what you did not know was that Benjicot was watching your movements in awe of you. He leaned against the stone hedge that surrounded the cliftside of Dragonstone and allowed himself to get lost in you and Silverwings dance. So lost he’d not notice your mother approaching behind him.

“My daughter is a skilled rider.” She said as she approached him.

Ben startled, turning to your mother and bowing his head, “Your grace.” he said respectfully. She waved her hand for him to relax. He looked back to you in the sky, “She’s magnificent.”

Rheynera nodded, “Silverwing was her great great grandmother's dragon. She is a beautiful and formidable creature, that is sure.” She said as she made her way to Benjicots side watching you in the sky.

Ben looked at your mother, “I meant your daughter.”

She looked at him, somewhat surprised “Yes, yes she is. She is also beautiful and formidable.” She said, breathing a laugh, “You and I will share a commonality.” She began, facing him. “I assume you have gathered by now, my daughter- the princess is a woman of strong will.”

“Yes.” Ben said as he nodded with a smile

“I do not wish for my daughter to see war. I have lost my son, and I will not lose her.” She spoke as if she were giving Ben a mission of his own, “She is steadfast on accomplishing her revenge. That is what she is doing now. Preparing to burn green armies to ash.” She said as she looked towards you in the sky. “I fear her brother wishes to fight for his own pride. But she wishes to fight for revenge.” She looked back to Ben, “I am her mother. My word means little. She will obey my order as her Queen, but it will not settle the rage in her.” She looked at him hopefully, “Perhaps you can.”

He looked at you for a moment, then back to Rhaenyra, “I am devoted to your daughter's safety. To her happiness. With the greatest of respect to your Grace, I’ll not prevent her from any action she wishes to take.” She felt somewhat surprised that a man of his status would openly disobey the word of the queen. But it made her happy that someone would do such a thing for her daughter. “However, I will try with all my being to ease that anger and bring her some kind of happiness.” He said before leaving.

Rhaenyra stood there, unsure of what to make of this first encounter. But soon realized she was lucky, you were lucky, to be blessed with a man who’d do anything to please you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Back in the castle, Jace found his mother in her council chambers. “I am unsure of him.” Jace said, weary of a newcomer to his family. Both in a time of war and treachery as well as the threat that he may only marry you to raise the status of his house.

Rhaenyra shook her head softly, “He has embraced his role as her husband with great pride, warmth, and passion. A rare thing in political marriage.” She said defending him and you.

Jace scoffed, “He beat a Bracken senseless. Hardly a marriage to mend ties with the Riverlands.” He argued back

“He defends her name with fierce loyalty, defends my name and yours.” She defended once again, “And we have mended ties with the Riverlands.”

Jace sighed, “How can we be certain he can be trusted.”

“He has given us no reason to not.” She shrugged, “He has shown unwavering respect and admiration. And a fierce loyalty to her protection and honor.” She looked to Jace with adoring eyes, “I would say you are simply protective of your sister’s heart, as you should be. Though I believe he may share that same protectiveness.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

You sat up on top of a high hill, listening to the crashing of the waves and the loud breathing of Silverwing. You were watching the waves, waiting for the ship of Targaren Bastards to approach. You had a pit in your stomach, you did not want for this. You knew it would only add insult to injury. But you also knew it would be critical to your mother’s success in this war.

Though you could not sulk for very long before you heard the long grass of the hill rustling more than it normally did. As you turned around you looked and saw Benjicot as he pounced upon you. Wrapping his arms around you in a playful attempt to scare you. And it worked. You squealed as he took hold of you. But Silverwing let out a growl that made him let you down gently.

“Men should not sneak up on women!” You said breathlessly as you tried not to giggle.

He bit his tongue as his hands found your sides again, though moving slowly as to not upset your protective beast, “Don’t act so coy after you sent such letters.” He said with a devious smirk.

It was true, you and he had exchanged many letters since you returned to Dragonstone. Before you had sailed to get him you and he sent three private letters. Each more explicit than the next. You could not help it. He had given you a taste of mortal pleasure and you longed for so much more.

You smirked back at him, and shook your head. “That is no way to speak to a princess.” you teased.

He cupped your chin with his hand, “My Princess.” He kissed your lips softly, and gently. As he pulled away he spoke again though this time more earnestly, “You rode valiantly.”

You blushed slightly, you did not know he was watching you ride, and you felt somewhat embarrassed. But you smiled, “Thank you, my Lord,” You pushed him off of you playfully, “or perhaps I should say my Prince now.” you teased as you continued to walk along the tall grass hills overlooking the ocean.

He followed after you, “You know I don’t like that title.”

You nodded, looking back at him, “I know it riles you. Makes your blood hot.” You smirked at him.

He ran after you once again, grabbing hold of your arm and pulling you into him, “Are you challenging me?” He asked with a lustful gaze.

You raised your eyebrows at him, looking at him with big innocent eyes. “All good wives should challenge their husbands.”

He nodded and bit his lip as he came closer to you, “You are a constant challenge. Challenging my restraint, and my ability to protect your virtue.” He said his eyes trailing from your eyes to your lips to your neck.

You ran your hands from his neck to his chest, then pressed your lips to his own, “Mmm…” You moaned into his lips as your hand continued to wander further down over his stomach. Making him groan softly into your lips as well. You grabbed hold of his cock through his breeches making his hiss and breaking your kiss. You looked at him with a mischievous grin, “Because I do not wish for my virtue to be protected.” You said as you pushed him back again and ran off again laughing at him.

He growled under his breath as he ran after you. He tackled you to the ground but you overpowered him, flipping him onto his back. You took his wrists and placed him above his head pinning him down. He could have overpowered you back but didn’t. He enjoyed this view far too much. He smiled up at you breathless. “I think we’re a good match don’t you?” You said in a seductive tone.

He bit his tongue and laughed, nodding, “A very good match.”

You leaned down and kissed him. “I missed you.” You said breathlessly between kisses and moans. “I kept all your letters, read them again and again.”

He groaned, he held your face as he passionately kissed you. “Your last letter near drove me mad, you know?”

You giggled to yourself quietly, “I hope you made good use of my smallclothes.”

He nodded, “I did.” He groaned and squirmed a bit, “I’m already getting hard thinking of it.”

He was, you could feel it underneath your clothed cunt.

Ben put his hands firmly around your thighs, squeezing you tightly. It made you squeal. The sound of it made Silverwing stir from her slumber. Which in turn made Ben loosen his grip on you. Scared to upset your beast.

You chuckled to yourself lowly, “Don’t worry about her.” you shook your head.

“Easy enough for you to say.” He scoffed, “If she thinks I’m harming you she’ll swallow me whole.”

You laughed slightly amused by his fear, “No she won’t.” You shook your head, “She and I are bonded by old Valyria. She can feel what I feel. She knows I am not scared of you.” You tried to tell him but he was still not completely convinced. Though you were sure overtime he would see. You turned to Silverwing, “Silverwing, jikagon arghugon!” You commanded, and she flew off and away into the sky.

Ben looked up at you in awe of your abilities, “What did that mean?”

You looked back down at him, surprised that he would take such an interest, “Silverwing, go hunt.”

He sat up on his elbows, getting closer to you, “Teach me your language.”

You smiled, it was a sacred language. One only taught to the noble and wealthy. But he was to be your husband, and your children’s father. “Vūjigon issa.” You said with a soft smile,

“Vūjigon issa?” His pronunciation was not perfect, but good for someone just beginning to learn the language. “What did that mean?”

“Kiss me.” You said with lustful eyes, and he obeyed eagerly. Pulling your face to his and kissing you passionately.

You could feel him hardening even more beneath you. You couldn’t help but rock yourself against it. The bulge of his breeches rubbed against your cunt in the most delicious way. He gripped onto the plush of your ass and helped you rub against him harder. Your moans into his mouth only encouraged his cock.

“You feel so good,” He moaned into your lips.

“So do you.” You moaned back, you began to grind against his cock harder, rolling your hips into a rhythm, “I can feel you- throbbing.” You whimpered against his lips.

He ran his hands through your dark hair, pulling it as you continued to rub against him, “If good wives challenge their husbands, you’ll be the best.” He wanted more than anything to take you right then. To tear the neckline of your dress and push up your skirts and fuck you like an animal would.

He tried to keep himself in control but it slipped through his fingers for just a moment as he flipped you onto your back.

You moaned, and breathlessly you pleaded, “I want my husband to fuck me.”

He groaned, and shook his head, “I’m not your husband yet,” He was angry he had to wait so long to make you his in the eyes of the realm and the gods. “Ah it’s fucking torture. I need you to be my wife.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “You need me to be your wife to fuck me?”

“How good of a husband can I be if I cannot protect my intended’s virtue?” He said with a grin, but his grin faded as he ran his hand against your cheek, “But I don’t need you to be my wife just so I can fuck you- I need you to be my wife because I love you.”

The words slipped from his lips. You felt just as thrown off as he did.

You’re eyes went wide, “You-”

“I love you.” He asserted firmly. He had no doubt in his mind he loved you. Ever since he saw you on that beast.

You smiled, a smile of pure bliss. “I love you.” You said back to him with loving eyes.

You both let out a breath of relief, and laughed for a short while. He rested his forehead against your own and kissed you once before.

“Say it in Valyrian.” He asked with a smirk,

“Avy jorrāela.” You said holding his face adoringly.

“Avie jorraela.” His pronunciation was still not perfect but it was well enough.

Your lips met once again, and he began to grind his cock into your clothed cunt again. The friction making him moan into your mouth, and you into his. You bit his lip in desperation, wanting so much more than he was giving you.

You then rolled him back over onto his back. He laughed breathlessly for a moment before he was interrupted by a moan leaving his lips.

As you kept rolling your hips and grinding against him, your hands went to the laces of your dress. Pulling them loose. Ben thought he might die when he saw your shoulders becoming further and further exposed.

“We can’t-“ He shook his head frantically.

“I know-“ You nodded, “Can we just do this? It feels so good-“ You said as you continued to moan.

As you kept going, your dress began to slip lower and lower. His eyes fixated on your body as your dress exposed your breasts, “Keep going-fuck! You’re so beautiful.” He knew he would be done soon enough. The sight of your body was enough to make him mad.

“I want you in me so badly.” You moaned,

Gods you were driving him mad, begging so beautifully as you rocked against him, breasts bouncing.

He moaned, “Fuck-I can’t- I want to but I, I can’t sully you.” His eyes went dark, “I’d kill any fucker who tried.” He growled possessively.

“I love you bloody-” You smirked, but your smile was interrupted as your face contorted in pleasure again. “Qopsa” “Harder.” You moaned, and reached for his wrist. Pulling his hand to grab hold of your breast. Knowing he was too shy to do it himself.

He groaned, and you could feel him throbbing underneath you, “I’m going to-”

You nodded, “I know, so am I.” You leaned over, practically laying on top of him as you continued to grind against him. You lips and his collided as you both reached your peak.

You rolled onto your back. Laying there side by side together trying to catch your breath. Ben rolled onto his side and propped himself up by his elbow as he looked over you.

“How did the Gods bless me with such a maiden?” He asked breathlessly with an absent minded smile.

You smiled back, and shook your head, “They blessed you with nothing. I chose you.” You said placing a hand on his cheek.

Ben took your hand that held his cheek, and brought it to his lips to kiss your palm “Then I must worship you.”

You looked over to the ocean, and noticed a ship approaching. You knew it was the one harboring the Targaryen’s that were about to risk their lives for a new life. You sat up, pulling up your sleeve over your shoulder.

“We should head back.” Your demeanor changed. From one of relaxed bliss to one of contempt.

He sat up, and began helping tighten the laces of your dress for you, “How do you feel about this?” He questioned gently.

You shook your head, and sighed. As he finished with the ties you stood, “It matters not what I feel.”

He stood, and grabbed your wrist, “Of course it does. It does to me.” he asserted.

You looked at him, and sighed. “My mother has been left with few options. Her choice is to win or die.” You shook your head, “Her choice is to win, or we all die. And I am not blind to the irony, I know I am no more deserving of a dragon than they are.” Ben wanted to interject and argue that point in the opposite direction but you continued, “So I must support this course of action though it tastes of ash and blood in my mouth.”

You tried to continue on, but he pulled you back once more, “I did not ask about the war. I asked about you.”

You looked down to the sea, at the ship approaching. “I tried to claim Seasmoke when I was ten and two.” You turned to Ben, “I had just lost my father and I wanted his dragon desperately. I thought if I had him, I’d have a bit of my father. So I snuck into the dragonpit.” He smiled at the thought of you doing that. “Perhaps it was too soon for him, or perhaps I was not ready but Seasmoke nearly killed me. He opened his jaws and readied himself to burn me. But Silverwing scared him off.” You looked down, shamefully, “I always thought he knew I didn’t have pure Valaryian blood.” Your tension began to rise, “If a bastard born from some silver haired Targaryen who spent too long in a pleasure house, would be able to claim him and I couldn’t-” You took a deep breath, looking at Ben, “I mislike all of this. But I understand the order of things.”

You finished as you continued on down the hill. Ben was not far behind.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You did not attend the claiming of the dragons. You knew it would be bloody. You also did not wish to seem as if you were enthusiastic about this plan of action.

Though with supper approaching, you figured you should probably know where your family was standing after this procession took place.

You wandered the halls of Dragonstone looking for Jace with Benjicot. Finally after some time you found your brother in the library sulking. You waved to Ben to stay outside the room as you entered. You knew you had to speak to him alone.

“What was the outcome?” You spoke softly, not wanting to upset him further.

He turned the page of his book angrily “Both dragons have been claimed. Seasmoke has been claimed. Claimed by some drunk old man they call… Ulf.” He said, in an attempt to make you as angry as he was.

And it worked, you were mad. You didn’t give him the satisfaction however. “Stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.” He said, flipping another page.

You scoffed, “You are pouting. Pouting as our mother awaits us.” You sat next to him, “You’re angry, I know it.” You said gently.

“How are you not?” He looked at you with an annoyed demeanor.

“I am angry. Angry that our family has been torn apart and burnt to ash. I want revenge and I support our mother.” You spoke softly but intently, needing him to understand why such action though unpleasant was critical.

“They are an insult to us. To what makes us Targaryens. If any common lout can ride a dragon then-”

You interrupted him, “Speak for yourself, I am not common.” You stood and paced the room,

“You know what we are.” Jace said with a dark voice.

You shrugged, “Everyone does. So why should I care.”

“Does your betrothed know?” He asked almost mockingly.

You stopped your pacing and looked at Jace, “Just as Baela knows.” You stepped closer to Jace, “You act as though we are the first noble bastards. I am the princess and you the crown prince. We are children of the rightful queen. And you sit here sulking over dragons and if not that then something else.” You took hold of Jace’s shoulder, “It is true we’ve must prove ourselves. We’ve to prove to the people we are worthy of the status our mother gave to us. So get up and take your place by our mother’s side.”

And with that, you left him. You hoped you would see him for supper, but if not the House of the Dragon was going to be safe another day.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

As you began to walk down the hall, Ben followed closely. You looked over your shoulder at him and smiled at him. Your smile drove him mad. He playfully began to chase you once again. He was so close though it was hardly a chase. He grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you into him as his arm wrapped around your waist tightly and held you close. You gave in quickly and happily. Your arms wrapping around his neck. His lips met yours passionately as he lifted you with ease and spun you around in the hall. Uncaring of anyone who saw.

He placed you down gently as his smiling lips continued to meet your own repeatedly as he pushed you against the stone wall.

As your lips parted, you smiled softly and absent mindedly as you looked at him with loving eyes, “I did not think love would find me in such a sad world.” You said as you ran your thumb across the scar on his lip.

He shook his head as he looked at you with adorning eyes, “I’ll always find you.”

You bit your lip and looked at his, though you had kissed him a thousand times now you still hungered for more. And he shared that same hunger.

His lips and yours collided once more, in a passionate and loving embrace. Though the heaven that your kiss brought would soon be interrupted by the sounds of a man’s crude laughter echoing down the halls.

Benjicot immediately looked down the hall, looking for anyone who might have disturbed you both. He pushed you behind him slightly, in an attempt to defend whatever threat might have been there.

You however furrowed your brows in annoyance, “What is that?” You asked as you pushed yourself away from Ben’s protection and continued to walk down the hall towards the laughter.

Ben of course followed closely behind. Soon you reached the council room where you heard the same voice speaking, “This is more like it, Hugh, don’t you think?”

You stood outside the room listening in more carefully.

Another voice beckoned out the room, “We’re meant to be at the training yards learnin’ the commands.”

The same voice as before once again called out, “Yeah, and I will go, but surely they’d not deny me my pleasure after so long. I may never eat fish again.” he replied.

You entered the room angered. You knew these must have been the Targaryen bastards who claimed those sacred beasts. Your anger only grew as you saw them sitting at the council table.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned, narrowing your eyes and storming into the room. You saw the man more clearly now, his feet sitting upon the council table. “Remove your feet from the table.” You spat at him. This man dared place his feet on your mothers table- sitting in your mothers seat.

“I’d rather not.” The gray haired oafish old man said, refusing your command which only made your anger rise, and Benjicot’s anger rose.

The other man tried to correct his behavior, “Ulf-”

Though you interrupted him, staring daggers at the man as you approached him, Ulf… The man who claimed Seasmoke, it made you hate it all the more, “It is not a matter of what you want.”

“What is it a matter of then, girl?” Ulf asked unabashedly.

Benjicot grabbed hold of the hilt of his sword, “You dare speak to her like that?” he hissed at the gray haired bastard.

Hugh attempted once again to knock sense into Ulf, “She’s the princess, Ulf. Princess (Y/N) Velaryon.”

Immediately Ulf threw his feet down from the table and stood, “Princess (Y/N) Velaryon! Right here!” He said with great enthusiasm, it reminded you of Willem. “Who’d thought it?”

“You’re in her home.” Ben said with venom in his tone as he stepped closer to the man, “She’ll have an apology from you.” Benjicot sneered at the man.

“Ah! The young princess!” Ulf said with great excitement as he stepped closer to you, making Ben rush to your side as well, “Look at that hair!” Ulf tried to place his hand into your dark hair, though Ben’s hand grabbed Ulfs wrist before he could touch you. “As dark as they say.” He remarked. “Let them tell us we don’t have Targaryen blood, eh?”

Benjicot would not allow a man to question your parentage no matter if it were true or not. No matter if the man was a dragonrider or not. “Her mother is the queen and-”

“My niece. Dragonriders both.” He said as if he were reminiscing on your pasts together. You felt more angered by it, he did not know you and he was certainly not your family. Perhaps blood bound you together but not family. “You and I… cut from the same cloth.” You felt a sting of resentment. This is the man who claimed your fathers dragon dare call himself your uncle?

“You claiming Seasmoke was a sacred inheritance of which you know nothing.” You hissed at him.

“Forgive him, princess. He is not much used to the manners of court.” Hugh said, attempting to remedy the growing tension in the room.

“Or any fucking manners at all I’d say.” Benjicot said, still grasping hold of the hilt of his sword.

Ulf’s eyes finally left you, and landed onto Ben. “You must be her lad, eh?” He questioned mockingly with a grin.

“I’m her husband to be.” Ben said protectively and proudly.

“To be.” Ulf mocked in jest, though Ben did not find it amusing.

But rather than allow Ben to spill blood of a man in your mother’s council room, spill the blood of a dragonrider whom you needed. You stepped forward and began to speak, “Do you know what has happened this last hour?” Your eyes bore into Ulf’s soul, and you stepped closer to him. “The so-called Prince regent has burned Sharp Point down to its stones. Thousands of its folk dead or lost. Its harbor has been reduced to ash.” Ulf swallowed hard, now understanding the gravity of his position, “Will you prepare to face such an enemy? Or will you stay here and make yourself easy?” You sneered at him, “If you hinder our efforts through sloth or unreadiness I will allow my husband to do whatever he wishes with you.” You threatened and the room fell silent.

Ben’s eyes stayed on Ulf, waiting for that apology.

Ulf stammered before he finally spit out, “I meant no disrespect, my princess.”

You nodded, “Best be on your way to the training yards then.” You tilted your head to get him moving.

Ulf and Hugh then scattered and scurried off to the training yards as they were meant to.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

At supper, Ulf did not redeem himself in your favor.

“More wine here!” He called out as if he were in a tavern at your mothers table. “Taming a dragon is thirsty work.” He said to the servant girl who served him his wine. As if to woo her, it made you roll your eyes in disgust, “Oh, and some more of these little birds.” He called out

Your mother however wanted to turn the evening's conversation to a more suitable discussion. “A toast to my daughter, and her intended Lord Benjicot Blackwood. Benjicot who shall soon be a Velaryon, and my daughter who shall soon be a bride. You shall be married soon and I know you both will find great happiness and joy.” She said as she stood raising her cup to you and Ben. Ben felt honored, and undeserving of this. He raised his cup to you instead. You smiled and raised your cup. Your cousins and brother did the same, though Jace was still pouting.

“You’re taking ‘er name?” Ulfs voice rang out again.

Ben turned his head down to the end of the table where Ulf sat. “It is a great honor for my children to inherit the name, Velaryon.” He practically hissed though he tried to maintain his manners at the queen’s table.

Though this tension would be cut as Rhaenrya began again, “A toast. To our new riders. The two of you, are not of noble birth, but you have done a thing never dreamed of before now. I have entrusted you with a power only few have known. And I charge you to take it up with fealty and respect. Serve me well and I will make you knights of the realm.” She said wanting to honor but warn them.

“Huh? What do you think of that? We’ll be knights… just like that.” Ulf said, lacking tact as usual.

Hugh grimaced at Ulf’s words, then turned to the queen, “We will not fail you, my queen. What will you have us do?” He asked

“We must strike while we have the advantage.” She responded

“What about Vhagar?” Hugh asked, clearly weary of going against such a large dragon.

Your mother shrugged, “She is fearsome but she is one dragon, and we have seven. She cannot take on us all.”

“I’ll take her by myself. Seasmoke’s a goer he is. We’re afraid of nothing.” Ulf said arrogantly, making you roll your eyes.

“Ondoso zȳhon nyke emagon zirȳla zūgagon hen nykeēdar.” “By his stench I would have thought him fearful of water.” You said under your breath only for Baela to hear. From the little Velaryon you had taught Ben he picked up enough of what you said to have to hold in a laugh.

“I said more of these little birds!” Ulf called out loudly commanding the servants again.

“A knight will conduct himself with grace at the Queen’s table.” Your mother attempted to subtly correct his behavior.

“Best make me a knight then.” Ulf attempted to jest.

“You forget yourself, Ulf.” Jace threatened as he leaned into the table.

“A sense of humor could do you all good.” Ulf said awkwardly as he drank from his cup.

Ben leaned closer to you, “I think you’re quite funny.” he whispered in your ear.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

After supper you walked with Ben through the halls of Dragonstone.

“That's the man who claimed my dead father’s dragon?” You huffed, “I had hoped for whore or a tavern wench.” You were not jesting, this was certainly the worst case scenario.

“Do you want me to kill him?” Ben asked, also not jesting.

You looked at him and smiled, “No.” You shook your head, “I’ll leave that to Vhagar.”

“Vhagar…” Ben said, thinking of the large beast.

“Silverwing could kill Vhagar.” You said, getting lost again in the fantasy of your revenge. “And I could kill Ameond.”

Ben took your wrist, making you stop on your tracks.

He sighed, not wanting to ask what he was about to ask you, “You won’t fly to war will you?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “You don’t believe I could do it?”

“If it were you and Ameond, I know you could. But when your dragons meet, it is not a matter of skill or strength.” He wanted to reason with you

You shook your head, about to continue walking, “I just have to go for her neck. Like she did Arrax.”

Ben took you by your arm and forced you to stop, “I’ll go to war. Kill every green I see. I’ll roar and rampage in the name of your revenge.” His eyes were wide, he was desperate, “I’ll bring Kings Landing to your feet.” He vowed it to you, “I’ll never command you to do anything, never forbid you to do anything. I’ll give you my own sword to ride your beast into battle. But, I keep thinking of it. Being in battle and looking up to seeing you overhead on your beast. I am overcome with pride and admiration but should the greens shoot you down, or Vhagar prevails- I have to beg you selfishly. You’re the only woman I want, the only one I’ve ever loved, the only one I’ll ever love. If you are harmed, or worse I will burn all of Westeros to its soil and me with it.”

You wanted to laugh, not knowing how to respond. You shook your head again, “You’re not my slave-”

“I am.” He got down on one knee, “Willingly- happily.” He said as he took your hand, “There’s not a single fucking thing I wouldn’t do at your command. Not a thing I wouldn’t give you.” His eyes were filled with emotion, “Not a thing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe, happy. If that means massacring Cristan Cole and his armies I will do it. If it means shooting down Vhagar I’ll do it. If it means watching you in battle, so be it. But I beg you- stay.”

You looked down at him, “Ben.” you were at a loss for words.

“Tell me what you wish and I’ll not stop you. I’ll not speak another word of it.” He said assertively.

“I can lean on you?” You asked gently and softly.

“Completely.” He said without hesitation, assertively and without doubt.

You hesitated, but then nodded, “Alright.” You sniffed, holding in tears, “Alright.” You nodded, not wanting to

“Av-ey jorraela.” He attempted to pronounce it though it was not perfect.

You exhaled a sharp laugh, holding in your tears. You held his face in your hands, “Avy jorrāela.”

Note:

Thank you so much for your commission! This was so fun to write! If you want to commission anything check my pinned post :)

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dipperscavern · 17 days ago

Note

i want to engage in flirty banter with robb stark so bad i can feel my scalp peeling from my skull like there’s a huge ass monkey unwrapping it like a banana OOO AH AH AH OO AH AH (monkey noises in case u were wondering why i broke out into song)

cuntlips42 do you know how real this is. it was so real i had to write this

robb stark x fem!reader

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you’d compare the current state of winterfell to a chicken coop when the butcher comes in wielding a blade.

the king and queen of the seven kingdoms are on their way, and nobody is spared from helping prepare to host them. the cooks are preparing a feast, lady stark is dealing with the castle, lord stark is dealing with the winter town, and all of you have been assigned different tasks. arya is helping set the mess hall, bran and rickon are with lord stark, sansa with lady stark — and you, jon, theon, and robb have been told to prepare the rooms they’ll be staying in.

you jumped at the opportunity to prepare a room for the king and queen, choosing jon to accompany you, leaving theon and robb stuck with preparing the rooms for the queens cousins. they’ll be arriving soon, meaning all of your focus is on your task at hand.

so, naturally, you’re distracted when a head of auburn hair appears in the doorway.

"Jon," robb says. "I was starting to wonder."

you and jon both share a quizzical look - you've been at this for all of ten minutes, all spent without robb. robb says your name, which makes both of your heads turn to him. "Y’can't steal Jon to capture my attention."

you catch on quickly, and your eyebrows raise in question. "Oh, I can't?" robb shakes his head, crossing his arms. "Most unladylike." "Can't I?" a servant sheepishly moves past robb to bring the furs lady stark requested be put in the room. you take it from her with a smile, moving to drape them across the bed. "He went willingly. Tell him, Jon." jon's long since opted to ignore your squabble, placing candles throughout the room. his head turns at the mention of his name, and he looks at you both with uncertainty, as if deciding who to side with. it seems you're in luck. "Aye."

"Traitor." robb accuses. you huff a laugh, dividing the furs into two piles. the queen and her ladies are southern through and through, and lady stark said their tolerance for the cold weather is lower than a babes. "Are you going to be of use, Robb, or have you come all this way simply to get my attention?"

he guffaws at this. "Simply?" "Sneaking away from Theon is no simple endeavor. It takes great talent." he speaks with utmost seriousness, as if the others are on your doorstep. "You needn’t go through such effort," you say. "I'm notoriously generous.”

“For my efforts, some might say I’m deserving of my ladies favor.”

you shoot him a look; one that almost makes his knees buckle, regardless of who’s company you’re in. “Who’s to say you don’t already have it?”

you and robb hold each others gaze as he tries to muster a response. seeking out your spotlight and then becoming smitten underneath it; the jokes write themselves. fortunately for robb, the silence is soon interrupted by another voice.

"Robb!"

you, jon, and robb are in sync as you turn — met with a wide eyed theon standing in the doorway. clearly, robb is not as skilled as he thinks. "You said Lady Stark summoned you."

"She did." robb is so sincere in his response, despite your confusion, you almost believe him. you get clarity when he turns pointedly to you. your cheeks heat furiously at the implication.

jons eyes are glued to you, waiting for your reaction as his smile turns upside down in his effort to keep it at bay. theons eyes dart between you and robb in mild confusion before something clicks into place, and somehow, his eyes get even wider. theon shakes his head in disbelief. "Grotesque…”

jon turns around as to not show the large grin on his face at theons use of words. more importantly, at the way he's never used such before, made clear by his inflection when saying it.

theon walks past robb, intentionally catching shoulders with him as he does so in some strange act of defiance. robb is quick to roll his eyes.

theon begins helping you and jon set up, which is appreciated, but with both him and robb here - that means there isnt anyone in the other room. the realization makes you sigh, knowing what must be done; sacrificing your fun for the sake of peace.

you pick up the other pile of furs, walking to robb as theon takes your place. "Come," you turn around, and make eye contact with both jon and theon. "Behave."

robb seems more than delighted at this outcome, smirking at both men as you walk past him. he walks at your side, leaning to take the furs from you.

"You're horrid." "And you're blushing, my lady."

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#dippys asks #cuntlips42 #fawk i need him #sorry this is a bit ass #HEY BUT ITS OKAY #ASS IS OKAY #or at least #that’s what i’ve heard #game of thrones #robb stark #robb stark x reader

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najia-cooks · 1 year ago

Text

[ID: One puffy circle of bread, and three which have been halved to show an internal pocket, on a striped blue and white kitchen towel. End ID]

خبز الكماج / Khubiz al-kmaj (Palestinian flatbread)

Khubiz al-kmaj is a thin flatbread with an internal pocket. It is commonly eaten with breakfast to scoop up dips such as hummus, used to eat stews, served alongside main dishes, and used to make sandwiches and to wrap falafel. "خُبْز," pronounced "khubz" or (in Levantine varieties of Arabic) "khubiz," comes from the root خ ب ز (kh-b-z), which also produces the word "خَبَزَ" "khabaza" (Levantine: "خَبَز" "khabaz"), "to bake."‎

This bread is eaten across the Levant and in Greece, with slight differences in terminology and style. It is variously called "خُبْز العَرَبِيّ" (khubz al-'arabiyy; Arabian bread), "خُبْز "البَلَدِيّ (khubz al-baladiyy; bread from my country), or (occasionally) "خُبْز البيتة" or "البيتا" (khubz al-bita), a borrowing from "pita." ("Pita" itself is perhaps from Greek "πίτα" "pita," or the modern Hebrew "פיתה.") The bread is referred to as "khubiz al-kmaj" in Palestine, from the Turkic "kömeç" / كُمَجْ‎ ("bread baked in ashes"). The collective term for the bread in general is كماج (kmāj); each individual piece of bread is referred to with the singulative "كماجة‎" (kmāja).

Today, kmaj is frequently made with white flour; some people add olive oil or milk powder to ensure a very soft dough. Leila el-Haddad writes that a more traditional method omits milk and uses whole white spring wheat, a whiteish wheat grain harvested in late spring and ground without removing the bran.

Since the late 20th century, many Palestinian households have used an electric cooker (طنجرة الكهرباء; ṭanjara al-kahrabā') to cook kmaj, placing one kmaja inside of the chamber and one on top and allowing both to bake at the same time. These aluminum and tin cookers, which were invented in Gaza and became popular there during the first intifada in the late 1980s, are designed to route electricity through a metal pipe or spiral wire on the underside of their lids, heating both the top and the inside of the cooker simultaneously.

The cookers' popularity can be attributed in part to a curfew that Israel imposed on Gazan refugee camps during the intifada, supposedly in an attempt to restrict the movements of resistance fighters. Refugees in the Jabalia camp in the north, for example, unable to afford home stoves, and without the necessary outdoor space to make familial clay ovens, would have to wait in line for hours every day to get bread from shared ovens, risking curfew violations; household electric cookers were far more convenient. The success of local industry and innovation in the form of Gazan-manufactured technology was also symbolically and strategically important during the first intifada, in which Palestinians employed strikes and boycotts (largely organized by women) of Israeli companies and goods as a strategy of resistance to occupation.

An electric cooker is still today considered a very important tool, as it spares families the need to purchase kmaj (the price of which was soaring compared to the cost of flour in the 2010s, and which was often of inferior quality compared to what could be made at home). They are frequently given as wedding or housewarming presents. Lack of access to electricity, though, imposes a limiting condition on the usage of these cookers, as Israel has for over a decade strangled the flow of power to Gaza: Abier Almasri wrote in 2017 that tasks such as cooking and laundry had to be rushed during the four or so hours a day when electricity was available. In this environment, electric cookers are useful in that they can prepare a lot of bread in a short period of time. Fathia Radwan said in 2022 that she would wake up early, after the nightly power outage, to prepare more than 100 loaves of bread at a time for her family of nine.

Today, the taxes that Israel levies on imports of raw materials into Gaza makes the cost of new electric cookers, which sometimes exceeds 120 shekels (37 USD), too expensive for some families to afford. The difficulty and expense of importing materials, and the impossibility of exporting goods to foreign markets with the advent of the 2007 siege, also limit the number of factories in Gaza that are able to manufacture these cooking pots. The aluminum industry, introduced to Gaza in the 1960s and once the basis of a manufacturing and economic renaissance in the region, deteriorated as a result of the siege, as factories were no longer able to export goods to the West Bank and were newly reliant on imports of raw materials from Egypt. Even parts to repair electric cookers are expensive, due to a tax levied on items judged by Israel to have a "dual," i.e. a possible civilian and military, use.

Still, repairman Iyad Faraj estimates that over half the homes in Gaza have and use an electric cooker, as maintaining, repairing, and operating one is cheaper than having a gas pipe installed (at 68 shekels, 20 USD) and purchasing gas. Electric pots thus stand in many homes as both a utilitarian item, and a symbol of Palestinian ingenuity and resistance to Israel's attempts at impoverishment and starvation.

Support Palestinian resistance by contributing to Palestine Action’s bail fund or to Palestine Legal’s defence fund, by attending court or making a sign to support the Elbit Eight, or by buying an e-sim for distribution in Gaza.

Ingredients:

500g (4 cups + 3 Tbsp) white whole wheat (spring) flour

1/2 Tbsp (5g) active dry yeast

1/2 Tbsp (6.25g) vegetarian granulated sugar

1/2 Tbsp (7.25g) kosher salt

About 2 1/4 cups (530mL) room-temperature water, divided

Olive oil

White whole wheat flour is flour that has a white color once ground, despite the fact that it includes both the bran and the germ of the wheatberry. It is milled from white spring wheat (so named because it is harvested in late spring).

You may instead mix white all-purpose flour and brown whole wheat flour in your desired proportion. Keep in mind that whole wheat flour will need more water and more kneading than white flour. If you’re using all white flour, you will need about 1 1/4 cup (300mL) water.

Instructions:

1. Mix flour, yeast, sugar, and salt in a large mixing bowl. Add water gradually until dry ingredients come together into a sticky dough.

2. Knead the dough on the countertop or in a wide, shallow bowl until smooth, about 5 minutes. (If using whole wheat or white whole wheat flour) continue incorporating water into the dough as you knead to maintain a tacky texture.

3. Fold the dough into a ball and return to the bowl, seam-side down. Pat the top of the dough with some olive oil, cover the bowl, and let rise for an hour.

4. Pinch the dough into about 8 balls of equal size (about 110g each). Cover and let rest for 10 minutes.

5. On a lightly floured surface, roll out each ball of dough into a circle about 1/4" (1/2cm) in thickness. Set dough circles on a surface prepared with parchment paper and cover closely with a kitchen towel or plastic wrap. Let rest and ferment for at least 1 and up to 10 hours.

An overnight rest is traditional in Palestine and will create a more complex flavor in the bread (see note below).

6. Remove each circle of dough from its resting place with a metal spatula and roll it out to a 1/4” thickness again. Preheat a baking stone or sheet in the top third of an oven at 500 °F (260 °C), and then cook breads in the oven for three minutes, until large bubbles have begun to form.

7. Flip bread over and cook for another 3 minutes on the other side, until golden brown and puffed up completely.

8. Wrap breads in a kitchen towel or tea towel and allow to steam for a few minutes while the others cook.

Notes

The climate where I live is dry enough that I have discovered a risk of my breads becoming crackers if I leave them out overnight. The dried-out flatbread does puff up in the oven, but the resulting product is not as nice and fluffy as it should be.

Through experimentation, I have found the best method of both preventing drying out and guaranteeing that the flatbreads will puff up during cooking the next day is:

1. Roll out the dough and place dough circles on a lightly oiled surface. Cover them closely with lightly oiled plastic wrap.

2. The next day, fold dough circles back into balls. Place seam-side down and roll out again on a lightly floured surface.

3. Bake as described above.

If you live in a humid environment, the first instructions given in the recipe above should work for you.

#Palestinian #bread #khubz #baking #breadmaking #long post /

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axelsagewrites · 2 years ago

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Robb Stark*Dream Part Two

Pairing: Robb x f!reader

Summary: After finding out the reader had a special dream about Robb, Robb decided to show the reader what he had dreamed about her.

Warnings: Smut, dom rob, f receiving oral, 18+

Word count: 3214

Masterlist Here

Part 1 Here

You knew as soon as you left the table Theon or Jon would tell Robb exactly what kind of dream you had had but you also could not take the smirks from Theon and Jon awkwardly looking away from you. Once you realised there was no escape from Robb finding out you decided distance was the thing you needed. You excused yourself and began to make yourself far too busy for any of the boys to start their ruthless teasing.

The worst of it was Robb didn’t even know it was about him. But you knew so now you had to act like no one knew encase he figured it out. So instead of risking it you did every task you could imagine over the next three days.

You showed Sansa some new embroidery stitches, helped Arya with her aim in archery, talked with Lady Catelyn about her upcoming nameday celebrations. At one point you even ended up in the kitchen peeling potatoes till Ned happened to see you and insisted it wasn’t necessary of his Lady ward.

After being ushered out of the kitchen you ended up walking to the courtyard, looking for Bran to entertain. This was around the time that Jon and Robb went horse riding so you assumed you would be safe. You soon realised you were wrong as Robb and Jon rode into the courtyard earlier than expected. As Robb began to dismount his horse you saw Bran and Rickon playing and quickly walked over. Robb obviously noticing your pace changed dismounted even faster to catch up, Jon on his heels.

“Lady- “Robb started but you crouched down to Bran and started talking over him.

“Wanna play hide and seek?” you tried to sound innocent, but you could feel Robb staring at the back of your head.

Bran and Rickon instantly perked up at the idea as the older Starks and you typically did not want to play their childish games. “Yeah!” Bran said as he ditched his toy soldiers on the ground.

Rickon was fast behind, “All of you?” the little shit inquired and unknowingly ruined your plans.

“Yeah, little man!” Robb said as he gave his youngest brother a fist bump to celebrate and gave you a knowing smirk. “Jon you in? “Jon must’ve read Robbs mind because he instantly agreed. “Should we do teams? If so, I call dibs on (Y/N),”

You stood up, feeling the colour drain from your face, but thank fully Rickon was not all bad as he quickly pointed out, “We can’t! There’s an odd number,”

“Rickson’s right. Every man for himself,” you agreed causing the youngest Stark to now fist bump you. “Who’s counting?”

“Jon,” Robb said before anyone could object.

Jon sighed but reluctantly went along with his brother’s plan. As Robb was whispering something to Jon you started to back away, giving yourself as much distance from Robb as you could for a head start. Bran quickly explained the rules of how they played hide and seek, you couldn’t hide in bedrooms or in the woods, as then told Jon to count to one hundred.

By the time Robb had turned around you were already at the opposite side of the courtyard and Jon then began to count. Jon had barely said the letter one when you sprinted for the stairs. You would never usually cheat when playing with children but this was a matter of life and eternal embarrassment so you ran as quickly as you could to your chambers, knowing how much of a stickler to the rules the starks were.

You were panting like a wet dog when you arrived at your chambers and flung the door closed behind you. As you took your cloak off to try and cool yourself down you heard footsteps in the corridor outside. You weren’t as clever as you thought.

As quickly and silently as you could you began to slide under your bed, hearing a knock when you were finally underneath. Would Robb really come into a lady’s chambers without permission?

Turns out he wasn’t as much of a stickler as you thought as you heard your door slowly open and saw his boots walk in. Robb gently closed the door behind him, not wanting people to think he had ill intentions or his mother to find out, and he began to walk into the room before suddenly stopping.

You cringed as you realised you weren’t wearing the cloak anymore that you must have dropped in your hurry. There was no point in trying to run now as Robbs boots walked over to the bed before he crouched down, his head peering under the bed and right at your face. A wolfish grin was placed on his face as he reached under and grabbed your arms to pull you out from under your own bed like a child. “Funny finding you here,”

You grumbled under your breath as you pulled yourself up to sit beside Robb on the floor next to your bed. “You cheated,”

“You cheated first.” He shot back but then the grin fell from his face, “You’re avoiding me,”

“Prove it,” you said, more stubborn than any other in the North but it was to no avail.

Robb rolled his eyes, “I just pulled you out from under your bed,” he said before asking, with hurt in his eyes, “Did I do something?”

Your heart clenched as his puppy eyes stared into yours, not realising before how he would feel by your sudden avoidance. You realised you had only made things worse in your attempts to avoid it, “No you didn’t,” you said before flinging your head back with a groan, “It was me okay? I was embarrassed so I wanted to hide until you forgot about it or something I don’t know, okay?”

Robb began to chuckle at your now flushed face, “Its okay,” he said as he took your hand, “It happens its alright. Theon was just wanting to wind you up about it but its whatever. Its not like we can control it,”

“Yeah, but it was just weird cause like,” you started to say but you realised there was no easy way to explain it, “I didn’t want you to know,”

Robb paused for a moment, and you could feel the clogs turning in his head, “Why just me though? Were you avoiding all of us or…?” he asked, trailing off as he looked at you.

You closed your eyes and sighed, “Just you,” you finally whispered, and you felt his hand slip away from yours.

Reluctantly you opened your eyes to see Robb had turned himself to face you straight on, a smirk playing on his gorgeous lips, “Who was your dream about?” he asked the dreaded question, and you felt your cheeks grow hot. His eyes widened as he saw your flush and how your eyes would look at anywhere but him. “Was it about me?” he asked with a new strange shine in his eyes. You glanced at him before nodding and closing your eyes, waiting to be laughed at. Robb chuckled but it wasn’t at you. It was deep and perfect, but it wasn’t mocking or amused. “And what was I doing in this dream?”

You opened your eyes as you felt him lean in closer, his face only a couple inches from yours, his breath fanning your face. “You don’t think im some creep?” you asked, ignoring his original question.

“I’d be a hypocrite if I did,” Robb started as his eyes roamed your face and down your body, his hand moving to rest on your thigh, “But you didn’t answer my question love,” he said as you felt a wetness beginning between your thighs that his hand was so close to yet so far away, “What was I doing to you in your dream?” he asked as his eyes landed back on yours.

His gaze was even stronger than that in your dream and you struggled to speak at first, “It was more me doing things to you,”

“What kind of things?” Robb leaned in closer, his lips grazing your cheeks, “I’d like to dream about them too,” he said as his hand moved further up your clothed thigh to land on your hip, “Maybe try some out as well if you’d like,” his hand gripped your hip tighter and you felt your stomach flutter.

“I was on my knees,” you started but Robb cut you off by gripping your hip and pulling you to straddle his thighs which caused your dress to ride up. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as his hands found the small of your back, “and you were on the bed,”

“What was I making you do dove?” he asked as he took your chin into his fingers, forcing you to look him in his eyes while you admitted your secret dreams to him.

You cleared your throat and tried to look away, but he held your head in place, “You were making me suck your cock,” you finally whispered, and you saw the wolfish glint return to his eyes.

“Is that so?” he said, and you could only nod. Robb grinned as he leant into whisper in your ear, his lips on the edge of it and his breath tingling your face, “Did you like it?”

“Yes, my king,” you said without even thinking about it and now you were face to face with Robb again, his nose brushing off of yours, “Sorry its just- “

“Is that what you call me? In your dreams?” he asked causing your face to flush and eyes to water before you nodded. Robb placed a kiss to your check, “I like that,” he said as he brought his hand to your face, his thumb rubbing against your check, “Don’t be so sad love. I’ve had my own dreams too,”

“You have?” you asked, and Robb nodded.

“So many nights I’ve had dreams of you,” he admitted as his lips fell to start littering kisses from your neck to your jaw as he spoke, “of how you would look underneath me. I would imagine how you would look as you came undone around me,” he said which caused you to shiver and you could feel his smirk as he kissed your jaw before pulling back to have his lips hover over yours, “I’ve dreamt of kissing these pretty lips of yours,” he said as his thumb moved to rub over your bottom lip like he had in your dreams before, “Would you like that?” he asked and you quickly nodded.

Robb wasted no time in closer the gap between you. His lips crashed onto yours and they felt better than you had ever imagined. They were soft but had become slightly rough from the cold northern air. They moved perfectly in sync with your own and the need for air did not seem to matter anymore. His hands crept down to land on your waist, pulling you closer, and on top of his clothed member which you could feel hard under his clothes. Your hands found his chest, feeling how toned he was through his tunic and wanted nothing more than to pull it off. Robb must’ve sensed this as he only broke the kiss to remove his tunic, leaving him in his undershirt, before he latched his lips to yours again.

This time he began to nip at your bottom lip for entry and you were no one to deny your king whose tongue slipped in as soon as you allowed. You moaned into the kiss when you felt his hips buck beneath you, his member rubbing against your clothed wet spot.

Eventually you had to break for air and the feeling of Robbs warm breath against your lips drove you crazy. “Would you like to know what I see in my dreams?” he asked, and you nodded, unable to speak from your desperation.

“I see you and me,” he started before pulling you to your feet from the floor, turning you around to pull the laces of your dress lose, “in my chambers with you in your pretty little shift,” he said as your dress fell to the floor. You shivered at the cold and the touch of his fingers on your back. Robb spun you to face him, your hands resting on his chest, “In bed,” he continued, this time pushing you to fall back on your bed, “kissing you,” he said as he began to crawl over you, leaving a trail of kisses from your thighs to your chest to your throat, “everywhere,” he finished as he kissed your lips again.

Your hands tangled into his hair as one of his moved to squeeze your breast causing you to gasp into the kiss allowing him entrance. You moaned as you felt his finger tracing around your nipple over your thin shift. “I always wondered what you’d sound like,” Robb broke the kiss to say as he continued his teasing, his fingers pinching it in just the right way to cause your whines. “Or how you would feel,” the loss of his hand left you are wishing from more, but your body shivered as you felt it brush up your thigh before settling where you wanted him most. He traced a finger up it is causing you to whine and him to chuckle, “Did you ever dream about this too?” he asked, and you nodded but this time he tutted, “Use your words,” he said as he began to place kisses along your jaw.

“Yes, my king,” you said, and he finally slid his fingers in, stretching you as he did. You moaned as you felt them move into you and more when he began to curl them inside of you.

Without thinking your eyes closed but this was not good enough for Robb, “Keeps your eyes on me or I’ll stop,” he warned and you quickly opened them to see him gazing at your face, “Good girl,” he said as he began to curl his fingers again, “I wanna see those pretty eyes of yours while I fuck you with my fingers,” he said, his thumb now moving to press onto your clit, a whiney moan leaving your lips. “You’re such a pretty little whore, aren’t you?” he said causing the knot in your stomach to grow.

“Thank you,” you whispered causing his smirk to grow, “Please don’t stop,” you begged.

“Do you want to know what else I want to know?” he asked, and you told him yes. “I always wanted to know how you tasted,” he said, and your breath caught in your throat at the idea, “Do you think you deserve that? To have your king in between your legs kissing you in unspeakable ways?”

“Please,” you begged, his fingers still curling inside of you, “I’ll be good please. I promise, I’ll be good for you,” you moaned, and Robb placed a firm kiss on your lips as he removed his fingers from you causing you to whine.

Robb trailed his kiss away from your mouth to kiss down your body finally arriving where he had told you about, “Your so impatient,” he chastised, his breath fanning over you causing you to shiver. Without warning Robb licked up your wet cunt and you let out a strangled moan as your body instinctively pulled away. Robb used his hands to press your hips down in the bed, “Let me take care of you,” he said as he licked again, another moan falling from your lips, “my queen,” he finished before his tongue began its assault on your core which he was now lapping up and moaning into. His vibrations sending shivers down your spine as the knot in your stomach grew huge at the knew sensation of his tongue. He moved his head to line his nose up to your clit, nudging against it with every lick causing you to almost explode at his touch. His tongue began to move in and out of you causing you to bring your one hand out of his hair and up to your mouth to try containing your moans. “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered against your core, “and you sound even better,” he said as he moved his fingers to your hole, diving in and out, curling with every thrust, so his tongue could move to focus on your sensitive nub.

Even your hand struggled to contain your moans when Robb began to suck on your clit. You felt an exploding pressure in your stomach which you struggled to contain but when Robb grazed his teeth against your clit you felt your whole-body tremor beneath him as you came undone from his mouth. You were almost gasping for breath, your eyes wet from the relief that flooded your body. You felt Robb pull away from your core as you stared at the ceiling panting like a dog.

His breathing was also heavy as he came up, his face now covered in your wetness causing you to blush, but he paid it no mind when he placed a strong kiss on your lips. “You are so perfect,” he murmured against your lips. “I don’t think I will ever get enough of you,”

“Good,” you said, your hand moving to hold his face in your hand, “Because I will never get enough of you,” you said as you felt an overwhelming tiredness wash over your body.

“You should rest love,”

“But you didn’t- “you tried to argue but Robb would not hear it.

Robb pressed a kiss to your forehead, “You can return the favour later sweetheart,”

You lay with Robb in a perfect silence, almost fully drifted off when you heard pounding on your door, “We know you’re in there!” Bran yelled through the door, and you felt all the colour drain from your face.

You looked at Robb who was also stark white, “You cheated!” Rickon yelled.

As they tried to open the door Robb sprang out of bed to hold it close. You could hear Jon in the background and quickly scrambled under your covers. “Tell them I fell and hurt myself,” You whisper shouted to Robb who quickly nodded and yelled for his brothers to wait, and he’d let them in. he quickly shoved his tunic over his head and opened the doors as innocently as he could.

Rickon and Bran stalked into the chambers with Jon reluctantly following behind, making sure he was not about to be scarred by the sight in front of him. Rickson’s face dropped in confusion, “Why are you in bed?”

“She fell- “

“-up the stairs- “

“- I had to help her here- “

“-we didn’t cheat,” you finished your story which thank every lucky star Rickon believed. Bran clearly had his doubts but was too young to understand what Jon knew had happened. However, at Robbs suggestion they get to play with his real sword Bran dropped the subject. Lady Catelyn may be upset when she finds out what Robb had let them do but you both knew it would be far worse if she found out what you had done moments before they had barged in.

Taglist: @clairacassidy @twilightrows

#robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark #robb stark smut #game of thrones smut #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #Robb stark x reader #game of thrones x reader #got x reader smut #Robb stark x reader smut #fanfic #smut #smut x reader

1K notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 2 months ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

63 - Laws of Gods and Men

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

Length: 16.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, child harm/abuse, descriptions of gore and violence, past traumas

Notes: Next week either you can have the Jon flashback chapter, or modern!au part 4, so let me know if you have a preference which comes first. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

“Lord Petyr Baelish, step forward.”

The silence through the hall felt staggering. Not even whispers were given thought as men and women alike only stared at the man in question with a narrowed glare matching nearly to every one of them. As if only then as Jon spoke, did Littlefinger realize the degree of guard surrounding the court. Up at the main table behind where you sat with Benjen beside you, was five members of what had become known as the Queen’s personal guard, all fully equipped with weaponry and behind you specifically was Theon, fully armoured. Behind Jon and downward to Sansa, Arya, and then Bran as Meera stood just off to the side away from main view but enough she could get to him if need be, did equally as armoured and ready members of the Stark household guard also remain firmly present. One of the same household guard seemed to be stood at the walls adjacent of each end of the table and more were placed throughout the room both behind the crowd and in front of it.

If somehow even more intimidating, when normally the witnesses of the smallfolk of Winter Town normally come stand and watch the proceedings of the Northern Court at the helm of their new King, were instead, men and women all dressed in only one way to interpret. Where the common people normally stood to watch, instead all around were the arrivals whom could be found in and around Winterfell or by Tormunds side. The Free Folk most involved in their new affiliation with the Northern people on a daily basis, stood as their own witness as well, if not to present a unity against what was to come.

Were you to wager, you would put gold that the front of Starks before him were all matching in their stern solidarity to the degree he did not expect. He always assumed he was the smartest man in the room, but his advantages were running thinner and thinner as the world around him seemed to twist and turn into something entirely beyond any one persons control. Things all bearing down on the real which one singular man could not always manipulate to his benefit, but it would not be an easy task to change that, nor reveal to the man himself that his house of cards had begun to fall without his knowledge.

Yet the look in his eye as he spoke presented that of a man whom begun to put the pieces together that he had walked into something he knew nothing of. “May I inquire your Grace, what this is about?”

Jon looked at him with eyes dark and yet a steady calm in his voice as it projected with unquestionable authority throughout the room. “Lord Baelish, you’ve been involved with my family for many years. Through my blood in the Starks, of my brothers and sisters to House Tully, and to my wife’s b birth, House Baratheon. Most recently, you were the reason my sister Sansa could be returned home to Winterfell safely, and for that I thank you.”

“It was my honour truly-”

Cutting him off, there was but a flash in the mans eyes which could clearly be read as something almost in an anger at being interrupted, yet blind sighted to the words coming from Jon as he continued. “But that’s not all you’ve done. And it’s those reasons you’ve been summoned to court. To answer for your crimes.” The silence in the room, one could hear near anything had a single person broke that stern quiet. In a steady tone, Littlefinger asked what crimes it was he was here to supposedly answer for, but the moment your name, in it’s entirety came out did the realization in him grow. “To answer for the crime of conspiring to murder the Queen in the North.”

He said nothing, which was smart. His eyes flickered to you, but you did not blink, breathe nor move one single bit. Biting down on your tongue as if to not even allow a twitch of your muscles peek through, he read nothing from you which gave away the nerves flowing through you. You didn’t wish for this to have come around to you, but you could not change that and you would stay at Jons side no matter how much you wished the eyes around looked anywhere else.

You had not often seen a trial within your time in Kings Landing, but in contrast, this looked far different. Taking place in the throne room, so always something grand and decorated with light shining through the windows would peek through. Two sides of seating built up like the stands of a crowd for a tourney, and in the middle of the space up by the steps was the podium. One could sit or stand, but chains were placed on their wrists attaching them to the spot. Robert would sit as judge in one seat, and one on either side always consisting of the same judges. His Hand of the King Jon Arryn on his right, and his brother, Stannis on the other. Any relevant parties to the matter would always sit off to either side of them as well, creating a sense of organization and almost ease in the way the room looked and sat.

This was not the same. He stood freely without chains in the middle of the clearing as the Northerners around sat and stood and watched with guards posted to keep him from acting out any. Not just a King and two judges, but the family remaining to Jon sat at either of his side as a symbol of a strength, or a unity not seen much in the capitol. The darker walls of Winterfell as snow and clouds surrounded made the sunlight dripping in more doused in a blueish tone, almost imposing in contrast to the brightness of the Red Keep.

Addressing both the man and room, Jon laid out the details of the charge before any questions could even be asked as if the story was brand new to him. You forced your eyes forward without room to see the nerves behind as Jon again brought up your name. “Some months ago, while attending to personal matters in Barrowton, she was kidnapped and put up in a trail of outlaws against impossible charges she had no way to defend herself against. This was part of an elaborate plan meant to result in her being found guilty, and executed by these outlaws. You’ve been brought here today, Lord Baelish, to answer to the accusation that this was an attempt to assassinate the Queen in the North, created and planned by you.”

Littlefinger looked to you, peeling them back to Jon as if he could again use that lightness in his voice as a shield where one no longer existed. “I was in the Vale for many years, your Grace. And in Kings Landing for much longer before that. How could I be responsible for an attempted murder thousands of miles away?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out, my Lord.”

A smaller stand just off to the side door by the top of the hall was the only new addition. Positioned to be seen and heard by judge, accused, and witnesses alike. Being told he would be given the chance to speak, you knew out bursting was not going to be what he did. Littlefinger wasn’t so stupid to say anything at anytime and you knew he would save it all for the worst moment. Your eyes did catch however, the glance to where your mother sat with Gendry enough to the side and back that it appeared as if they were just part of the watching crowd. The moment his eyes went from Gendry, back up to you did your breathing hitch in your chest, but you refused to allow it to exhale with any shake. Sensing Arya’s watchful gaze taking in the entire scene, you dared not think what she would feel when realizing how long you hid it from her, but it would come out eventually.

Jon was smart though, where he started off. The crime to be slowly connected and revealed through almost a recounting of events until it built and built, the first to speak was, to Littlefinger no doubt, one he saw no reason to put any fear into having him speak. Seldom would such a thought occur to you, but you could not find reason to dismiss it once it found its way into your head. More on the quiet side compared to men of the North, and more well spoken but also in a kinder way he appeared without any threat, and his size would be scrutinized by those whom cared.

Littlefinger was a man whose work was deeply rooted in how things and people looked around him, so of course you saw not a scrap of worry as the first entered the hall. Asking him to state his name, you also knew Jons time as Lord Commander likely long since prepared him for this side of the man as good as his brother, turned King. “Samwell Tarly.”

Jon asked with an even tone, if he was there the night of your kidnapping, and thus Sam was let loose with Jons full trust to say what needed to be said and nothing more. It was not a coincidence that Jon had chosen Sam to relay the events start to finish, rather then Gendry. Keep him out of the focus of attention, and giving a well spoken highborn within the Nights Watch the chance to establish a trusting basis. “I was, your grace. I had met her earlier in the day before it all happened.”

Explaining the simple facts of the story, you knew you gave nothing away to him that he could read but you felt Sam just barley meeting your eyes as he talked around the details regarding the lies and mess your presence caused right away, a smoothness which none else would pick up on whom was not there to witness the hostility. Jon took advantage of the lull in Sams recounting of meeting you, knowing to establish Sams credibility, though to Sams amusement not that you nor Jon picked up on, was he asked it the same way you asked him. “What would a man of the Nights Watch be doing in Barrowton?”

Sam sensed it likely, his attention more towards the room away from Jon knowing both were aware of such details already. “Before being crowned King in the North, I first knew Jon Snow in the Nights Watch. He had been elected Lord Commander, after avenging the mutiny and murder of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont.” Your eyes flickered to spot not just Maege you realized, but two familiar figures watching as well. One a mirror of her mother, and the other still just as small but just as feirce as her older sister and mother beside her. Clever too you thought, appeal even moreso your side to the North. “And after leading the Nights Watch through the night Mance Rayder attacked Castle Black with an army of wildlings.”

Again your eyes flickered, that time to the other side of the room. A situation you felt you knew nothing about, battle in and of itself fought and won by Jon and somewhere in there your father had a place. The event which led to the only reason any true salvation of your relationship with your father was made, the strange yet respecting dynamic between Stannis and Jon. Looking at the wild yet harsh gaze of Tormund, you could only wonder the life lived leaving to being on separate sides of a violent battle to being as close friends as could be, between he and Jon.

Sam continued regardless. “Our Maester had fallen ill sometime after that, and I was sent with him to the Citadel in Oldtown to both possibly begin studies to return as a replacement for Maester Aemon, and to see if I could find any helpful information on the Others and the Long Night.” The crowd was silent and serious while Littlefinger raised an eyebrow as if thinking he was surrounded by fools. “It was when I had discovered information I thought Jon should know when I learned he had become King. So I made my way into the North through Barrowton to make my way to Winterfell, when I had met the Queen. Who was there on personal business.”

Your eyes found Littlefingers as Sam continued, the details of what happened, the fires, the fight, the confrontation as you both stared at one another. He knew. He had to of always known. The way he almost raised one eyebrow in knowing, saying what was going wholey unsaid. Your eyes dared not leave his and risk flickering to Gendry, it would give it away, it would give him more fuel to add to his fire building to burn you with. You were well aware, you were not exactly a person whom lended themselves to being painted in the best of lights at times.

“She didn’t have a chance. They threw accusation after accusation that only made her look like a traitor to the memory of her late husband. They blamed her, saying she had conspired to take the King in the Norths crown from it’s rightful heir, and give it to a bastard with no claim but it was only her word against theirs. They had a story in their minds they thought was true, and there was nowhere it could go but finding her guilty.”

You hated thinking of it, the thought of it all. How much that falsehood of a creature wanted you to pay for what her demonic, twisted memories of Catelyn Stark claimed against you. It had never been about rights or crowns, it had all been a ruse to punish you for the son that never came back. It had all been to make you pay for her hatred of Jon, with your life. And worse too, you had been willing to do so then and you still would now. This plan against you alone still managed to taunt Jon with the things he grew up knowing he would never have nor be. Every freedom granted to him now, was still always being painted against him for being a bastard. It still refused to go away, even now.

“How do you know the accused?”

In truth, you were not even sure you had once appeared as if you moved in the slightest. Hidden more by the table before you, your hands were all but begging to dig into your palms. Instead tightening in the fabric of your dress almost as it to tear a whole into it just to alleviate some of this feeling. You knew why this all had to be dragged back out once more, but that did not change the fact that you hated it was about you.

Speaking with more of a passiveness you were used to from the man, it had struck you the thought if being sober made Thoros of Myr more or less insufferable. But too you sat there, thinking strikingly of what he had said. That there were no words in any language to describe the feeling existing within both of you wit what you had been able to do, and it made you somehow more uncomfortable. How much worse did you come off as you wondered, if not sober did this appear to be the form of most tolerable he could be. “He was on the small council of King Robert, I was a member of his court. Our paths crossed from time to time.”

You dared not ask yourself to which degree brothels were included in such endeavours. Beside you, Jon had not even the slightest bit of inclination towards that question appearing in his own head as he indicated to you. “How did you go from part of the Kings court to the Brotherhood Without Banners, involved in her kidnapping?”

Thoros at the least, was an honest man to an insufferable fault. Telling the same story Beric Dondarrion had told Jon, but without the ghastly slight of a man littered all over with memories of previous deaths to distract. Ned Stark, the Mountain, the Riverlands, all circling around to fighting supposedly for the people as part of you felt the bite to point out the people, the common people they claimed to fight for were included in those that night they lured you out. But what was worse, was her. The talk of whom had led them to the North and in your direction.

The memory of a woman whom died a mother to you, but whose pale eyes stared down into yours and hissed with a vitriol that she wished she had never preyed Jon survived the pox as an infant. That she wishes Robbs son had been cut out of you before you died with him, because wouldn’t that be so much easier. A living son and heir, and this fight of whom claims for what would never exist and yet you dared not trace where under your layers, a scar told the story of an unborn son whom did not survive.

A dark, growing weight in your stomach rising up your chest. The pressure placed on your lings acting as something to suffocate as the thoughts increased, as did the force within you to tell such memories to stay away. Worse still, the three Starks beside Jon having to hear of the memory of their own mother torn to shreds in an impossible magic which made her monstrous. The worst which you could imagine they would think of her final fate and yet there was no hiding from that truth.

That hateful thing walking in her visage was a lie you and her children would remember as her final part of your lives, but at least for them, their final memory of their mother wasn’t drenched in horror. They mother they parted from was alive, and loving. The one you parted from had her throat slit after watching all she had left, lay dead on the ground before her, and the anguish of that night, or the demon whom came for you, were your only options.

Lady Stoneheart was all that remained to Catelyn Stark and yet you knew hearing of her was a better final image then the true one you shared not with people. You hardly remembered a thing, you could hear voices and cries and blurs of Robb by you but nothing a memory that had any weight. But Thoros of Myr stood there recounting it all.

That time you dared not look at Littlefinger, what he felt about her you did not care. He had not the right to care, not now, not after what would happen here.

Jons voice almost startled you back into the present, your mind having drifted so far you could’ve forgotten you sat in that hall. “How did you know all this?”

He need not point the finger, more would come. Jon wanted his basis covered, no stone left unturned, as he let the vauge answer be unchallenged as it truly was honest. “I have no idea. We were told what we were told, that she got her information from someone close to her. Who that was, we didn’t know and she wasn’t a woman who gave us much room to question that. But one thing was clear, it wasn’t yourself her mind was really set on.” Commenting with a confidence that it was indeed, a violent inclination towards you, you again said nothing, nor moved. You had been a statue for this entire trial thus far, and you had not a clue when anything else would return.

You just wished for this part to be all over, you didn’t want to sit there and let Jon find justice for you, it didn’t matter. What happened then did not matter compared to the things Jon was fighting now, you knew dealing with Littlefinger had to be done, but you hated his best way was to go through you first. You wanted to leave everything of those nights, the memories they caused, the images and sounds they conjured back up, you wanted all of those to go away forever. To be picked up by the cold winds and blown so far from reach never to be seen again.

Jon had never forgotten nor forgiven almost losing you in those nights, considering how you both had found yourself parting ways, but you hated it. You wanted him to care more about things that weren’t you, but with the advantage of knowing saying it to him as such would not go over well. So you stayed still as a statue, and as silent. This was his Kingdom, he could handle attacks on those within his Kingdom as he saw fit.

The slime dripping from his voice, as Littlefinger had the audacity to speak up. “Your Grace, if I may ask the witness one question?” Formal and polite, he played it well, thus Jon gave only one rigid nod with darker watchful eyes drift from him, right over to you before jumping to Thoros. “Was this leader of yours after her death, or simply justice in whatever form that would’ve come in?”

You felt Thoros looking to you, but your eyes casted downward to the nothing of the table before you. What truly was even left of your life you ever wanted to revisit? How little of who you were wasn’t painted over by something you still felt a heavy guilt for? How much of your failures since being with him again, did Jon have to take care of in the aftermath?

Smooth was the way it was answered though, eyes flickering towards you again as Thoros spoke. “We were after justice, but in the eyes of the Lord of Light, there is no punishment for the guilty but death. In our eyes there is no half way. If half an onion is black with rot, then it’s a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil.”

Hours ticked by in your mind, in place of the minutes it truly was. You had the final nail to hammer in for what this was leading up to, but you wished you could disappear until needed and let it play out without you bearing witness to defending your honour. Perhaps you could’ve been up where you had Gilly watch the baby. Sam had grown to a boy of three and much more he was learning to talk, you could help her with him, see how well she’s done with reading on her own. You could simply hold little Eddard in your arms as he slept and focus away from what was too much about you.

You wished there was another way to seek out your defence then this, you wished there was anything else as strong that had nothing to do with you.

He hadn’t seen it coming, the things to come as the next witness was called. So far up North Littlefinger likely assumed Jons reach was limited, he assumed what information Jon had was based on what he only could guess on his own. He very distinctly, had not guessed the sheer idea that not only would he be betrayed by the people he manipulated around him, but that he had not seen coming that those he simply looked down on as lesser then could ever see through the facade he put up for himself.

Thin cloak and tunic both matching, the colours stood out more then most would have been seen wearing in this area. The fabric, the designs all looking like one whom would stand most days in the sun high in the sky rather then any style of dress and colour looking to keep what little warmth existed, tight against their person. The clasp holding together their cloak being worn like robes was in the shape of a shield. Bronze in colour and black iron studs sitting within the middle. Were one to look closer, the markings surrounding the edges could be seen in the shape of runes.

Yet what stood out most was not the man himself, but the hardly concealed look crawling upon Littlefingers face as he approached the stand. As all were within formalities, he was asked to state his name. “Ser Yohn Royce of the Vale, Lord of Runestone.”

They acted with nothing but stern formality, as if this winding mystery had not started with him. Jon asking with his head gesturing somewhat towards the middle of the hall. “Do you know this man?”

The look shared between Ser Royce and Littlefinger was what you could call unique. A knowing on one yet the confusion of the other, the situations had flipped and the confused was now with no understanding when he once thought he surely held all of the cards. But Ser Royce did not linger, losing back towards Jon. “I do. Lord Petyr Baelish, widower of the late Lysa Arryn.”

Jons face remained neutral, nothing smug or condescending or even holding a single hint that Jon knew far more about what he was to say then any other. “And what do you know of his crimes?”

If you were to glance beyond Jons person to Sansa, you would’ve seen her blue eyes unblinking as she stared at him. Her final parting times from the man she had still been masquerading as Alyane Stone and was told to see him as little more then a useful fool to hide her away in the Vale once she let the truth be known. In what had been told of her the eve before, the details of how Jon came to any of these conclusions were not explained.

He rightfully knew, letting her sit in on this trial, learning most of the how and what for herself would be good enough to allow her the freedom to choose what to believe. And as Ser Royce spoke, you and Jon both knew that this was not nearly the worst of the truth. “I cannot speak in absolutes of his guilt, but I can relay the details of what’s led me to my suspicions.”

It was interesting as he spoke, at least to you. The simple fact that he had not given the identity of the confidant whose raven accidentally was brought to him and not Littlefinger. You wondered why not, if he was here to give the details of what he found, why not speak it. Why keep it in the shadows, and the moment your eyes flickered to Littlefinger, it seemed he sensed the same thing.

Ser Royce was nothing if not a well spoken man, a bit on the blunt side at times but never rude nor abrasive over the subjects. A squire gave him a raven meant for Lord Baelish, with the speakings of rumours far North written as the whispering of a spy. Speaking that Jon had married you the night returning from Dragonstone, and that there had been no time for interference on that matter. That Littlefinger seemed to hold an interest in the King and Queen in the North yes, but more specifically, the interest was held greatly in discussing you but he at the time did not know why.

Seeking more information, he had uncovered a great deal of twisting and turnings of people within the North and Winterfell which were all connected to this web of spies tying back to Littlefinger, and much of it, was about you. What you did, where you were, who you spoke to, but that it did not last long. Soon after that was he looked into what he had stumbled across, had Littlefinger left ever so briefly on what he called business matters.

It needn’t be said that the timeline already the North both knew and had been established here today, that the time Littlefinger had briefly left the Vale did it soon align up with the incident in Barrowton. Sansa’s eyes caught Littlefinger, whom failed at any imploring looks to get her to have faith. Her eyes flickered from himself, over to your still yet watchful eyes on Ser Royce, did more of something angering and unsettled filter within her blood.

Turning now more towards the crowd before him, did the story shift slightly, shifting into territory that Jon knew, Littlefinger wished for him to think was his only conclusion for this trial. “After that, I had begun correspondence with the King in the North as to attempt to uncover this suspicious plot surrounding Lord Baelish.”

Speaking up suddenly, Arya had asked the pressing question which she knew the crowd would wonder themselves. To Jon and Sansa both that answer was easy, but you knew he was quick enough to sense not everyone could make that connection right on their own. “Why? You didn’t know him at all, or his wife. Why risk helping him?”

Ser Royce kept eye contact with her, and almost a flicker of familiarity came across his face of memories long since passed. “I knew your father, Lord Eddard Stark. He was sent to the Vale as a young lad to serve as a ward to the late Jon Arryn, along with Robert Baratheon. Half of his life they were raised within the walls of the Eyrie, and I watched both grow from boys before going off to live their lives as men. Now both are gone, and what sort of man would I be if I didn’t do whatever I could do help those they left behind.”

All three of you he looked towards, yourself, Jon and Sansa but said little on the matter of specifics. It spoke for itself, at least the general idea of it spoke for itself. Those details, like much in this trial, Jon knew not to throw out all at once and overwhelm with too much. Too much he had said the night before to you, meant that he could only defend himself against so much at once and lies or not, Littlefinger had every right to defend against what he was accused of.

“There was little reason the King could find on his own for why such events in Barrowton would have occurred, but little I could do from so far while on my own. All we could know for sure, was that Lord Baelish found interest in any instability to be found and exploited between the King and Queen.” Looking with a distaste seen only within the shining of his eyes did Lord Royce state almost to the man directly. “His interest in her specifically, seemed to be only matched by his interest in Lady Sansa.”

Whispers spoke through out without any doubt that time, and the peeling of eyes from Ser Royce to Sansa herself finally settled on Jon, but found something only giving the man unease. A darker look sat in Jons eyes as his face was both seething yet appearing as calm as he could be. As your eyes drifted enough to catch Sansa’s, you recognized the look. A shame not hers yet with nowhere to go but feel as if she was responsible for a grown mans ill desires. But he was not done, and the guilt she felt you realized would only be matched once more by the implication about to be relayed.

“I only have my word of what I speak of his character, and yet I strongly believe there is reason to not doubt his intentions are not honourable.”

You had last seen him a small boy in Kings Landing. Always kept by the close watch of Lysa and an uncanny lack of independence for even a boy of eight. She sheltered Robin from the world, and thus he held no idea how to behave in the real one. His septa must have had been blessed with the power of patience to handle him as much as she did with not a hint of fuss.

But he was a troubled boy. Ill and sickly but always with tantrums and outbursts. Not a clue how to behave and Lysa only seemed to make it worse. There had been days you would walk into the small council chambers to see Lord Arryn there exceptionally early and you could hardly blame him. Sometimes if one wandered close to the tower of the Hand, Robins yelling could be heard and Lysa would do nothing to make him stop. Working in such an environment must have been grating on the poor man.

Some days you would assist in his work, just to give him company that did not shout or cry insistently throughout the day. But this, was something not even your most frustrated thoughts on the petulant boy had come close to. “Lord Baelish had begun giving the boy sweetmilk to sleep. Every night given to him to calm his outbursts, but when the Maester had brought it up to me he seemed concerned. Telling me that when he had questioned Lord Baelish on the matter, he had begun sending another to request it for him, as if to avoid what he was not willing to answer.”

Before anything could be said, Jon had looked to the crowd with much more distinct of a distrust on his face to what he seemed to understand was coming. “Maester Wolkan, do you know why this would be concerning?”

The answer was unsettled to most in the room, despite how little Littlefinger reacted in anyway with dark eyes now looking up towards Jon, whom only stared back with something hardly one could lie and say was not a glare as Wolkan spoke. “Adding drops of sweetwine to milk can replicate the effects of essence of nightshade, help soothe the nerves and give the drinker an easy dreamless sleep. But adding too much of it, or using it everyday over time will cause it to build up in a mans blood. Act almost as a poison, giving the user a very slow death which to many, would appear as a natural illness.”

You knew what such a thing implied, but part of you desperately did not wish too. Someone who could look at a child and only see it as something in their way, as something to be disposed of once it was an inconvenience to their plans. Desperate you suddenly felt as it flipped in your stomach, to stay seated and remain at Jons side.

Growing however was something boiling up inside of you, as if the simple fact that he was not within your sights worried you. As if Littlefingers presence within Winterfell, knowing what he wanted and would try to do to get what he wants, you felt what you refused to yet acknowledge was panic. He was fine, you had seen him not long ago and he was fine. But wouldn’t it be easier of course to get rid of you, if you didn’t have a son any longer to fight for-

Your heart almost stopped and started as fast as it pounded now. Hands tensed further and further without your notice did your nails dig enough into their wrappings that the fabric begun to slowly seep into a red covering the usual white tints. It was harder afterall to separate a man and wife when they had a child between them. But you sat, ignoring the ever so brief look of Jon towards you with a narrowing expression of worry towards your unusually stiff demeanour.

But the thoughts refused to go away, you couldn’t even hear what was being said in the court. What if it was you it was being given too, and your son fed from you and- your blink nearly allowed the tears you didn’t notice were forming to come out. Watering behind your eyes that few could see from where you sat. As soon as the words passed through your mind you felt that guilt as if you did it yourself. If something happened to the baby, that Jon would blame you.

Robin would be thirteen by now, only a year younger then-

“They were boys.”

No one but you could hear, the echo of Robbs voice through the halls in Riverrun as Willem and Martyn Lannister were laid out on a sheet before you both in the middle of the night. It did not matter what age or innocence those boys held, men with enough hate or evil in their hearts would be willing to do anything to those whom they could not see as worthy of their life.

The bright green eyes your son held, the same green eyes that were seen the day you finally met your baby sister, the same which looked up to you with a little smile held by a young girl whom did not understand her baby girl would never get the life she dreamed for her. The girl whom stood there watching the gold cloaks murder that little baby right in the middle of-

It was nothing proper of you, but you could not care to think how it looked as whispers were spoken amongst the crowd the second you pushed from your seat. The guard by the door into the corridor opening and closed it swiftly without any fuss as the halls remained rather empty, those whom could spare their work to watch the spectacle did so.

But one way, then another, then the steps and up through the door almost throwing it open before you realized your lungs ached as they heaved for air. Gillys head shot up in a startle along with little Sam in her lap, your naming coming from her in a breathless worry, “Is everything alright?”

You didn’t answer, your eyes found the little bassinet closer to the fire and dropped to you knees to seek out his level sat down on the chair. Eyes not yet open but a slumbering face now twisting as he slowly woke up with a grumble and small hints of cries for someone having done so. One hand reaching up to run over his head with a gentle shush, he seemed to recognize your voice but the upset cries still creeped out. As soon as his little arms fought from his swaddle out to you did you gently pick him up, moving to stand as you held him close against you.

Turning to press your lips to the top of his head with soothing words meaning very little as you eased him from being upset into recognizing it was only you, and everything was alright. Only then, did you notice your surroundings, everything was alright. He moved to hide in your neck with a now muffled cry in distress as he no doubt had picked up on yours. But he was alright, nothing looked wrong nothing was wrong but yet you stood with your head dizzy at the whirlwind around you.

Gilly had gently put little Sam down, telling him to go play as she slowly approached you from behind, your name coming from her quiet tone, but your eyes closed you had not the energy yet willing to acknowledge any that was not him. The noise in your head too loud, and the warmth behind your face stung at your eyes without the ability to hide them when you inevitably opened them to the room once more.

Slowly her voice finally reached your hearing as she called to your name once more. “Is it over? What happened?” You appreciated her concern, but gentle rocking to ease calm into little Eddard as you needed it to return to you, you shook your head.

Turning only to press your lips against his head, did you whisper, keeping him cradled close against you. “I-” Do you lie? What explanation could make sense of such unbecoming and erratic behaviour? It did not come up as smooth as some lies go down, but you forced it out in a strained mutter all the same. “I just needed to check on him is all. I shouldn’t be away from him for so long.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind you felt thankful at Gilly’s lack of hesitation to rest a comforting hand on your back, leaning more to try and speak closer to you directly then from behind, but without pushing you. The change of subject almost seemed odd at first to what of you could hear her through the blood rushing rapidly in your veins. “I’ve never been away from Sam before.” Your head barley tilted to the side to indicate you heard her. “From the day he was born, I’ve never been without him. I’ve never been away from his side for more then a few minutes, really. I couldn’t imagine having to be away from my son for so long right after he was born.”

The sensation of racing in your heart begun to settle, the realization that not every facet of your life was dictated by others, that not everything would be lost to you the way it once was in such blood. Muttering as you looked down at little Eddard, now awake but snuggling into where he lay at your neck and shoulders, a warmth only then coming through you to feel any manner of rational again. “I was apart from him for hours after he was born.”

Slowly moving to sit in the seat, Gilly had quickly moved the bassinet to the ground as she held the back of the chair. Shifting the baby to rest down in your arms, leaning over to keep his bright eyes looking up at you as you murmured to continue. “I only had him for three hours, I had only fed him once when..” Gilly nodded from what you could see from the side of your vision, she didn’t force you to say it. “I was away from him for hours right after he was born. I was terrified by the time I’d get back to him it would be too late.”

Hands trying to reach up to grasp at either yours or what he could catch of strands of your hair did a little laugh crack out, along with the smile matching on his which no doubt would grow up to look exactly like Jons. “He adores you, I don’t think you have to worry about not protecting him just because you sometimes can’t be with him all day.”

Shaking your head, your smile melted into something tender, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to look away from him as you could continue to see he was as healthy has he was this morning, as he was the day before and the day before that. Everywhere in your life you felt as if you could see the bodies of dead children follow you, their memories haunting you just like the blood soaking Robbs hand that was the last of a son you’d never know was within your sights.

Already things would come for you, for all of you when the winter storms breached the Wall, but as you sat there part of you could only consider, if his plan here worked, whatever it truly was, would he have hurt your son? Would he have harmed Jon? Your life was one thing, theirs was far more precious to you. Little hands drew your attention, a laugh leaving you despite the thoughts swimming in your head. Looking up, you nodded over to a shall sitting across a chair belong to Gilly, “Would you mind? He needs to be fed and-”

A small smile came over her, a knowing you rarely felt in mothers around you it seemed. “Of course.” Coming back over as soon as she grabbed it, you had already undid the easy laces to the front of your dress, a surprised noise leaving you as she made herself comfortable wrapping it around you. “I was out there for months with little Sam, I got used to covering the two of us quick.”

Finding a seat as you muttered a thank you, and an internal one to the Mother for gracing you with a son that had not a single issue with latching, you almost felt a relaxing come across your bones. The paranoia slowly leaving you, knowing you fed him with nothing but your milk and monsters like Littlefinger had not tainted that. Glancing up, Gilly had taken a seat opposite of you by the fire, something on her mind. “You can say whatever it is you want to say, Gilly.”

“Sorry, sometimes I remember who you are and that I’m supposed to be proper around you.” A smile crossed your lips as you glanced up to her and back down to the baby telling her that you much preferred she not treat you that way it seemed to put her more comfortably at ease. “He’s doing all this to protect you.” Your brow raised in question. “Jon. I mean he wants to protect his whole family, but he’s doing this mostly to protect you. When he and Sam think they’re alone, all Jon does is talk about you, that hes angry you came back and the world won’t leave you and him be.”

In your heart you knew that, but something flipped in your chest at hearing someone else say it with ease, the way people with ease would comment on how Robb felt about you. If you looked closer, you might be able to see traces of a scar haunting you of a son that never was, but before that was the small sight of the real one feeding from your breast. How much you’d do anything to protect him and Jon, but sometimes it was easy to forget. That Jon didn’t just want to protect his son, that people wanted to protect you.

Benjen had looked for you himself to protect you, he chose that on his own. Jon risked everything with a newborn with him to find you before you were taken away from him. And then he comes home, and watches as a plan unfolds around his brother and sisters that means to separate you from him, and put your life in danger once more.

Your voice was quiet as you all but murmured in the air between you and Gilly. “All I started to think of down there was how painful it would be for Jon to lose all of this now, the way it hurt me to lose Robb that night. I couldn’t sit there and relive all of that for the sake of justice because all suddenly could think was how it would feel to put Jon through what I went though.” Eyes glancing to the fire, your tone lowered just a pinch. “While I’m worried about it, he’s the one actually trying to stop it, trying to prevent it. It’s just...not easy accepting that.”

Gilly only commented that it wasn’t easy accepting that Sam sent her away once trying to protect her. “When the other wildlings came, Sam thought I was dead. It took me days to get back to Castle Black and once I saw him again all I cared about was that we were together. It didn’t matter why I was upset before, or he was angry with himself for it.” Asking gently when you got there, her answer almost took you by surprise. “The night the Mance Rayder attacked Castle Black. Part of me still wonders if Sam would’ve stood and fought as much as he did that night if he still thought we were dead. That protecting me gave him a reason to fight even though he always tried to claim he wasn’t good at it.”

“Well, he’s gotten you this far.” Gilly only came back saying that Jon had done the same for you. It almost felt nice, a mutual understanding of having such a strange and difficult to explain love for someone that doesn’t always look like the right thing to others. Sam did the things he did to protect her and you didn’t look at him as if he was wrong for it.

But Jon was doing this for you, and you had every faith in him he could. But as you sat there, allowing the time to pass not focusing on what could possibly be said down in the hall, you considered one more thing. Sam had sent Gilly away to protect her and she made her way back to him, Jon wanted to protect you from Littlefinger, but maybe it was your turn to make your way back to Jon.

Though, you had moreso it seemed, meant that in a metaphorical sense.

The guilt had been established. No trial needed, no public proceedings. Barbrey Dustin had sat in that room and confessed every single detail without holding back. But sitting there now, it was obvious to Jon even moreso then that day, the shame which had grown within her for such actions. He did not wish to condemn her as an evil woman, and now more then ever she had begun to prove him right. It did not take away what she already did, but she had been upfront.

Littlefinger had any and every chance to speak for himself the truth, and he took not one of such opportunities. Already he had betrayal in Ser Royce long before now, and to thus sit here and be stripped down by a woman whom had spied for him the horrific details of what she knew.

Once Jon gave her the freedom to speak, off she had went. As if the moment her mouth opened the air never run out. Rarely needing to interject, Jon had only asked her why it was she never had any instructions from him during the year after the night at the Twins regarding you, if she had known you were alive. And it only served to add onto the falling image he still stood with. “Until Roose had made the move to Winterfell, only a small garrison of his men knew she was alive. I never informed Lord Baelish of the information.”

“Why?”

Glancing back to Jon then the crowd, she avoided Littlefingers narrowed gaze as if she cared not to implore herself to him but people of her own kind, that perhaps all was not lost for her. Thinking to herself only a moment or two, did she find something solemn in her tone. “I was shown the extent of her wounds, then Roose informed me she was alive. I have seen my fair share of blood in my life, but..nothing ever quite like that. Most of you can imagine I am not a woman easily shocked, but that sight.” Looking away for a moment before continuing, Jon knew the feeling of seeing it. Very few had.

He could at any point imagine it perfectly, as in front of his eyes as the feverish dream showed him the blood you laid and died in. Not his men, his sisters, nor anyone could imagine what looking at such a sight felt inside. For as many as littered his own chest, the wounds of knives in Jon were clean. One stab then the next. You had been cut open all it had reminded Jon of was that day they found the direwolves, and seeing the dead stag laying out with its stomach pooled out onto the rotting ground.

“It isn’t an easy thing. Seeing that sort of violence on the woman you, yourself had called a Queen. Had I told Lord Baelish, well I could not imagine what sort of death would come to follow after what she had already returned from. Despite everything I had and would go on to do, still I knew that not even she deserved whatever that would be. So I withheld it from him.”

It was the first she had spoken, and the first Jon sensed any amount of rising troubled emotion in his little sister as Sansa spoke up. A doubt in her tone, but eyes set centre on Littlefinger whom was doing what Jon assumed, was his best to pretend he was not losing faith. “Lady Barbrey, I have a question for you.” Turning a little in suprise, but she gave every ounce of respect if somehow more then previous as she faced the crowd. An act of playing along or not Jon knew it was convincing to watch. “Why go through him? If you were to tell someone she was alive, by then the North was under Roose Boltons control, and he answered to Tywin Lannister. Why would you fear going through Lord Baelish when all he would do is bring that information to the Lannisters?”

Littlefinger ever so slightly tilted his head at Sansa, a curiosity in the question but the moment they slid to the right, landing on Jon did that curiosity once more die. Going through all of these events, telling a story Jon knew you didn’t wish to be public all for your saftey, and the pain of reliving such things and fears having driven you from the hall itself as Jon knew he couldn’t go after you. Theon had silently left, only to return with the whisper of where you had gone and were with, being the only thing letting Jon even somewhat relax.

But to add onto all of that, the last thing he was willing to tolerate was Littlefinger still looking at Sansa as if he had the right to expect her on his side. As if planning once more how to use his advantage as a grown man to manipulate a teenage girl back onto his side. He had wanted to treat her as a woman when he had been forcing her closer and closer to that since she was only a girl of thirteen. But as eyes met, Jon knew Littlefinger likely still felt the sensation of being slammed against the wall and the pressure around his throat the only thing sparing him being Jons own self control.

Barbrey Dustin however, answered Sansa’s question with more fuel to throw onto the fire that was his losing battle of having a single Stark left on his side. “Lord Tywins instructions to Roose detailed the murder of the King and Queen in the North. When Lord Baelish had used me to facilitate this arrangement between the Crown and the North, he was the one who insisted on the importance of her death in particular. That if all else failed there was still the chance to defeat King Robb in battle, but that under no circumstances, could the Queen be allowed to live.” Head rose high now, she kept her eyes on Jon and the Starks beside him. “He had painted the situation as if her death was more important then King Robb’s himself. Learning she was alive when I first saw her, I couldn’t grasp why it was so important to him. But something of the situation felt strange to me, so I kept it to myself.”

Interrupting before any could continue, Jons voice projected throughout the hall. “My lady, you told me he never gave you any orders until after I reclaimed Winterfell. What had occurred which made you decide to listen to him if you already didn’t think you could trust him?”

The truth she told was as she confessed to him. That the act of refusing to give up to the Lannisters that you were alive, had in turn been the act which forced Barbrey Dustin back into Littlefingers control. Now he had leverage over her knowing she kept that from him, and finding out that you were alive and once again within a position of relative power, meant that instead of having her killed for keeping that information from him, she was going to help him instead.

Spy for him on you, on Jon by proxy. And she followed his every instruction which led you to Moat Cailin. Where Littlefinger had been relying on the perceived bloodlust of the new leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners to kill you in a manner which left little trace back to him.

If the story wasn’t damning enough, there was nothing but a rising wave of anger once more through the watchers in the hall as she read out one by one each copy of the ravens sent between she and Littlefinger. It had not been a bluff when Jon told her that he had already seen every letter sent and received by her from within his walls.

Sparing a glance to his side, Jon found Brans gaze drifting towards him. A raise of his little brothers eyebrow, he knew the question, but Jon wouldn’t act yet. He had enough to say Littlefinger was guilty of the attempt on your life and Jon knew he would need no more justification to take his head for it in his people’s eyes. Not the whole tale, but there was something he had to do first.

You had run off, and Jon needed to check on you, he needed to make sure you were alright, and he needed to tell you that you didn’t have to do this, you did not have to say what you knew and he and Bran would understand. Standing from his seat all eyes turned to Jon without hesitation as his voice projected through the hall. “We’ll stop here for now. Give us,” Gesturing to his siblings beside him first then to Littlefinger. “And Lord Baelish time to consider the evidence so far. We’ll continue when I return.”

People everyone stood up, moving about and out the hall as the guards surrounding Littlefinger indicted he was to stay right where he was, and a failure Jon noticed, to catch Sansa’s eye as she stood as well. “Jon-”

Turning to her, Jons voice was set and firm in more of something akin to a whisper towards her. “You don’t need to make your mind up right now, the trial isn’t over.” Looking to Arya he nodded for her to come over. “I don’t want you, any of you alone in the room with you. Take Bran, and go somewhere else for a while, all of you. Until this is over I won’t have any of you anywhere near him.”

A glare came easy from Arya as she looked over to him, a mutter matching Jons low one. “What do you think he’s going to do?” But Jon knew the answer.

“He’s not going to do anything. It’s what he’ll say I’m worried about.”

Some time had passed as the baby was fed. You now resting him back down, a hand still on him watching his bright eyes finally lull asleep when the door opened. A much more wild and on edge Jon firmly closed the door behind him, either ignoring or more likely not even seeing Gilly in the room did Jon come over to you.

The second your body turned in his direction, Jon grabbed you and pulled you into his front. A hand holding at your hip while the other cupped your cheek, thumb running over the skin as he leaned down with his eyes dark and yet urgent. “Are you alright?” Nodding yes, Jon leaned in more narrowing his eyes. “You sure?”

Again you nodded, your hands resting high on his chest and by his shoulders more. “I am. I’m sorry I ran out that way, I couldn’t-”

Cutting you off, Jon let the hand on your cheek drift to rake through your hair. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you sit through all that.” Gently muttering his name, Jon pressed onward anyways. “I didn’t want to hide you away, I wanted him to see you, see the woman he tried to take from me-”

“Jon.” Hands reaching up, you cupped both sides of his face, the scratching of the facial hair against the wrappings of your hands would’ve felt soothing were they bare palms against the coarseness. “I just came to check on him, he needed to be fed anyways.” He knew you were downplaying it, but too could Jon sense the tension had been gone for at least a little while in your muscles. “You know I’m starting to wonder how you put up with this.” Asking with what, your answer pulled a laugh from him immediately. “Put up with me, I mean.”

Nudging your nose with his, he muttered close that you felt his warm breath dance across your skin. “Someone has to.” Cupping the back of your neck, Jon tilted your head down to press a kiss to your forehead, your hands slipping to his shoulders as he allowed you to pull back enough to meet his eyes. “He betrayed you and my father once, he tried to have you killed, and now he’s trying to tear you away from me to do who knows what. I know you don’t like it, but I have to do this. I won’t let him take you from me, in any way. Neither of us will.”

His head gesturing down to the now slumbering bundle, did you smile. A handsome one once more graced Jons face watching you. “I’m ready.” Brows narrowing, you both knew he meant to ask for a certain. “I promise. You’re doing what you need to to protect your family, but you’re all my family now too. I have to do the same.”

Murmuring your name, Jon ran a hand soothingly down your hair at the back of your head, “You don’t have to do this, darling. I have enough on him without putting you in the middle of it like that.”

Nodding, your eyes did not have a single flash of anything which was not a certainty. “I’m sure. You’re protecting me, let me help you. He won’t be able to even attempt talking his way out of this, you know he won’t. Let me do this, and we finish this together.” Asking gently why the sudden change of heart, you felt a melting in your bones almost compel you to sink into his warmth, forcing yourself to stay at a distance, meeting his eyes so he knew you were no longer in doubt. “The damage was already done, I may as well put it to good use.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jon pulled your hands from him to hold in front of you both, the wrappings more red then before. As if switching from night and day did the softness leave Jons eyes, as they darkened with a concern. “What happened?” He didn’t even let a second pass before he came to the answer on his own. “I’ll clean and wrap them, but you’re wearing gloves this time.”

You didn’t argue, Jon sitting you back down in the seat as he kneeled on the ground to get a better level to work at your hands. Palms facing up on your knees, for such large and rough hands in feeling, Jon always worked away on yours with such a feather light touch. “Do Arya and Sansa know?” Shaking his head, you let out a deep sigh. “Not an easy way to learn about it.”

Jon didn’t waver in his work, nor even allow himself to be distracted. “I never knew until the night you saw it. I was at Castle Black, and all I had was a letter from Robb saying Bran woke up. Told me he’d never walk again, but nothing about what happened.”

Perhaps in another life you wouldn’t have been so confident speaking for him, but it came out as natural as the image in your head appeared. “He knew you’d come back. Taken your vows or not, he knew you’d come back if he told you what happened.” Affirming he would’ve, you knew that made three times he had tried to do so. “I’m starting to think the gods were trying to tell you something.” Asking what, you had made him pause his work at the gentle way you said it. “That you didn’t deserve to think you didn’t have a place here anymore.”

Only a moment in waiting did Jon let a beat pass, before a small huff left him, returning to now wrapping the left hand first. Low he rasped, “My place is here with you.” Flickering his eyes up, the wide grey shined at you in a boyish sort of charm. If a tease existed on your tongue, Jon watched you swallow it back down. Not even needing to look as he wrapped your right hand, “I’m protecting them too. My sisters, my brother, my son, but I’m here because I need to protect you. Because you won’t do it yourself. Why I never should’ve left, I’ve always been the one to stop you from getting into trouble.”

Honestly, you didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, a true jest dry in nature. “So why have I been in more trouble since marrying you?”

It was unfair, he was so much quicker then you were at this sort of thing, he didn’t even need to let enough time to blink skip by before he snarked back, “I think you just like the punishment.” His name leaving your lips in a hiss knowing Gilly could’ve easily heard that, but Jon rose his head with that smirk so handsome across his face. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You had no defence, and he was smug knowing it. He truly must not have cared, cupping the back of your neck, Jon brought you to his lips. His other hand cupping your cheek and jaw, tilting you to the angle so much better for him the way you both sat. Keeping you pressed to his kiss, he was soft and guiding, kissing you deeply but with a slowness that made it somehow as chaste as it was passionate. Almost too much so for someone else being in the room, but he tilted your head to kiss you more regardless the second you even thought about pulling away.

A tingling left on your lips as he let his teeth graze on your bottom one, almost teasing you with deepening his kiss in a way he wouldn’t so brazenly out in the open as such. The second your lips left his, Jon had barley even allowed his eyes to open to see yours still shut as if in a daze when he pushed forward. Connecting you right back, his kiss so much deeper, so much more demanding right away as your hands dug into his shoulders, him keeping your face in his hands to steal every inch of breath in your lungs, gifted right into his mouth along with such small sounds of need bouncing around in your chest.

One kiss, then another, then another before finally Jon had to be the one to tear himself from your lips, turning you head down once again to leave one at your forehead and resting against it. Your murmur was light in his ear as your hands wrapped around the back of his neck. “None of this will make our lives any easier.”

Jons rasp was as deep as it was comforting. “No. But they won’t be so complicated anymore. We can focus on what really matters.” The audacity Jon had to lean back to let his eyes drag down to your stomach, breaking out into a grin as you tried to pull away hiding a flustered grin. “We finish this today, and it’s over. I promise.”

Leaning in, your kiss was far more tender and light then his was. Not in need but almost an appreciation for the love he never wavered in showing no matter what direction your spiralling mind could take him in at any moment. Speaking against them, you felt by the tightness of his hand on the back of your neck that Jon was tempting pulling you back into his kiss each word you said. “I trust you.”

Nodding, Jon brushed his nose against yours barley letting you nudge back before pulling back. Hands lifting you to your feet, he only looked down at you for one moment before grasping at the laces of the front of your dress, tightening them with furrowed brows, as if even the idea of temptation of how it made you look made him annoyed. If it was with the idea that other men would notice how loose it was around your chest or if it was because it would be that loose right beside him and couldn’t have anything be done about it that annoyed him.

Leaning down, Jon pressed a kiss to little Eddards forehead, whispering only enough you and him could hear. “Don’t nap too long. I need time with your mother tonight.” Only hesitating for half of a second Jon grin adding, “Still need to make you a sister.”

Were Gilly not in the room you’d have called his name in a fluster, but your wide eyes and embarrassed smile said it all for him no doubt. Both making your way back down, Jons hand pressed firmly into your lower back each step did you ask, “Who else still needs to speak?”

Shaking his head a little bit, Jon answered with more of an authority falling back into his tone naturally the closer you both got to the meeting hall. “Only you.” Nodding, you both arrived, clearly everyone was waiting inside for the trial to commence once more, the guards alone on the other side of the closed doors as you both stood there. Turning you in his arms, Jon cupped your cheek, holding at your hip in the other, simply allowing himself not to care of the guards watching his softness with you. “Give me a bit, when the doors open, it’ll be your turn. Are you ready?”

Exhaling shakily, your hands rested on his waist as you shook your head. “No, but it’s like you said. We end this now.” Pulling you back in, his kiss that time was much deeper, yet more urgent before pulling away. Looking you over with wide eyes, Jon swallowed down the rest of such raw need of many desires as his expression steeled over. Nodding for the guards to let him through, you could only stand out there.

Waiting for them to open, you had confronted the memory of Catelyn Stark in a trial of your own with no hesitation. This was not your trial nor your death on the option of the chopping block, you would not allow yourself to let the fear talk you out of it now. Not with what you were about to say, and how few anyone in that room could guess what that would be.

No doubt, Littlefinger had expected once the trial begun once more as Jon sat down, that he would finally be given his chance. A man such as him you knew would’ve spent the entire duration of the break between coming up with the right words to convince even one person. But when Jon had called for the next witness and the doors opened, never more was there such a distinct apprehension, and perhaps even fear which flashed before his eyes as it was you who walked into the hall, and up to the small podium.

You had felt fear before, but meeting his eyes, you too could see one person specifically up at the table on Jons side. Jon did the rest of this without fear to protect you, it was your turn to return the favour. If there was only one slip, it was the simple one noted by some, that the King in the North had been polite, yet stern and proper this whole time but was just the slightest bit softer spoken with just the softer matching eyes looking to you as he only ever addressed you by your first name.

If that was Jons only slip, then you knew you could not disappoint him this time.

Asking how it was you knew the accused, you only looked to him for as long as it took for Littlefingers eyes to narrow in question at you, before you turned back to Jon. Collected you hoped it was, and steady without sounding like you were forcing it. “I’ve known him since I was a twelve, he sat at the small council in Kings Landing with my father, and later myself when I begun sitting in on such meetings as well.”

Jon had the questions he needed to establish, but with less demand in the way he spoke to you compared to anyone else. “Did he ever give you a reason to think he’d betray your trust?”

Again, your eyes looked to his, and then back at Jons. As if the familiarity of the grey could overpower the beating in your heart. “Yes. More then once.” Some whispers begun, only to be washed away into silence as with but a single glance to the crowd in disapproval did they all grasp the message their King was telling them. That this was not the time to gossip or to stop paying attention. “The first was in Kings Landing, during the time your father was serving as Robert Baratheon’s Hand of the King.”

Waiting only long enough for Jon to gently nod at you with a gentle look did you know he was prompting you to speak it in your own words in your time. He knew the questions to ask to guide you to the conclusion you both knew was coming. And Jon too knew the closer to that he could get you to, the more confident you would grow to say it on your own. He just needed to help you get there first.

Speaking clearly, you would glance ever so briefly at Arya and Sansa, the details of all this mostly lost on them as only unaware girls at the time of the events before it all crumbled around them in one single day. “King Robert was dying, and your father and I had uncovered the truth that his children and heir were not actually his, and he had not known it. Both of us knew once he was gone, that Cersei Lannister would attempt to force Prince Joffery onto the throne knowing he was not Robert’s rightful heir, and that she would use force against us if necessary.”

Dragging your eyes over to him, the single brow raised did not even anger you as perhaps once his attempts may have. He assumed this trial was still about you, afterall. But you didn’t care about that, what he had done and tried to do to you. You cared about what he would do once he got what he wanted. With you out of his way entirely, where would he stop? Not just with you, not with your son, and certainly would not stop before trying to move Jon from his path as well.

Jon was doing this to protect his siblings, and to protect you and the case he had created was well put together enough none in this room would object to Littlefinger being sentenced to death. But you were here for Jon, he was your purpose and so you would erase any spec of doubt left within the air and force it gone forever. You were to leave no stone unturned, and no room to ever give a single person doubt of Jons choice.

“Lord Baelish assured Lord Stark and myself that the City Watch would be on our side, sworn to defend the Kings peace. But we stood in the throne room, and realized he had done the exact opposite.” Darker and darker the colour in your eyes grew as did the tightening in your heart at the sight and memory swirling of a last time you then had not known. “It wasn’t until the City Watch had murdered the remainder of the Stark household guard, one held a knife to my throat and Littlefinger holding a knife to Lord Stark’s did we understand he never intended to help us.”

“I did warn you not to trust me.”

You ignored the whispers, you ignored the looks any gave to one another or to you or to Littlefinger. You simply stomped over whatever explanation he’d no doubt give again to pile against him this time. “Lord Baelish purposely betrayed us knowing it would lead to Ned Stark’s death, hoping it would lead me to mine. During the war, when Catelyn Stark had gone to the Stormlands to negotiate peace with Renly Baratheon, Lord Baelish approached her. Telling her lies that he never betrayed us, telling her lies that Arya was safe in the captiol when none had heard from her, and offered to arrange sending home the bones of a man he helped lead to his death to manipulate Lady Catelyn in freeing Ser Jaime Lannister in hopes her daughters would be returned to her. When he knew without any doubt, they did not have Arya, and they would never give Sansa up.”

It was strange, that fear you felt no longer within your chest. As if knowing all you knew, and trusting that the man you loved would keep you safe, you felt nothing about the way Littlefinger looked to you as if daring to say it. You knew too what he may say to you in return, but he had not a clue what sort of place he had come to. Your eyes barley tore from him at the behest of Jons voice asking you in a more lulling tone then he would’ve others, “The crime he committed was against your life and you’ve established he has reasons to do it. Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Jon was giving you that one last chance to tell him you couldn’t do it, but the brightness in them and the warmth radiating into you was only watched as your eyes flickered to Bran. Your hands flexing under the material of your gloves, you felt the sting of the blade as you looked at him. Were one to not focus, still he could’ve been mistaken for a boy, the boy you thought you’d never seen again who did not yet know the danger of the world around him.

Your voice was steady, as you met Jons gaze before turning to address the court. “There is nothing I could add to the case which the King has already presented today, but there is one thing which has not been answered. Why.” Those up on the stand here had seldom found reason or willingness to address him so directly, but your lack of fear in doing so, almost seemed to put him on edge. “Lord Baelish, you knew there was a chance the Lannisters may have traded Ned Stark’s life in exchange for peace with the North, but you knew there was no negotiating with Stannis Baratheon once he had chosen to fight against Joffery’s claim. That he was not a man to surrender in exchange to free me from being a prisoner. When you betrayed myself and Ned Stark that day, if you only had one plan which you hoped would work, is that I without any doubt would’ve been executed for a treason we both knew was false.”

If you listened closely, the sounds of the strings was heard through the halls in an echo only to you, but still you spoke over it. You pushed passed it knowing lingering on just that pain was not where this belonged. “You later had hoped the threat I posed to you was gone the night the Freys betrayed Robb Stark and I at the Twins. And when you heard I was alive over a year later, you tried again to have me killed but in a way you hoped could not lead back to you.” Truly it was as if something inside of you flipped.

The way Jons own fears of his blood and father and who he is, all compounding in fears which were inflamed by his own sister. But those distrusting didn’t come from her alone, you knew her as a girl but that level of animosity towards Jon did not come from merely years of being apart. That came from somewhere. Someone whom had interest in getting between you and Jon before.

Growing and growing that resentment that he ever thought to worry with you what he was like, how he treated you, or if you feared the love he gave you, and the question of would this have returned to Jons mind had the man before you not slithered in, a snake looking to bite at the right strike. “When all else failed around you Lord Baelish, you then came here. Under the guide of simply bringing Sansa home where she belongs, and then you stayed. You fed lies to her, saying that Jon is nothing more then a bastard who can’t be trusted, that she should attempt to drive us apart. Because you know that it is a lot easier to try and kill me when I’m nowhere near Jons side.”

Sensing her eyes on you intensely, you pushed passed what you knew Sansa had not yet started to consider. Not that such a thing was her fault. Whatever she and Jon had discussed the other night seemed to have brought her down to some kind of understanding with him, but you knew this was not even the worst.

Whispers around all begun a slow ascend, the unavoidable fact that it continued to get worse and worse and how utterly long and devastating of a path it took Jon and yourself to be able to get here. Of course, he had not perhaps, seen it coming that his path against you had attempted to take what should’ve been time used to repair Sansa’s difficult past with Jon and Arya, instead making her animosity drive them each apart from her. Looking to you, he had the audacity to speak as if you were anywhere near done. “Perhaps what you see as lies were merely what I thought was fair advice to Lady Sansa-”

If Sansa were to speak for herself, instead who took up her defence was Arya. Cutting through him louder and with a bite in her tone enough it could’ve come across a growl. “You weren’t here to help her, you’ve never tried to help her.” Jon attempted to call Arya’s name in a quieter tone, but she kept going, likely not even hearing him. “The last time I saw my sister she was screaming and crying for Joffery not to murder our father and because you came here trying to tear what few of us were left, I couldn’t even be happy to see her again because all I saw was you.”

Eyes flickering between Jon and to Sansa, no doubt he too could feel the conflict within her, that guilt at what part she played and the slow understanding of todays events the degree he simply used her. Afterall, she had not known any reason to see any ill use of giving her young cousin sweetmilk. She had not a clue that when Maester Coleman had grown suspicious of him, did he send the naive Alyane Stone to continue it for him. Until Maester Wolkan had explained it’s effects, until you had heard too much to handle and left did it occur what he had her become.

And just like the rest of it, that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Arya continued to defend her sister, in despite of everything and how strained they were and how little they talked, it was just like that night at the inn. Moments before she had grabbed at Sansas hair yelling she was a liar as the two girl fought against the other, then without any hesitation did Arya yell at Cersei herself the moment Lady was declared to take the punishment in Nymeria’s place. You had seen the way she much like you had, stared unblinkingly at Cersei with a glare wild in her eyes as she stood beside her crying sister.

Only this time, Sansa didn’t cry or argue or yell, she sat in a silence in a feeling you knew too well. As if she sat a stranger to who she even was anymore, and Jon saw it too. A small nod, Jon read your intent that you understood to leave it to him as Arya was arguing back against Littlefinger. Whom had just inferred that perhaps his advice was simply taken in the wrong way beacuse of a misunderstanding. “You don’t even know him, you just call him a bastard and tell Sansa to assume the worst, and expect anyone to believe you didn’t intend to tear us apart-”

“Arya.”

Snapping over to him, Arya felt that feeling much like Sansa had the other night, but in a way familiar to her. The calling of her name in a manner and tone so much like their father, but coming from Jon. His head tilting as he looked at her with a knowing expression. “That’s enough.”

The understanding between them was one of a silent language Jon had always been able to speak to Arya. An equally as low and rasping voice from closer to you however drew your focus. Benjen softly prompting you with something shining of encouragement in his eyes only you seemed to catch. “Please, continue.”

Only a nod, but turning from the table towards where Littlefinger stood, you knew there was little left. “What I am saying, my lord, is that you should have worked far sooner to try and kill me again.”

He was daring you gave him that, looking to you as if to attempt to make you sound delusional. “And why your grace, would you think I want that?”

Not for long would he remain daring. Staring at one another, no doubt were you any other witness, such an exchange of words not be permitted so freely, but you trusted Jon the rest of this trial and so now he trusted in you. Your voice was flat as you spoke, and yet did not match the ever growing darker look within your eyes. “Do you know much about gambling, my lord?”

Eyes flickering side to side in a bit of confusion, he sounded more honest in that moment then he had the entire time he had been within the North. “I’ve dabbled in it.”

The scowl grew a breath more noticeable. “Then you would know two important rules a smart gambler would live by. Firstly, never wait to play your best card for too long. Because another might come around with a better one in the time it took you to choose when to play it.” If he didn’t grasp it then, he did now as you slowly and clearly phrased it. “The second, never play the same card too many times. Eventually someone will recognize your tricks, and put together how much you’ve lied your way into winning.”

There it was. The look you were waiting for. The anger of a man realizing that he had placed his enemy in the hands of the wrong Baratheon. How does it feel Lord Baelish, you thought. How does it feel to realize that it wasn’t Stannis’s hatred for him that was his biggest enemy, it was the daughter right in front of his eyes. Doing exactly what he had tried more then one to have you killed to avoid. It simply took long enough to come together that it brought him into a falsehood of his own hubris.

You didn’t even look to the crowd, or Jon. Just Littlefinger right in the eye so he could feel it all coming.

“The night King Robert had come to Winterfell, Catelyn received a letter from the Eyrie from her sister, Lysa Arryn. Stating that her husband, the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn had been murdered by the Lannisters.” Not yet any reaction further. “The day after, when most of the men and guard were on a hunt, ten year old Bran Stark had seemingly fallen from a tower, leaving him unconscious for nearly a month and crippled for the rest of his life. Not long before he had woken up, a fire was started in the library here to draw attention away from Brans chambers. Only Lady Catelyn had still been there taking care of her son, when a man came into the room, attacked Lady Catelyn, and viciously attempted to murder Bran Stark in his sleep before his throat was ripped out by Brans direwolf Summer, saving his life.”

Oh very few would be able to even spot it, but it was there. The slightest twitch in his eye, and the rush within your blood burned hotter. Jons voice to the side was rough, a control meaning to hide the husk furthering him into an anger. “Do you know who this man was?”

Your head shook slightly to indicate a no. “No assassin any more sophisticated then a simple catspaw.” You dared not look at the remaining Starks, the distraction of their anger or devastation could not spare to interfere now. “The blade did stand out however. Made of Valyrian Steel, and the handle carved from dragon bone. Someone gave it him. Lady Catelyn had reasonable presumed the two incidents were connected, and Lysas letter had given the impression that the Lannisters loyalty to the crown was questionable already. Soon she left Winterfell for Kings Landing to inform her husband of the events but was greeted when she got there by you Lord Baelish.”

“I simply had heard she was coming-”

You cut him off, and the hall was silent as if only you both stood there. “You were honest with Catelyn. There is only one dagger like that in all the Seven Kingdoms. It was yours. But that you had bet it in a wager during the tournament of Prince Joffery’s last nameday.” Brows furrowing, Littlefinger looked confused and unsettled at the manner which you spoke, as if someone showed you the meeting itself. “You bet on Ser Jaime as any sane man would. When the Knight of the Flowers unseated him, you lost that dagger.”

Bran was more clever then you could’ve hoped for, both of you speaking such easy words yet only the man before you would recognize their exactness. “To whom?”

“Tyrion Lannister. The imp.” The details were harrowing, speaking of your time with Ned Stark in Kings Landing, what the mystery of uncovering Jon Arryns death had uncovered and why, the secret he learned before he was poisoned. How the secret pertained in such specifics to the nature of Cersei and Jaime Lannisters secret affair. “So imagine my suprise, Lord Baelish when Catelyn arrives at the Eyrie with Tyrion Lannister as her prisoner, as you put it in her head that he had tried to murder her son, that Lysa accuses him of a new crime. She suddenly accuses Lord Tyrion of murdering her husband, Jon Arryn as well. When so far, not even Ned Stark or I had come anywhere near that conclusion. Strange, how two murders were pinned on him. And even more strange, that I know for a fact, Tyrion Lannister had nothing to do with the attempt on Brans life.”

The trial by combat in the Eyrie, learning Jon Arryn was murdered by poison wine given to him by his squire. It all was a life reliving that had been so long gone but felt as if it were fresh in your mind without any doubt. Arya had glanced to the side, a look on her sisters face as they both found the others gaze, a near scowl putting it all together only to find Bran seemed to watch Littlefinger with the same amount of knowing animosity as you did.

An issue posed, was that you knew for a fact the person who ordered a catspaw to murder Bran was not connected to whomever pushed him from a window. Jaime Lannister had confessed to Catelyn that he did it, and neither he nor Cersei had a clue about the assassin. They weren’t connected, and neither did Lord Tyrion know about his brother and sister and thus had no reason to wish to see Jon Arryn out of the way.

Grasping at straws, that time he picked one which Jon himself had the answer to shut down. “Perhaps Lord Tyrion had other motives, arranged for the murder on the road after parting from Winterfell.”

Jon could speak for that. “He didn’t, and you know that. Lord Tyrion was on the road to visit Castle Black, with me, and my uncle, Benjen Stark.” Asking if by any chance was their an opportunity to plan an arm an assassin during that period of time, Benjen confirmed without a doubt there wasn’t.

Tyrion had no reason nor gain from ordering Jon Arryns death, and had even less reason or ability to order the attempt twice on Brans. “Twice falsely accused is odd, my lord. But three times? That tells me he was being used as a shield. A lamb for the slaughter to hide the real murderers actions.” Asking loudly and with a defiance you knew was crumbling to his feet, what this third imaginary crime was, it was nothing short of satisfying that she finally found her voice.

Something between a tearing of betrayal and anger was shaking behind Sansa’s voice. “You told me that you killed Joffery. You had a necklace made for me, one of the stones held the vial of poison so someone at the wedding could take it off me without me realizing and use it to poison him.” If the look on his face was a wider eyed shock, you hoped it felt even sharper in what little of a heart a man as him could possibly have. “You planned it all out to help me escape the city, knowing they would accuse me of helping my husband murder the King. You needed Cersei to accuse Tyrion, because you knew he had no one there to defend him. Knowing he and I both didn’t do it.”

The room was thick with tension. Littlefinger had one play left and it was his weakest card and it seemed he could sense that. “It would seem backwards for the King in the North to try me for the murder of the very King who murdered his father.”

Pushing up from the table, Jons stood with his hands braced against the surface and nothing but black remaining in his eyes. “You aren’t on trial for that, my lord. I could stand here and accuse you of using Lysa Arryn to murder her husband and blame it on Tyrion Lannister, of murdering the man who killed my father, but that’s not my place. More then once you tried to murder my wife, because you knew she was the only person left who could actually find the truth in the chaos you caused.”

If an ounce of credit could be given, it was that Littlefinger held himself together very well, but his eyes told stories beyond even his comprehension when he asked what reason would he have to cause that much chaos just to murder one woman. But Bran was the one with the answer, and one that put him into a silence as he realized there was no hiding from the truth coming out, because Bran said the one thing Petyr Baelish alone knew that not a soul in this room could have possibly known he said.

“To most of us, chaos is just a gaping pit waiting to swallow us all. Many try to climb it and fail, and never get to try again. The fall breaks them, some are given a chance to climb but they refuse. They cling to an illusion, but the climb is all there. Beacuse to a man like you, chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder.”

Petyr Baelish could lie about you, he could lie to Sansa, to Catelyn, back stab many of the Starks and Baratheons because he knew he could get away with it, but he couldn’t look Bran Stark in the eye and even pretend as if he could climb his way out of this pit. The pit he caused.

And the issue was, chaos was not a ladder to all. Chaos was not found in the lives of some men. Ones with the trust in justice and duty and honour and love above all else. Jon stood there as King in the North and took away his last chance to ever try to climb his way out of that put of chaos. Projecting loud and a husk under an anger of dark eyes turned black and a tensity you felt too within your own bones, Jon knew he had him without any doubt, just as he trusted in you for.

“Unless any up here with me have any protest, I, Jon Snow, find Lord Petyr Baelish guilty of three charges.” Your name without even hesitating for once to feel the bravery to name you a Snow coming from him with that same rasping seriousness hardly masking an anger. “For conspiring to murder her, my wife and Queen. For betraying my father Eddard Stark and giving him over to the enemy you know was to kill him. And for the attempted murder of my little brother, Bran Stark.”

When none, not Arya, nor Bran, nor Benjen, nor even Sansa spoke a single word or even though about saying something in his defence, Jon gave a slow nod to the guards by him, not hesitating to pull Littlefingers arms back into chains, as he stared in a disbelief at how swiftly it had gone wrong without ever seeing it coming. There was not even an attempt to silence the sheer volume of the now standing crowd, the North loyal to their King and the Starks, shouting and yelling in defence of the family he had used and harmed over and over.

Petyr Baelish could only stare at Jon’s burning glare of black eyes. The man who, unlike his father who Littlefinger betrayed, had been the one to put the knife to his throat all without spilling a drop of blood.

#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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academicazura · 6 months ago

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may 6th-9th

i've once again fallen a bit behind on everything i wanted to post here, but here's what i can gather for you guys:

i've been very very slowly progressing with the philosophy course, i'm gonna pick things up from now. i made myself a rolling study task list on the back of my study notebook, and i'm hoping it'll give me some extra oomph.

i planned to bake blueberry bran muffins like 4 months ago so, here they finally are! super easy to bake, i'm wondering why i can't pull myself together faster. so that was a little bright spot in my week even if it's shadowed by my unlimited procrastination.

today's post, i promise, will be up this evening!

these days i

studied a bit of theory

tried to get my habits back on track and struggled but a little is better than nothing!

accompanied my mom at the eye doctor two times so she didn't have to wait alone <3 (and i got an excuse to read nietzsche)

#100 days of productivity #studyspo #academia #chaotic academia #studyblr #academia aesthetic #academic #light academia #school #student #study #student life #productivity #productivity challenge #dark academia #study motivation #studying #azuras studyblr #100 followers

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swordsandarms · 6 months ago

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Are the Starks cursed for the sins of their ancestors?

The whole "Starks must stay in Winterfell, bad things happen to them when they leave South" is always posed in fandom as this shining badge of honor, as if it's because the North is this unmatched pinacle of the world to exist in (it's not).

We know the First Men desecrated indigenous lands, were almost anihilated by White Walkers for it, had to build a magical Wall and are tasked (burdened) with guarding it.

Meanwhile, they can't leave (though plenty of them are excited to see the world) without tragedy and death. Bran is targeted with a big destiny, has different dreams about his life, and gets his legs cut from under him to stay put, for example. It doesn't sound to me like a benevolent distinction from the gods.

#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #ned stark #jon snow #arya stark #sansa stark #robb stark

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jonsnowunemploymentera · 2 months ago

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I have a few jumbled thoughts about the ending of the Long Night, especially as it would relate to the whole idea of “the dragon has three heads”. The Long Night represents a disruption in a larger, cyclical framework—a period where imbalance overtakes the natural order. And within this context, I see each ‘head’ of the three-headed dragon as uniquely responsible for restoring balance and bringing the world back into harmony. Each ‘head’ embodies a distinct facet of restoring balance to the world, yet they work together, either in tandem or sequentially, to set things right once more. So I’ve been trying to tie together some thoughts I have regarding what each being in this triumvirate is uniquely suited to do. Because I personally don’t think any one person will be responsible for being the hero, as that just seems so antithetical to this series; and I also think the Long Night is just way too multifaceted to be ended by a singular action or person.

This is what we know about the Long Night:

“Oh, my sweet summer child,” Old Nan said quietly, “what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north.Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods.” “You mean the Others,” Bran said querulously. “The Others,” Old Nan agreed. “Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks.” Her voice and her needles fell silent, and she glanced up at Bran with pale, filmy eyes and asked, “So, child. This is the sort of story you like?” “Well,” Bran said reluctantly, “yes, only …” Old Nan nodded. “In that darkness, the Others came for the first time,” she said as her needles went click click click. “They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding their pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain. All the swords of men could not stay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes found no pity in them. They hunted the maids through frozen forests, and fed their dead servants on the flesh of human children.” (Bran IV, AGoT)

We focus so heavily on the Others—understandably so—that we often overlook some crucial details. The Others don’t exist in isolation. They arrive in the wake of an extreme winter, which enables their existence for they are “demons made of snow and ice and cold” (Samwell V, ASoS). And with the sun and its heat gone, they move within the darkness. So confronting the Others in battle, in and of itself, does not end the Long Night. The true struggle lies in addressing the elements that allow them to exist in the first place. To fully defeat the Others, our heroes must first restore light and the balance of the seasons.

No single character in this series has the ability to achieve this on their own. Even the key magical protagonists are only equipped to address certain aspects of the conflict. That’s why the dragon must have three heads, each embodying a crucial responsibility: one to restore the natural cycle and end the long winter, another uniquely positioned as the antithesis to the Others, and a third tasked with confronting darkness by bringing light back into the world.

By now, you can see where I’m heading with this, right? I believe the three heads are Bran, who represents summer and stands as the antithesis to winter; Daenerys, whose dragons are the direct counter to the Others; and Jon, who occupies a more complex role as both the one who harnesses light and embodies it. Beyond this, each of these characters has been positioned as a chosen one, with distinct yet mirrored magical destinies that set them apart from the other POV characters.

I’m reminded of a quote from Arya’s POV in Dance:

One time, the girl remembered, the Sailor’s Wife had walked her rounds with her and told her tales of the city’s stranger gods. “That is the house of the Great Shepherd. Three-headed Trios has that tower with three turrets. The first head devours the dying, and the reborn emerge from the third. I don’t know what the middle head’s supposed to do….”

While I have more detailed thoughts on this passage, for now, I believe Daenerys represents the first head, Bran the third, and Jon the middle. Each head is tasked with a unique responsibility—one that is specific to them, that the others cannot fulfill. To end the Long Night, the three heads work together, but each plays a distinct part. There is some overlap, particularly with the middle head, who might serve as the balance between the extremes, yet each figure is positioned to occupy a particular space within this framework.

So I want to lay my thoughts here and see if we can get some wider discussion 👀

The first aspect of the Long Night - and perhaps the most important if we’re thinking of what makes it happen in the first place - is the long winter that precedes it.

Bran looked down. There was nothing below him now but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland… (Bran III, AGoT)

This winter provides the very elements that sustain the Others: snow and ice. It’s this aspect that I believe extends humanity’s struggle during the Long Night. With an almost endless supply of ice and snow, can our heroes truly defeat the Others through direct combat alone? I really don’t think so. The abundance of snow, accompanied by a persistent cold, suggests that new Others can continuously be ��created’. While this is largely speculative given how little we know about them, I find it compelling that the Others seem to materialize out of the darkness itself (see Prologue, AGoT). And when Sam kills the Other in Storm, it simply dissolves…

Sam rolled onto his side, eyes wide as the Other shrank and puddled, dissolving away. In twenty heartbeats its flesh was gone, swirling away in a fine white mist. Beneath were bones like milkglass, pale and shiny, and they were melting too.

And that might not mean much in and of itself, but I’m inclined to think of the ADWD prologue:

The white world turned and fell away. For a moment it was as if he were inside the weirwood, gazing out through carved red eyes as a dying man twitched feebly on the ground and a madwoman danced blind and bloody underneath the moon, weeping red tears and ripping at her clothes. Then both were gone and he was rising, melting, his spirit borne on some cold wind. He was in the snow and in the clouds, he was a sparrow, a squirrel, an oak. A horned owl flew silently between his trees, hunting a hare; Varamyr was inside the owl, inside the hare, inside the trees. Deep below the frozen ground, earthworms burrowed blindly in the dark, and he was them as well. I am the wood, and everything that’s in it, he thought, exulting. A hundred ravens took to the air, cawing as they felt him pass. A great elk trumpeted, unsettling the children clinging to his back. A sleeping direwolf raised his head to snarl at empty air.

The Other and the human skinchanger dissolving after “death” is so fascinating. And it raises many questions. Death wasn’t the end for Varamyr as his spirit went into his wolf. So is that the same with the Other who also dissolved into white air? As long as magic and suitable conditions (i.e., winter and all its elements) exist, then the Others can never truly die and thus could take on another form?

If that’s the case, then winter itself must be addressed to cut off the Others’ vital resources—along with the magic that sustains them, though we’ll get to that later. And who better to combat winter if not Bran Stark of “Winter-fell”?

Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live. “Why?” Bran said, not understanding, falling, falling. Because winter is coming. […] Bran touched his forehead, between his eyes. The place where the crow had pecked him was still burning, but there was nothing there, no blood, no wound. He felt weak and dizzy. He tried to get out of bed, but nothing happened. And then there was movement beside the bed, and something landed lightly on his legs. He felt nothing. A pair of yellow eyes looked into his own, shining like the sun. The window was open and it was cold in the room, but the warmth that came off the wolf enfolded him like a hot bath. His pup, Bran realized … or was it? He was so big now. He reached out to pet him, his hand trembling like a leaf. When his brother Robb burst into the room, breathless from his dash up the tower steps, the direwolf was licking Bran’s face. Bran looked up calmly. “His name is Summer,” he said.

Bran’s wolf, a reflection of his own identity, only receives his name after Bran glimpses his magical destiny. With winter’s horrors looming, Bran must become the summer that rises to challenge it.

As the Prince of Winterfell, Bran’s title and inheritance—rooted in the Stark legacy from the first Long Night and Bran the Builder—signify a dominance over winter. He is the summer prince, heir to the place where “winter fell, defeated”.

“And who is Summer?” Jojen prompted. “My direwolf.” He smiled. “Prince of the green.”

Prince. The man-sound came into his head suddenly, yet he could feel the rightness of it. Prince of the green, prince of the wolfswood. He was strong and swift and fierce, and all that lived in the good green world went in fear of him. (Bran I, ASoS)

Because winter brings death to the land, summer is needed to restore warmth, vitality, and breathe life back into the world. And that’s why Bran’s identity not just as the “prince of the green”, but as the last of the greenseers (of course once Bloodraven kicks the bucket) puts him in a unique position during the Long Night.

He will be the one to end the winter.

I’m still piecing together what this might ultimately look like, as we need more information about greenseeing and how Bran may fully harness it. However, from what we do know, it seems greenseeing is extends to earth magic—shaping and manipulating the natural world, as seen with events like the Hammer of the Waters. Additionally, greenseers can perceive past, present, and future, which essentially aligns with the passage of time. And isn’t that what the cyclical nature of the seasons embodies? Time flows, and with it come physical changes in the land: winter brings barrenness, spring rebirth, and summer growth. Humanity needs someone who understands this cycle and possesses the power to influence the earth itself.

Since Bran has already glimpsed the heart of winter, it’s possible he will find himself returning there, perhaps retracing the steps of the last hero. Additionally, the Isle of Faces and the God’s Eye, rich with weirwoods and sacred significance, seem like fitting locations for him to play a pivotal role in restoring balance; especially when we consider his role as a Fisher King/Grail figure who is linked with the renewal of once barren land. Whether Bran has to dig deep into the earth’s roots or manipulate the flow of time itself, the Long Night cannot end without his dominance over winter.

However, while restoring the balance of the seasons is crucial, neutralizing the immediate threat posed by the Others and their thralls is extremely important- and that’s where Dany comes in!

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. (Dany III, ASoS)

I’ve argued before that, of our three chosen ones, Dany is the best suited to take on the role of military commander—and I don’t think that’s a far-fetched claim. She has one of the cleanest and most impressive military records in the main series, proving herself a formidable tactician. Not to mention, she commands the dragons—living embodiments of fire—who have been positioned as the direct counter to the Others, creatures of ice. While the Others bring cold and death, Dany and her dragons are fire made flesh, a force of life and renewal.

There are other narrative arguments for why Dany’s role is going to be so heavily militaristic.

Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’” (Dany I, ASoS)

“No one ever looked for a girl,” he said. “It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought … the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it.” (Samwell IV, AFFC)

“Azor Ahai, beloved of R’hllor! The Warrior of Light, the Son of Fire! Come forth […]” (Davos I, ACoK)

Azor Ahai is said to be a warrior, and while Dany doesn’t fit the traditional image of what that means, she is still an active participant in warfare. Moreover, one of the central aspects of her character is her role as an agent of freedom:

“…this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer.” (Tyrion VI, ADWD)

She has spent much of her arc directly combating slavery which might seem unrelated, but the Others come with their own type of bondage in their creations of undead. The slavery of the Others is not just physical, but spiritual, and Dany’s role in battling them aligns with her fight for freedom. She isn’t suited to combat winter itself, as Bran is, but her strength lies in physical battle, which Bran is not. To put it another way: if Bran is Frodo journeying into the depths of Mordor, Dany is Aragorn, turning Sauron’s eye with her dragons and leading the fight to defeat his armies.

But I don’t think her role ends there.

The Others are not dead. They are strange, beautiful… think, oh… the Sidhe made of ice, something like that… a different sort of life… inhuman, elegant, dangerous. SSM

I’ve already mentioned that beyond the elements of winter—snow, ice, and cold—the Others are sustained by magic. Building on the idea of the Other dissolving into mist, it’s possible that magic is what binds these beings together: magic fuses a consciousness with snow and ice into a corporeal entity. So, in addition to battling them physically, our heroes—and Dany in particular—may have to confront this magic that gives the Others their form and power.

“Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass. He had some small skill with powders and wildfire, sufficient to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work. He could walk across hot coals and make burning roses bloom in the air, but he could no more aspire to climb the fiery ladder than a common fisherman could hope to catch a kraken in his nets.” Dany looked uneasily at where the ladder had stood. Even the smoke was gone now, and the crowd was breaking up, each man going about his business. In a moment more than a few would find their purses flat and empty. “And now?” “And now his powers grow, Khaleesi. And you are the cause of it.” “Me?” She laughed. “How could that be?” The woman stepped closer and lay two fingers on Dany’s wrist. “You are the Mother of Dragons, are you not?” (Dany III, ACoK)

The birth of Dany’s dragons seems to have strengthened fire magic, tying her deeply to the very fabric of magic itself. The AGoT bookend suggests that the Others’ ice magic and the dragons’ fire magic may be connected, part of a larger magical ecosystem, or perhaps opposing forces that coexist on opposite ends of the spectrum. Ice and fire, death and life—both seem bound by the same mystical forces. Given Dany’s connection to magic and the fact that the reemergence of her dragons parallels the resurgence of the Others, she seems best suited to combat the magic that enables the Others to take form—serving as an inverse to her bringing dragons to life. And this underscores her dual role as both a destroyer and creator of life

The specifics on Dany’s confrontation with the Others and the magic that creates them remains unclear. She could venture to the heart of winter/the Lands of Always Winter and face the source of their power, creating narrative symmetry between the dragons of the Lands of the Long Summer and the creatures from the Lands of Always Winter. Alternatively, she might find herself in the Isle of Faces if her dream of fighting the Others at the Trident is fulfilled literally. The Isle, with its rich magical ecosystem, would be a fitting place for such a climax.

Bran, too, seems destined to go to the Isle of Faces (I’m a firm ‘Bran, King at the Gods Eye’ truther). This could be where their paths cross and their roles intersect. Bran, with his deep connection to nature and time, might provide Dany with guidance on how to engage with magic and influence its effects on the world. With Bran’s knowledge and Dany’s firepower, she could then deliver the final blow. While much of this remains speculative, what is clear is that their roles complement each other.

And that leaves Jon, the “light bringer”.

They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day became black night. “Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow,” they recited, their voices filling the twilit grove. “Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.” (Jon VI, AGoT)

It’s important to see Jon’s primary function as an extension of his current role. He is a man who watches for the night—a sentinel standing against the encroaching darkness. This role is deeply embedded in his identity, and it’s fascinating to see how it manifests in his prophetic dreams.

It’s black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream." He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. "That's when I always wake." (Jon IV,AGoT)

Last night he had dreamed the Winterfell dream again. He was wandering the empty castle, searching for his father, descending into the crypts. Only this time the dream had gone further than before. In the dark he'd heard the scrape of stone on stone. When he turned he saw that the vaults were opening, one after the other. As the dead kings came stumbling from their cold black graves, Jon had woken in pitch-dark, his heart hammering. (Jon VII, AGoT)

The Winterfell crypt dreams contain many intriguing elements, but I’ll focus primarily on two key motifs: death and darkness.

Jon is the most natural fit for the middle head of the dragon because he exists at the intersection of extremes: light and darkness, destruction and renewal, death and life.

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb’s leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. “You stupid,” she told him, “you scared the baby,” but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too. (Arya IV, AGoT)

While Bran is connected to summer and warmth through his magical familiar, Jon possesses a unique sensitivity to death, embodied by his bond with Ghost.

He sniffed at the bark, smelled wolf and tree and boy, but behind that there were other scents, the rich brown smell of warm earth and the hard grey smell of stone and something else, something terrible. Death, he knew. He was smelling death. He cringed back, his hair bristling, and bared his fangs. Don't be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him. (Jon VII, ACoK)

Furthermore, Jon’s fate at the end of ADWD implies that through his death and eventual rebirth, he becomes a ghost in his own right—caught between life and death, existing yet not fully alive. This intertwines with his connection to darkness, as Jon straddles the boundary between light and darkness: a shadow.

All in black, he was a shadow among shadows, dark of hair, long of face, grey of eye. (Jon VII, ACoK)

“I can show you.” Melisandre draped one slender arm over Ghost, and the direwolf licked her face. “The Lord of Light in his wisdom made us male and female, two parts of a greater whole. In our joining there is power. Power to make life. Power to make light. Power to cast shadows.” “Shadows.” The world seemed darker when he said it. “Every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others long and dark. You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall.” Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall. (Jon VI, ADWD)

Shadows, like ghosts, are echoes of something once tangible. They arise from obstructed light, existing in a realm that is neither completely dark nor wholly bright, hovering between presence and absence. They highlight where light is absent. But shadows also exist only in the presence of light, revealing the delicate boundary between illumination and the lack thereof.

So building on that idea, it’s significant that Jon’s frequent journeys into the Stark underworld, where death and darkness prevail, take a pivotal turn in ASoS when he becomes vividly aware of light fading in real time.

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. "Father?" he called. "Bran? Rickon?" No one answered. A chill wind was blowing on his neck. "Uncle?" he called. "Uncle Benjen? Father? Please, Father, help me." Up above he heard drums. They are feasting in the Great Hall, but I am not welcome there. I am no Stark, and this is not my place. His crutch slipped and he fell to his knees. The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. "Ygritte?" he whispered. "Forgive me. Please." But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his golden eyes shining sadly through the dark…

This is particularly noteworthy because of a similar, parallel dreams:

That night he dreamed of the feast Ned Stark had thrown when King Robert came to Winterfell. The hall rang with music and laughter, though the cold winds were rising outside. At first it was all wine and roast meat, and Theon was making japes and eyeing the serving girls and having himself a fine time . . . until he noticed that the room was growing darker. The music did not seem so jolly then; he heard discords and strange silences, and notes that hung in the air bleeding. Suddenly the wine turned bitter in his mouth, and when he looked up from his cup he saw that he was dining with the dead. (Theon V, ACoK)

The fires that ran along the blade were guttering out, and Jaime remembered what Cersei had said. No. Terror closed a hand about his throat. Then his sword went dark, and only Brienne’s burned, as the ghosts came rushing in. (Jaime VI, ASoS)

The ASoS crypt dream runs parallel to Theon’s ACoK dream and Jaime’s ASoS dream, with a common element: the presence of death and growing darkness.

While the crypts are inherently dark, Jon perceives when other sources of light are extinguished—true to his role in the Night’s Watch, which is to keep vigil against encroaching darkness. This ability to sense the fading light underscores his ghostly nature, where he reflects light while simultaneously existing in a state of absence. It also highlights his role as a shadow, existing in the blending of light and darkness. As both a shadow and a ghost, he can navigate these dual states, acting within the world’s transitions between day and night.

Which brings us to what I consider a continuation of Jon VII; while that chapter is marked by a lack of light, this next chapter is characterized by an abundance of it:

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. ‘Snow,’ an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall, he sent them down to die again. He slew a greybeard, a beardless boy, a giant, a gaunt man with filed teeth, and a girl with thick red hair. Too late he recognized Ygritte. She was gone as quick as she’d appeared. The world dissolved into a red mist. (Jon XII, ADWD)

At some point between these two dreams, Jon found (or even created) light and he wields it as a weapon. And it’s clear that Jon’s sword in this dream is the actual manifestation Azor Ahai’s Lightbringer:

“In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour, a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.” (Davos I, ACoK)

Lightbringer has two major requirements: to give off heat and to illuminate. Jon’s sword does both!

We’ve seen a number Lightbringer-esque weapons (e.g., Beric’s and Thoros’), but Stannis Baratheon’s sword is the most intriguing proxy.

Davos knelt, and Stannis drew his longsword. Lightbringer, Melisandre had named it; the red sword of heroes, drawn from the fires where the seven gods were consumed. The room seemed to grow brighter as the blade slid from its scabbard. The steel had a glow to it; now orange, now yellow, now red. The air shimmered around it, and no jewel had ever sparkled so brilliantly. But when Stannis touched it to Davos’s shoulder, it felt no different than any other longsword. “Ser Davos of House Seaworth,” the king said, “are you my true and honest liege man, now and forever?” (Davos IV, ASoS)

While Stannis’ sword is visually dazzling, it is, in essence, a well-made fake. Its bright glow meets one of the two requirements for “light-bringer”, yet its impressive variety of hues with no actual heat serve as a clue that it is not the true sword of heroes. When the world cloaked in darkness, a weapon that shines as brightly as the sun is undoubtedly a powerful symbol. And Stannis’ sword is bright….

….but it’s almost too bright. His sword emits the wrong kind of light—one that is all glamor with little substance. This great conflict is referred to as the “war for the dawn”. So what humanity needs is a reminder of the dawn itself:

As a red dawn broke in the east, Grey Wind began to howl again. (Catelyn X, AGoT)

A swollen red sun hung low against the western hills when the gates of the castle opened. (Catelyn IX, AGoT)

Dawn and the sun are often associated with red hues in the text, a color heavily tied to fire (e.g., House Targaryen and R’hllor). Stannis’ sword gives off light, but it lacks the essence of true warmth. In contrast, Jon’s sword is the real Lightbringer: it is hot enough to burn against the cold and it radiates the actual red hues of dawn, thus illuminating the world around it.

Jon’s role as the archetypal fantasy protagonist necessitates a magic sword—Lightbringer will be his Excalibur; his Anduril. But more than just being a weapon, his Lightbringer symbolizes the transition from darkness to light. Dawn, a moment of transformation, begins with deep red hues that retain the shadows of night before blooming into the full brightness of the sun. Like the early dawn, Jon straddles the line between night and day, existing between life and death, darkness and light. As the middle dragon head, he embodies balance.

I’m not really sure how that plays out in the endgame; hell, I still can’t figure out how Jon will “forge” Lightbringer in the first place. But he has to end up somewhere for his arc to reach its magical climax. I’ve speculated that Bran and Dany might find themselves at the Isle of Faces or the heart of winter. The latter is a strong possibility for Jon, especially if he too recreates the last hero’s journey; not to mention his connections to snow and winter. But he could also return to the Wall, a mighty structure that symbolizes the boundary between life and death. The Wall is also imbued with ancient magic that radiates outward (e.g., strengthening Mel’s magic and prolonging Maester Aemon’s life). Therefore, it could serve as the ideal location for Jon to reignite and wield the light that has long been hidden.

Though Bran, Jon, and Dany each have distinct roles in restoring balance, their actions are deeply intertwined, with shared themes across their arcs. Jon and Bran connect through their existence in darkness, as seen in their ACoK dreams. All three share connections to death: Bran inhabits the realm of the dead (Mel I, ADWD; Jon’s ACoK wolfdream), Jon embodies a ghost-like nature that straddles life and death, and Dany is called the “bride of fire, daughter of death”. Additionally, Jon and Bran are linked to winter, and both Jon and Dany share the legacy of Azor Ahai and Lightbringer, with dragon breath also echoing the red hues of dawn. Together, they are not just separate forces but three heads of the same dragon, working in concert to ensure that the Long Night ends and the cycle of life and death continues.

TL;DR:

The dragon has three heads, each with a unique role in maintaining the cycle of balance, despite their overlaps in common themes. Bran, the Prince of Winterfell, embodies summer and inherits the legacy of the kings of winter, making him the most suited to confront the Long Night’s origin: winter itself. The Long Night cannot end without Bran’s triumph, as winter represents death while summer signifies new life. Dany, linked to the ebb and flow of magic and the direct antithesis of the Others, is best positioned to engage them in battle and counteract the ice magic that enables their existence. As the perfect manifestation of fire magic, she serves as a powerful weapon, embodying the theme of destruction by being “breaker of chains”. Meanwhile, Jon straddles the boundaries of light and dark, life and death, destruction and creation. His unique position allows him to navigate these extremes, bringing forth the lost light while holding back the consuming darkness. As the embodiment of balance—dead yet alive, icy yet fiery—he ensures the proper equilibrium between these forces.

Dragons, symbols of life, fire, and summer, starkly contrast with the cold death represented by winter and its children. Daenerys, as the Mother of Dragons, embodies the nurturing aspect of life, actively bringing forth new existence by counteracting suspended states of life (e.g., awakening dragon eggs and freeing slaves). Bran, representing youthful vitality, symbolizes young life that is both born and maturing. Jon occupies a unique position in the middle; he is like spring, a new life emerging from darkness, akin to an awakened dragon—life once petrified but now revitalized. Together, these three form a multifaceted dragon that embodies various dimensions of life, each contributing uniquely to the fight against the Long Night.

#yikesssssss this might be the longest post I’ve ever written shajsbsjbshs #have a lot of thoughts so I hope this all made sense despite the length #but I’ve been wanting to write a more detailed post on thematic meaning of ’the dragon has three heads’#asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #jon snow #bran stark #daenerys targaryen #three heads of the dragon #the long night #the others #random speculations

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atopvisenyashill · 11 days ago

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king bran

so i’ve lined up my theory on how bran will be king in harrenhal but i was a little lax on details about king bran foreshadowing. there’s the “bran in harrenhal” stuff i’ve outlined which includes-

bran’s connection to the weirwoods & the magical connection the isle of faces has

the whent connection

bran being a metaphorical heir to robb by ruling over the lands robb was born, fought, and died in

the importance of harrenhal as a symbol of both the wasteful excess and hope for the future

but why king bran specifically? well…

ATTEMPTED SLAYING BY THE KINGSLAYER

for one thing, bran is our introduction to the entire series (barring the prologue, rip to 3 icons). he introduces us to the brutality of this world, to the themes of justice, kingship, leadership, to the Others, and to magic. that very important lesson about how the person to pass judgement must swing the sword, and must be sure that the life they're taking is one that deserves to be taken? That comes to us not through Jon, or even Arya, but Bran:

Yet our way is the older way. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.

That last sentence in particular is a belief that really sticks in all the kids heads as they go about their journeys, and it is through Bran that we learn it.

But in his second chapter, Bran also introduces us to jaime, cersei, and the main plot twist of the first book which kick starts the war of five kings. before he's pushed from the tower, this is all we know about Jaime-

He’s blonde, he’s named Jaime, and he killed the king.

Then the first thing he does is attempt to slay Bran.

AEGON VI AND THE PISSWATER PRINCE

What’s most interesting to me regarding King Bran foreshadowing is that the story of how Bran survives the sack of Winterfell is very similar to Varys & Illyrio’s story of the pisswater prince. Here is Tyrion’s summary of it-

"And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne…

and some reminders about Bran, helpfully color coded-

It was not Bran we killed. It was not Rickon. They were only miller's sons, from the mill by the Acorn Water. "I had to have two heads, else they would have mocked me… laughed at me..."

Three times he had sworn to keep the secret; once to Bran himself, once to that strange boy Jojen Reed, and last of all to Coldhands. "The world believes the boy is dead," his rescuer had said as they parted. "Let his bones lie undisturbed. We want no seekers coming after us. Swear it, Samwell of the Night's Watch. Swear it for the life you owe me."

“Hodor must stay with Bran, to be his legs," the wildling woman said briskly. "I will take Rickon with me." “We'll go with Bran," said Jojen Reed. "Aye, I thought you might," said Osha.

Another interesting thing about Bran, the Reeds, and Aegon VI here-

“He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire."

I swear it by earth and water," said the boy in green. "I swear it by bronze and iron," his sister said. "We swear it by ice and fire," they finished together.

BRAN, THE REEDS, AND THE FISHER KING

Now first of all, quick rundown with more color coding. The Fisher King is a character in Arthurian legend, involved in a story with Perceval and the Holy Grail (so you know we’re already cooking here bc Holy Grail stories are baller). The Fisher King is the last in a long line of kings tasked with guarding the Holy Grail. He is injured at some point, usually in the groin, and is rendered barren by the wound, and his land is a barren wasteland where nothing will grow because he is connected to the land. Only when a prophesied hero comes seeking him will the Fisher King be healed. Perceval, of course, comes seeking him, heals him, and gets the Holy Grail.

Now some of the beats of that story should sound familiar-

Thousands and thousands of years ago, Brandon the Builder had raised Winterfell, and some said the Wall. Bran knew the story, but it had never been his favorite. Maybe one of the other Brandons had liked that story. Sometimes Nan would talk to him as if he were her Brandon, the baby she had nursed all those years ago, and sometimes she confused him with his uncle Brandon, who was killed by the Mad King before Bran was even born. She had lived so long, Mother had told him once, that all the Brandon Starks had become one person in her head.

He was going to be a knight," Arya was saying now. "A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he still be a knight?" "No," Ned said. He saw no use in lying to her. "Yet someday he may be the lord of a great holdfast and sit on the king's council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or sail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother's Faith and become the High Septon." But he will never run beside his wolf again, he thought with a sadness too deep for words, or lie with a woman, or hold his own son in his arms.

The stone is strong, Bran told himself, the roots of the trees go deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained. It was not dead, just broken. Like me, he thought. I'm not dead either.

What was he now? Only Bran the broken boy, Brandon of House Stark, prince of a lost kingdom, lord of a burned castle, heir to ruins. He had thought the three-eyed crow would be a sorcerer, a wise old wizard who could fix his legs, but that was some stupid child's dream, he realized now.

No," said the pale lord. "That is beyond my powers." Bran's eyes filled with tears. We came such a long way. The chamber echoed to the sound of the black river. "You will never walk again, Bran," the pale lips promised, "but you will fly."

Now what’s interesting is in twoiaf we learn about some ancient rulers called the Fisher Queens-

From such we know of the Fisher Queens, who ruled the lands adjoining the Silver Sea—the great inland sea at the heart of the grasslands—from a floating palace that made its way endlessly around its shores.

The Fisher Queens were wise and benevolent and favored of the gods, we are told, and kings and lords and wise men sought the floating palace for their counsel.

And what do you know look at who Bran is traveling with-

“My father taught me. We have no knights at Greywater. No master-at-arms, and no maester.” “Who keeps your ravens?” She smiled. “Ravens can’t find Greywater Watch, no more than our enemies can.” “Why not?” “Because it moves,” she told him.

Jojen Reed was thirteen, only four years older than Bran. Jojen wasn't much bigger either, no more than two inches or maybe three, but he had a solemn way of talking that made him seem older and wiser than he really was. At Winterfell, Old Nan had dubbed him "little grandfather."

When they died, they went into the wood, into leaf and limb and root, and the trees remembered. All their songs and spells, their histories and prayers, everything they knew about this world. Maesters will tell you that the weirwoods are sacred to the old gods. The singers believe they are the old gods. When singers die they become part of that godhood.

I like to say this about Theon, when he sees Bran's face in the weirwood and thinks, "The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name." that this is partially true - Theon is beloved by the gods but what he doesn't realize is that the old god he is beloved by is in fact Bran Stark. When the old gods weep for Theon and Jeyne, it is Bran weeping for them! So similarly, the way the Fisher Queens in their moving castle were thought to be beloved by the gods the Reeds in their floating castle are beloved by the gods because they are beloved by Bran. This reinforces Bran's connection to the Fisher King imo - just as the old greenseers and singers/cotf are quite literally connected to the land because they have become part of the the weirwood hivemind, Bran has this same connection to the land.

AND what’s more is that the Fisher King story is likely to trace itself back to a Welsh story, of a magical King who gives his sister's hand away, only to learn that she is being mistreated, and musters a host to go save her. During a battle, the King is mortally wounded by an injury in his foot, and as he dies he tells his men to cut off his head and take it to London so he can protect their people from invasion, and for several years after he "dies" his head continues speaking. If that also sounds familair, do you want to know what that man’s name was?

Bran the Blessed.

MELISANDRE'S VISION

Now staying in the realm of magic, we also have this very interesting passage from Melisandre, emphasis mine-

Show me Stannis, Lord, she prayed. Show me your king, your instrument. Visions danced before her, gold and scarlet, flickering, forming and melting and dissolving into one another, shapes strange and terrifying and seductive. She saw the eyeless faces again, staring out at her from sockets weeping blood. Then the towers by the sea, crumbling as the dark tide came sweeping over them, rising from the depths. Shadows in the shape of skulls, skulls that turned to mist, bodies locked together in lust, writhing and rolling and clawing. Through curtains of fire great winged shadows wheeled against a hard blue sky. A face took shape within the hearth. Stannis? she thought, for just a moment … but no, these were not his features. A wooden face, corpse white. Was this the enemy? A thousand red eyes floated in the rising flames. He sees me. Beside him, a boy with a wolf's face threw back his head and howled.

THE REGENCY OF AEGON III

So warning this is part parallelism and part prediction

The Dance of the Dragons was done, and the melancholy reign of King Aegon III Targaryen had begun.

As he was still but ten years of age, the new king’s first act was to name the men who would protect and defend him, and rule for him until he came of age.

This was a council of which Septon Eustace heartily approved, “six strong men and one wise woman, seven to rule us here on earth as the Seven Above rule all men from their heaven.” Mushroom was less impressed. “Seven regents were six too many,” he said. “Pity our poor king.” Despite the fool’s misgivings, most observers seemed to feel that the reign of King Aegon III had begun on a hopeful note.

So many lords, both great and small, had perished during the Dance of the Dragons that the Citadel rightly names this time the Winter of the Widows. Never before or since in the history of the Seven Kingdoms have so many women wielded so much power, ruling in the place of their slain husbands, brothers, and fathers, for sons in swaddling clothes or still on the teat.

The smallfolk of the Seven Kingdoms speak of King Aegon III Targaryen as Aegon the Unlucky, Aegon the Unhappy, and (most often) the Dragonbane, when they remember him at all. All these names are apt. Grand Maester Munkun, who served him for a good part of his reign, calls him the Broken King, which fits him even better. Of all the men ever to sit the Iron Throne, he remains perhaps the most enigmatic: a shadowy monarch who said little and did less, and lived a life steeped in grief and melancholy.

There is also a big focus on the “tax policies” aspect of the story through these two child rulers. Much of Aegon’s regency centers around him butting heads with his guardians while Bran’s ACOK arc sees him as the ruling Stark in Winterfell and learning how to lead with mentors in Maester Luwin & Ser Rodrik Cassell. EYE also think it’s interesting how both Aegon & Bran get some focus on having a lil gaggle of companions around. Aegon has Gaemon, Jaehaera, Viserys, Daenaera, and Larra Rogare, while Bran has the Big Walder, Little Walder, Rickon, Jojen, and Meera. They both feel like very similar groups of kids that are thrown together & running amok with adult supervision that is more lax/not coming from their parents.

There's also just like, a lot of parallels between Baela, Rhaena, Jacaerys, and Aegon with Arya, Sansa, Jon Snow, and Bran. There are several good breakdowns of the Sansa/Arya parallels as well as the Jace/Jon Snow ones, so I won't dig into that here, but I think when you put all this together what you have between Bran and Aegon III is-

Two boy kings who will have a long regency

Both orphaned due to a brutal succession war

Both referred to as "broken" - aegon by munkin, and bran referring to himself

Younger - but not the youngest - brother coming into his seat after his older brother is killed

Both have names that are important in their families & frequently re-used - and in fact both share a name with their uncle

A very rare "winter of widows" where most of the houses are ruled by women due to all the men being dead and their heirs being babies is coming up in the main series

This anti parallel of Aegon being a very melancholy person & Bran being known to be “quick to laugh and easy to love.”

As for his relationships, we have-

His bastard born brother With Some Secret Paternity Going On, who is likely not going to be in the running for King at the end of the war (hopefully um, Jon Snow actually lives unlike poor Jacaerys)

His oldest brother dying at 16 during the war

One sister who is more adventurous and "tomboy"ish, who is associated with ships and travel

Another sister who is more ladylike, who has a largely political arc in the Vale

Both sisters are likely to take leading roles as political players in the aftermath of the war - I do suspect we will get some sort of “Hour of the Wolf” parallels here, just before or after Bran is crowned

SOME CHOICE QUOTES TO LEAVE OFF ON

Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know. - Bran II, AGOT

Ahead he glimpsed a pale white trunk that could only be a weirwood, crowned with a head of dark red leaves. - Jon VII, ADWD

#valyrianscrolls #lawyering for bran #bran stark #king bran #the king in harrenhal #rani attempts meta #jaime lannister #aegon the unlucky #aegon vi targaryen #the fisher king #the fisher queens #meera reed #jojen reed #melisandre of the shadow

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jozor-johai · 3 months ago

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So do you think Dany and Jon are just two Heads of the Dragon? and if so, who do you think is the third? my money's on Bran as like, the Ice Representative to balance out Dany's fire and Jon's Ice/Fire dealies.

Thank you for this ask, sorry it took ages to respond.

Say that we know (or we think we know) that two "heads" of "the dragon" are Jon and Dany—insofar as we even think we understand what that phrase is supposed to mean (an assumption that I think is worth questioning as well, but that's not a task for now).

Here's what I love about this question—the issue of "who/what is the 'third head'" comes up as a literal question in a religious sense when Arya is talking to the Sailor's Wife in Braavos. There's a statue to the god Trios, and the Sailor's Wife can't tell us the purpose of one of the heads:

Three-headed Trios has that tower with three turrets. The first head devours the dying, and the reborn emerge from the third. I don't know what the middle head's supposed to do.

GRRM is definitely referencing the concept of the "three headed (dragon)" when he invented Trios; the imagery is too central and too specific for that not to be the case. What's fun, of course, is that we're all asking ourselves the same thing—what (or who) is that middle head?

I like your suggestion about Bran. It's a pretty unorthodox idea, because most people assume/expect that the three heads of the "dragon" must be Targaryen or at least Valyrian... but I don't think one needs Valyrian blood to ride a dragon, so as far as I'm concerned Bran is an option. He's a cool idea, too, because of his attachment to the North, the far North, and maybe even the "Ice" concept, like you say. Bran's also a powerful skinchanger—or, in training to be one—and there's not a doubt in my mind we're going to see some dragons get skinchanged. GRRM has been asked about that idea before and he's gleefully dodged answering it.

That would also be interesting because it's worth remembering that Jon is technically not canonically a Targaryen (yet), or even a contender to be a "head of the dragon" (yet). We think we've figured it out (and we probably have) but it's still technically a mystery. In that sense, then, if I was going to lean on the comparison with Trios, I would say: perhaps by now we should have met the first "head" —the "death" head—and we should have met the last head— "rebirth" head—so we should be missing this middle head whose purpose we don't know. However, we think we've figured out that Jon is the marriage of Ice and Fire, so maybe he's the "unknown" middle head—and then Dany is, on one side, the "rebirth" head (of fire?), and we should have met the "death" head (of ice?) already, but we don't know who it might be. Perhaps it's Bran!

If I'm being honest, I personally haven't thought too much about solving the third head of the dragon issue. It's clear to me that some key piece of the puzzle is being intentionally obscured from our view, so it feels like a fool's errand to be confident in solving it at this point. I realize that's a lame answer, but it's the truth—I try to approach these things beginning with how they work in the story and how they work with the symbolism at play, so without being sure how the "three heads" are even supposed to work I haven't tried to solve this mystery.

If there are truly three people who are going to be the "three heads of the dragon," I think the rules of good storytelling limit our options to characters that were introduced in AGOT. If we limit that to POVs—which is not necessarily a valid assumption, but I think is likely—then that's only Tyrion, Bran, Arya, or Sansa. I'm torn on the common "Tyrion Targaryen" theory... I don't really like it, but it would explain why he's included as a POV in AGOT and why he makes the shortlist for possibilities here (among other things). Bran would be a much more interesting option, though.

The thing is, I'm ultimately not convinced the "three heads" are going to work like we expect. Yes, it's said that Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya were the "three heads," but who knows if the common understanding of that is true? Plus, the person who presents the idea to Dany of the need for "three heads" to ride the three dragons is Jorah... who I don't think knows shit about dragons. So my mind is wide open when it comes to possible interpretations of the "three heads of the dragon."

#ask the red temple #jozor thoughts #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #daenerys targaryen #bran stark #jon snow

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iceywolf24 · 8 months ago

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Bran + the oath of knighthood

In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave

Something about the way the raven screamed sent a shiver running up Bran's spine. I am almost a man grown, he had to remind himself. I have to be brave now. - Bran II ADWD

In the name of the Father I charge you to be just

"One day, Bran, you will be Robb's bannerman, holding a keep of your own for your brother and your king, and justice will fall to you. When that day comes, you must take no pleasure in the task, but neither must you look away. A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is." - Bran I AGOT

In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent

A good lord protects his people, he reminded himself. "I've yielded Winterfell to Theon." - Bran VI ACOK

In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women

Bran wanted to give the lady a hundred men to defend her rights - Bran II ACOK

#asoiaf knighthood #Bran Stark meta #Asoiaf #asoiaf meta #bran stark

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dipperscavern · 2 months ago

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stop dippy im blushing

can i do potion brewing: enemies to lovers with Robb? feel free to throw in some smut

congrats again💕💕

-🍰

hi my love, absolutely!! i apologize so dearly for the length omg

so, let’s say you’re a lannister. cersei’s daughter, and traveling with jamie to (eventually) make your way to kingslanding. except you both get captured by robb & his army

even if robb has a lot of distaste for your house, or you specifically, he would not tolerate any mistreatment of you whatsoever. sure, he wasn’t as gentle with jamie as he could’ve been, but jamie wasn’t thoroughly mistreated. and neither shall you be.

robb would find himself visiting you more often then not, and be quite frustrated with himself, because he doesn’t just grow to tolerate your company — but enjoy it.

would have an internal pull, and would go a few days without visiting you sometimes. he’s fighting with his head and his heart, as he feels like he’s betraying his house

you find you enjoy not just robb’s company, but catelyns as well. the more you realize what house stark stands for, the more you start doubting your loyalty to your own last name.

if you’re the open-minded type, you and robb would have some really interesting conversations. hearing his side of the war, and how it actually started (compared to what your mother told you), and i think that’s when your loyalty switches (whether you know it or not)

you don’t sleep much that night, mind keeping you awake. you have some sense of faded loyalty to your house, but will it be blind? will you choose what you’ve been told to, or what is right?

when morning comes, you swear allegiance to house stark.

it would take a while for you to actually gain the trust of anyone. and you would stick by catelyn (and brienne) virtually all the time.

you would give advice to catelyn when you think it might help, keep your head down, and do any task assigned to you in a test of trust.

you’re kept very far away from jamie, and any request to see him is denied.

robb distances himself from you for a while, things with your loyalty too fresh to be seen “catering” to you.

but, eventually, fate decides to bring you back together. sneaking to the kitchens of the castle hosting robb and his army, and catching robb up late at night. he’s reminded how easy you are to speak to.

you’re trusted more as time goes on, and you and robb strike a sort of understanding. you both are desperate for someone that will listen to you, and your gazes keep finding the others lips — but none of it will ever be said aloud.

you’re by him & catelyns side as they find out about bran and rickon, and slowly, they begin to put their trust into you.

as their political situation worsens, talk of a betrothal begins to reach your ears.

you and robb have a conversation. he says he wished to marry for love, and you laugh. you tell him the only ones that marry for love are the lucky and the lowborn. but you also tell him that love can be developed over time, and he nods. you both have an understanding.

you’re given more responsibilities and they show their (almost) full trust in you as you and robb become betrothed (officially). you decide to be fully devoted to him, and one day visit your uncle, still bound in his chains.

you tell him the truth. about your shared house, about your mother, your grandsire, even jamie himself. and you tell him you’re wiping the lion-maned stain off your name. you tell him of the love once held for him and your mother, and you tell him goodbye.

he calls out for you, but not by name. “traitor,” he says — and you turn your back on him. he may rot.

#dippys asks #dippys 1k #🍰 anon #robb stark #game of thrones #robb stark x reader #pls i will never write hc’s this king again i’m so sorry #IM ACTUALLY SORRY

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lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom · 9 months ago

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Masterlist

Request Guidelines

The Bad Batch

Crosshair

You're Different- Ever since Crosshair made a snide comment about leaving a team member to die, you’ve had a lingering thought. Even though you knew he loved you, doubts rose. Okay Again- After spending months on Pabu recouping from the Empire, Shep gets under your skin. You blow up at the unfair treatment, and Crosshair helps you calm down. Forgiven- You reminisce on the first time Crosshair fought against you and his brothers. He thought you'd never forgive him, but he is surprised when you reunite. Dog Days- You met Crosshair while he was taking Batcher for a walk. Passing your house quickly became a daily task you all looked forward to. Is it wrong to say you caught feelings for him? And was Crosshair really jealous of the attention you gave Batcher?

CX-2 (Clone Assassin)

Does the End Justify the Means?- CX-2 never planned on forming a relationship, but once he did he had to protect it. Even if it meant killing hundreds to keep you away from Hemlock. MENTIONS OF BURNS AND TORTURE!!

Echo

Confessions on the Marauder- You and Echo finally have a moment alone on the Marauder. Of course the pressure gets to one of you, and confesses. Worst Case Scenario- After an ambush from the Empire, you, Echo, and Omega must escape by yourselves. Hunter and Wrecker sacrifice themselves to let you three live. Based on Season 2, Ep. 16 One Day- Echo is, understandably, not taking Techs death well. Comfort ensues!

Hunter

Knight in Rusty Armor- After a bad run-in at a market, Hunter has to save you and Omega. You can't help but feel like a failure for not being able to protect Omega by yourself... Marry Me?- After an insufferable separation from you, Hunter realizes his true feelings. That he never wants to be apart from you- that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. Wedding Planning- Now that Hunter has popped the question, you and Omega start planning the wedding! Little do you know, Hunter overhears and falls a little more in love. Part 2 to 'Marry Me?' I Will Protect You- As a defective Jedi you are reassigned to The Bad Batch. How can you resist Hunter? Especially when he confesses after seeing how good you are with Omega. Calming Waves- After finding out Omega has been taken for the third time, you and Hunter must comfort each other. Set at the end of s.3 ep.11

Tech

Absurd Thoughts- During a regrettable moment of insecurity, you think Tech considers going off with Phee. Assurance pursues, Tech only wants you. Familiar Faces- Tech's death was not a reality you were ready for, you relied so much on his love. After months of grief, you find he might not actually be dead. Bookworm- You and Tech have a moment alone on The Marauder. What better way to spend it than reading! Accompanied by Tech on his datapad, of course. By Your Side- During an escape from the Empire, you break your arm. Tech is quick to be at your side, fixing you up. At the intensity of the situation, feelings are revealed. Warning for descriptions of broken bones!

Wrecker

Headaches- Wrecker always goes to reader for help with his constant headaches. Based on S 1, Ep 5-7 when Wreckers inhibitor chip was giving him bad headaches! Back Home- After searching for months, Wrecker is finally reunited with you. You couldn't be happier. Bundle of Joy- Wrecker is scared he might hurt your newborn baby. You reassure him he won't, and that he is a good father. Warning for descriptions of birth!

Clone Force 99 (Platonic)

Winning Approval- You felt as if you were living a purpose-less life, so when Hunter asks you to join his crew, you say yes! Not everyone on the force is as happy though... Takes place during and after Season 1, Ep. 2.

Game of Thrones

Brandon Stark

Following you to the ends of the earth- Your time with Bran, Meera, and Hodor in the Three-Eyed Raven's cave. Unsaid feelings become said. PART TWO

Avatar The Last Airbender

Zuko

'Fake' Feelings- In a pinch, you have to pretend to be in a relationship with Zuko. Little do you know it was never pretend for Zuko.

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swiftsaltsweet · 3 months ago

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Two Knives Chapter 5: Kyoshi- Escalation

Characters: Rangi and Kyoshi (RoK characters tbh)

Pairing: Rangshi

Rating: M

Summary:

Things have been stressful for Kyoshi. First, she sang a poem and now the whole kitchen staff thinks it’s about Rangi, and is sure that there will be gossip. Then, Yun asks her to join him for the Fifth Nation treaty signing. Now Rangi’s acting strange. It’s becoming a bit much for Kyoshi’s small corner of the world.

(Canon Divergent AU- Kelsang wasn’t the one who heard the poem?….aka What if it took longer for them to realize Kyoshi was the Avatar?)

Other Sites: AO3

A/N: The spray bottle isn’t enough, I need the horny stick and a jail for them. u_u *posts chapter and runs away embarrassed* TT0TT

_____

About two weeks passed before Kyoshi was able to talk to Yun.

It had become extremely hectic around the mansion. Hei-Ran was really on Yun when it came to his firebending training. And when she wasn’t taking up his time, Jianzhu was. They were arranging several political meetings for the upcoming months. Treaties and laws needed signing and other such important things.

Auntie Mui also had an enormous amount of tasks that Kyoshi needed to do. The list was so long every day, she almost didn’t have time to finish them all by the end of the day.

There must’ve been a lot to do, because even Rangi had to chip in. Unfortunately for Kyoshi, a lot of the tasks seemed to take Rangi to the complete opposite side of the peninsula, let alone the mansion.

But somehow, every night, Rangi would find a way to make her way back to Kyoshi. It would usually be after everyone had gone to sleep that she would show up at Kyoshi’s door.

Seeing Rangi had become the highlight of Kyoshi’s day-well…night. The only downside was they couldn’t progress their relationship as far as they wanted, due to being so dead tired every night. A combination of the overwork, and the time they spent sacrificing sleep so they could steal what tired kisses they could, would do that to you.

Today, Rangi was in another village delivering a “secret package.” She wouldn’t be back until that night, again. Kyoshi couldn’t help but sigh.

On the brightside, Yun finally had time to talk about whatever it was that was so important.

She and Yun were alone in the garden while she fed the koi. In the end, she lied about a frog squirrel eating the lost feed.

“What was it you needed to talk about, Yun?” Kyoshi asked as she scattered the feed into the pond.

“First off, Kyoshi, I would like to sincerely apologize about what happened with the Fifth Nation,” Yun looked down at his palm. It had been stained by the ink when he earthbent the container to defend himself. “I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that. You even put your life on the line to save me, and it gave me the opportunity to break free of my ice prison.”

Kyoshi put a hand on his shoulder and smiled reassuringly. “Yun, it’s really ok. Don’t beat yourself up, I’m just happy you’re alright.”

Yun grimaced. “But still…..”

“I’m just happy you’re safe. You’re important and people care about you, Yun. And not just because you’re the Avatar! You’re important,” she laughed. “Don’t worry about me.”

Yun smiled at her. “Thanks, Kyoshi. You always seem to know what to say.”

Kyoshi scratched the back of her head. “I don’t know about that.” Her mind wandered to the multiple goofs she’d made in the past month. “Is that what you needed to talk about?”

Yun’s eyes widened and looked away. He stood there silently for a moment, then he nodded to himself. He turned back to Kyoshi, drawing up his full height. He had a serious look in his eye. “Kyoshi, I-” he stopped. His eyes widened and face fell in surprise. “R-Rangi?!”

Kyoshi’s heart fluttered upon hearing Rangi’s name, and quickly followed his gaze that led behind her. When she turned around, she dropped the bag of feed to the ground in surprise as she saw Rangi running towards them. She was a mess, covered in dirt and other foliage. There was even a tiny branch sticking out of her topknot!

Rangi stopped right next to her friends, and stood at attention like she wasn’t covered in grime and sweat.

“Hey… Guys…. What’d I…. Miss?” she paused between deep gasps of air.

“Y-you’re…..back,” Yun looked at Rangi, completely surprised.

Kyoshi’s hands hovered over Rangi, the intense urge to clean threatening to overcome her. “W-what happened to you? What happened to your delivery? I thought you wouldn’t be back here until tonight!”

Rangi smiled at her, “Funny story. Turns out, the carriage that was supposed to take me back broke down. So I most likely wasn’t going to be able to come back until tomorrow night at the earliest.”

Kyoshi would’ve hated that, especially if she didn’t get word from Rangi that she'd be late. She would’ve stayed up all night worrying….. But that didn’t mean she wanted Rangi to run headfirst into…..whatever happened to her!

“So, uh, how’d you get back?” Yun let out an exasperated noise.

“I took a shortcut through, or I guess it was over, the mountain,” Rangi said matter-of-factly. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. Just a typical stroll for the firebender.

Kyoshi stopped her hovering, only because she needed her full attention to not grab the firebender by the shoulders and shake her. “You took a shortcut through the mountain?!”

Rangi gave Kyoshi a dazzling smile so bright, it’d make the sun jealous. “Of course, it was easy. I think I might make it my go-to shortcut in all honesty.”

Kyoshi was at a loss for words. Rangi sure was….something at times like this. So Kyoshui decided to just…… let the urge to clean overcome her. She started by brushing off the foliage on Rangi’s armor.

“Well you should be careful, I don’t want my bodyguard getting hurt,” Yun laughed.

“Thank you for your concern, Avatar. But you needn't worry, I’m very capable,” Rangi laughed back.

“So what was it you wanted to say again, Yun?” Kyoshi asked as she brushed off Rangi’s pant leg.

Rangi flashed her dazzling smile towards Yun. “Oh, were you two talking about something? I’m so sorry for interrupting.”

“Uh…..” Yun paused, trying to collect his thoughts, then he grinned. “I got a new pai sho board.”

Kyoshi stopped what she was doing and grimaced. “That’s the forty-fifth one! Get rid of it!”

Yun laughed. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I plan to.”

“I seriously have no idea why people keep sending you those! You have more than enough.”

“No idea either, I guess people are just persistent.”

Kyoshi sighed, and turned her attention to Rangi’s hair. She needed to get the leaves and sticks out of it. “Was that all?”

Yun laughed. “No, I do have some-” He stopped.

Kyoshi picked a leaf off of the crown of Rangi’s head, then looked at him. Wondering why he went quiet. “Something else?”

Yun stared at Kyoshi with a wide-eyed, aghast expression. Kyoshi returned it, puzzled. Then she followed his eye’s path, and it led to where her hands were, on Rangi’s hair.

Is something wrong? I know her hair is a mess but I’m trying to fix-

Kyoshi’s heart sank and her hands stiffened, then she slowly pulled her hands away from Rangi’s head.

The hair! She thought, terrified. The hair is the most sacred part of a firebender! And….and I….. I-

She's gotten so used to touching and caressing Rangi’s hair for the past two weeks, she’d forgotten about how sacrilegious it was to touch in general, especially in public! And Kyoshi did just that, she had dishonored Rangi!

No wonder Yun was looking at her horrified, she basically just stabbed and cursed their friend all at once! No, worse!

Kyoshi was starting to spiral, but found herself being grounded by a soft hand holding her’s.

“Why’d you stop?” Rangi asked her, completely unfazed, if not a little disappointed.

“I-I-” Kyoshi stuttered.

“Rangi, it’s your hair!” Yun said exasperated.

“That it is, I’m aware.” She closed her eyes with a small smile gracing her lips. Then she bowed her head forward, offering it to Kyoshi. “I really don’t mind, Kyoshi. If anything, you're helping me.”

If…if she says she doesn’t mind then…. Kyoshi’s heart began to pound as she resumed picking the foliage out of Rangi’s hair, gently. She went on in silence for what felt like eternity. It wasn’t until she removed the final stick from Rangi’s topknot, that she felt like she could breathe again.

“There,” Rangi smoothed her hair out as she stood up. “Much better.”

Kyoshi could feel her face blazing as she turned to Yun. He still looked shocked. Rangi may have said it was fine, but judging from Yun’s reaction, Kyoshi knew they did something that would’ve been considered taboo in the Fire Nation.

Then, as if coming out of his stupor, put his hands on his hips and laughed. “Well aren’t you two close!”

Kyoshi flinched. She and Rangi had agreed on keeping quiet about their relationship, mostly to not cause unnecessary trouble for them. Though, Kyoshi couldn’t help but feel like they weren’t exactly the best at hiding it.

“Of course, we’re friends,” Rangi said with a smile, but she grabbed Kyoshi’s hand as she said it. Kyoshi’s face grew hotter at the contact, she was getting a lot of mixed messages at the moment. It was better if she just kept quiet. Let Rangi lead.

Yun laughed. “Well, we’re friends too. Does that mean I can touch your hair?”

Rangi returned the laugh, then said with a slight melody, “If you do, I’ll burn more than just your eyebrows off~!”

Kyoshi watched as her two friends talked and couldn't help but feel….that something was up. Perhaps….she should speak up.

“A-anyway, Yun, you said you had one more thing you needed to talk about?” Kyoshi interrupted.

Yun tapped his chin, in thought. “Well, I still need to work out the kinks. But I wanted to offer you something Kyoshi.”

“What is it?”

Yun grinned widely at her. “I want you to become my Official Avatar Companion!”

There was a long, stunned silence. After hearing the eighth croak of a frog squirrel nearby, Rangi was the first one to speak.

“What?” Rangi said in a dead tone.

Uh oh. Kyoshi thought. She was already envisioning a sequel to Rangi’s mood after she found out Kyoshi was going with them to the Fifth Nation.

“Of course, we’ll make sure Kyoshi is trained,” Yun put his hands up in a surrendering fashion to the firebender's oncoming wrath. “You have a real talent Kyoshi, a lot of raw power. I saw it on the iceberg. And I think learning to fight would be the best thing for you.”

Rangi was taking very audible deep breaths as she squeezed Kyoshi’s hand. Kyoshi could feel her shaking with anger. “No.”

“I think Kyoshi is the one who has to decide for herself, Rangi.”

Rangi didn’t turn to Kyoshi, she just kept glaring at Yun. Kyoshi….didn’t know what to say. Becoming an Avatar’s companion was what so many people dreamed of, but seeing Rangi’s reaction….. Right now, Kyoshi’s primary dream was just having a happy girlfriend.

“Yun, I-” Kyoshi started.

Yun put his hand up. “You don’t need to decide yet. Mull it over a bit. I really think this is the best, for all of us!” His grin grew wider. “We’ll be able to spend all our time together! You’ll be able to explore the world! And, most importantly, you’ll know how to defend yourself.”

Kyoshi felt Rangi grow stock-still.

Yun clapped his hands as he looked up at the sky. “Well, would you look at the time? I better get back to training. Kyoshi, Rangi, you should take the rest of the day off. You’ve both been working so hard.”

Kyoshi watched as Yun left them, rounded the corner, and walked out of sight. As soon as he left, she felt Rangi’s hand go limp, and Kyoshi quickly caught her as the rest of her body began to fall.

“A-are you ok?”

Rangi groaned and then grimaced. “Yes, just…. a little tired.”

Of course you ran up and down a mountain! “Let’s get you to your room,” Kyoshi said, as she held Rangi close to her, arms slung around each other’s waist. Kyoshi half carried the firebender as they walked.

___________________

Rangi sighed, “Kyoshi, I’m fine.”

Kyoshi ran the damp towel down Rangi’s cheek, trying to get what grime she could off. “Then why did you almost collapse?”

Kyoshi had decided to put off discussing Yun’s proposition for now. Taking care of Rangi was more important at the moment.

Rangi grimaced. The firebender didn’t like showing weakness. “My legs were sore from all the running,” she finally admitted. “And exhaustion just….. caught up to me.”

Kyoshi stopped the towel and looked down at Rangi. Rangi was out of her armor, dressed down to her sleeveless white tunic and shorts she wore underneath. She’d also taken her hair out of her topknot. Rangi needed a bath, but Kyoshi wanted to make sure the firebender had the energy to make it to the bath first.

Her eyes flitted down to the bandage on Rangi’s leg. It looked worse for wear, not because mountain grime had gotten to it, but because of sweat. Kyoshi grabbed the medkit from Rangi’s nightstand and knelt down by the firebender.

“Kyoshi! Really, you don’t need-” Rangi started to protest as Kyoshi unwrapped the bandage.

Kyoshi pouted and glared up at Rangi, “Just let me help you.”

After a brief battle ran through her eyes, she sighed and looked away. Kyoshi didn’t know why she was putting up such a fight, she didn’t act this difficult when she first cleaned the wound.

Kyoshi inspected the wound, it didn’t look too bad. Which was good, it meant Rangi was taking care of it when Kyoshi wasn’t looking. Maybe in another week or two it’ll be healed…..

She got to work, cleaning the wound with soapy water, and then applying the salve onto it. She wouldn’t bandage the leg for now, because it’d just get wet when Rangi went to take her bath. But at least the wound would be cleaned until then.

As she worked the ointment in, she lightly blew on it to help it dry a little faster. As she did, she heard a strange noise. Kyoshi looked up, and saw Rangi gripping her armrests tightly, her face red as she looked away.

Kyoshi blinked, fascinate. She blew on Rangi’s leg again. Rangi’s upper body flinched as she suppressed another noise. Her face turned even more red. Then she looked down and gasped.

“Y-you’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” she accused.

Kyoshi didn’t really know what she was doing, but she liked the reaction. She felt her eyes sparkle as she gazed up at her glowing girl, and then she smirked.

Kyoshi blew air once more.

Rangi’s hands flew to Kyoshi’s mouth. The girl lost her balance and fell forward onto Kyoshi, who caught her and held her in a tight embrace as she laughed.

“S-stop that! Don’t laugh!” Rangi shouted, nuzzling her face into Kyoshi’s shoulder as she lightly smacked Kyoshi’s collarbone. It just made Kyoshi laugh harder. “Ugh? Are you secretly an airbender or something?”

“No? Why?” Kyoshi said between giggles.

“Because you were blowing so hard the air went up my-” Rangi cut off with a grumble.

“Your shorts?” Kyoshi reached down and lightly tapped the back of Rangi’s exposed thigh. Rangi squirmed at the touch.

“Stop! I-I’m sensitive right now!” Rangi cried.

Kyoshi felt a fire ignite in her, emboldened by the firebender on top of her, as well as Rangi’s scent permeating all around Rangi’s room. Kyoshi’s grin grew wicked.

“Sensitive?” Her lips dove for the firebender’s neck, peppering it with a bunch of light kisses, and let her hands wander freely over Rangi’s body.

Rangi didn’t stand a chance. She was puddy in Kyoshi's hands. She cried and laughed and kicked her feet. She was both trying to wiggle away from Kyoshi and hold on tighter.

After a minute, Kyoshi decided to stop her assault, to let Rangi recover. Rangi collapsed completely onto Kyoshi again, exhausted, remnants of giggle still escaping her lips.

Kyoshi kissed Rangi’s forehead a few times. Then she sniffed.

“You really need a bath,” she chuckled.

“Screw you,” Rangi smiled, breathless.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Kyoshi joked back, then the two of them grew stiff as the words started to sink in. Kyoshi’s heart began to beat strong and steady like an o-daiko drum, each beat felt like it vibrated the two of them.

Maybe Kyoshi propositioned too soon? Even if it was just a joke…. Well, in this case it was only half a joke.

Rangi, shifted her body. Her face was now facing Kyoshi. Her legs straddled one of Kyoshi’s thighs. “It can be,” she mumbled, hot breath hitting Kyoshi’s neck as she flexed her thighs.

Kyoshi looked down as the beats got louder and more steady. She saw the same steady look in Rangi’s eyes. They leaned in, both of their eyes looking at the other’s lips with heavy intent.

And then Kyoshi felt a new drumming sound encroaching on them.

Footsteps!

“S-someone’s coming!” Kyoshi whispered hurriedly.

Rangi shot up out of Kyoshi’s arms. Kyoshi went to follow, but Rangi shook her head and rolled her girlfriend under her bed instead. Both were thankful that Rangi’s raised bed was a lot bigger than Kyoshi’s.

Rangi quickly started picking up the medical supplies, and hopped around on one foot, trying to play up her injury.

The footsteps stopped, there was a knock, and before Rangi could answer, the door opened.

Kyoshi watched as familiar looking red boots and robes walked into Rangi’s room. It was Hei-Ran, her mother.

Kyoshi said a prayer, thanking all the spirits in existence that she and Rangi had stopped just in time. That she didn’t have to deal with Rangi’s mother witnessing Kyoshi ravaging her daughter on her bedroom floor.

“Mother, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Rangi asked, a little breathless. She hobbled on her foot, trying to hint at it as the reason, rather than Kyoshi having been the one to steal her breath away.

It took a moment for Hei-Ran to respond, she was possibly analyzing her daughter. “You came back…..early.”

Rangi let out a sigh of air. “Yes, I took a shortcut through the mountains.”

“The mount-” Hei-Ran began, surprised. Then she recomposed herself. “I….I see. I assume there were no issues?”

“Other than the carriage breaking down, and that I desperately need a bath? No.”

“Erm, right, I can see that. Wait, just a moment, it broke down?”

“Yes, it should be back sometime tomorrow from what they told me,” Rangi sighed. “Is there anything else you need, mother?”

Hei-Ran let out a harsh sigh herself. “Is it so wrong for a mother to check up on her daughter?”

Rangi didn’t respond, and another long silence followed.

Hei-Ran was the one who broke the silence. “Get your rest, you’ll need to return to Hongcun Village tomorrow to retrieve a few packages.”

Rangi was silent again.

“Be sure to bring Kyoshi with you, it should make the trip a little easier.” Kyoshi flinched on instinct when she heard her name, but made sure not to move any muscle further.

“H-huh?!” was all Rangi could force out.

“You heard me. She’s strong and can help carry them,” Hei-Ran said as she turned to leave. “Oh, and do you know where she is? I believe I heard Auntie Mui was looking for her. I know Yun said you two should take the rest of the day off, so I don’t believe it involves work. Just send her over when you see her next.” Then she left the room.

Kyoshi couldn’t help but feel like the older firebender knew she was hiding under the bed, despite being completely concealed. However, she chose to live on the path of ignorance, until new information was otherwise revealed. Ignorance was truly bliss as they say.

Kyoshi watched as Rangi got on her hands and knees and poked her head down so she could see Kyoshi. It was adorable.

“The coast is clear,” she said with a warm smile. She held out her hand to help pull Kyoshi out.

“I think we should probably play it safe for the rest of the night,” Kyoshi said after she got out from under the bed. “It just seems luck isn’t on our side tonight.”

It was Rangi’s turn for a mischievous grin. “Suuuure. So what should we do now?” She approached Kyoshi with that hypnotic sway she loved to do, and grabbed her by the lapel, and gave her a swift kiss. Seeming more interested in pushing their luck farther rather than playing it safe.

Kyoshi let herself melt until Rangi pulled away. “I think you should take a bath,” Kyoshi said with a smile. Rangi responded with a pout. “I need to go see Auntie Mui.”

Rangi straightened up Kyoshi’s clothes. “I think you should take a bath first, then go see Auntie Mui. I’ll take mine later.”

Kyoshi looked at her confused. Rangi smirked, placing her hands on Kyoshi’s shoulders and stood on her tiptoes as she whispered in Kyoshi’s ear. “You smell like me.”

Kyoshi’s face blazed as she looked at Rangi.

“Plus, your clothes got dirty, sorry,” Rangi didn’t sound sorry in the slightest, and Kyoshi didn’t mind surprisingly. Rangi started guiding Kyoshi’s dazed body to the door. “Now hurry up, the sooner you get washed, the sooner I can too.” And promptly pushed Kyoshi out of her bedroom door.

__________________________

“Rangi, I have a question,” Kyoshi asked, bandaging Rangi’s leg. The firebender had just finished her bath, and she snuck into Kyoshi’s room a lot earlier than she usually was able to.

“Fire away,” she said.

“Was that a firebender joke?”

“Is that the question?”

“No,” Kyoshi mumbled.

“The pun wasn’t intended. Now, what did you really want to ask me?”

Kyoshi finished tying the bandage, and drummed her fingers on the exposed flesh of Rangi’s knee, wanting to avoid the shin that was cut. Kyoshi wasn’t able to keep the blush from rising in her cheeks, suddenly embarrassed. “How do….how do you keep your legs so smooth?”

She saw Rangi tilt her head out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s just, I’ve heard people talk about Fire Nationals growing up. They mentioned how, despite your hair and topknot being super sacred, you never have hair anywhere else….. Like, uh, how men don’t have chest hair…..” She drummed her fingers on Rangi’s knee one more time. “And I noticed how smooth your legs were and…. Um….”

Kyoshi finally gathered the courage to look Rangi in the eye. Rangi looked down at Kyoshi with a small flush, and laughed.

“D-don’t laugh….”

“What? It’s funny!”

“It’s a serious question! Is there some special volcanic razor you use or….”

Rangi inhaled a few times to catch her breath. “Ok, ok. Serious answer. Firebenders don’t shave, we just firebend it off.”

Oh, well that was simple. “Is that why you felt so confident about burning Aoma’s eyebrows off that day?” Kyoshi remembered the threat like it was yesterday. She’d also made the same threat to Yun earlier that day, but Kyoshi didn’t think it was a good idea to bring his name up.

Rangi laughed again. “Yes. But not every firebender does that. It’s a preference. Though, I guess most of us do. You know, less pieces of us to catch on fire.”

Kyoshi laughed and leaned a cheek on Rangi’s knee. “So you guys like to be hairless except for your head?”

Rangi choked on her laughter, the back of her hand flew to her mouth, attempting to poorly cover up a rising blush. “Um, the head? Yes, but there’s….one other area that we don’t usually touch…..”

Kyoshi’s eyes raised in interest, this was new information to her. Something about as sacred as a Fire National’s hair? She better pay attention so she could be careful.

“I’m guessing it’s off limits to touch in public too?” Kyoshi asked innocently.

“K-Kyoshi, it’s, um, I’m pretty sure it’s off limits in public…. regardless of which Nation you’re from….” Rangi trailed off as her blush deepened. Heat felt like it was rolling off the girl which each shade she turned.

A place that had hair, but no one could easily see on a Fire National, otherwise the hairless rumor wouldn’t have been spread. But it’s also a place no one usually saw in public in the Four Nations. Did such a place like that exist?

Rangi moved one of her hands and rested it on the inside of her thigh. Kyoshi stared, wondering if it was a hint.

Kyoshi was slow to connect the dots at times, but, by the spirits, when she connected them. She connected them.

“Oh….oh!” Kyoshi exclaimed, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh it’s- Oh!”

Rangi cleared her throat, “Yes.”

“So….it’s also not-”

“I-it depends on the….. preference. Either the person’s own preference…..or their partner’s.” Rangi kept her head facing away, poorly trying to hide her blush, but she looked down to Kyoshi out of the corner of her eye. Kyoshi could see that Rangi really wanted to know her opinion.

Kyoshi stared up at her. Kyoshi didn’t really have a preference, she never even thought about having a preference before. The only thing she knew was that she wanted Rangi. All of her.

The deep heart pounding started to radiate throughout Kyoshi again, as the fire inside ignited and started to burn bright.

“I-I don’t really have a preference. I’ve never thought about it…..” Kyoshi could feel a flush spreading throughout her body like a wildfire.

“I see, well do keep me in the loop, I’d love to know,” Rangi barely made her voice audible.

The thrumming felt like it was getting stronger. Kyoshi attempted to swallow, but found she was unable to. Rangi was drying the room out with her heat. It was maddening, and it was igniting Kyoshi even more.

No, no we need to rest tonight. We need to play it safe. We already had a close call, luck’s not really on our side tonight. She tried to advise herself.

Kyoshi stood up, and looked at Rangi sitting on her bed. Rangi looked up at her with half lidded eyes, bearing the same hunger Kyoshi felt inside.

Kyoshi promptly ignored her own advice.

Kyoshi shifted her body so it was in between Rangi’s legs, then she pushed the firebender all the way down onto the bed in a fierce kiss. The temperature in the room started to rise rapidly as they both clung and clawed at each other with abandon.

Kyoshi broke the kiss and tried to form words. “Can…can I touch-” Her eyes flickered downward.

“Yes!” Rangi hissed, then slammed her lips into Kyoshi’s.

Kyoshi's hands found their way to Rangi's waist. Then her hips. Then she found Rangi's waistband and-

A knock at the door. Kyoshi stilled. No idea who it was, because the only person that it could be was underneath her at this very moment.

“Maybe if we ignore them they'll leave-ngh!” Kyoshi whispered, then muffled her cry as Rangi bit into her neck. Apparently Rangi wasn't as deterred by the new surprised guest as Kyoshi was.

Another wrap at her door. “Kyoshi? Are you awake?” Hei-Ran asked through the door.

That stopped Rangi. Kyoshi and Rangi looked at each other through panicked eyes. Then Kyoshi picked the firebender up, and threw her into the closet and shut the door.

She grabbed her night robe and ran to the door to greet Hei-Ran.

“Yes, Mistress He-Ran?” Kyoshi all but squeaked out when she flung the door open. Despite her closeness with Rangi, she was more than a stranger to Hei-Ran herself.

“Kyoshi, do you know where my daughter is?”Hei-Ran raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the heat that was surely billowing out of Kyoshi’s room.

“No, Mistress, I-I've been asleep! And it's the middle of the night, why do you think she'd be here?”

“I see,” Hei-Ran folded her hands in front of her. “My daughter seems to have gotten into the habit of….exploring at night lately.”

Kyoshi felt clammy beads of of sweat go down her neck. “Oh, well, no. I didn’t know that…. I haven't seen her.”

“I see, well, I’ll keep looking then. If you do happen to see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

She turned on her heel, and slowly walked down the hall. As soon as Kyoshi saw her turn. She counted to ten, and then shut the door and ran to the closet.

“Coast is clear, you can come out,” Kyoshi said, feeling deja vu.

Rangi was curled up into a ball. She laughed nervously as she took Kyoshi's hand.

“What's so funny?”

“This isn't my first time coming out of the closet.”

Kyoshi laughed and then sighed. “I guess this means you have to leave early?”

Rangi sighed. “I suppose.”

Kyoshi pulled Rangi into a tight hug.

“Hey now, you'll see me tomorrow, you'll have the whole day with me!”

“I know.” But I want you with me now.

Eventually they let each other go, and Rangi left, and Kyoshi returned to bed. She laid awake, too wound up from the events of the day, and contemplated what was next to come.

______________

A/N: Hongcun Villageis made up for the story, I needed a place that was close but not Chin’s village (I know it’s not called Chin during Kyoshi’s timeline, it’s just easier to remember/spell TT0TT). Hongcun (宏村) DOES exist tho irl. It just means “Hong village”? I just chose it at random from a list (didn’t feel like trying to be creative like I did for Hunt jfklajf), but ironically enough, apparently it was a filming location Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon….. I say ironically because I believe CTHD is a big inspo for a lot of Rise of Kyoshi (such as the dust/mist/jet stepping techniques). So it all works out! :D

Also, gdi Rangi you lunatic! Sprinting over a mountain? I wonder how tall those mountains are? Let’s pretend they are taller than a 14er and aren’t the most foot friendly, to really sell the point home. (because you can climb Mount Quandary in like 4-7 hours, though it feels like eternity >_> -1000000/10 do not recommend climbing mountains against your will)

“We’re just gonna ignore how horny these two are getting so you can geek out over a movie, and to bitch about mountains?” Yes. Yes we are.

#kyoshi fanfic #chronicles of the avatar #rise of kyoshi #rangshi #rangi #rangi sei'naka #shadow of kyoshi #kyoshi #rise of kyoshi au #kyoshi au #rangi seinaka

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rise-my-angel · 8 months ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

42 - The Thing in the Night

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

Length: 19.8k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, references to past rape, discussions of miscarriage and fertility, disturbing imagery, blood and violence, unintentional self harm, smut, voyeurism, guided masterbation, oral (f receiving), p in v, breeding kink, possessive sexual language

Notes: Who guessed it? Come forward, how long ago did some of you figure it out? Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Jon knew to some degree, he was making it obvious by asking. Or at the least, he was not subtle about his intentions. At the time he had respected your decision not to tell him, it was a sensitive subject for you and in some weeks time by then you were all sailing to a battle. You didn't want it plaguing his mind as he didn't want it plaguing yours. So you went to see Maester Wolkan about whether or not you any longer had the ability to bear a child, and didn't tell Jon the answer until the first night on Dragonstone.

Before this new life, the last time Jon ever saw you he was still firmly in the position of getting you pregnant as his biggest fear. Even if you were ready for him that day, Jon still wouldn't have been able to go through with it, how much he begun to panic over the idea of accidentally giving you a child. A girl in the royal family, having a bastard child with a bastard for a father. He also couldn't possibly find a way to get his hands on moontea or even any tansy. Luwin would have figured it out in seconds and it would all be over.

Going to Maester Pylos however, Jon hadn't quite yet shaken off that insecurity. He of course, didn't actually seem to give it much thought. He was a Maester not a Septon he had said, it wasn't his position to judge what a man does in his spare time. Asking if he'd prefer it made for his ease, Jon truthfully wanted to end it and leave. No Pylos didn't judge the conversation, but there was no doubt what it was going to be used for and he wanted to escape the awkwardness within him already. Telling him he'd take the ingredients needed and would brew it himself should it be of use.

It was a slightly more uncomfortable conversation for Jon, when he had to go to Pylos a second time for more.

But still, he knew it was important. He couldn't be reckless because of the noise in his head. No matter what it seemed like something inside him tried to claim, Jon was still a man. Not a wolf. He couldn't just take you as much as he wanted, couldn't carelessly spill inside of you with no plan because a darker instinct inside his chest growled at him to do it enough until it took. Jon knew it was a stroke of luck that he hadn't put a child in you that night in Castle Black. Twice he spilled inside of you and twice more the next morning.

Though, a large part of Jons mind was taken up by the wonder of what if it did take. By the time on Dragonstone when you and Jon finally made love again, his wondering fantasy knew that enough time had passed that you'd have started showing. By now, you'd have needed people to do even the simplest tasks for you, if you hadn't already given birth.

Jon felt like a mad man. Obsessing over the idea of you mothering his children. It wasn't something Jon ever thought was what he would be like by now. Once he decided he was taking the black, he thought he had all but killed any thoughts of a child of his own.

His Uncle Benjen had tried to tell him, warn him about what he would be giving up. Never marrying, never fathering any children. But, shut out that night in the cold, inside the royal company here to split his family in half across the country and knowing it would end in losing you to his brother? Jon saw not a single shred of future for him here anymore.

His father, sisters, and Bran would go to Kings Landing, leaving Lady Catelyn with Rickon, and Robb remaining as he would take on more and more responsibility as heir to Winterfell. Knowing that the only one which was guaranteed to come back in due time, was you, returning to your now permanent home to what would become your husband in Robb. Jon would be left with watching his brother do the duty of two things Jon could never have, and the remaining eyes of Lady Catelyn to hate him all the while. The two younger siblings he adored the most as well in Arya and Bran, unlikely to return as long as father stayed in Kings Landing.

There was no future for Jon left in Winterfell. So he told his uncle he didn't care about any of it. Didn't care about marrying or having children and he meant it. Only for the strange softness in his uncle's eyes that Jon couldn't quite read at the time.

“You might. If you knew what it meant.”

Jon didn't understand it then, but he was beginning to think he did now. Standing in Wolkan's study, Jon was finding anything meaningless for his attention and focus to fidget with. Pretending as if he didn't want to just find you and drag you in here to deal with this here and now. Trying to find the right way to ask how it was he was sure he determined you weren't without the ability to bare children without making it obvious.

“Ramsay had raped her for months, and that whole time there was never a hint she was ever..” The sentence felt atrocious on his tongue, but there was no reason to mince words here. Wolkan knew what had happened to you, he was there for all of it.

A morose look fell over the man's face, and Jon felt a familiar swirling in his gut. A feeling that you, Wolkan, and Theon were all keeping some of the worst from him. That no one had actually told him the extent of what was done to you. But an even tone fought through Wolkan's grim expression. “No, I can assure you of that. Roose Bolton was a cruel man, but he was also a smart one. Had there been a hint of her being with child, he'd have his men drag her out to the godswood to marry Ramsay then and there. He needed their child to be legitimate. But that doesn't mean he was not aware of what was happening.”

Pacing somewhat near the window, Jon slightly turned his head. Brow furrowed with a rougher tone then before. “He wanted his grandchild to be a trueborn son, but he still let Ramsay rape her knowing it could've happened at anytime.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Jons jaw clenched. “Doesn't sound smart if you ask me.”

Wolkan however, had an answer without hesitation. “No it would not be a wise choice. Which is why he had me brew just enough of the makings of moontea, that it's taste could be hidden in a drink with a strong flavour.” Jon turned to him fully, his eyes widened in something disbelieving but found no such lie in the genuity of Wolkan's face. “Wine was suitable for them to both ease her nerves her enough to attempt to dissuade any out bursting behaviour, and it quite successfully overpowers any taste when just the right amount is added to a mixture of mint, wormwood, and tansy.”

Jons arms fell to his sides as did a heavy weight in his chest. Stepping forward enough he braced his palms on the top of the chair across from the man at his desk. Exhale wavering, it was striking to him the extent to which he was relieved. The utter devastation he knew you'd have felt should the first child you become pregnant with after losing Robbs, being with Ramsay. Your heart was far more gentle then it used to be, such a thing might have ended every resolve you had let to keep yourself alive. But now here he stood, realizing it didn't happen because through no fault of your own body.

His voice hardly a strained whisper, “She doesn't know this, does she?”

Wolkan shook his head. “I am afraid not. Roose Bolton was the only one other then myself who knew about it, and by the time she had returned to Winterfell after escaping, you had in only a matter of days, taken Ramsay's head. After that, I didn't see it appropriate to bring up her time with him more then necessary.”

Sighing deeply, Jon wasn't quite sure how to approach it. Any of it. He was sure of the facts themselves, but his methods weren't quite what any would call traditional. He had always thought of it in a back and forth manner all his life and yet now that it was right in front of him begging to be dealt with, none of what he ever considered was the right answer.

In a fantasy, it was easy. You'd find out as normal, tell him, and nothing else could make either of you happier. But Jon couldn't live in a fantasy, and the truth in the real world he lived in was marred in far more blood and pain then what made it easier for you the first time he suspected. Fair was fair however. You withheld the information from Robb, and this time, Jon was withholding the information from you. Telling you gently that it was alright to find love in your life after Robb was one thing.

It was another to tell you that new life was growing inside you, underneath the scar that took Robb's son from you far too early.

But Jon was sure, because Ghost was sure. Ghost sensed it almost right away. Not even days after the first time the blue eyed stranger marked a place in your dreams did Ghost start acting different around you. It took over a week after that when Jon was inside his mind to figure out what his direwolf already knew. But now a fortnight passed, and he was no closer to an answer then he was when he found out, about how to tell you.

Wolkan's tone drew him from his mind, eyes wide and a genuity in how brightly innocent they were, it was more clear to the Maester that Jon had been asking questions not to speculate on trying, but to perhaps talk his way around figuring out how to handle what already happened. “When she came to see about her fertility, it struck me how dispondant she was about it all. Too calm, too even toned, as if any answer wouldn't phase her whatsoever. Presumed every worst case possibility and walked in ready to confirm what she already felt was the answer.”

Nodding, Jons face tried to tighten itself. Working to keep calm and steady, but any close eyes could see the workings and twitches begging to carry far more emotion then he wanted to show about it. His voice, a scratching rasp as if forced out. “She didn't just lose her son that night, she lost everything. Only to come back to something even worse, and all she has left of my brother is that scar on her stomach.”

If Jon couldn't bring Robb back, he wished there had been a way to protect Robb's from being taken from you too. Jon wouldn't have let that change anything. He'd still love you exactly as he does, and he'd love Robbs son like his own. Make sure he felt loved and cared for, wait until he was old enough and Jon could be able to properly tell him about his birth father, the charming trouble maker Robb was. That night in the cave Jon had seen a black haired baby in your arms, but Jon never wanted to trade Robb's son for his.

It was never supposed to be one against the other. He and Robb were each others closest companions their entire lives. Jon's jealousy was never about being better, taking from his brother. Just sharing equally what they both could be. Or have.

Jon could share your love with his brother even now, but Jon couldn't stop the fact that it would be his son you were having, not his brothers. He couldn't change that, and now, he was too selfish to not have that. From the study the two stood in, Jon could easily hear the muffled voices and yells from the training yard where he knew for a fact was where you were. He should tell you, he thought to himself. Before you all left, he should tell you. But once more, Jon wasn't sure how.

“How long until I'll be able to fight with two daggers in each hand the way you can?”

Dropping the blunt practice sword, you looked flatly at Arya. Your voice as monotone as it was with a sarcastic hint of dryness. “When you've been doing it for over a decade then maybe you will be as good at it.” Swinging the sword in your hand almost in a childish wave, you beckoned her to find her form once more.

She had been vague about what kind of people she was with in Bravvos, but it seemed they focused her more on being sneaky and clever instead of physical training. Meaning you had plenty to pick her back up on in the training yards these past days. Finding both of you paired well together. Both smaller and quicker then normal soldiers, both fighting with an emphasis on your left hand alone, and knowing not to try and overpower an opponent, but rather work around them to find a weak spot.

Better then her last days in Kings Landing, but your father had taught you that if you get too comfortable with your skill, then it eventually will worsen compared to those around who aren't as confident. Arya, seemed to feel an impatience at the idea. “I'm already fighting with a sword, how different can two knifes be?”

Dodging your quick moves with ease, you did however feel the breaking need to smother a smile at how proud Ned would have been to see where she is today. Your eyes shifting away from her own form, “Very different. If you think we're fighting quickly now, you need to be able to move much faster with a knife. Most of the time your opponent will be far better armed then you in such cases.”

Many men could fight with a sword in hand, not many could yield two knifes in a respective hand each and keep up against a sharp, long blade. You had against Aegon, but even then you took a good amount of a very painful beating to gain that upper hand. And more then a few words and very close calls you'd rather not think of which were traded as well. But neither you nor Aegon had spoken on that one after the fact.

“When do you think I'll be ready then?” Your eyes dropped in a lack of amusement and for a moment Arya dropped the advantage her pose previous held to whine at you with far more of the tinge of a jesting sister. “Come on, I'm not ready for that but I can't know when you think I will be?”

Your eyes only narrowed, and your words would not speak as well as your answer could be. Only a few quick paces forward, and her distracted form was thrown off balance enough to send her own practice sword to the ground. Her eyes narrowed at you as you finally let a smirk out, gesturing with your own blade to where hers lay limp. “Learn how to not let your guard down so easily first.”

The moment she crouched to grab it, you stepped forward and kicked it a few feet behind her. Her brows annoyed as was the scrunch in her face, moreso at the mischievous brightness in your own smirk. “If I turn around to go get it, are you going to stab me in the back?” Your head only tilted to the side slightly as if to challenge her to find out.

Your smirk forming more to a grin at how instead, Arya kept eye contact and walked backwards rather then turning. Her voice once more piping back up as she returned to a proper position. “Kicking a weapon away from someone doesn't sound very hounrable.”

“In that case, you'll be the most honourable dead girl a swordsman has ever beaten.” She came at you far harder for that one. Sparring with Arya certainly was a little more fun then it was her older brothers, at least there wasn't two of her to gang up on you and spend an hour toying with you until they knocked you into the mud.

It wasn't until you both were a bit more on the side of out of breath when she brought it back up. Her arm reaching across the weapons hold to hand you hers with an ask hoping to sound causal. “If I'm expected to use the dragonglass to defend myself, shouldn't I know how to use it properly?” Her eyes rose in a brightness hoping to look innocent but alas, she was more transparent then she assumed.

Head dropping a bit with a narrowing of your eyes before you turned back to putting things back with a huff. “It's there to protect you. You're not using it to fight them, Arya. It's there to keep you alive, that's all. You don't need to know more then just how to shove a blade into something.”

Something distant sat on her tone, which you couldn't quite pin. “So, stick 'em with the pointy end?”

You nodded your head slightly to the side, more a mumble on your lips then a real response. “That's the essence of it.” Not looking, you missed the easy smile forming along Arya's face before she covered it up soon as you looked back up to her gaze.

Your eyes a bit as distant as hers had just been, only without hiding whatsoever. Hands braced against the wood as you leaned against it somewhat. “It really was the Hound you were with?” Nodding, your jaw clenched as you turned slightly away, voice dropping more to a mutter. “Difficult to imagine he was fit to care for anything more then running down boys.”

It had been a long time since any had brought him up to her. You could still recall that night, walking the path from the Inn with Lord Stark. The Hound walking his horse in the opposite manner, the poor boy hanging across it. Beaten, bloody, and limp. Not an easy task it was imagining that sort of man would ever turn out to be different for the good.

Arya's voice was quiet, and you knew it still sat heavy in her heart as much as it did when she found out the next day. “No one even remembered his name-”

“Mycah.” Her head shot up with wider eyes, your tone softer as you leaned your forearms across to look at her more on her eyeline. “The butchers son. His name was Mycah.”

Neither of you said a word for a moment. Struggling in her throat to find the right emotion to let out, and you with the patience to watch her get there on her own. She didn't see it happen or his body, but it was still the first real violence she was exposed to. If you were to judge now, you'd say it led her down the path to where she stands now. Walking not a few feet behind her, Arya found a small platform to sit down against.

Or, more like collapse down onto. With a deep exhale, all her weight was tossed in one go as she landed heavy like the far away look in her gaze. Slowly, you worked your way around until you sat next to her, giving a fair amount of space for her mind as she finally spoke. “I wanted to kill him. The Hound. We travelled for almost a year and the entire time I wanted him dead. But then..then he really was dying and there was nothing either of us could do. I could have done it then, he told me to do it. Told me all about the day he killed Mycah to convince me..but..he didn't mean it.”

Your eyes narrowed, but only silence followed.

Arya wasn't unlike Jon in that way. Sometimes you needed to let her get it out before saying anything otherwise she might talk herself out of being open or vulnerable. “It wasn't about revenge. Not really. But people kept doing horrible things to innocent people and never were punished for it. The Hound killed my friend and he got to walk free and no one but me remembered his name. I wanted to kill him because otherwise Mycah would never get any justice. But that day, he was dying and I realized killing him then would only be for revenge. Because killing him didn't feel like justice. Not by then.”

She had been somewhat vague about that day. You didn't want to pry, but it led to her getting on a ship to Bravvos. It felt important to know regardless of not liking the idea of invading her privacy. “You don't have to tell me, but what happened? You said there was a fight with someone, but I knew the Hound a long time. Winning against him in a fight isn't exactly simple.”

It was a name you hadn't thought of in years. You only properly met the woman for a short time an only spoke directly once, and it was not quite an interaction you'd throw yourself at to relive. Out of everyone to run into Arya Stark and Sandor Clegane, it was Brienne of Tarth. Carrying shiny new armour and a sword with hilt made from Lannister gold, given to her by none other then Jaime Lannister himself.

Even if you didn't know the information that you did, you still wouldn't have gone with her either. But you did know her. And now you knew that as strange of a guardian as the Hound would be, Arya wasn't alone when she was with him. Wasn't in such constant danger, wasn't across the bloody Narrow Sea because she thought there was nothing left for her. One fight with Brienne of Tarth however, and it took years for Arya to return to Westeros to her family.

You didn't care where she was now, but you had a rising stack of reasons to wish to never see her face.

Inhaling deeply, you knew better then to let your own bias interfere with Aryas own story, and kept everything of your grievances with her from the statement of facts. “She was the one who helped the Kingslayer escape.” Her head whipped over to you, but all you could see was how infuriated it had made you and Robb. “Your mother was manipulated into thinking you and Sansa both were in Kings Landing. That returning Jaime Lannister would mean you both would be returned to her, so she had Brienne of Tarth help him escape against Robb's own orders.”

Surprisingly, it was anger which followed from Arya. “She tried having the person she was with chase me, but I hid from him. Both of them until they left. Wasn't long after that I got on a ship to Bravvos. The only person I knew I had left was Jon, but I was in the Vale and Jon was all the way at Castle Black. I knew I wouldn't be able to get there on my own. Not alive.”

If she had expected the gesture, she leaned into your hand running gently along the back of her head in an instant. Merely a mutter coming from you, “You're here now, Arya. You're back with him, that's what matters. If all we do is think of what differently we would do in the past, you're not going to get over what actually happened.”

Arya nodded, something held back in her chest from how much she put in to appearing not upset, but you both sat there until she came back on her own to the present. Her voice rough, but forcing itself out regardless. “You're sure I can't come?”

Eyes wide and hopeful, but yours not rejecting or harsh. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Until Jon returns, that will be you.” Her brows narrowed as her head looked to the ground but didn't argue. Your hand slipped across her shoulders comfortingly. “You know this place, and these people. Jon needs someone he can trust beyond doubt to take care of things while he's gone. And he'll never trust his men more then he trusts you.”

Inhaling shakily, her voice actually spoke out as if now nothing had been weighing on her. “Would have been nice to meet your father, though.” Your sudden laugh surprised most nearby.

“That may be the first and only time someone has ever said meeting Stannis Baratheon would be nice.”

You had all in previous days debated what exactly to do, how to go about solving one of the largest problems that had plagued the Nights Watch for centuries. Suggestions came from every corner of the room but the simple fact was that the North alone did not have enough to man the Wall. Not the way you were all beginning to realize was going to be incredibly vital to whatever was coming. Each time a new idea came about, you and Jon would look at the other and still once more find reasons to disagree with it's sustainability.

At one point, it hadn't gone anywhere long enough that Tormund had stood with his own suggestion. “We're used to dealing with the Crows, you want us to man the castles?” But Jon disagreed.

He quickly shut it down in truth. “Even if I get every single free folk, that still isn't enough to guard and restore sixteen forts. I opened the gates for your people to find land and lives, not to make you guard the Wall for us. You're people need time to prepare for winter as much as we are.”

Debates of numbers and manpower had come about for a bit. It was never an easy subject, even in peace times. The Wall hadn't been properly manned in centuries, to find a way to do so now with such limited people and resources felt near impossible. A losing battle more then it already was. The weight wasn't easy on Jon when he was Lord Commander and it continued to be a difficult problem as King in the North.

“We would need at least double what we can spare, most castles need significant restoring, most tunnels before being abandoned were plugged with rocks and ice. Flooded to freeze over before it was left to ensure nothing could get through.” Leaning somewhat with his palms braced against the wooden table before him, you could see Jon trying not to tense up the muscles there more then they already had been.

Voices piped up from more spots around the hall. “We'd need more men then we can spare to handle that, most of us are busy ensuring our own homes and lands are prepared for winter alone.” From your seated position, you could see the workings inside Jons head spinning. Something was forming in his head, but he would keep it until the answer was a clear to present as possible.

Your own voice agreeing with the majority. “If you're right, and each castle would need hundreds of men to properly restore and man, we would still have to sit here and debate which ones are the most important, and which we keep abandoned. And having five or six instead of three is hardly giving the Wall proper defences.”

Jon's head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing somewhat as he glanced to you. “Between us and the free folk we still don't have anywhere near the numbers for nineteen castles. It's more men then we have in our entire army.” Only, his eyes drifted the moment such words left his mouth.

Lips parted somewhat as he refocused them to you, then the lords attending as soon as your own eyes brightened just a bit. He was right, what the North needed was an army to man the Wall. Not anywhere needed once but desperate now that the storms drew closer. There wasn't an army that size willing to spare it's fighting to help the North. Except one that already had.

Your voice barley a mutter, almost a grin asking to breath itself out with it and you looked up to where he stood. “He likes you better, might actually say yes if you propose it to him.” Jon only turned once more to look down at you, close to a twist in his face as if to tease you for it in his expression alone. Though, it was one which you both knew wasn't a bad idea regardless.

Jon couldn't stand and wait for an answer though, even if such help would not come, there was still one place that begged to be looked at. One which had an answer which potentially, three separate people had parts of a puzzle to. Plans had to be made regardless. Even if only one place needed to be looked after, Jon would find a way to make it work. Sam had continued to underestimate his use for this cause, and every time he was the one stumbling upon answers.

He had seen the army of the dead. He had been the one to prove his father wrong, and show a bravery few men could ever have and shoved a dagger of dragonglass into the back of the creature coming for Gillys son and watched it shatter it to pieces. He discovered the old manuscripts and runes in the citadel, and he had been the one to leave with them stolen away on his person knowing the answers in there were more important then not stealing them.

Though, when returning to Winterfell, Jon had asked him where he had gotten a Valyrian steel sword, and that confession had made Jon laugh quite a lot. The first thing Jon truly learned about Sam, was that his father had forced him to take the black or otherwise threatened to take his life for not growing up to his standards. From what he could gather from you, you knew Lord Randyll Tarly by reputation as a commander not a father, but you had it on good authority that the toughest commanders were too the toughest fathers. So it seemed fitting that the last thing Sam did before leaving his family home a second time, was take the families sword Heartsbane with him.

This time, it wasn't a direct new answer Sam had provided Jon with, but a place. Something which by his description, held more of a key then anyone alive currently knew a thing about previously.

Organizing a small group to head out first, look the place over before anything else was done about it in particular, but one thing seemed to come to Jon. An idea as uncomfortable was it was logical, after all, he still wasn't quite convinced Lord Beric had been wrong. The only other two people who knew what both returning from death and bringing the dead back to life felt like, were also the ones who saw fit to travel North for their own cause of what was to come. Even if they disagreed on all else, perhaps the four of you were not in the same place as only a coincidence.

“Isn't it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?” At least you thought to yourself, Tormund was still willing to speak the truth. You didn't quite feel exactly as they were, it certainly came across as risky, and uncomfortable even if you followed Jons logic.

Walking to his side further down into the undergrounds of Winterfell you tilted your head briefly to the side in almost dismissal. “If you've got a better one.”

Mumbling a bit almost in amusement, knowing full well Jon could hear you both. “Three dead people, two dead raisers and me. Starting to think I'm missing out on something.” Eyes almost glaring to the side without any meaning that Tormund would take offence.

Jon held the most calm in his own words, turning somewhat to wait for you both to catch up. “They know things most people don't. Been through things only we,” Jon gesturing to yourself, “have been through. I don't care if I like or even trust them. They're apart of this, somehow.”

Looking up to him, you added in a plain simpleness. “Thoros knows how to fight, Beric knows how to fight. If they're going to be in the North regardless, may as well put them to use instead of keeping them in our home.” Tormund looking doubtful asking in what seemed like a bit of a condescending jest that they were the ones who kidnapped you in Barrowton. Your eyes found Jons, tense and on edge as you settled the same feeling growing in your veins. “In a manner of speaking.”

Nodded for the two to keep going, you could hear as you passed the not so subtle whispering towards Jon of, “You two are made for each other. Both morons.”

You had never seen Thoros this sober before. He looked as miserable as your worst days felt anymore and just as it always did now, such a shared attribute shivered unsettlingly in your blood. You would rather not know how he felt. Beric held himself together a bit more, not unlike the manner in which Jon could be unreadable some days.

First it was only you, then Jon, now four stood in the same place and you couldn't comprehend what the point of any of it led towards. It seemed more on the side of sober however, Thoros did not come to a dissimilar conclusion. “I'd say I haven't been feeling like myself, but quite the opposite it really is. If you wanted to torture him,” gesturing to Beric who watched just as carefully to you both as Jon did him. “You did a wonderful job. Quite tedious my company becomes in sobriety. Tell me my Queen, you don't strike me as a drinker like King Robert. How do you handle it, I've always wondered.”

Thoros's eyes on you was unsettling still further, but in a worse way, you understood it. You saw the lure to drinking with this sort of weight. One no one else understood but the ragged priest with far too flowery language for your liking. Jon however, answered for you with not a shred of patience for the direction of the conversation.

“You said you came North to fight what was coming. That you wanted to be part of this.”

Beric Dondarrian however, remained as even toned as he ever was and it grated on you. “We don't want to fight this fight, your grace. We have to. Same as you. War is coming and our Lord needs us here more then in the South fighting against Kings.”

Shifting between them you found barley a breath to spare, hissing out to them. “The last thing your Lord told you to do, you sold Gendry to the red woman, who was taking him to slaughter like a lamb. What should we care what your Lord tells you?”

It wasn't the reason Jon was here, but in an instant he found a stronger argument brewing between you and Beric. Who was steadfast yet defensive as he stood. “We do what our Lord bids, no more, no less. It isn't up to us to question what he wants. If the boy was meant to die, he wouldn't be alive now. But he is.”

Both of you a step closer to the iron bars, your tone seething as did the sharpness in your eyes. “He's alive beacuse only one person stood up to do the right thing. You promised he could stay with you, and then you sold him for gold, because all your talk and still you're nothing but an outlaw.” You think perhaps Jon warned you in your name, but you heard it little in your actual mind.

And Beric found no reason to hold back as such. “Outlaws banding together to protect the innocent-”

Another step and more anger flooded in you almost unusually strong. “You killed those innocents just to draw me out-”

Cutting through both of you, Jon came close to a yell. “Enough.” Your eyes watched Berics sharply and he you, but still felt the slight pull at your back to draw you away from him and closer to Jon behind you. “We're not down here for this.” Tearing your gaze from Beric to Jon, did the guilt follow with it.

The sharpness in your eyes softened almost as soon as you found his grey ones, and with but a nod you felt you shrink a bit in on yourself. You didn't like nor trust these two, but you didn't come down here with any intention on such an outburst. Nor did you know really where it came from.

“We're all here for the same reason. It won't matter who did what when the army of the dead come, what happened in the past stays in the past from now on.” You knew he was right, this was what he was always trying to do. Throw away the fighting and direct everyone on the only path that would matter.

Jon and Beric both watched each other carefully as you looked at none. You should be calmer then this, what was wrong with you?

Speaking low behind the bars, Beric sounded in agreement. “There's a greater purpose at work, and we serve it together. Whether we know it or not. I can't change the past, but we came here to ensure there can even be a future. We may take the steps, but the Lord of Light-”

Tormund however, had no qualms of being exhausted with this rhetoric. “You southerners never know when to shut up, do you? He's giving you a chance to make up for being piece of shit, either take it or stop talking about your damn god. It's only us men down here.”

In the quiet only the crackling of torch fire was heard until it blended in harmony with Jons low rasp. “You tell me you're on our side, you need to prove it.” Thoros asking from previous he only watched it play out, how they were do to that. Jon with keys in his hand, found the unlocks of the cell door. “You come with us, fight for the living where it matters.”

Still on a side akin to somewhat pathetic, Thoros's expression twisted to a morose jest. “As long as it's more interesting then sitting in a freezing cell all day.”

Yet as you watched Jon and Tormund both unshackle them, you couldn't stop the wonder. Coming down here, you knew why and agreed why. Anger in outbursts weren't like you anymore, it came out of nowhere when you had faced far worse opponents without the blockade of iron bars with more of a firm hand. Though, a brief glance shared between you and Thoros, it seemed he did not question it the way you were.

Bringing one back changes something inside you he said. The months passed was beginning to make it feel like that cost was your sanity. Your sense of stability in a well mannered, stoic demeanour when it mattered. But that wasn't the only hold on your mind either. Bringing dead to life in one direction, and visions and green dreams in the other.

How much longer could you even hold yourself together?

A few stories always stuck out in your mind, or at least, it was the ones not as intriguing as the others. But the ones which instilled a chilling in your lungs when you first heard them. The thing that came in the night. That was the the first you remembered hearing.

Your first visit in Winterfell, told to you by Old Nan, who even then seemed to be as old twenty years ago as had been the last you saw of her. She held all of those stories, and it was the scary ones which you found yourself always drawn to. The first was that story which stuck out in your mind.

Many years ago it was said, four apprentice boys went to their Lord Commander spinning terrified stories that something came for them in the night. Each boy however, gave different accounts of what had happened, and each described its appearance vastly different then the other. As a result, the Lord Commander found no reason to take their ramblings seriously. Within a year it was said, three of the boys had died and the fourth had gone mad. A century later it was said to have returned, but few lived to speak of what it had done once more.

Robb had snuck up on you when you heard that story, and you could still recall the laughter from he and Jon when you nearly jumped out of your skin with a shriek.

Another you never forgot was that of the seventy nine. It was said that seventy nine men had deserted their posts from the Nights Watch, running South. One of the men, the youngest son of the Lord of House Ryswell had taken them there hoping to seek shelter. Instead, Lord Ryswell had called upon the Nights Watch to his home and the outlaws all captured. Including his son. Dragged back, holes just big enough for a man were carved into the Wall and each and every deserter was forced inside. Spiked in with spears and horns before sealing them all back up with ice. That they had left their posts in life, and so their punishment was that their watch never ended even in death.

So many passed through the years, the Rat Cook serving a King his son in a prince and bacon pie. The ghost of Danny Flint, brave and young and how the songs sung about her were sad and pretty but what ended her life was not. The blind knight of Symeon Star Eyes, sapphires in place of where his eyes were both lost and somehow still saw the figures of hellhounds fighting before him. The Mad Axe who walked the halls and butchered his brothers in the dark. Many stories all surrounded this one place, and yet as you rode upon the destination it looked nothing of the sorts.

The Nightfort was indeed the largest of the castles manning the Wall. It was the oldest as well, first ever built by Brandon the Builder himself, and where everything of the Nights Watch truly begun. Built on slanted land of rolling hills, surrounded by snow and ice it looked unassuming in every way. It was only a series of large buildings, made of stone and metal but nothing which told you it matched such stories you listened in great fear as a child.

The main building itself was large. Broken towers and paths and tunnels leading around to the many smaller sections sealed from the cold outside. Some places had only one wall standing, while others remained as if never touched. An octagon of stone, walls carved like steps sat much like that, mostly put together with nothing out of the ordinary, it's dome room as strong as ever.

It's outside however, was unique. Time had turned it into that of a small forest. Lush with fauna and flora surrounding thick trees that hid the castle well from prying eyes. The twisting branches of white poked through buildings and around others down to the ground again as if time had bound building and bark together.

All sat on your horses looking to it in the distance, Jon next to you with piercing eyes scouring every corner he could see from here as if searching for danger even this far away. The only other one as close to you both was Sam, his voice breaking the only noise of blowing wind around you. “Doesn't look quite as intimidating from out here, I admit.”

Jon's tone breath filled but still heard as he looked with wide eyes, as bright as the snow around him. “This was where you met him, Bran?” Sam confirming it only to watch as Jon let that breath out in a noticeable exhale. The cold around you all visible on the way out. Spoken to himself, knowing both by his either side would hear. “What were they doing, two teenagers bringing a crippled boy beyond the Wall?”

He heard it all before, but still it didn't sit well with him you knew. Sam couldn't get from the two Reed children nor Bran what they were doing here or why they needed to go North, but claimed they had to do it all the same. Sam had given them some of the cache of dragonglass he had found as his only way of protecting them best he could, but he could not convince them to come back to Castle Black if they truly didn't want to.

But you looked upon the vastness of the Wall and wondered, what was it Jojen Reed had seen? What did Lord Bloodraven show him that needed Brandon Stark so desperately for? Why any of it? Why you now?

You could hear Sam to your right, “They said they were needed. That they could only try and stop the Others by heading far North.”

Jon made the very point which came to your mind. “No one's ever survived as far north as they say these things live. No normal person at least.” Finally did his gaze catch yours from the very corner of your gaze to the side.

Not anything normal, but walking in the minds of a dream? You both had done that now.

The main gate was already prepared to be opened, likely from the first time Bran had arrived with the two Reed's getting here. The main yard was as overrun as it looked from the outside, but a chilling wind blew through the winding branches of white bark sticking up and around from the earth. Eyes all finding one way or another to something as eeiry as the next. Out of the entire group which came, Jon insisted a short few ensure its safety first.

Climbing off your horse, once more only Jon spoke and with a command as quiet as it was without room for question. “We'll split into groups, make sure it's empty. But be careful.” It was a large place, and even as you found your eyes on Ghost, the direwolf looked as not comfortable as Jon did. Both glanced to you, but for once did not make a fuss about you walking out of his sight. Not in front of the group of nine within the yards now. “Tormund, Theon, go with her. You two, with me.”

Thoros and Beric looked as many did coming to the Wall for the first time. A strange awe. The greatest structure ever built, and the unusual feeling which came with being near it. Ser Davos in another direction with Maege Mormont. Olly beside you, sharing a not so insignificant glance at being back in such a place.

Not holding the same conflicting memories which had that of Castle Black, but the Nights Watch a reminder all the same.

Every room which was held within four walls looked identical. Dark without fire light, only the outside peering in to give any hint of what was there. Empty, more empty, and a space that told it was far larger then the last fort you had been in. Was easy to understand to you, how this was the first built. It was grand, but too grand to maintain with dwindling men and resources.

You supposed the creation of a united Seven Kingdoms did not help such a matter. Considering this very place was abandoned after one visit from Queen Alysanne Targaryean. It was said she found it dour and depressing, and used her precious jems to build a newer, smaller castle. Another which later was abandoned too.

The four of you walked with little words shared. Something about this place felt off. As if it made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end with no explanation as to why. Wherever Ghost went, you weren't sure, he seemed to not like this place as much either. Sensing what you all could or more but you ventured further into the creeping dark.

Out of the three men walking together on the other side of the castle, two voices were quiet, but the same pair which tended to always speak with such a cadence regardless. “If the dead were here, there is no use in biding their time hiding in shadows.”

Jon's eyes peeled from every corner to give somewhat of a glare to Beric. The entire journey here he had tried to enlist Jon in this cause for a god he didn't believe in. Wars had been fought over single individuals before and always ended in one side with far too much blood spilt. This wasn't about one god or another, it was about survival.

Many times including now, he let him speak and said nothing in return. Jon had found great skill in the ability to let others talk endlessly at him without uttering a sentence. On the opposite end, he sensed that normally it was Thoros who was the talker and yet he had been quiet. Quiet with attention trained much on you, whether you noticed or not.

Not attraction or malice but something Jon sensed he could not understand. Thoros was to Beric was what you were to Jon. The one his new life was in debt to. The one who brought him back. However desperate Jon could feel looking at you, it was not the same he knew, to the trepidation you had spent months looking at him like.

Jon would feel lost without you, but he also had wondered if you truly would be lost without him.

He couldn't even understand death in the same manner. His mind attached itself to Ghost. The second the cold begun to seep deeply into the wound in his heart, Jon's gaze was in the stables. Lower to the ground then normal and sharper to the point it wasn't quite as pitch black. At the time, he almost wondered if it had been a dream. Only to finally realize where his mind was. When Jon made his way outside, he found the blood. His blood.

Drenched in the snow and his senses picked up it's path instantly. By the time Jon was looking down at his own dead body, he was fairly sure he lost part of his mind. You though, it was nothing of the sort for you. You had seen the world fade, and as soon as it was gone you opened them up once more.

You compared it to waking up from a dreamless sleep. Groggy and heavy, no actual recollection of the seconds before you fell asleep and if you dreamt anything you had already forgotten. Only that feeling was even worse in death. Jon didn't know what that felt like. His mind was awake from every second he was dead to the moment he returned in his own body.

Only Beric would understand exactly how you felt in one way, and only Thoros would understand in another. But not both. Your returned from the dead, already something Jon knows drastically changes part of a person. Then your new life brought Jon back from the dead. Another thing Jon now knew drastically changed a person.

You were the link between all four of them. Five if he was including what used to be Catelyn Stark.

An amalgamation of them all in a mind too traumatized to handle it. Jon once thought you were the only two who understood each other, but not even that was true. In a painful honesty, he thought to himself, there isn't a soul on earth who understands what is in your mind. No one could. Death haunted you in every facet of your existence, how deep did it run? How often were you trained on the thoughts of death the way Jons was tethered to his obsession with you?

Their voices around him spoke as they traversed the empty, grim halls. Thoros the one speaking when Jon found it in him to pay attention to their conversation, and wishing in an instant they'd stop. “Anything still hiding around here, it'd be old but if there is one which doesn't care about it's age, it's rum.”

Beric to the side of Jon responding in jest, “Would make you more bearable, my friend. I do admit.”

The whispering hiss from Jon was far more fed up with both of them then any previous words had given off. “Or you could stay sober and handle your problems the way the rest of us have to.” He elected to ignore the glance both men gave one another. They were right, Jon did not think you were all in the same place for no reason, but good company remained rare in Southerners clearly.

Raising an eyebrow, Thoros gave a look assuming Jon could read the jest in him. “Do me a favour, your grace and ask your lady if she thinks handling our burden is more bearable sober, or good and drunk and uncaring?”

His jaw clenched. If that wasn't a good option for you before, Jon would forbid it now of all times. That time, he openly glared. Anything which might have come impulsively from his mouth by then, was stopped by a faint sound somewhere in the outside.

Ghost had begun to bark and growl in great volume.

“Old Nan used to tell stories about this place.” Glancing over to Theon, he looked a bit less on edge then you felt walking through these halls. Turning away your eyes looked to the dark unlit by fire and felt nothing but the same bitter cold floating around you. Olly turning to look at him asking what kind of stories.

You could hear the smirk on Theons face. “The scary kind. The kind that would scare the hair on your head right out.”

Tormund rumbled with his own amusement. “Somewhere on the North side of the Wall here there's an old tunnel one of my own tried carving to get through to the other side. The Crows caught him and buried him back into the wall. Some say you can hear the sounds of a pick through ice if you're quiet enough.”

Olly glared at both of them. “Those aren't scary, they're just stories.”

You admired it a little, you knew he was tense but refusing to let the men in his company make him appear just the boy his age was. Mumbling mostly to yourself, “Leave him be.” They caught it, but your eyes followed a white branch poking through the floor, stretching and twisting around a pole and reaching up to the sky.

It was everywhere, these branches. From the earth and white like a heart tree but without one standing tall where it would seem to make the most sense.

Still they bickered behind you like boys. “You're scarier then any bed side story.”

Tormund's voice almost amused as his attention was now directed at Olly. “Aye, boy. I probably am. Carved up more Crows then your Axe Man ever did I bet.” You'd roll your eyes if you didn't still feel that strange creeping just under your skin.

A gloved hand reached out and carefully pushed a creaking wooden door open, one strong looking companion sat on the other side of the room you stepped into, looking almost as if it had been barred off before being left. Glancing somewhat behind you, the sight of the much smaller Olly continued to bicker with the very large Tormund. Catching Theons gaze, his narrowed at likely what was your tense frame. Unsure as to what was on your mind, but alas you were not sure either these days.

Some you felt fine, others you felt as if you flared a great temper from nothing, others your emotions ran you a true mess from teary eyed to the chilling paranoia sat with you now. It was erratic how wildly you were beginning to swing in how you felt these days. But explaining that now was of no use, and you both walked into the room all the same.

The cold in here was striking, as if whatever wind flowed in, was captured and stayed due to it's layout with not a single window to the outside world. Only the light pouring in from under both doors the rest of the room remained hidden.

Nothing seemed to stand out to you, and as you pressed against the barred up door you tried instead to give it a shove to no avail. If it led somewhere else, it would have to be seen to be accessed on the other side. Coming to your side, Theon looked it over with the same thought. “Whatever's on the other side is empty most likely, been abandoned for hundreds of years anything that might be in there's long dead.”

Sharpness sat on the edge of your tongue, “Easy to say that when you've never been the dead thing.”

His eyes rolled as yours shined with almost a bratiness as you paced further into the cold, darkness of the room. Catching your eye only slightly, you looked to what almost might be that of a bedroll. Splayed out in the darkness by the end of the room. Kneeling down by it, you looked with wide eyes and your lips parted in a slight confusion. Scattered things laid about as if someone had been here not so long ago. Standing up, you turned to Theon.

Nodding behind you to the same sight, his voice with the same curiosity. “What is it?”

You didn't answer, because as soon as he was finished, something seemed as if it crept from the dark behind him. The door slammed shut, and this time the hand which did it was cold and grey and almost blue.

But not as blue as it's eyes.

A figure with ragged hair and a snarling mouth stomped it's way right to Theon in the same instance those very sounds emerged from the darkness you stood within as well. A hand fighting against Theons defences, the thing finally slammed him into the wall in the same instance two pairs of hands grabbed you.

One almost jumping from behind as another snatched at your legs and dragged you down with your head slamming hard into the floor. Both figures captured your sight instantly, one knee bending upwards as if to push back the one most over top of you, while your hands were fighting to grab at the other wrapping his own cold ones around your throat.

Yelling behind the door was barley heard over the inhuman growling of the blue eyes around both of you. You think Theon might have yelled your name but you couldn't even sense anything the closer the one by your head leaned in, almost drooling on you from it's snarling.

Your other leg pinned down by the larger figures weight you could only push against with your knee enough that you could barley try and slip your other leg free with each jostle. Yet every movement your lungs burned inside your chest as the tighter the cold hands around your neck got.

One, two, almost five rough kicks and finally you managed to shove it off of you enough you could reach what was hidden under your cloak from your grasp. The cold was like glass in your touch and it was enough. Barley managing to reach up to shove the dagger into the eye of the one above it let out almost a gurgling with wide eyes, before the sight of black drenched your vision, stinging your own eyes.

Knowing the other was coming right back you flung yourself to the side in just the right time the blue eyed figure crowded you. Back against the wall in a somewhat sitting position, but you shoved one forearm against his neck to keep you from him as his own hands grabbed at your other to fight against the hold of weapon.

There was nothing in it's eyes but blue and nothing from it's sounds but such snarling. A sound of sinking flesh filled the air beside you and then you heard Theon call to you much more clearly. As if it could focus on two, it's other strong hand came out and grabbed at the wrist holding the dagger in Theons own, keeping both ends at bay.

Just as Theons other hand came around to roughly grasp at the thing, you thrusted your head forward against its in a painful slam. Theon then pulling it almost behind him using the force pushed back. Hauling yourself up, you and Theon looked to the other for only a second before more of snarling came out from it, and both of your daggers sunk into different parts of him. Theon's in the forehead and yours deep in it's neck, a vicious black smothering both of you in splashes.

Collapsing to the ground, Theon grabbed your arm with concern on him before more blue found your eyes. A fourth opening just as it screeched to fling itself right at you both and it seemed far smarter then either of the others. Leaping through the air as if a performance and flung Theon to the side with no thought.

Raising your dagger up it grabbed your arm and shoved you back against the wall as felt it tighten so much the dagger twisted in your very grip as your hand twitched.

The force sinking it deeper into your skin until it sliced through and blood pooled against your gloved palm and soaking the dagger. Only in the same instance, did the blood against your palm grow hot, so hot it felt extreme and it only got worse each passing moment. Not even a single second went by before it was so hot you cried out at the burn until it inflamed whatever it soaked.

Following the path to the dagger and the sensation seemed to shock the blue eyed creature for enough moment you shoved the rest of the blade into his own hand. Stumbling to the ground flames swam from you and now flooded the creature until he was engulfed in inhuman screeches on the ground. Writhing as Theon ran to your side and hauled you to the now empty side of the room.

Stopping with a grasp on the other, eyes wide as the creature finally stopped. The fire burning through what moulting skin it had touched before sizzling out on it's very own. Both you and Theon stood there as the silence finally came about the room.

The sounds outside the door no more as if you were left together alone in the cold, but perhaps it was truly just the ringing in your ears of blood muffling anything to your shocked senses looking to the four corpses now dead without question.

It was only as Theon tried calling your name did you begin to fade back into the world, looking over at him. Both of you covered in..something. It covered both you it felt thick like molasses and a murky black colour unlike the blood on your glove. Theon had grabbed your wrist, yanking it up for both of you to see.

Nothing was burned, nothing was burning. The leather sliced through and torn from the force, showing the skin underneath and the cut deep within your palm. Blood soaked the area. Perhaps against the black covering you both, made your blood appear as if it stained itself such a striking red it almost glowed the way those creatures glowed blue in their eyes.

Panting in the feeling rushing through you both, and yet your eyes slid from the blood on you to one another and what was there to say? You couldn't think of words, you weren't sure any existed.

Only did the world return to you did your heart feel as if it was leaving your chest. Almost leaning against his side, Theon did the same as you both collapsed against the wall. You sinking in a shock to the ground. If it didn't feel real before, it did now.

His grip never left the wrist attached to your bleeding palm so red the colour was terrible. But your eyes all looked to the creatures before you. Only somewhat in the distance, did you register the sound of barking. But against the numbed shock, you and Theon only sat there, you with a vague awareness that anything outside this room had ever existed before.

Whatever short time passed you did not know, only that sometime later did the door once too sealed closed to open, burst. Thrown against the wall, it swung on it's hinges with aggression. Ghost barred in first, his own barking and growling matched by the hostility he stood with looking at the bodies now on the ground.

Everyone else followed, but you hadn't noticed until two hands grabbed you and the world came back once more as it was the urgent rasping of Jons voice and the desperation in his panicked grey eyes that pulled you out of such a state. His hands on your upper arms as if he had been shaking you to snap out of it, until your eyes found his and he moved to grasp your cheeks. “Are you hurt?”

He didn't actually let you answer, pulling back to find out for himself but you didn't even know what was there. You felt the sting of cold air against the slice in your palm and the pain along your neck that had Jons eyes darken and his face twist in an anger. Only, there was no one left alive to take the feeling out on.

Moving to force the black moulted substance off from where it splattered against your face, his thumb ran over your cheek before swallowing harshly. Pulling you up to your feet without needing a single bit of effort from you, but not actually letting you stand any further away from him then right against his front.

Turning you both to the rest of the room, one arm on your waist tightly, the other running smoothly up and down your bicep as if trying to soothe himself rather then your still quiet, shocked self. Theon sat against a crate, hands braced against his knees watching the bodies in a silent uncertainty as Olly sat close to his side checking on him.

Somewhere in the back of the ringing in your head, did you hear the faint sounds of talking. Hardly finding it easy to attribute one voice to another unless it came from the rasp directly behind you into your ear. A shortness on Jons voice every time he spoke, but another one now rumbled as if shaking the earth.

“Probably shacked up here after coming through the Wall. Some of my people are shit at trying to work together. Thought this place was big enough no one would find them.”

Your eyes trained on the burned corpse, your hand clenching as it continued to sting. Slowly you could feel Jon reaching to grab it, unfurling the fist you had made only to keep your palm free. No doubt his eyes now trained on the gash in your palm, the red slightly more normal then it had been in the moment Theon did the same.

Jaw clenching looking from it to the corpse, you felt a pounding in your heart trying to recount how it happened. It was sudden, quick, and you barley could register anything until it was already off you and on fire. Somewhere in the distance you could hear Maege asking, “How'd that one end up like this?”

You and Theon glanced to each other, an unknowing in his eyes but yours slid from him to the entryway where Beric and Thoros stood. They on the other hand, only looked right at you as if telling you something you should already have known.

Jon behind you roughly finding his voice, “We'll bring them out into the courtyard. Let the others in, and burn the rest. It'll be dark soon.” With a mumble of your name, you didn't notice Jons touch trying to pull you with him. Eyes trained unblinking on the dead, on the burned body. And it was not just one body charred in black from fire you couldn't stop looking at.

First the wildfire, now this. You were no better then her. Good people shouldn't be capable of creating things like this. Letting Jon pull you out of the room to wherever it was he intended to bring you, part of you wondered if she felt as sick as you did looking at the things she's burned away.

Only, you had no reasonable way to know, that she didn't.

You knew you were a little more dispondant then normal when you explained what happened, but for once Jon understood entirely. He had you perched on the edge of some crate, Olly having run down to the horses to get him something to at least wrap your hand up in for now. Jons voice was quiet, only loud enough for you to hear him inside what otherwise would be the echo of the corridor. “Couldn't use my hand for days. The whole palm was burned.”

Eyebrows almost raising as if an attempt to be amusing passed you by, your voice a little strained from the nerves inside you settling. “You grabbed a lantern with your bare hand, that's a little different.”

Having cleaned most of the strange black blood from your face, and then cleaned your hand as must as he could of your own, Jon started to gently cover the cut with the cloth slowly. Not quite looking up to your eyes as he focused. “And you set him on fire with your bare hands.” You tried to protest that you didn't do anything but Jon shut it down with your name as if in lecture. Looking up at you, blending an upset with frustration in his twisting expression. “It attacked you, cut you. You said it felt like it was burning and then it catches fire?”

Your voice was short as it was a mutter. Brows narrowing looking away from him. “My apologies if I'm not jumping at the opportunity to boast I can set men on fire at will.” Jon argued that isn't what he was saying but you only shrugged a shoulder halfheartedly.

Sighing out, silence sat between you as he finished caring for your hand. Letting it move down to rest on your lap, Jon didn't yet move away or help you down. Instead he stood there, a hand trailing on your upper arm and the other on your thigh next to where your wrapped hand lay. Not forcing you to look at him either, Jon only spoke in a somehow, even softer quiet then before. “We'll discuss it later.”

Moving more to try and catch your eye, he repeated your name. That time getting you to nod, flickering a glance to his. Bright and grey and shining wide at you with none of that frustration from moments before. You weren't quite sure it was an appropriate time, but you did it anyways.

The uninjured hand reaching up, tracing your fingertips along his jaw before letting it slide tenderly to the back of his neck. His hair up giving you the opportunity to better prompt him to meet you half way, as your eyes slid closed. Lips meeting each others, Jons hand on your arm moving to cup your cheek, keeping you there against a soft kiss until he heard you sigh lightly into it.

Before you could pull away, he pressed two more chaste ones to your lips. Moving to press a final one to your forehead before he wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you up onto your feet. “You don't have to be brave when we're alone. It's alright if what happened back there scared you.”

Almost a soft smile formed, your hands perched still on his waist as you steadied yourself getting onto the ground. His eyes painted over with something almost adoring as you spared no care this time to spin a falsehood. “Good. Because it did.”

His face tied between soft and serious, Jon sighed out with a heavy weight behind him. “It should scare you. It scared me.”

Raising an eyebrow slightly, you found yourself returning a bit to something more normal on the inside at least. “Stupid and scared. We are made for each other.” That had Jon trying to pull back a mighty smirk right away, causing you to smother the same in yourself.

Guiding you away from the halls you were in, Jon muttered lowly as he pulled the hand on your lower back away. “Wouldn't want anything else.”

If you were feeling well enough to laugh, you might have. But not quite yet. Ice and fire still haunted both sides of you and each one radiated the looming threat of death. A threat which had followed your entire life, a shadow. You only hoped it all happening around you so rapidly now was always meant to happen this way, and not the things you brought to them.

The fire burned high and bright, eyes all watching intently as whatever conversations happened in the now larger group, you barley could hear a word. Watching the already dead burn once more, you couldn't stop the wonder all the same. Things the red woman did, things the Targaryean was whispered to be doing. What was the line between them and you?

Why when you used fire does it make you a good person and them not? Is it guilt? Is it the pit inside your gut of what a horrific manner to die that separated you? Even already dead, your eyes were dark and expression cold but disturbed as you watched. When did it stop being about survival and start becoming the actions of a monster?

A voice trickling in beside you, and it was likely the only one who had anything to say that was an answer for something of the many questions passing through you. “Through one manner or another, the Lord raised us both. And it's his power which runs through us, through our blood. I have discovered the same, blood which set something around you alight.”

Your arms crossed over you, not bothering to dress any warmer in the dark night sky overhead. Still your clothes were covered in the same black substance. Your eyes on the flames before tearing away to Beric beside you. “I've bled since coming back. Why now, why this time?”

He thought for a moment as the pair of you remained ignorant to the ones watching and listening to your conversation. “That I don't know, but both instances of the Lords power showing in you happened here, somewhere along the Wall. Perhaps it is a way of telling you, your fate lies here, more then anywhere else.”

Little patience in your words but tone was kept even. “Your god didn't need to force me into lighting a man on fire to know that, my lord. I've known that far longer then today, that my place is in the North.”

A chuckle on his breath didn't sound anything comforting, but little did to you anymore. “I didn't say it was the North your fate lies with, your grace.” Finding his gaze, you followed with an unblinking path to that of the dark grey ones not so far off with Ghost on one side and Sam on the other.

It wasn't unlike many years ago. Just on the outside of the gates at Castle Black did Jon stand by Sam as the corpses of wights burned before them. Only that time, there were far less dead in his memory and far more the fear of the unknown sat between the group that day. “I translated what I could about them, and it sounded as if the dead didn't rise back up like that until the the Others came through. Their presence was enough to bring them back as wights.”

Lost in a thought for a moment, Jon considered the idea. “If they were this close we'd have known by now. And they weren't anywhere near Castle Black when Othor came back.” Both men stood there looking at the bodies, both with more understanding of what was coming them any of the rest did in a way, but still there was something missing. Something that they weren't privy to it's information.

Sam glanced passed Jon, his own eyes finding the narrowed, troubled ones you sported across an expression just as disturbed as the rest of you looked. “She's a lot more like you then I thought.”

Jon's face turning to a confused one before he realized what was being referred too. Inhaling deeply, he shook his head slightly in a mutter. “Not if you say that to her.” From the side of his vision he could tell Sam was looking at him. “She'd tell you it's insulting to me, putting me at where she thinks is down at her level.”

Sam only huffed a laugh out. “Oh now I know she's really like you.” Jon's glare not angry but more of a jesting irritation as he said Sams name in warning. “If I told you that you're just like her, you'd get angry at me for that all the same.”

Jon knew he had a point. “Well I don't want her to be like me. I only want to keep her safe.”

He knew it came out of his mouth without much thought to it, but it truly stuck out the moments the words left Sams mouth. “Nothings killed her yet.” Both slowly turned to look at each other, Jons face almost twitching to laugh at how quickly Sams widened ready to dive into an apology. “Really though, Jon. You're doing fine. All things considered, everything bad that's happened to her isn't your fault. We can't protect the women we love from everything, no matter how much we want too.”

It was the wrong time to feel it, but something possessive in Jon begun to growl at that idea. The wolf in him did not accept that, would not accept that.

You were fairly certain it would've been easier to have tossed the material right into the fire then getting out what was left on it. Washing what was left on your face, hands, and arms you had turned your attention to trying to scrub out whatever bled on your clothes. To no avail it seemed, whatever it really was it was coated thick on there like dried paint by now.

All but tossing it against the floor, you stood with a huff trying to will away the dizziness from the fast movement off the ground. Hand pressed to your forehead, you knew it wasn't really the clothes bothering you. It didn't matter, that was trivial. It was everything else. The way they attacked you and Theon but it was as if you were the one they wanted to get to.

Armed with the same things, but it wasn't Theon that three out of four had focused on ending. A glance of the wrapping on your hand, and you dropped it down to your side. Mystery upon mystery, they added up with such speed it seemed.

“Do you wear this little because you're stubborn, or because you like making me go mad?”

Jon's voice easily accompanied the sound of the door opening, and only then did it occur to you that once you had stripped down the offending articles of clothing, you left the shift on without anything else to accommodate. Looking down then back up to him, who admittedly looked very warm, you found a bit of a bashful fluster travelling up your chest.

You tried to cover it up with something clever, but you knew Jon saw right through it. “That's assuming I could wear too much that would stop you from having that same reaction.” The charming smile you adored slid onto his face with ease, but the second he made any move to dress down he almost switched right into lecture tone to stop you.

Only, your hands reached up to his front, slowly taking things off for him with a gentle care you paid no attention to the look on his face he always had when you'd do so. Doing the bare minimum to pull off his own gloves, Jon let his hands now rest on your waist, watching you in quiet attending to him as if it was so natural for you.

Even though it was, you sometimes could forget that this was not something Jon was used too. It came easily to Robb. A highborn, trueborn son, heir to Winterfell, he was used to people wanting to do things for him, but Jon still struggled even all these months later together.

Too much of his life you knew he wanted to rely on himself, his own skills, survive all on his own if need be. Jon was still a bastard and thus maids and servants never quite clambered to attend to him quite the same way. Not that Jon would want them too. But you knew he let you now, due in part as an excuse for his large, warm hands to trail along the thin material covering what little it did of you.

Muttering lowly as you worked away, “Sometimes I can't tell if you're looking at me like that beacuse you want to take the rest of it off or not.” Jon only replied, voice deep and rasping that he always wants to do that. Warmth bubbled up in your chest and Jon caught it in your eyes, his own smile far easier coming. “Had I known when I met you that you would be this insatiable I might not have been so polite.”

Your hands stopped the moment he said it. “You don't remember the first time we met.” Eyes slinking up his chest to his face, the more yours dropped the more his eyes blazed with a mischief. “The first time I met you was in the training yard the morning you arrived.” You had little memory at all of that first day, but you weren't sure if he was just trying to tease you.

Tearing your eyes back down you begun to move more around him, taking the heaviest layers off to the cold of the room. Your voice low as you worked. “My point was, you did a good job at hiding what an animal you are.”

To you, nothing was thought of it. Simply, kneeling down in front of him to once more undress his heavier outer layers. But, not quite the other way around. Jon wasn't a man normally tempted like this, were it to come down to a choice he'd much rather dine between your legs then ever choose you pleasuring him instead. And yet, he knew his voice husked out a lot rougher then he was mere seconds ago teasing you.

Eyes almost hooded a it looking down at you, flexing his hands to stay respectful off of you. “You didn't make it easy.” Your gaze tilted up at him, and it really did not help. Only an innocent curiosity on your face, but for whatever reasons Jon felt his blood rush hotter. “Probably was a good thing we weren't supposed to be together. Have the freedom to know I could've done what I really wanted and not been so afraid.”

The skip in your heart shouldn't have added so such a fluster, but it did. Your attention directing back down you swallowed heavily before responding. “And what is it you really wanted to do?”

He was silent for a little bit, the nerves inside you forcing the tips of your fingers to steady without sign of shaking. Only as you moved to his boots did you notice his own hands finally moved. The top of your vision catching how swiftly he pulled the last layer against his torso off as if the cold meant nothing to his bare torso.

Still, Jon said not a word. Waiting for you to finish putting them aside before reaching down. Gently a few fingers under your chin to tilt you to look up at him, Jon not sparing to let out a deep exhale as he looked down dark and bright and all seeing. His accent thick as it was rough, “Every night for years I spent wondering what it'd feel like to be inside you. But there's something I want to know. When did you want me?” Your brows narrowing in confusion, his hand sliding to toy with the strands of hair loose at the side of your head. “When did you first think about letting me take you to bed?”

The stammer in you without saying a word was almost embarrassing, the fluster flushed in your face so obviously but Jon didn't even give you the relief of a smirk. Just watched with dark eyes and a low hissing tone. “Be honest, if I asked you how many times in your entire life you've even touched yourself, could you count it on two hands?”

Your head turned away, the embarrassment mounting in drastic fashion all of the sudden. Mumbling, “Jon..” Without any words to explain what you meant.

He continued though. “Three hands? Four?” You knew right away by the falling drop of your face, how you almost shrunk away from him even kneeling like this that he knew. The embarrassment flowing down the river and finding itself replaced with a wide eyed humiliation. “It's not less then five times.” But you didn't say anything, and almost looked away from him more. Hardly able to ascertain his tone over the feeling in your chest of almost shame. “How many?”

You managed to get it out, but it was a mumble only Jon could've picked up on. “Twice.” He was silent and you felt that shame flare higher and higher wanting to explain yourself. “I didn't..I didn't know for a long time that was something I could even do..have..feel like that..”

Truly you were ruining him, he knew. This wasn't fair, he wasn't trying to dangle how innocent you were as a something to mock but Jon knew he was so unbelievably hard. Cock strained against the only thing left covering his body and once more that perverse feeling returned. Even all these years later you were too innocent for your own good, and that was a dangerous mix.

Jon stood there, knowing you shouldn't be kneeling so beautiful and telling him just how truly innocent you've been your whole life, when he knew far too intimately how it felt to spill so deeply down your throat. That it let tears fall from your eyes at how overwhelming he could hold you there. He knew he shouldn't want that, he didn't want it because he didn't want to risk being too rough or unsafe with you.

But still he thought, never once did you ever do anything but swallow every drop of his seed as if you needed it.

He was tied between two things, but he knew he couldn't act like that with you. He had to be gentle, show you love instead of making it all about him. Mumbling your name, Jon held a hand out, prompting you to stand up properly, before he could pull his cock out to slide deep in your mouth.

One hand at your hip and the other tilting your jaw to look up at him, your lips parted, lungs almost burning in anticipation for what he wanted. Days when something risked your life, Jon was wild and unpredictable those subsequent nights. He lacked any other way to cope with almost losing you, but to be the one rough with you himself when alone. Brushing his lips against yours, your hands at his waist tightening but he only muttered with hot breath dancing across your skin. “Lay on the bed for me.”

Bracing yourself with your palms back against the sheets, one knee somewhat bent keeping you propped up, unsure of how to even attempt to give him something to look at. But as Jon turned to face you, attention was grabbed from where you were looking with ease. Rough hands undoing the laces at the top of his breeches before uncaringly shoving the rest of it off.

Already his cock stood hard as could be, begging to take what he wanted from you. One knee he climbed up onto the bed and the next, all but crawling over top of you like he had his prey exactly where he wanted. Only his hands grabbed something along the way.

Pulling your shift up and off you, Jon tossed it without a single care. His eyes black as the night outside but he only watched you, chest breathing heavily as he looked you over. Top to bottom trailing down as if he had every inch of you already memorized.

The air was heavy, tense as you both were perched on the bed until Jon once more stole your breath with ease. Grasping at your legs, Jon pushed them wide, yanking you down the bed before slinking down so that his broad shoulders kept you from being able to close them. Hovering just where he would torment you for hours, only the hot breathe you felt tracing along your skin spoke what you didn't expect.

“Why didn't you ever try it more? Touching yourself?” Your head fell against the sheets, turning into the pillow somewhat with that same embarrassment. Your name coming from him with another prompt, hands resting along your outer thighs soothingly. “It's alright, I'm not trying to embarrass you. But I need to know.” All you did was barley breath out an ask of why when he smiled too gently for the way he was between your legs. “Because I spent a lot of nights spilling into my own hand pretending it was you. Did you not know you were allowed to think of me?”

You wanted to be anywhere but here, you didn't understand why this mattered. Not a shred of confidence was found in your mutterings. “I tried but then I'd remember when my Septa used to tell me girls shouldn't do things like that. Then both times I tried it never..it didn't really work so I stopped. It felt good when you were doing it, I thought that meant that only you were supposed do that.” Were you not bare, you would have made your way to the top of the Wall by now and flung yourself from the edge.

Jon only soothed his touch against your thighs. Breath warm as his voice was soothing, no judgment not even desire, just comforting. “Try for me.”

“Here?”

A grin cracked at how your voice snapped against the words. “Right here. Show me what you think it is you weren't supposed to be doing.” The Queen of one word answers you were and asked why, and once more Jon was there not to pressure, but to alleviate the suffocating fluster in your lungs. “You're in the North, you married a Northman. You belong to the North now, not the new gods always trying to convince you wanting to feel good is something to be ashamed of.”

It was cruel how well he knew you. How he could rip down your walls in seconds and expose the shivering insecurities underneath. “Are you going to laugh at me if I say I don't know what to do?”

Instantly. Jon laughed instantly.

Trying to pull away from him, you didn't want to do this. You didn't want everything today to end with Jon making fun of you for something you spent years thinking you were sinful for trying. It was easy for him, he was a man, he followed the Old Gods. No one cared what Jon did or wanted like that, but you were taught your entire life. Marry, breed and repeat. Pleasure wasn't part of such lessons.

“Woah, woah-” Jon reached up, grasping at your waist quickly and pushed you back down into the sheets, hoisting himself up to see your eyes a little better. Now mostly hovering over your stomach. “Darling, I wasn't laughing at you. Not like that. You..” His eyes were admittedly wide, and earnest. The grey far less black and more light once more. “You're just..cute.”

Mumbling as you wanted to squirm away, the tickling his breath on your stomach causing. “Isn't that a seductive way to be seen by your husband.”

In response, Jon let that same smile sit on his lips before pressing it down to your stomach, almost kissing a non existent path to something before pulling a thigh up, and somewhat over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh there as well. “I want you to understand it's okay to feel good, it's okay to do things just for yourself. But you're not good at doing nice things for yourself, so we're going to stay right here until I've taught you that properly.”

The strength to say anything still was a little too on the embarrassed side, but when Jon wanted to make a point about something sensitive, you had long learned to trust the way he delicately chose to do so with you. Nodding, you still didn't really look anywhere but the stone wall to the side of the room whispering, “I don't know how to start.”

In another world that may have come off as petulant, but you didn't want to be in charge of this sort of thing for yourself. Being so open, so raw, and so vulgar in front of Jon felt like he'd judge you for it but he encouraged it with the most gentle eyes he always held towards you. “Give me your hand.” Smartly choosing your luckily uninjured left, he opened the fingers right in your palm before sitting it flat against your stomach. “I'll lead, you just follow along for now.”

Barley nodding, you felt him trail your hand down your stomach, tracing just barley over your mound without the courage to even slightly look at him. Fingertips of his over top yours on the opposite sides, Jon gently dragged your hand down slightly until just barley did you feel that slight jolt of pleasure fluttering across your clit.

Biting roughly into your lip, you felt rather stupid as if you had no idea what any of this entailed. You had been touched this way before, but here on your own in front of Jon? You felt as nervous and lost as you did that day in Winterfell on his bed, bare for the first time in front of him. Trying to apply a little bit of pressure, Jon's voice was soft. “Come on, darling. Find out what feels good.”

You were trying, really you were. But everything felt wrong, you felt stupid and not looking his way at all did not help the worry Jon might think you were incompetent. Jon always took the lead, Robb always took the lead. You didn't want to be in charge, you didn't want to do all of this yourself for yourself, you'd much rather Jon have let you stay on your knees earlier instead.

Small touches he would try and guide you to something a little better, but no doubt he could see how tense and unrelaxed you were. “If I take my hand away, would it help you to explore more on your own?”

Your response however, was as mumbled and embarrassed as before. Any movement stopping, the moment Jon wasn't actively leading. “Couldn't we do things the way we always do..”

Quiet for a moment, you feared the sigh Jon let out was either disappointment or defeat. Not helped by the sudden feeling of him gently laying your legs out more comfortably and rising up. Only to have him climb back over you, hands pressed on either side of your head as he nudged you gently to look up at him. You were sure the embarrassment was striking on your face.

Before any words were spoken, the moment you looked to him, Jon captured your lips. Nothing feirce or deep or urgent, just a gentle kiss until you settled to something more calm. Enough so that you naturally raised your hands to run along his shoulder and upper back. Pulling away more then once, Jon would reclaim your lips until he found the strength to pull back enough to speak properly.

Nudging your nose gently with his, “Whenever we were separated, I'd always wonder late at night if you were touching yourself the same time I was. I wanted you to be.” Resting his forehead against yours, the gesture rather sweet for the spoke words rasping from his mouth. “I'd pull one of your letters out, reading it trying to hear your voice, try to imagine what it'd feel like to finally slip inside of you. Hoping you were on the other side of the country wondering what it'd feel like to be filled that way.”

Ever so slowly, Jon while keeping your eyes on his the entire time, removed a hand from around his shoulder. Dragging it right back down. Instead of prompting you himself, he only held your hand in the position, knowing the command was already understood. Do it yourself right now.

The jolt of pleasure almost made you jump, the moment Jon knew you obeyed him, let that hand press back into the sheets as he stayed over you. Eyes forcing you to look up at him as he kept going. “Then you were standing right in front of me, after a year of thinking you were gone. I know I was too rough with you, I should've been gentle, should've taken my time, ease you into it.”

Ever so slightly you felt more of a pattern grow easier and easier to follow. Breath increasing as it would then hitch trying to keep steady underneath him, but your bloodstream flowed warmer and tighter as that feeling grew in your core. Trying to recall what Jon would do at this point but he kept talking, kept distracting your too focused mind.

“I was afraid after, if you didn't want it. Beacuse it was all I kept thinking about. Every moment I was looking at you, all I could think about was how you felt around me. How beautiful you looked under me just like this.” A whimper in your throat swallowed itself back down, but that warmth from Jon above was starting to compare to it deep in your core. Fingertips a little firmer, finding a pattern almost to match the cadence of Jons voice.

Nudging your nose with his again, barley brushing his lips against yours to speak. “Even when I woke up, you bare against me like that..” A rough exhale blew across your skin. “I had yanked you down onto my cock before I even knew what I was doing, I was obsessed. I'm still obsessed, I'm addicted to being inside you. You have no idea the things I want to do to you, things you'd never imagine two people could do with each other..”

Your eyes almost fluttered shut as a weak gasp left you, fingertips slightly down just slightly only to let out the tiniest of cries at just how wet you felt yourself getting. Tracing just some of that back to your clit, you nodded. Wanting to find a voice, but Jon was here to do all the talking for you, hovering over you as you breathing grew erratic, as your muscles begun to shake.

“I can't do half the things I want to do to you, I'd get sent to every hell there is for how much I want to keep you locked away, tied to my bed, making you beg for me every second I'm not inside you.”

Oh that faint whine did Jon in. His cock already throbbed terribly, but now it was enough to make his heart race, his hands tighten into fists against the sheets. Your eyes almost struggling to stay open like a true beauty in his eyes, losing yourself to a pleasure he was desperate for you to find. More and more the embarrassment left you, remaining only a burning white hot desire.

A gentle kiss to your cheek, once more the contrast captured your lungs. “The worst part is? You'd let me wouldn't you? You'd let me do anything to you, because you trust me to take care of you.” Nodding you tried to meet his dark eyes, but wave after wave of something tingling passed through you as you kept on your clit just as he wanted. Groaning over top of you, Jon hid his face in your neck, keeping enough of his body off of you to give you the space still. “...fuck, I'm nowhere near an honourable man for what I want to do to you, not even a good one..”

Shaking your head, you tried turning slightly into his close proximity, breathless and weak, “You are, I promise you are, Jon. Always have been.” His own breathing growing harsh against your neck, he was trying to keep from indulging himself in touching you but the edge of that cliff of self restraint was drawing near mighty fast.

Creeping right up on you, your free hand reached up, grasping at Jons shoulder as stuttering breaths found you as you almost arched up into him. Something like sparks of a flame smouldering through you with a swiftness finally had him pull back to look at you. Barley managing to meet his eyes as yours kept fluttering shut, any tension within you left.

That fire burst into a proper flame and spread across your core and through your every nerve, arching up to him even more as Jon forced himself to stay propped up to watch. Your head thrown back with a desperate gasp of his name. It wasn't nearly as powerful as any another had given you, but feeling Jon so close against you had only helped keep it properly strong. Riding out that wave, something needy forced itself into your mind.

Forcing your self upward your hand left without thought as you met his lips. Jon sensing what you wanted right away, shifting his position to grasp at your waist and keep you firmly under him as he bit at your bottom lip. The very start of what might have been a gasp and Jon impatient as anything used such an opportunity to glide his tongue into your mouth, brushing against your own as he leaned over you more.

A far more dominant position then he held previously, one hand as Jon tasted you as such with a greed, did he shift onto his knees more. Suddenly pulling away, the saliva between you snapping as he looked down with something almost authoritative. Yanking your leg up into his hold, grasping by your thigh you were jostled further down the bed as he all but hooked your leg up over his shoulder. Far more on display then he'd ever previously positioned you.

Dark, heavy eyes raking down your bare form until he reached your soaking core. As if he worked himself up, Jons breathing was heavy as he clenched his jaw trying to keep composure and utterly failing. The aggressive look almost could be mistaken for anger as he sent his other hand down between you.

Much more knowing, rubbing tightly at your clit until you cried out, not even noticing the volume of your voice, not that he cared by now. Sinking down he shoved two fingers deep inside you, soaking to the point even just such one small action you could hear how wet you were. A cry biting against your tongue at the differences.

You with that sense of shame, Jons chest heaving all the more as he slid his fingers in and out of you deeply until he pulled from you, impatient. The press of the leaking tip of his cock teased against you, but Jon let that hand drift up. Running between your breasts, grasping not even in greed, almost tenderly to get your attention before running it what he could reach through your hair. You knew you looked a mess already, but Jon truthfully looked no more put together then you felt.

Rasping far more tenderly then such a lewd position had any right being spoken in tandem with, Jon looked with something overwhelmingly adoring. Letting his hand trace down to the bruises forming where the wight grabbed at your neck he swallowed with something far too close of watering to the surface. “I'm so sorry, darling, that never should have happened.”

Shaking your head you felt confused by the juxtaposition. His cock teasingly prodding at slipping right inside of you, and the desperate look as he looked down at you. “Jon, it's not your fault,”

Cutting you off, you stuttered a breath as just barley an inch more slid inside of you, but Jons eyes and voice no less heavy. “It doesn't matter. I need to protect you, both of you. Especially here.”

Jon wouldn't realize until far later into the night then he should've been awake, exactly what he had said. You didn't notice, your mind far too high in the clouds as you tried to find anything of him to grasp at in need. Barley a voice, more of just a weak high pitched breath as your core burned for him. “We protect each other, no matter what.”

Dropping his head, Jon without prompt sunk deep inside of you. The gasp pouring out of your mouth with a needy cry of his name, Jon for once couldn't convince himself to smother it with a kiss. He could barley look at you as you no longer could keep your eyes open.

Instead, his eyes dragged themselves down to watch his cock sink slowly inside of you, every slow pull almost leaving you showing off how soaking you were around him, made worse each slide back as deep as you could take him. Running against something sensitive that had your nails dig into where of his waist you could reach. Still, he only watched.

Again and again Jons cock slowly disappeared into you, made just for him. Your cunt made to fit his cock like a fate, and you were as tight as you somehow also gave him no resistance. You had worked yourself up perfect for him. “Oh fuck, darling..” A rougher thrust and one hand of yours reached mindlessly to the sheets below to grasp at.

More of a slap of his hips pounded into you, pace picking up rougher and rougher until the obscene yet telltale slap of skin against one another gave away what truly taking place in the hour of the wolf. The stretch of his cock never got any better, you always lay there feeling such a stinging burn that you might have cried without. Fucking deep into you rough, and thick and so much of you was only filled with him and you couldn't live without him.

The floating in your heart travelled down your chest between your legs and bloomed within your core as your cries found themselves shameless into the air, yet was nothing against the smack of Jons hips pounding into yours. Back arching as he dragged along your walls as if to torture you with how every sense was overtaken with his touch, his deep growl, his cock too thick to handle and yet he sunk as deep as you could take every time without the agony such a girth should give.

He couldn't take his eyes off watching your cunt take his cock like you were born to do only this. Your eyes shed tears at how little breath you had left each time he pounded harder. His head somewhat leaning against your leg up on his shoulder, other hand grasping tightly at your hips to bruise the skin with just more imprints of him. Forcing you steady as with a grunting growl in his chest did he fuck into rougher.

Pound after pound hardly a word was spoken not prayers for the others ears only, begging for mercy and none yet for how much he filled you over and over and how much your insides twisted like a tight coil edging itself to snap with a violence. You wanted Jon close but he couldn't tear his eyes away, and every few thrusts he watched did Jon pound rougher.

Teeth gritting Jon rambled swears under his breath watching you take him, watching how soaked his cock was every single time he managed to pull himself out of you even a little bit, and how little Jon ever wanted to be anywhere but so deep inside you every drop of seed he'd fill you with could never leak out. Leaning as much as he could over you, the leverage tore the growling from Jons chest out of his mouth as his harsh slam of hips pained you.

He was too rough with you, but you wanted more and more. Wanted Jon to treat you however he wished but you also wanted him close to feel and kiss. Begging his name, only it came out as tiny pleas of need in the slapping skin around you. “Jon, gods, Jon you're perfect..please, you're so good..”

Eyes rolling into the back of his head Jon shoved the leg of yours off his shoulder and forced them both wide to make room. Both hands pressed beside your body again, the slapping of skin fucking rough inside your soaking walls would've sounded too rough had it not been the only music you desired to hear the rest of your life.

Grasping his waist, your chest lurched and your core burned once more and yet the feeling inside twisted and fogged your head to the point not even the bed below you existed. Only the touch Jon gifted you. His forehead falling against yours, accent thick as anything as he slurringly rambled with the pace leaving a cruel pound, switching to an overwhelming slap as he thrusted into you faster and faster.

“Cum for me, darling. Please, I-” A groan leaving his mouth had you lurch up to kiss him. Deep and messy and he bit at your lips as he did so before he yanked back from that to ramble more. “Cum around me, I need to feel you, please..cum for me and I'll fill you just the way you like I promise.”

Nodding you met his lips in a kiss just as rough, Jons cock just as fast and unrelenting as he carved a place for his cock deep in your cunt made for him alone. The air between you both left how cold it was, the sweat covering both of you, a fire would have nothing on the heat now.

Gasping into his kiss, Jon slipped his tongue inside you once more just as you clenched around him. Muscles screaming as they seized, the coil inside snapping with such a roughness the tears once more fell from your eyes, but Jons kiss and tongue refused your begs and pleads for mercy. Jon had none anyways. Not the speed in which he kept pounding into you with no reprieve.

Your mind high in the clouds, just as Jon almost snarled into your kiss, spilling deep inside of you, making it feel like his seed was thick but burning hot as he pumped it all deep. Hips not relenting a bit, Jon shook in keeping himself propped up but more and more his seed filled you.

Almost falling, Jons forehead met yours again, one hand reaching up to grasp at the headboard above and pounding into you still. His own breaths as unsteady and stuttering as your own, but his hips never gave up the slapping into you he created. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders and back of his neck. Letting him hide more in your own neck as your nails dug into the free skin not yet covered by whatever strands fell from their pull up.

Jons other hand holding at your hip still rutting into you despite the overstimulated cries singing into his ears, he needed more. Jon craved more just as he needed to spill inside of you again, and again and as many times as he could give no matter what.

He knew now too, that if you passed out, if Jon wasn't done, you wanted him to fuck you anyways.

No rhythm or pattern followed this time, just the desperate fucking of a great wolf who needed to fill his mate at any and all cost. Nothing existed but Jons touch, his voice, all of it. Only him as for Jon it was only you. Only you two. That's all there was for him nothing outside mattered as long as he had you two in here and with a cruelty forcing a groan to pour from his mouth of your name, the thought had Jon spill inside you again. The thickness of his seed made fucking you over and over afterwards obscene, the sounds humiliating for you but Jon would willingly loose his sanity if it was this which would take it from him.

It hurt, how much cumming around him hurt, the burn he stretched you with but Jon would pull back and kiss you and you'd let him hurt you just like this for the rest of your days. Only with him did you feel as if you craved anything he could give you.

Looking up to his eyes, grey and bright and the only thing that mattered to you, barley a whisper you managed to breath out, “I love you.”

Jon couldn't say it back beacuse he lost the words for anything. Nodding, Jon rutted into you harder and kissed you deeper with such a greed the new gods would've been ashamed should he have cared. Spilling inside you once more, you weren't sure if he stopped. For the second time in over three weeks, your mind slipped into sleep at the pounding of his cock soaked inside you.

Once your eyes had slipped closed, the hand at your hip slid up to your stomach. Pressing down to feel nothing, not yet. But Jon knew the second that changed, he was going to feel no better about how desperate he was to fuck you. If he could give you a daughter right now too, he would stay inside you until he did just that.

You were long asleep, and shamefully filled with his seed by the time Jon slid out of you. Even in your sleep you whined. A tender kiss to your lips, and another when Jon pulled back to merely look at you first. He turned you in his arms, holding you close into his chest and one hand pressed at the back of your head to keep you tucked into him.

Jon almost failed you today, he arrived too late, they were all dead but it was still his fault he wasn't with you in the first place. You could take care of yourself, but Jon wanted you to let him do it for you, he'd do anything for you.

But something he knew, wanted him and you deeply involved in the winter storms of the far North. What that role was just yet he didn't know, but he would stake a high bet on it that the true answers to that lay here. In the North, the cold and the Old Gods. It all connected somehow, and for whatever reason, it seemed like the gods were saying that Jon and you together belonged right in this mystery alongside the Others.

High up on the Wall, the reports had been growing more and more every night but he had to be sure before he said anything.

He was given this responsibility and what led to this being his position meant he wasn't messing around. He wasn't taking it for granted with a snarky comment or dismissal anymore, beacuse they all knew better now.

Black fur barley doing anything in the high night wind but he walked up to the ledge the others stood at regardless. They called him up here for a reason, and as he stood by the ledge he saw just what the men had been whispering about for days. Only now it was close enough he could see with his own damn eyes.

Jon would be at the Nightfort by now he estimated. It wasn't far, it was close enough, and he wasn't willing to wait for an army he wasn't sure would come to their aid a second time to pick up the slack, and he didn't trust sending a raven to get across the seriousness of what this meant.

It would be unlikely he didn't know, but they all had to be on the same page now more then ever. The Nights Watch was no longer an exile stuck at the end of the world. They more then ever had to be the shield that guards the realms of men. The North together. All of them, just like Jon had told them.

Turning to the others, he said without room for question. “Ready my horse. If I leave tonight I can get there before the new moon. If they're this close already, Jon needs to know now.”

Edd stood high up on the Wall at Castle Black, and in the distant night sky of the North did the stars and black night start to shimmer. Closer and closer it was drawing and now he could see it.

The dark was coming, and a strange glow of shimmering green light within the sky waved like water along with it.

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