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shieldofrohan · 4 years ago

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I don't think GRRM explores the flaws in Arya's characterisation rather he explores how the world is unfair to her. Whenever I read Jon, Sansa, Dany , Robb and Bran, I feel they behave as their age requires them to be. They show capabilities yet are not exempted from bad choices which a character at their age can easily commit. With Arya, sometimes it feels like I am not reading a 11 year old kid but a grown up 25 year old woman who never messes up things or has any characterisation flaws which are not inherent within like the other child characters but those failings are primarily influenced by the society.

Hello Anon,

I have to agree and disagree with you.

I agree with that Martin writes Jon, Sansa and Dany better- MUCH BETTER.

I am obviously not a Daenerys fan but I enjoyed her character more than I did with Arya. I said it many times but I am going to say it again: Daenerys is the best written character in the series. She is much more interesting villain than man-pain Tyrion [looking at you Martin.. really, Tyrion?].

Objectively I find her character well written and interesting. But my problem with her is that her cult like fans who completely ignore her true position and characterization in the books. Hopefully in the future people will enjoy Dany character for the right reasons.

I felt like I need to explain my thoughts about Dany first to show my problems with the way of Arya was written by the author.

Arya is the WORST written main character. TRULY. Everything about her is so FAKE/FORCED/CLICHE/UNREALISTIC…

Author says that Arya is the underdog/outcast of the family. Does the writing show this?

NO!

She is literally her father's favorite child. We see Ned constantly favoring her, letting her do what she likes, he never scolds her, he makes time to talk with her about her traumas like losing a friend, he fcking finds a Water Dancer for her [but not a harp teacher for Sansa]. I have a great dad but jeez, even he never showed me this kind of devotion.

Catelyn seems like she knows her daughter well… we don’t see her abusing or ignoring her. She even acknowledges her struggles.

Her siblings love her. Even Sansa tries to keep include her into her own circle to enjoy things together, she covers for her against Septa Mordane.

As we can see, she seems doing fine as a tomboy girl in the family of 5 men/boys and 2 women/girls.

BUT SHE COULDN’T SEW SO SHE WAS BEING ABUSED.

Really? Wow she must be the only special snowflake who wasn’t good at sewing. I am sure rest of the girls in North were all experts. Arya is the only one who lacks some skill people and it made her super sad.

Fans tried to paint this as some "omg anti-feminism/sexism in society" thing and it feels absurd because Arya was bad at history and heraldy too..

A tomboy is not good at some female-coded skill is so fcking cliche for character building and I am not buying it. And this is BAD/LAZY WRITING.

Did Martin try to make her look like an underdog with this??

Well Sansa is not good at math? I am sure she had bad days because of this too but we didn’t read it. If you ask me Sansa (girly girl) being bad at math (male-coded subject) was more sexist than sewing and Arya thing [considering Sansa was good at music and playing instruments which require math but whatever.]

Arya is an outcast because she is not like other girls… WOW, it has never been written before, how did George come up with this idea? Meanwhile we have girls like Mormont girls so obviously she is not the only "NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS MARY SUE".

Evil Mordane bullied poor Arya. Mordane is totally not good for her BUT Arya literally never listens HER TEACHER. I am not talking about her lack of skill in sewing. Arya simply NEVER listens anyone. She disobeys her septa, she declines QUEEN’s invitations rudely, she talks sh*t about CROWN PRINCE while princess is next to them.

Girly lessons like sewing weren’t the only lessons she was not into it…

Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done.

[ACOK; Arya VII]

She simply never cares about any lessons and she simply refuses to learn basic DECORUM. Yeah I am sorry that she had to learn things she didn’t want to but welcome to real world.

MY POINT IS: all these are so weak points to make her look like an outcast/underdog.

Don’t even let me start with Jeyne Poole calling her HORSERACE nonsense. I said it before so I repeat it: This feels so forced in the story considering Arya is the daughter of Warden of the North and Jeyne is some simple daughter of a simple man who works for Starks.

This is what author himself says about class system:

Q: What was the hardest thing in writing about such an alien world?

GRRM: The vast majority of fantasy is middle agey time wise, and he himself finds the period fascinating; glad to adopt it for novel writing - likes knights and castles and such. He objects to bad fantasy practice which adopts a time setting without accepting the culture - imposing 20th century values like the cheeky stableboy telling off the princess (in reality cheeky stableboy would lose his tongue - look what happend to Mycah); the class system was not just and ornament and these people truly belived in blood, and the rank and priviledge that came with "good" blood. [2006]

But Jeyne somehow had no fear when she was “bullying” a princess. Does this make sense to you or does it feel forced to make Arya look like a victim. And this bad writing keeps repeating itself while author writes Arya and when you realize this pattern you can’t unsee it and it ruins the books a little.

I wrote all these to explain what is ACTUALLY wrong with Arya as a character. I don’t blame Arya for the bad writing, I blame the author.

And I disagree with you a little when you said: "With Arya, sometimes it feels like I am not reading a 11 year old kid but a grown up 25 year old woman who never messes up things or has any characterisation flaws which are not inherent within like the other child characters but those failings are primarily influenced by the society.”

[I explained the her failings in society’s eyes part already.. that thing is a cliche and unrealistic writing]

I don’t agree with that reading Arya feels like reading an older woman. No it feels like reading a VERY UNREALISTIC AND DISTURBING CHILD. She totally makes mistakes:

Talking bad about prince in a room full of people, declining Queen’s invitations, not listening her septa and Sansa, making prince angry, hiding for 4 days while she should have gone to her father to deal with the mess so maybe Mycah and Lady wouldn’t be dead, attacking her sister, killing a stableboy, killing many other people, joining a assassin cult, killing a Black brother because she thinks she has the right etc..

She makes mistakes but we didn’t see her face any consequences. Will we see her face them?? When it comes to Arya I don’t trust GRRM. GRRM covers for her all the time. GRRM = Ned Stark. He favors her. I mean look at this:

Sansa saves Dontos who later molests her and he works for Baeslish who also molests her.

Arya saves Jaqen H’ghar and he turns out to be a Faceless Man who kills THREE people for her.

Sandor sexually assaults Sansa but not Arya [I am not saying he should!! But why is it always Sansa? Does the author punish Sansa for her beauty… ANSWER IS YES because I am done!]

Sansa trusts Joffrey and Cersei ends up the most hated character in the books [even author says she had a part in her father’s death and he is ok with fans hating her]

Meanwhile Arya’s spider senses tell her to not trust Roose Bolton or anyone etc.

Arya runs into people like Yoren or Harwin meanwhile Sansa… you got it.

Basically this is a simple case of author favoring a character and it happens in all books.

The only thing that indicates author knows she is not perfect is that him calling her a “psycho” or not disagreeing when fans call her a psycho [I know I usually make fun of this but actually this is not some good take about a child character especially if you say Starks- including Arya- are the heroes]

In conclusion: I think she is written terribly, she is the weakest part in the story and character building. I simply hate the way author deals with her character. I think she is not interesting. She turned out to be a very dark and disturbing child character and I have no idea what is GRRM trying to tell with her.

Thanks for the ask. Have a nice day.

#anti grrm #anti arya stark #anti arya stans #ask #answered #reply #anon #grrm critical #mine

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fineosaur · 4 years ago

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first line game

thank you for the tags @littlerockerao3 and @salty-wench, i haven’t done one of these in a while and this one was super fun to compile (fair warning this IS quite long)

rules: list the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). see if there are any patterns. choose your favourite opening line. then tag 10 of your favourite authors.

pieces of you stuck on me (but i’m careless and i’m wicked) -- a rickon x lyanna fwb multichap

He’d woken up alone, something he was often used to, but in the last months, he had grown more accustomed to waking up beside just one particular person. More or less a year if he was being honest with himself. But he wasn’t completely alone either, he was just alone in her bed.

we both coincide (when the world’s wasting time) -- a rickon x lyanna story that shows their relationship spanning over a few years

The moon is already out when he still finds himself at her side. She’s solid and warm in his embrace, swaying lazily with him to the strumming harp and the melodic voice that sing the words that seem to weave their way in his head, taking root as he tries to focus on just being there with her.

in the highlands of our dreams -- a single dad!rickon x lyanna fic that’s a lot on the softer side than my usual work

Most of his life had felt like there was an errant thumb on the fast forward button. At times he knew it had much to do with the way his thoughts often ran too fast, and even with long enough legs to chase them, they just kept their brisk pace. Other times, he wasn’t so much to blame.

watch me wary -- a rickon x lyanna fic where rickon goes off the grid for a few years and has to come back to face his family (aka rickon’s apology tour)

“You’re late again, kid.”

He rolled his eyes despite the verity in the statement. Pulling off his helmet, he held a hand out to shake the shorter man’s hand.

watch me wary (prequel) [title in progress] -- set in the stormlands 2 years after rickon leaves home and involves him falling in love with steffon seaworth

There was a feeling between relief and guilt that followed leaving home. Often times thought of as ‘running away’ or ‘disappearing’, at least ‘leaving home’ sounded so much more tempered.

an empire for two -- a canon-divergent robb x theon & rickon x lyanna fic which involves established throbb and an arranged marriage for lyckon

It was warmer inside the castle. It always was; with the hot water from the springs running through its walls, the castle lived and breathed through each change of season, chilling winters and weeping summers, not buckling for any.

where the stars do not take sides -- a oneshot set in a canon-divergent setting where rickon x lyanna spend a few last hours of peace together before they return to war

The snow falls around them rather gracefully. There’s often peace in the Godswood, and the distant howls of the wolves do nothing to deter from that. Though nightfall has come and its chill alike, they stand stiffly facing one another.

be with you -- a rickon x steffon oneshot that shows their relationship as well as how they fell in love

The floor manages to feel warm despite the hour. If he thinks hard enough, he guesses that they’re one of the only two left there.

His father’s office is littered in papers, stacks of words that blur into one with his boredom. Really what keeps him going is the way the man in front of him continues to push his mop of brown hair back, no matter how many times it falls back into his face as he leans over the glass desk.

sight for sore eyes -- mixed pov which has tommen pining for rickon who is pining for lyanna — true heather style

There’s a moment of reprieve that comes once the moon has passed its apex. Its scattered light plays amongst the stars that pepper the sky and the hazy streetlights that guide them through the night.

to feel like gold -- a lyanna x myrcella oneshot where myrcella chooses to indulge in a little rebellion with the girl that’s been on her mind for months

The room is almost too bright for her liking. It hardly fits her resentment. The brisk night air streaming through her windows suits her well enough, rippling over her arms in goosebumps as she feels the frown between her eyebrows deepen.

forest fires -- an arya x gendry oneshot set with a lunar eclipse and a brief moment of repose for the couple

The night’s brisk breeze doesn’t unsettle him like it used to.

It’s still cold though. The wind makes the hair on his arms stand up and he wonders why he hadn’t thought to wear a jumper over his thin cotton t-shirt.

help! -- a stark family -smutty crack fic- that involves ned and cat accidentally stumbling into each one of their kids in precarious situations with their partners

It almost felt like nothing had changed like her children were all still children. Like they’d never flown the coup. But as she stood there, holding a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, she knew that a lot had changed, that every one of her kids had grown up, fallen in love and were seemingly happy. It flooded her with such relief to know so, though the still gentle tug at her heart was there, telling her that her babies would no longer run to her begging to be held after a nightmare.

it’s all hope -- canon compliant robb x theon oneshot that involves a love confession before theon sets off to pyke

Much like the fire within the hearth that beckoned him with its flickering warmth, he felt disquiet within himself.

The air felt thick, far more humid than that of the North’s. He could easily make out the Red Fork by where he stood, pulling at the laces of his tunic. It unsettled him, the rushing water, so fresh, unlike the brine of his home.

take one last look back-- a jon x satin drabble where the couple has a little spat in the car

The wind becomes distracting. With the way it whistles through his ears, blowing at those perfect curls of his, it even makes it abundantly clear how much his eyes sting.

When he leans back in his seat, his eyes meet the rearview mirror, where he can see his grey eyes, dark and stormy, the perfect juxtaposition to the gleaming sun that threatens a headache.

second nature -- a rickon x lyanna drabble that has a drunk rickon confessing his affections for his best friend, lyanna

She’s sitting in her car with one leg crossed when she sees him take a minute to check each side of the road before crossing. It’s 4 am, her car is really the only one on the road.

Her car is flanked on the side of the road and it’s completely unsurprising that his first instinct is to lower himself to her opened window and flash his stupidly white grin at her.

a troubled mind -- a robb x theon oneshot, after his parents’ deaths, robb overloads himself with responsibility and on the verge of falling apart he seeks comfort in the one person who’s always been there for him

He’s never gotten the opportunity to let it all get to him. There’s never been time for it. Not when there’s always been at least one other person that needs the safety his arms provide.

It’s part of being the oldest son, he tells himself far too often.

calmest wave -- an arya x gendry drabble, a post-show canon fix it where the couple are parents in the stormlands

The shattering waves could still be heard, breaking onto the rocky coast of Shipbreaker’s Bay, even from where they walked, with withered leaves crumbling underfoot.

There was tranquillity within the godswood, interspersed by the humidity carried across the Summer Sea and yet he still felt a breeze pick up, cooling him down as he gently held the small hand in his palm.

you were just dancing on your own -- an arya x gendry drabble where arya seeks comfort with gendry after a bad night

It’s still dark when Arya wakes up in her car; windshield covered in a think layer sleet. Her teeth chatter as she pulls her jumper tighter around herself, yellow haze in her eyes from the streetlights.

She’s in the passenger seat of her car, seat pushed back the most it can go. Her heater doesn’t work, no matter how much she bruises her knuckles against the vents.

high, high love -- an arya x gendry oneshot - set in the pieces of you stuck on me universe. after a few years away, arya returns to the man who she’s always loved

She had been back in Winterfell barely two weeks, in a way, things fell into place, though it was in the most disjointed way possible.

Arya found her footing, day by day, acclimating to the changes she had missed, she had to anyway; this was her family, and no matter how much they had changed, how many things she had missed, they made her feel like home, and she was back home now, for good.

stubborn-hearted blue -- an arya x gendry oneshot where arya moves into the same building as a man she had a fwb arrangement during her college days

She was still adjusting to life in the new city.

Arya hadn’t been in the Riverlands since university, and at this point, it felt like a lifetime ago, a distant memory, more like a dream. But now she had been back for almost a month and boxes still littered her living room, still waiting to be unpacked. between her new job and just trying not to pass out as soon as she was back home, there wasn’t much room for unpacking.

okay WOW i cant believe that managed to date back to over a year. this is pretty much a whole year of my writing summarised in opening lines.

if it isnt obvious, about half of these have yet to be posted, but this was still fun to give a little teaser for those ones.

i’ll be tagging @yanak324, @evax3, @selkiedams, @livhatesolives, @lightninginabottle0613, @watersandwolves, @estrangedandwayward, @jeynepoole, @sneetchstar, @treaddelicately, @bobafettsslut, @nalgenewhore

also, hi! enjoy!

ps, i hope everyone is taking care of themselves and keeping safe x

#i havent been active much in a long time #this is the most active ive been in the last 6 months and that's because im back in lockdown #i think i now have a lot more time for this stuff now that life isnt as fast paced as it has been for the last year #tag games #my writing #rickon x lyanna #robb x theon #jon x satin #rickon x tommen #arya x gendry #gendrya #lyckon #throbb #jonsatin #asoiaf fanfiction

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a-secret-bolton-vampire · 3 years ago

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The Coming War for the North, Part 3: The Battle of the Bastards

To see the previous installments of this series, part 1 and part 2 are available to read here and here, respectively.

The idea that Jon and Ramsay would fight has been around for a while, even before the TV show. There are a lot of signs pointing to a similar confrontation in the books, but how it unfolds might be a little different from the show. In this final section, I'll get right down to business on this final battle for Winterfell, and the purpose and themes this plot line.

Two Snows & Winterfell

Jon and Ramsay are two very different, and somewhat very similar characters. Throughout ADWD Jon has letters sent by Ramsay detailing events transpiring in the North, including the retaking of Moat Cailin, and the marriage of Arya Stark (really Jeyne Poole) to the newly legitimized Ramsay Bolton. Stannis also begins his campaign to take the North, and sends letters to Jon detailing his movements and what he is doing. When confronted by Melisandre, Jon learns that Mance Rayder was actually Rattleshirt in magic disguise, and Rattleshirt is actually Mance in magic disguise, and with Melisandre's nudging, agrees to send Mance and six spearwives to rescue Arya from Winterfell.

Then Ramsay sends the pink letter and tells Jon that he defeated Stannis, has captured Mance, and demands Stannis's family and allies or he will attack the Night's Watch. Don't forget that Jon is the one who started this, not Ramsay. He was the instigator, helping Stannis and taking Arya away from Ramsay. Not to say Ramsay is in the right here morally (quite the opposite), but Jon did break his vows for this to happen, and he wasn't really on Ramsay's radar until this happened. Thus, ADWD has set up a rivalry between the two. However, the two characters have a lot in common to be set up as foils to each other.

Both are bastards of a very prominent noble lord of the North. Both resent their bastard status and yearn for approval to be a trueborn member of their House. And both want Winterfell. Ramsay already has Winterfell and is declared the Lord of Winterfell, while Jon nearly took Stannis's offer to be Lord of Winterfell, before rejecting it to keep his vows to the Night's Watch, while still yearning to have Winterfell. However, from there, they are complete opposites.

Ramsay is a demon in human skin, a sadistic serial killer and rapist who enjoys torture and murder, and has no regard for the laws of men. Meanwhile, Jon, as raised by Ned, is a noble and honourable person who tries his best to keep his oath and honour intact (although he does forsake it at the end of ADWD). In the season 4 DVD extras for Game of Thrones, GRRM himself even talks about this.

The relationship between Roose and Ramsay is, in some ways, a dark counterpoint to the relation between Ned Stark and Jon Snow. In both cases, a noble father with a bastard son. Jon and Ramsay are literally the opposite to each other. Jon is very noble and honorable. And Ramsay is none of those things. Roose himself is a cold and calculating man. A dispassionate man. "I placed far too much trust in you." But their treatment of the bastard son is very different. Ned keeps Jon Snow at Winterfell and he's raised with Robb and Bran. For all practical purposes, he is one of Ned's sons. Ramsay gets nothing from Roose.

Given the fact we have good build up between a rivalry between them, and that they are foils of each other, a confrontation between the two seems very likely. And even more so when you look both at the past history and at ADWD. The Stark-Bolton rivalry is the longest and most prominent feud in the North, supposedly dating back to the Long Night. Numerous wars were fought between the Red Kings from the Dreadfort and the Kings of Winter from Winterfell, some of them ending in Bolton victory. At least twice, two Bolton kings (both named Royce) took and burnt Winterfell (and it happened a third time in ACOK when Ramsay did it). The Boltons also were alleged to have flayed and worn the skins of Stark princes as cloaks.

In a way, this rivalry is a very dark, yet still grounded fantasy version of werwolves and vampires. There are quite a lot of stories including werewolves and vampires that have the two be natural enemies, with feuds that go back centuries sometimes. Of course, both the Starks and Boltons take on very clear roles as werewolves and vampires. Starks have warg blood in them (even if not all of them were wargs), and many of them have dreams at night of being a wolf and rampaging around, which sounds very much like old werewolf legends. The Boltons being vampires, on the other hand, is less magical and more implied.

The Boltons have this unearthly, sinister feel and look to them that makes them appear somewhat inhuman, with pale eyes variously described as dirty chips of ice or pale moons, and a look about themselves that is similar to some descriptions of vampires. Then of course there is the Dreadfort, a spooky old castle ruled by a very spooky and yet somewhat cultured man (Dracula anyone)? Then of course we have all the very creepy images of Boltons flaying people, and Ramsay sometimes writing using human blood as ink.

Basically, what I'm saying is that ASOIAF has done what Twilight did but better.

To go back to the future, it makes thematic and narrative sense for the Starks to retake Winterfell from their ancient nemesis. The rivalry began between a Stark and a Bolton, and will end with a Stark bastard and a Bolton bastard, fighting over dominance of the North and of Winterfell.

The Battle of the Bastards

At first glance, it seems like it's a no brainer for how this battle will unfold. Ramsay is gonna lose a lot of support, and Jon will have all the support and completely demolish Ramsay. However, while I do think it will end in victory for Jon (and not without outside help), I think that both are going to be in rather desperate positions, Jon maybe more so.

After Jon's resurrection, there is no question in my mind that he is going to head south. Those were his last thoughts and actions as he died, similar to how Catelyn killing a Frey and her grief of losing her family was the last action and thought before she died, and Beric protecting the smallfolk from the Mountain was his last act before dying. Given the strong implication he is inside Ghost, coming back, we should expect a darker, different Jon, one who doesn't give a shit, is more violent, and more determined. Of course, if he is to retake Winterfell, he should need support.

Fortunately, right before he died, he got all the free folk to cheer for him and agree to join him. Mix those free folk with the giants and mammoths that were recently let past Eastwatch, and he might have a formidable force. However, of the 4,119 or so free folk that are currently south of the Wall, not all of them are fighters. If we take the estimate for 20,000 warriors and 100,000 free folk in total, then we should expect around 820+ free folk capable of fighting. Not a lot. He will need some outside help. Of course, there is already set up for that in ADWD, when he marries Alys Karstark to Magnar Sigorn of Thenn.

He tells a captive Cregan Karstark to send word to his relatives at Karhold and yield to prevent their deaths, but Cregan stubbornly refuses. Alys believes Karhold will open their gates to her, and Alys is thankful for Jon Snow providing her refuge at the Wall and a marriage to get out of an even worse one she did not want. The strength of Karhold may not be the best, but it seems very likely for Karhold to join Jon and his cause, under the banners of Alys.

As for the other houses of the North, I don't expect much more support. Think about how Jon will look to the Northmen. He is a bastard, and those are already quite condemned throughout the North (and Westeros in general). He broke his vows by leaving the Night's Watch, and since the North takes vows and oaths and honour much more seriously than the rest of Westeros, being an oathbreaker who abandoned the Wall is not going to make him popular. And finally, he is leading a band of wildlings south. The North despises the free folk, thinking of them as savages, thanks to centuries of conflict with them. So the picture of Jon painted as an oathbreaking wildling bastard is going to be a major problem for him. At worst, he would be viewed just as evil and treacherous as Ramsay, the other prominent bastard in the North.

In fact, even if Ramsay loses a lot of support from his own actions (more later), he could use this to his advantage. At best, the northerns who hate Jon will remain neutral in the conflict, but at worst, they might even ally with the Boltons. The clansmen have a deep hatred of House Bolton, but they also have a very deep hatred of the free folk, so they may actually remain neutral. The Umbers are another House that deals frequently with wildlings, and many years prior, Crowfood lost his daughter to wildlings raiding south of the Wall. So instead of Jon's presence invigorating the Umbers to fight against Ramsay, their own vehement hatred of the wildlings might lead them to simply stick with Ramsay.

However, that isn't to say everything will go swimmingly for Ramsay. Their hold on the North is tentative, and if Ramsay kills Roose and Walda and their child, it could become even more unstable. For one, Lady Barbrey Dustin isn't loyal to the Boltons, but instead loyal to Roose. Her sister was the former wife of Roose, and Domeric was her nephew, so Lady Dustin has reason to be on friendly terms with Roose. On the other hand, she despises Ramsay, blaming him for Domeric's death, and not even allowing him to step foot in Barrow Hall because of it. In turn, Ramsay also holds her in contempt.

"It should have been you who threw the feast, to welcome me back," Ramsay complained, "and it should have been in Barrow Hall, not this pisspot of a castle." "Barrow Hall and its kitchens are not mine to dispose of," his father said mildly. "I am only a guest there. The castle and the town belong to Lady Dustin, and she cannot abide you." Ramsay's face darkened. "If I cut off her teats and feed them to my girls, will she abide me then? Will she abide me if I strip off her skin to make myself a pair of boots?" "Unlikely. And those boots would come dear. They would cost us Barrowton, House Dustin, and the Ryswells."

If Roose dies, not only would Lady Dustin probably suspect Ramsay, but she would simply not follow Ramsay. So already, just by becoming Warden of the North and Lord of the Dreadfort, Ramsay would lose the Dustins and the Ryswells. Of course, since Lady Dustin does have a grievance with the Starks because Ned never brought her husband home from Dorne, I think she would probably remain neutral in the conflict.

Other houses might leave Ramsay too. Some might stay simply out of fear of retaliation for betrayal. It will depend on the House, their head, their own needs and goals, etc. As for the actual battle itself, who knows what will happen. However, I do think that Ramsay will likely try to lure Jon into some sort of trap rather than give him a direct face to face confrontation. There is also very interesting foreshadowing and even direct confirmation that the battle is going to be possibly more magical than we might believe it to be. Not only are there giants and mammoths... in the final script GRRM wrote for the show, he put in this note:

[N.B. A note for future reference. A season or two down the line Ramsay’s pack of wolfhounds are going to be sent against the Stark direwolves, so we should build up the dogs as much as possible in this and subsequent episodes.]

So the hounds are going to fight the Stark direwolves... wait, direwoves? Not direwolf? Curious...

The Pack Survives

I purposefully avoided the other factions of the North there, because the heart of the conflict will be Ramsay vs. Jon. But Jon won't be alone, at least not entirely. There is Rickon, who is to be touted as the Lord of Winterfell by the Manderlys so they can support Stannis. He isn't even the only Stark who could join in. Sansa is in the Vale under the guise of Alayne Stone. Arya keeps warging into Nymeria, who leads a massive pack of hundreds of wolves throughout the Riverlands. Bran is training his demigod greenseeing powers beyond the Wall with Bloodraven and is definitely manipulating events far south of the Wall.

So, the plural of direwolves makes me think Ghost won't be the only Stark direwolf fighting against Ramsay. We could get Nymeria's wolf pack joining as well, and Shaggydog, or even Summer (if Bran is in the North at this time that is). In fact, the idea that Ramsay will fight against Rickon is something that is heavily hinted at in ADWD.

The next litter to come out of the Dreadfort's kennels would include a Kyra, Reek did not doubt. "He's trained 'em to kill wolves as well," Ben Bones had confided. Reek said nothing. He knew which wolves the girls were meant to kill, but he had no wish to watch the girls fighting over his severed toe.

And then, more directly...

"Stark's little wolflings are dead," said Ramsay, sloshing some more ale into his cup, "and they'll stay dead. Let them show their ugly faces, and my girls will rip those wolves of theirs to pieces. The sooner they turn up, the sooner I kill them again."

Ramsay may be impulsive and unaware of intricate politics, but he seems prepared for what to do should Bran or Rickon show themselves again. This makes me worried for Rickon, honestly. Will Ramsay capture Rickon and keep him prisoner as hold over Jon Snow? Will he kill Rickon like he did in the show? I really, really hope not, but I'm afraid that's exactly what will happen.

There is a line that Ned spoke in AGOT that George says will eventually be very important, that I think perfectly applies to this situation.

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

Ned speaks to Arya about this in King's Landing, to get her to understand that the Starks should not fight one another in times of danger, or be isolated from each other, but look after one another, protect each other. Winter has now come, the snows are falling and the white winds are blowing. Who is the lone wolf in this scenario? While Jon certainly fits the bill (he literally is a lone wolf, it's very clear at the end of ADWD he was prepared to ride to Winterfell all by himself until he got the wildlings to his side), I think Rickon could too.

Rickon is very isolated from everyone else, even when he was at Winterfell. He was only 4 years old, and didn't understand why everyone was leaving him. Given the plan to use Rickon as a pawn to reinstall Stark rule of the North being something we can cheer for and expect to happen, I don't think it will happen. Rickon, the lone wolf, will be used to try to depose Ramsay, but it won't go well, and he will die because of it.

Jon will probably find himself in a bad position in battle too, and very nearly die as the lone wolf... but now that winter is here, and everyone is starting to converge on Winterfell at some point, I think that it won't be Jon who ultimately retakes Winterfell: it will be all the Starks. Sansa may be in the Vale, but Littlefinger plans to use her to take Winterfell back at some point (even if it won't go exactly to plan).

"When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright."

Arya is having a lot of wolf dreams as Nymeria, and GRRM has said that her wolf pack will one day be used as a Chekov's gun. Bran may be far away, but he is getting more powerful and beginning to influence events as far south as Winterfell. The pack comes together to survive in winter, to help Jon and the North by defeating their enemies.

So as Jon fights against the bastard he so deeply despises, it won't just be him. It'll be the Knights of the Vale, led by Sansa. It'll be Nymeria and her wolf pack, piloted by Arya. It'll be Bran, skinchanging into whatever is around. TWOW may end up being the darkest book in the series, and the retaking of Winterfell won't be as glorious as we imagine or even as I spelt it out (Rickon's death and the perception the North has of Jon should play very big roles in making it not entirely happy), but this will be maybe one of our only moment of deserved catharsis we might get from it.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #jon snow #ramsay bolton #bran stark #arya stark #sansa stark #rickon stark #winterfell #the winds of winter #the winds of winter predictions

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joannalannister · 4 years ago

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Anonymous asked:

My problem with lyanna is not that she didn't want to marry Robert but her having feelings for rhaegar she talk to ned about wanting a faithful husband but doesn't seem to care about elia the fact that lyanna had a crush on him when he given her the flowers she saw how all the smiles died and am sure her father also had a talk with her after it happened its wrong for Robert but her rhaegar her been young still does not change anything so she would be happy been a mistress

Hey me again so about her being with rhaegar did she accept him to only sleep and be with him as she doesn't like sharing so she would leave elia to share a bed by herself how is alone 24 of course rhaegar is the problem but I am focusing on lyanna because I can't understand her and would she settle being a mistress and her child be a bastard or second best either way I can see her been that stupid not to know and when even she or rhaegar said about elia can't make either of them look good

Aegon the unworthy marriage his mistress even when he was still married but the marriage was illegal and no one saw as a real marriage so why when as saying if he did marry lyanna why would their marriage be valid I think if there was ever a marriage between them I feel lyanna would be the one to ask but rhaegar had to know that their marriage was not valid and in the end she was at best a mistress I feel like he might of lied to her to get her to sleep with her your thoughts

It is not my intent to offend. However, you asked for my thoughts, and I think there are a lot of assumptions being made here that are so completely at odds with my own that I cannot even address your concerns, because they are all so far away from everything I imagine.

Without another book, we are all working off assumptions, of course, but my own assumptions run as follows:

1) Lyanna was unhappy with the idea of an arranged marriage. Her objection was marriage. Any marriage. Something kind of like Eowyn:

“What do you fear, lady?" [Aragorn] asked. "A cage," [Éowyn] said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”

But I personally do not think Rhaegar was Lyanna’s Faramir. (I do not think Lyanna has a Faramir-character in her story, just as Cersei largely lacks a Lord MacBeth.)

For this passage:

Ned let him prattle on. After a time, he quieted and they rode in silence. The streets of King's Landing were dark and deserted. The rain had driven everyone under their roofs. It beat down on Ned's head, warm as blood and relentless as old guilts. Fat drops of water ran down his face.

"Robert will never keep to one bed," Lyanna had told him at Winterfell, on the night long ago when their father had promised her hand to the young Lord of Storm's End. "I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale." Ned had held the babe in his arms; he could scarcely deny her, nor would he lie to his sister, but he had assured her that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart. Lyanna had only smiled. "Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature."

I do not think this passage is about Lyanna or her desires.

I think this passage is about Lyanna attempting to disillusion Young Ned, to try to explain to him that there isn’t going to be some wonderful happy Stark-Baratheon family after she is forced to wed Robert.

Remember, Robert and Ned loved each other as brothers. Look at the passage up above; it’s about Ned’s “old guilts” and about how he “had assured [Lyanna] that what Robert did before their betrothal was of no matter, that he was a good man and true who would love her with all his heart.” Young!Ned was into it!! He was into the idea of this marriage! Robert, his brother, at last, in truth!

Ned was blinded by his love for Robert.

Don’t you see that double-meaning to that last line, hanging there at the end? “Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature.” It’s the line that haunts Ned’s memory, as well as our own. Love couldn’t change Robert’s nature. Love could not change Ned’s nature either.

It was Ned’s nature to defend Robert so loyally, because Ned loved him. Ned could have said something to his father Rickard, could have said that Robert would shame Lyanna after they wed, could have maybe stopped this marriage that Lyanna objected to.

But he didn’t. He didn’t speak out. Hence his “old guilts” beating down on him relentlessly.

Would Lyanna find it nice to have a husband who doesn’t cheat on her? Probably, I don’t think that’s a stretch.

Would Lyanna find it even nicer not to have any husband at all? To “be a king's councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?” To do those great deeds Eowyn and Arya long for? To not be locked in a cage, until use and old age accept it?

Fuck yeah.

"Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it”

2) I have not read a passage in the books that speaks definitively to me about Lyanna’s feelings for or about Rhaegar. Until I do so, I will continue to assume that Lyanna viewed Rhaegar as an escape rather than as a potential suitor. I believe Lyanna went with Rhaegar willingly, but I do not believe that she stayed with Rhaegar willingly.

3) Personally, when I read “all the smiles died” -- well, I take “all” to mean “all,” and “all” includes Lyanna, so I assume that Lyanna was not happy with the way Rhaegar chose to honor her at the tourney, when he shamed his wife Elia.

When Lyanna presumably ran away with Rhaegar, I do not think she was thinking about how her actions would affect Elia, because I don’t think Lyanna believed she was doing something that would negatively impact Elia. I think Lyanna believed the Crown Prince was using his position to simply help her escape her marriage to Robert. Perhaps he would let her be one of his knights! He had honored her for her bravery regarding Howland Reed, hadn’t he? She could ride with him and all the other young knights in the charming prince’s retinue! How exciting! Is this naive? Yes. But Lyanna was a child; children are naive by definition. If we are apportioning blame, I think Rhaegar takes the lion’s share for this whole situation.

4) With the return of winter after the False Spring, I believe Rhaegar believed that the apocalypse was imminent, and that he was doing What Must Be Done to save the world. I think that, most of the time, Rhaegar was not a terrible person, but I think that Rhaegar was going to do Whatever It Took to save the world, and I think Rhaegar’s definition of “Whatever It Took” included even things like rape. (Note that Westeros probably wouldn’t define it as rape, because a medieval woman’s consent, once given, is given forever (which is fuuuucked up). But we’re readers in the 21st century, so I’m going to call it rape when we have this relationship of dubious consent between a minor and an adult with infinite power over her.)

5) I personally do not believe that Rhaegar and Lyanna got married in the books. I believe that Jon is a bastard, just not Ned’s bastard, and part of Jon’s story arc is coming to terms with his illegitimacy and realizing that it is not a stain or a sin or whatever, and that he is still capable of great heroism. GRRM has set up so many preconceived Westerosi notions about the horror of bastardy in the books that I think he is itching to undercut them with one of his major protagonists being both a bastard and a great hero.

Furthermore, I do not believe that GRRM would undercut his heroine Daenerys like that. I believe that Daenerys must choose to relinquish the throne, not have it ripped out from under her by a cheap technicality of the patriarchy.

(I am asking nicely: please do not comment or speak to me if you do not believe that Daenerys is a hero in the books. I simply do not have time for that in my life. So, I am asking nicely: please cut me out of your life and do not read my blog if you do not think of Daenerys as a hero in the books. )

I also don’t believe that Rhaegar thought he had time for a marriage. Again, impending apocalypse.

And what faith were they married in, if it happened? Did they say the words at the God’s Eye, before a heart tree? Did Rhaegar convert? Did Rhaegar hire a septon? Why would Lyanna put any stock in a marriage by a septon? Did she convert? Why would a septon condone polygamy without fire breathing monsters to back it up? Was Rhaegar the kind of person to hold a knife to a septon’s throat and demand a marriage or else? I don’t think so! But how would this marriage even come about?? Where did Rhaegar even find time to fuss over these details? And if he couldn’t fuss over the details, what kind of wedding planner did he hire? What do you think Westerosi wedding planning agencies are like, and do you think the Lannisters used the same one, considering their targ aspirations???

I think Rhaegar was running to Dorne for all he was worth, to set up a fortress / base camp where he could allow Lyanna’s child (and Elia’s children when he could fetch them) to grow up to become the saviors of the world.

Rhaegar just had to deal with a tiny rebellion and a slightly, every-so-slightly unhinged father and then everything would go according to plan! /sarcasm

I don’t think Rhaegar was *deliberately* doing terrible things like abandoning his wife and children, I don’t think Rhaegar ever *meant* to hold Lyanna against her will in a tower in a land far from her home, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

I think there is a lesson in Rhaegar’s story, that Rhaegar was doing everything for the wrong reasons. Which is very Tragic. He was saving the world because a book told him he had to, and he was going to sacrifice various people to do it. (Which is wrong. Wrong. The only person you get to sacrifice is yourself.)

Whereas Rhaegar’s son Jon ... I think Jon chooses to save the world because it’s something Jon feels in his soul as right and noble and honorable, something worthy of a son -- even an adopted son!! -- of Ned Stark. I think Jon chooses to save the world because he has lived in the world and is a part of it, in a way that Rhaegar never was, Rhaegar with his sad songs at ghostly Summerhall.

I believe that agency is an important theme throughout the books, whether it’s Daenerys finding herself on the Dothraki Sea or Cersei taking back control of her own body or Tyrion saying fuck you to his father or Jon eventually choosing to save the world ... and I think Lyanna’s story is in keeping with this theme, that her story is about her trying to find her agency.

The tragedy of her story is that she -- unwittingly, imo -- traded Robert’s cage for Rhaegar’s, and she died there. She became entangled in Rhaegar’s story, a story in which he chooses to jettison his frankly massive amount of agency -- the books and scrolls told him This All Must Happen! And It All Must Happen Right Now, With Utmost Urgency! -- and it’s terribly, terribly sad, and I feel sad for everyone involved.

Now, I could be very wrong and you could be very right, anon, depending on what direction GRRM chooses to take his characters. But I cannot speculate on your specific concerns without new textual evidence indicating to me that your concerns are something to concern me.

Again, it is truly not my desire to offend with this post. These are just my opinions, and I am very fond of both Rhaegar and Lyanna as characters, I find them both fascinating and I hope we learn more about them. I actually like the ship in a chivalric, Capital-R-Romantic way that’s basically divorced from my understanding of ASOIAF. (I really like Rhaegar x Elia too!)

If you would like to read more of my thoughts, I recommend you go through my lyanna stark tag, because there’s lots and lots of meta posts in there giving my thoughts in great detail, there’s fics I wrote explaining my ideas in fic rather than essay format, everything. So please go there.

#lannister thoughts #/#if i mention incest will this stay out of the tags?#lyanna stark #rhaegar targaryen #rape tw #Ned stark #robert baratheon

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dragon-fics · 4 years ago

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DOS: Hunter to Lover (Male Dragon Shifter X Male Elf/Reader)

Chapter summary: You are an elf who must bring back a dragon’s head to be a hunter for your clan. While on your hunt, your team leaves you alone.

pt. 1, Pt. 2, pt. 3 pt. 4, pt.5

“And remember what hangs in the balance; your path in life!” Shouted the elder elf. His luscious silver locks wavered in the snowy air as he paced in front of us, giving us the speech every new hunting elf heard when they went on their first hunt. “Come back with a dragon’s head, you become one of us; fierce hunters who feed our clan! Come back empty-handed, and you will have to make another life for yourself!”

Every firstborn heard this speech on their 800th year of life, when we come of age to be adult elves. And now it was my turn.

I stood with my team of five other elves, we all wielded a weapon; a bow, an ax, a sword or a dagger, along with hunting knives on our belt. I held a bow, a quiver tightly strapped around my torso. I set my face hard, but I wasn’t ready for this.

The elves beside me absolutely were; they were ready to be hunters for our clan.

The elder faced the group, his speech finished. His silver robes wavered in the breeze. He scanned all of us, his ancient gaze pausing on me. I gulped.

“Go forth! And find yourself a beast to kill!”

The surrounding elves raised their fists. “Ho!” They shouted.

“Ho,” I mumbled with them.

The groups dispersed. I followed mine to the north of our village. We already had scouted to the north, and there we found hints that a dragon lived nearby; shed scales, large animal carcasses, large dung piles, all remanents of a dragon.

Our leader Bracken, an elf three months older and taller than me, ran over our plan quickly; I would release some arrows to distract the beast, three others would charge at it and our leader would drive his sword through the dragon’s chest. Straight forward, but hard to time and even harder to find the dragon. We all nodded, to show that we understood the plan. He gave a quick nod back, and we started our way out of the village.

We trekked for a long time until we found the dragon’s main feeding spot; he littered it with carcasses from recently to bones from years ago. I looked away, disgusted; how could any creature eat another creature? It was barbaric.

“Search for tracks,” our leader ordered. We split up.

I made my way over to the freshest carcass and circled it. Large five-clawed talon marks were pressed in the ground. I followed them out of the clearing to the east. I turned around.

“Bracken!” I called. But they were gone, the four of them had just disappeared. “Bracken, Arya, Nima, Flinn?” I called one by one. Nothing.

I thought for a moment. Perhaps they found tracks and wanted to investigate? I’m sure they’ll be back soon.

I went over to one of the wider trees around the clearing and leaped up into it, and sat in the branch's crook, leaning against the trunk. I looked at my bow, plucking the string as I waited for my team to come back. After a while, I stopped and looked up through the leaves at the pale blue sky above. I was getting sore from sitting on the branch.

I sighed and listened to my surroundings, so I could try to hear where my teammates were. I closed my eyes and focused on my ears. I pushed aside the close sounds and focused on the smaller ones. I could hear some grasshoppers nearby, two squirrels scurrying up a tree and a mother moon phoenix calling to her fledglings to come back for dinner. But no adolescent elves.

I sat like that for a long time. When I opened my eyes, the sun was setting and my legs were asleep. I stretched, dangled out of the tree, my hands gripping the branch as I hung there.

“What am I going to do?” I whispered. I walked over to the tracks I had found earlier. I had no team, no way to bring back a dragon’s head, and I had no way to get back safely without my teammates.

I looked at the long line of tracks ahead of me and drew in a breath. I’d have to stay silent and hope that the dragon and I didn’t cross paths.

I stayed to the edge of the tracks, walking beside them as I looked around. The forest was getting dark, but my Elven sight allowed me to see in the growing darkness.

My heart raced as I walked, I was so scared about coming across the dragon; I forgot about the tracks and wandered off course.

I stop in my stride as I came out of my thoughts.

Where am I?

I spun around and looked at the ground; no tracks in sight. I whipped my head around again, my breathing quickening.

I’m lost and alone.

I don’t know where the village is from here.

No one knows where I am. I’m going to die here at the talons of a bloodthirsty beast and no one will ever know where I died.

A picture of my parents and siblings flashed before my eyes.

They’ll never know...

Tears spilled from my eyes, and I heard heavy wings flap above me.

Mama and Papa will never know because I’m a coward and a fool

Something landed behind me rather lightly.

“It’s all right, little elfling,” soothed a male voice. “I won’t hurt you.”

I spun around, tears spilling down. In front of me stood a muscular male with broad shoulders and chest. His skin tone was much darker than my own pale complexion and had dark green scales on his jaw and neck. He had scaled dark green wings on his back and dark horns protruding from his dark shoulder length hair. He wore a pair of brown trousers and nothing more.

A dragon? I questioned. They have more than one form?

He came closer, his expression soft. “You’re lost, aren’t you?” He asked, he sounded like he will bundle me up and take care of me forever. I wanted to trust me.

I nodded my head, my lips quivering.

“Oh, little elfling,” he pouted. He came closer and wrapped his arms and wings around me. “Those elves were wrong to abandon you.” I sobbed into his chest. How was I doing this? I’m supposed to kill him, not sob uncontrollably in his hold.

“I know just what you need,” he said. He opened his wings and looked down at me. His bare chest was getting soaked by my tears. “Come with me, little elfling,” he whispered.

I nodded, even though it wasn’t a suggestion.

He put a wing around me and walked me away from where we were. I slowly gathered myself as we walked.

“What’s your name, little elfling?” He asked.

“(Y/N),” I stuttered.

“A pretty name for a pretty elf boy,” he mused. I smiled, blushing. “I’m Ugauc.”

I smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Ugauc.”

We stopped in front of a curtain of leafy vines.

“Welcome to my home,” he greeted before moving me through the dew dusted leaves. On the other side was a bed made of animal hides, a few loose bones, a tiny stream of water and glowing crystals in the walls, ceiling and stalactites, illuminating the cave. There were no gold or gems, no Elven warriors strewn on the ground. No blood spattered on the walls and floor. Maybe we had everything wrong about them.

Ugauc walked forward, leaving me by the entrance.

“This... This is beautiful,” I gasped, focusing on the glowing ceiling.

Ugauc shrugged. “I suppose so. I guess I wanted to find a simple home, having figured out my mate is an elf.”

I looked at him. “Who?” I stiffed as my nose cleared up.

Ugauc hesitated and looked at me. “You, (Y/N).”

I looked back at him, frozen. All this comforting was just so he could—

—No, there must be more to it. He said figured out, remember.

“How do you know that we...?” I put my forefingers together.

Ugauc looked down, thinking about how to explain this. “When dragons come of an age to find a mate, an invisible string pulls us towards each other, so we may find each other. My string led me to your village. I was confused at first, but when you went on a scouting trip with those ‘teammates’ of yours, I knew it was one of you. So I observed all of you—I liked you the most—but when you spilt up to follow my tracks, it was easier for me to figure out which one of you is my soulmate,” he explained. He looked at me, golden eyes shining.

I looked down. “So, we’re—?” I pointed from me to him.

He nodded.

“And you’re sure it’s not any of the others?”

“(Y/N), what I feel with you is like nothing I have ever felt with anyone else.” He moved closer and cupped my cheek.

I swallowed saliva. “Do—did you scare off the others to figure this out?”

Ugauc stepped back. “By the howling winds, no,” he said, sounding insulted. “No, I didn’t. As soon as you turned your back, they walked off, little elfling. I promise you.”

I sighed, disappointed. I looked back at the vines behind me. No light passed through them. I looked back to Ugauc.

“I will walk you home,” he made his way towards the vines.

“Could—,” I started. He turned around. “Could I stay the night? I’m not ready to go home and everyone will be asleep.”

Ugauc smiled. “Please do, little elfling.”

“I’m not an elfling, Ugauc.” I crossed my arms.

“I know. But you’re my little elfling.”

I smiled, and he smiled back. I was so happy he had found me.

Let me know if you want a part 2! I enjoyed writing this WAY too much.

#Dragon #dragons #dragon x reader #mlm #bxb #mxm #dragon x elf #dragon one-shots #dragon one shot #Ugauc

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weirdponytail · 4 years ago

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Rise and Shine, ket. Its time for some MIC question. Between arya, eragon, murtagh and brom, who wakes up early and who wakes up late?

Alright, in my defense, my phone is an old iPhone 5 that I refuse to swap for a newer model since all the ones past that are the slim, bendy kind and it wouldn't last in my junk filled pockets. It likes to turn off on its own without telling me. So I woke up at 9:30 instead of 7 to a powered down phone and no alarms. Tbbht.

And that's usually a situational type thing for our MIC babs! Eragon, when given the option (and that includes him letting himself sleep and not worry), will sleep in, though not later than probably 10 am. He's a growing boy! Even after the Bloodoath, his body is still maturing and growing, even in it's altered state. He's used to waking up early to work on the farm and do chores though, so there's still sometimes a seasonal body clock where he wakes up at first light during what would have been harvest or planting times. It wears off over the years, but it's just something he can't shake for a good long time.

Murtagh, who is also still growing a bit (he's ~18 to Eragon's 15-16 in MIC!Book 1), would definitely love to sleep in when he's not on the road. Once he realizes his imprisonment in Farthen Dur is more for his protection and is rather cushy, he takes advantage of that and snoozes late. He even takes naps or just spends time dozing and recovering from traveling. Of course, on the road he's much more alert and can't relax for the life of him, so he wakes up the moment the sun sets (as they're all traveling under night) and starts getting everything ready. While with Galbatorix, once he's given more freedoms/given more cushy things to 'convince' him that Galbatorix is the better (non)option, he probably sleeps in whenever Galbatorix lets him.

Brom is pretty much on a 100+ year schedule left over from his training. Unless there's other circumstances (like hangovers!), he wakes up at 7-8 am, makes himself some coffee or strong tea, and then goes around whacking people who aren't up yet if he needs to. That doesn't mean he wouldn't *like* to sleep in one of these days, but it's just how he is. If possible he does go to bed at a reasonable time though, so despite being the oldest and 'old man' type, he's got the most healthy sleep schedule out of all of them.

Arya's sleep schedule is, to put it simply, fucked beyond repair. A mix of personal drive and left over Varden recruit training usually has her up at 4 or 5 am for a PT run, maybe a few levels of the Snake and Crane, and a shower (if available, though a bucket of water dunked over the head tends to be all that's around in the field) before breakfast. Combined with various night terrors/nightmares, working on reports, and the occasional 'sleep everywhere, anywhere, for as long as possible' due to magic overuse and the physical effects that torture and poisoning can have on the body long term, Arya's just...up. If you find her sleeping during a time that isn't a magic overuse recovery period, then there's something seriously wrong. 99% chance she's awake if you go looking for her at any hour of the night.

#modern inheritance #eragon #modern inheritance cycle #modern inheritance asks #modern inheritance lore

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orangeflavoryawp · 5 years ago

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Jonsa - “From Instep to Heel”, Part 4

Thanks for your patience, guys. Been dealing with Real Life Bullshit and it’s not been fun. But this piece has been my refuge. Hope you guys feel the same. :)

“From Instep to Heel”

Chapter Four: The Downfall

“Ours, she’d promised. But it’s getting harder and harder to see the Stark behind all that Targaryen. (And maybe this is her own fault. Maybe this is her thinking too well of people again. Maybe this is what all naïve, self-righteous girls get for their wanting hearts.)” - Jon and Sansa. Like the curve of the horizon, when the moon breaks from beneath its bow.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 fin

* * *

“And who will your brother be squiring for?” Aegon asks Sansa from across the table.

She sets her wine glass down, smiling gratefully at his interest. “My father has not yet found a position for him.”

“Not yet?” Daenerys asks coolly, cutting into her ham. “Your wedding is in a fortnight. Your family is to return North shortly after, yes?”

Sansa sags with the remembrance. “Yes.”

“Then arrangements should be made rather quickly, don’t you think?”

Sansa nods stiffly, looking down to her plate. “I’m sure my father is looking into it.”

She’s grown used to these dinners with her future husband and siblings. Sometimes King Rhaegar joins them. Sometimes her father or brothers. Sometimes she takes her dinners back in the guest wing, with just the Starks and Theon and Margaery. There’s much more laughter then. Her smiles come more freely. And she does not miss the way Robb and Margaery glance at each other across the table.

Sansa smiles to herself at the recollection. She cannot blame her brother. Margaery is wicked charming, after all, and even Theon has warmed up to her, grudgingly admitting to Sansa once during their stroll through the gardens that Robb could hardly find better and Sansa had swatted his arm good-naturedly for the low compliment before Theon was laughing at her, surrendering, granting his reluctant admiration for the lady. Sansa had beamed.

She wonders if it’s too soon to hope for a sister, rather than a friend, in Margaery.

The thought reminds her suddenly – “Lady Margaery recommended Bran squire for her brother Ser Loras. He is a rather renowned knight, after all. And Margaery’s word gives me hope that the Tyrells would be in favor of such an arrangement.”

Rhaenys scoffs softly across from her.

Sansa swings her gaze over to the princess, catching the way Jon reaches for his wine glass beside her. “Is there something strange about it, Lady Rhaenys?” She cannot help the soft bite that echoes after the words. She still remembers how the other woman had humbled her at tea several days past, the memory unpleasantly sharp and vibrant.

Sansa clenches her jaw.

Ice, she tells herself, breathing deep.

“That woman will sink her claws into anything once she gets a whiff of power,” Rhaenys says.

Sansa’s brows furrow. “Lady Margaery?”

Rhaenys takes a bite of her buttered turnips. “The very one.”

“I don’t see how – ”

“Tell me, Lady Sansa, does your brother Robb take kindly to her?” Rhaenys offers a close-lipped smile, chewing carefully.

Sansa bristles at the insinuation.

“Come, Rhaenys,” Aegon interrupts, “You’re being rude to our guest.”

“I’m only giving her fair warning,” Rhaenys says, spearing another vegetable with her fork. “Lady Margaery wanted you first, brother, and when she couldn’t have that, she went for Jon – ”

“Rhaenys,” Jon warns lowly, and it’s the first Sansa has heard him speak all night.

“ – and when that didn’t happen, she went for the next best thing: the heir to Winterfell.” She takes a vicious bite of her food.

Daenerys reaches for her wine glass, an amused smirk at her lips. “You’re simply mad that Mace Tyrell has offered his son Willas for your hand.”

“And why shouldn’t I be?” she snaps. “Bunch of vultures, the whole lot of them.”

“Lady Margaery has been nothing but sweet and considerate towards my family and I, and I don’t think it right to besmirch a lady based on assumptions,” Sansa gets out breathlessly, hardly believing the words have left her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Jon’s fingers twitch over the stem of his wineglass, drawing it toward his perpetual frown.

Her cheeks heat instantly, fingers tightening over the cutlery in her hands.

“And you’re absolutely right, my lady,” Aegon agrees gently, sending a warm smile her way. He glances to Rhaenys then, a flicker of warning to his violet gaze.

The subtle shift is somewhat jarring, even if his agreement has tempered her bout of sudden vexation.

Rhaenys sends a baleful look toward her brother but doesn’t argue further.

Beside her, Jon shifts in his seat, setting his glass back to the table. Sansa feels acutely aware of every minute movement he makes, anxiety from this maddening silence of his rooting her to her seat.

She’s tried accompanying him in the library, sharing the quiet with him as they each devour their chosen books in turn, hoping to draw some sort of conversation out of him regarding his reading, and yet he offers little more than acknowledging grunts at her attempts. She’s tried sharing stories from home, enlightening him about the North, and Rickon and Arya back at Winterfell, the godswood, the crypts, the hot springs, but he hardly even meets her eyes let alone grants her any seeming interest in her tales. They’ve been riding, they’ve walked the gardens, they’ve shared a meal nearly every evening for the last fortnight she’s been in King’s Landing, and still, he is no more known to her than the first night he swung her about the dancefloor and slated her honest questions with quiet anger.

She’s never been spurned so. It smarts, she finds – when she’s brave enough to admit to it.

“Rhaenys is right though, you know,” Daenerys says over the rim of her wineglass. “In some respects,” she finishes.

Aegon gives a decidedly unprincely eye-roll and throws a smirk Daenerys’ way. “Seven, but you do love to disagree with me, don’t you, wife?” Even as an urge for caution, there’s a fondness to his words that startles Sansa somewhat, the quiet intimacy of it warming her with embarrassment at being present for the exchange.

Daenerys lifts a brow at Aegon, setting her wine glass down. “I’m not disagreeing either way. But you have to admit that the woman certainly isn’t letting the opportunity pass her by.”

Sansa frowns, eyes drifting down to her plate. She stares resolutely at her half-eaten ham, taking a deep, calming breath. Her eyes prick with a stinging wetness she hates.

She does not want to think that her time with Margaery has been disingenuous. It is too cruel a thing to consider.

Sansa curls her hands tightly along her fork and knife, hovering at the edge of her plate, blinking back the wetness.

Maybe she thinks too well of people. Arya’s berated her for it before. Robb’s consoled her because of it, as well. It hurts her more than it helps her, she finds.

But she’d rather think too well of people than too ill of them.

Sansa glances up fleetingly at Rhaenys.

(No, if thinking too ill of people likens her to Rhaenys Targaryen’s sort, then she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want it at all.)

She can’t have imagined the hidden quirk of Margaery’s lip when Robb had kissed her hand for the first time in greeting, eyes alight on hers as he bent into a courteous bow, and she’d thought Sansa wasn’t looking. Or the unhindered laugh she’d let loose, hand clamped suddenly over her mouth, when Bran tried to tell the story of how he caught Theon kissing Jeyne Poole in the kitchen pantry before Theon nearly vaulted over the dinner table to stop him. Or the way her face had gone slack with tender disbelief when she’d taken the hand-sewn silk handkerchief Sansa had offered her just the other day, beaming proudly as Margaery fingered the edges with a fond reverence.

There are many shadows in the Red Keep, but some things Sansa still sees clearly.

She swallows thickly, straightening in her seat, missing the way Jon watches her with muted, grey eyes.

“And is this the norm in the capital? This rank suspicion? Is it not tiring to always assume a second layer of meaning to what people say and do?” she asks. It’s a barb, of course, a frank observation, but there is also a genuine need to the question. She clamps her mouth closed at the tail end of the words, feeling suddenly small and naïve and childish. But even still –

Surely it can’t be all shadows in such a sunlit place.

Daenerys and Rhaenys offer piqued brows at the question while Aegon graces her with a consolatory smile. Beside her, Jon smothers a rueful chuckle into his wine glass. Sansa nearly glares at him, but reins the instinct in, cutting into her ham instead, perhaps a touch too forcefully.

“You’ve a kind heart, Lady Sansa,” Aegon says, leaning back in his seat as he watches her. “Be careful with. It seems too beautiful a thing to break.” His violet gaze is steady, candle-lit and searing.

Sansa swallows thickly at the look, setting her cutlery to her plate. Daenerys takes a large swig of wine across from her, eyes averted. Jon sets his glass down loudly, a gruff exhale leaving him. Sansa nearly startles at the noise.

“Your brother would do well under Ser Loras,” he says to her suddenly, voice low and tight, a gravelly quality to the words – the most he’s said to her in days.

Sansa blinks at him, only to find him watching Aegon intensely.

Aegon hardly notices, having returned to his plate with a gingerly swipe of his knife into his meat.

Sansa opens her mouth, closes it, finds her voice finally. “Thank you, my lord.”

Jon grunts his acknowledgement, dragging his wine glass back to his mouth.

“What about Jaime Lannister?”

Sansa looks up at Daenerys’ question. “My lady?”

The Targaryen heiress settles back in her seat, her finished plate abandoned atop the table. “I daresay your brother wouldn’t find a better knight to squire for, and a Kingsguard at that. I’m certain Rhaegar would approve the arrangement.”

Sansa does not miss the way Jon stiffens beside her, but it’s Aegon who responds.

“Yes, that makes perfect sense,” he drawls dismissively. “Let the Stark boy squire for the man who killed their father’s dear friend and helped end his people’s uprising.”

Sansa startles at the blatant way Aegon says it, her mouth parting, her gaze fixing to him. Something brews in her chest – something Northern. Something winter-hewn.

Jon leans his weight to one armrest, scowling at his brother. “Robert Baratheon got what he deserved,” he snarls. “If only Stannis had shared such a fate.” The words are too full of bite to truly be called a lament.

That incessant winter, tugging at her veins – it batters around her chest now.

“And Ned Stark took a knee for it,” Daenerys muses, “So the North may live on.” She scowls softly at her husband. “I see no reason to dismiss the suggestion. Ser Jaime squired under Ser Arthur Dayne, after all. Any lord would be overcome to have their son squire for such a knight.”

Sansa watches as Rhaenys goes stiff with the mention of Arthur Dayne. Jon lets out a near growl into his slowly emptying wine glass. Sansa’s skin feels tight, uncomfortable, her eyes blinking furiously, lungs clenching in her chest.

To speak so casually about her people’s independence, their failed rebellion – Sansa finds the words tart and smarting along her tongue.

Robert Baratheon got what he deserved. And Ned Stark took a knee for it.

Sansa’s chest heaves, her cutlery clattering to her plate.

Jon glances at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry, but I…” She trails off, eyes fixed to her plate.

Aegon leans toward her, a concerned look on his face. “Lady Sansa?”

Jon takes a long gulp of wine.

Sansa steals a breath through her nose, hands going to her lap. “Robert Baratheon may be a traitor to the crown but he was – ” The words stall in her throat, thick with unspoken meaning.

He was her father’s brother, in truth, as much as Uncle Benjen ever was. As much as Uncle Brandon, too.

Her hands curl into fists atop her lap.

“You’re not about to defend him, are you?” Jon asks quietly beside her, still as the grave, eyes dark, even by candlelight.

Sansa glances up at him, mouth parted.

Daenerys trails a slender finger slowly up and down the stem of her wine glass as it rests atop the table. “Careful, Jon,” she says, eyes glinting, “Your soon-to-be wife seems to have wavering allegiances.”

The panic is instant, throat closing around spent air. “I’m not – ”

“The Baratheons are a gutless sort,” Jon sneers. “No honor amongst them.”

Rhaenys is uncharacteristically silent, dragging her fork across her plate almost disinterestedly. But Sansa hardly has a mind to notice. She’s too overcome with a new, threatening ire. “And thus my father, by association?” she asks on as ladylike a scoff as she can manage, teeth rattling behind her heated exhale.

Jon narrows his eyes at her. “That’s not what I said.”

“You may as well have,” she argues, chest heaving.

Jon rolls his eyes, but he’s turning in his seat, facing her now, the brunt of his attention fully trained on her. She shifts to face him in return.

“Lord Stark knelt to save his people, aye, but only when the rebellion was truly lost. That hardly fosters good faith, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say burning your lordships alive hardly fosters good faith,” she quips back instantly, brows furrowed sharply, tongue smarting with her indignation.

Daenerys smothers her amused laugh into the rim of her wine glass. Aegon intones his wife’s name warningly, stiff and unblinking. Sansa’s eyes prick with a heated wetness, frustrated and helpless. She keeps her gaze fixed to Jon.

He blinks at her, mouth curling into an aggravatingly familiar smirk. “Citing past grievances won’t help you now, my lady. This is a new era – a new dawn. Our father is a fair ruler, but you can be sure, he will not tolerate treason.”

Sansa smarts at the admonition. “’Past grievances’?” she asks incredulously. “The mad king murdered my grandfather and uncle in open court,” she hisses, voice rising. “Your grandfather and uncle,” she reminds him, the accusation as much a plead as it is a damnation. She blinks furiously at him, the anger rising easily.

Jon swallows tightly, eyeing her with a searing gaze.

“There is no excuse for what our grandfather did,” Aegon says suddenly, voice low and practiced. “No one denies that such an act was atrocious, and certainly un-kingly of him.”

Sansa does not even spare the prince a glance, her eyes still fixed to Jon. He stares resolutely back at her. Neither seems able to relent.

“But you’re looking for villains now where there are only men,” Aegon finishes, and this does draw Sansa’s attention finally. She stares at him, mouth a thin line, hands curling tightly together over her lap.

She hears Jon’s scoff beside her, catches him in the corner of her eye, dragging his wine glass back to his mouth. She swings her hardened gaze back to him instantly. “And I suppose ‘villains’ are all you see when you look at Starks and Baratheons, my lord?” she prompts, voice hard, lip curling into a sneer.

Jon does not wilt beneath her gaze. “I stand by what I said,” he says lowly.

“Am I to assume honor and brotherhood mean nothing to you?”

“Am I to assume fealty means nothing to you?”

Sansa huffs, an incredulous breath drawn through her rattling lungs. “My father is a good, faithful lord.”

“No one is denying it. I’m simply warning you, in hopes that it stays such.”

She feels her nails digging half-moons into her palms. That splinter is back – but oh, how it digs. A stinging reminder beneath her skin.

She wants to claw it out, now.

A seething cold settles over her. “Then tell me you would have done differently,” she gets out in a low voice.

Jon’s gaze shifts between her eyes, brows drawn down in a confused furrow.

Sansa licks her lips, breath raking from her. “If it had been your father and brother murdered so, tell me you would have done differently,” she challenges.

The silence is deafening – a sundering weight between them.

Sansa catches, just barely, the flicker that passes over Jon’s face when the words leave her, before it’s shuttered away, a dark look overtaking him. She watches as he leans back from her, arms going slowly to his armrests, never taking his gaze from hers.

It’s static between them, frenzied air, a heavy draw in her lungs.

She can feel the hammering of her own heartbeat at her ears and wonders – frantically – if he can hear it, too.

She drags her gaze away eventually, eyes fixed to her hands. It seems terribly unfair, this frustration he brews in her.

Because he is so agonizingly still, even now.

She wants to shake him for it, wants to rattle this silence clean out of him, bring back the disparaging remarks, the heated admonishment. But her pride still smarts. And she won’t admit to the hidden, spiteful part of her that revels in being able to reduce him to such silence. So, she sits, and she breathes, and she tries to steady her thunderous heart. She takes his quiet, searing stare as a notion of victory, even when it tastes like chalk on her tongue. Even when the triumph languishes beneath her wounded Northern pride.

Someone clears their throat across the table and Sansa finally glances up, catching Aegon’s violet gaze. It’s closed off, giving nothing away, his mouth a thin line, one slender, poised hand stilled over his wineglass. “Lady Sansa, I would advise you to abandon the topic.” His fingers glide around the rim, slow and measured, and the motion is startlingly lulling to watch. “I do not wish to ruin dinner any further.” He offers a light quirk of his lip. The expression lights a strange mix of comfort and forewarning, and Sansa’s gut clenches, remembering herself suddenly.

“Of course, my lord. I apologize,” she answers, shifting slightly in her seat, decidedly away from Jon, reaching for her own glass and taking a distracting gulp.

Daenerys chuckles ruefully. “All this because of a squire?”

At her side, Jon grunts his displeasure at his aunt’s remark.

Daenerys sighs dramatically, ignoring him. “I still say Jaime Lannister.”

“Gods, Daenerys,” Rhaenys snaps, “You have absolutely no tact, do you?” Sansa finds she is as eager for the princess’ silence as Rhaenys seems to be, though she finds the comment rather hypocritical herself.

But Daenerys only gives the other woman a piqued brow in response. “Training under Ser Arthur Dayne is no common feat, after all. You of all people know the value of that,” she intones meaningfully.

Rhaenys glares at her, jaw quivering.

Jon throws his napkin to the table.

“I beg pardon, but I think perhaps…perhaps it’s time I excused myself,” Sansa says suddenly, drawing her napkin from her lap as well and setting it primly atop the table.

Aegon notes her half-eaten plate with a raised brow. “You’ve barely finished, my lady.” The words are not unkind.

Sansa’s gut churns regardless. “I’ve no appetite tonight, it seems,” she says in apology, looking to him with almost pleading eyes.

Almost, but not quite.

(She will not plead for such a low thing – to be excused from the table like a child.)

“Of course,” Aegon says, nodding to her.

She stands swiftly, hands smoothing her skirts over as she offers her farewells, before she retreats from the room as quickly as she can.

She’s partly through the door when she hears the scrape of a chair behind her, and Rhaenys’ startled “Jon!” before her heart slams up into her ribcage and she’s stalking as fast as she can through the corridor without breaking into a dead run, her hands bunched in her skirts, her chest heaving, eyes stinging with humiliation and ire.

“Lady Sansa.”

She comes to a halt in the torchlit corridor, her back to Jon. “Please,” she says, hating the way the word falters, a quake of air past her lips.

He says nothing behind her at her heavy exhale, says nothing as her hands fist in her skirts. The line of her shoulders is a trembling, vulnerable thing. She swallows, tongue heavy, words rasping as they leave her. “Please, just…let me go, my lord.”

Still, he says nothing. And Sansa hasn’t the patience to turn to him, to humor whatever argument or censure he wishes to sling at her.

Ours, she’d promised. But it’s getting harder and harder to see the Stark behind all that Targaryen.

(And maybe this is her own fault. Maybe this is her thinking too well of people again.

Maybe this is what all naïve, self-righteous girls get for their wanting hearts.)

After many moments, she finds he still has no answer for her but silence. Not even the rustle of his leathers, or the familiar expel of his aggravated breath.

She doesn’t wait around for him to change his mind. She stalks from him, never looking back.

She feels the weight of his stare all the way down the corridor, even still.

* * *

“Come on, Stark, you’ve got better than that, don’t you?”

It’s the cocky way the words are spoken that catches Jon’s ear when he makes it to the end of the opening hallway, turning past a column where the courtyard opens out.

“Any better and you’ll be wiping that mouth off the ground,” Robb taunts back, barking a laugh. A clattering, steely sound follows. Jon rounds the bend into the training yard, looking out in time to see Theon parrying a blow from Robb.

Jon stops to watch the spar. Robb is clearly more disciplined in his training, but Theon is agile, swift. They’re a fair match for a time, but Jon can tell Robb’s endurance will win out. There’s no wasted energy, no move without purpose. Robb conserves himself, doesn’t move without purpose, no mind for theatrics or flashy tricks. There’s a single-minded determination to his motions, his face pensive even in the midst of the fight. He is thinking three moves ahead already, Jon can tell.

A smirk streaks across the Stark’s face.

It is not the pleasure of the spar itself, but the inevitable victory.

Jon watches as Robb delivers the final blow, bashing Theon into the ground, his back hitting the dirt, Robb’s sparring sword stopped just at Theon’s throat, a gleam in his eye when the Greyjoy curses his loss.

Robb steps back, smirk spreading into a full-on grin, reaching a hand out to help Theon up.

Jon blinks at the motion, at the way Theon grunts in reluctance as he takes his hand, even as his own grin is tugging surreptitiously at his lips. He thinks of his own spars with Aegon, the heated fervency of them, the deadlocked resolve. There are never laughs, never out-stretched hands in the wake of victory.

You pick your own self up out of the dirt, Jon reminds himself.

“You were saying?” Robb taunts him.

“Oh shut it, Stark. No one likes a boastful ass.”

Jon’s brows dart into his hairline with his surprise. The heir to Winterfell lets a Greyjoy speak to him thus?

Robb’s laugh fills the courtyard and Theon punches at his shoulder half-heartedly. Robb only laughs louder.

“I’d heed your own words if I were you, Theon,” someone says from across the yard, a feminine giggle lighting the end of the words, and Jon swings curious eyes to the other side of the courtyard, catching along Lady Sansa watching from beneath the veranda. She stands arm in arm with Margaery, the Tyrell lady smothering a laugh with her palm. Sansa arches a challenging brow to Theon, her lips quirked up into a fond smirk. The expression is unguarded, affectionate even in its taunting. Jon’s jaw clenches at the look, chest tightening without warning.

He’s never seen such an expression on her face before – certainly never directed at him.

He thinks back to the other night when they’d argued about Northern fealty and Baratheon treason. The remembrance brings a sourness to his tongue. If only she knew, if only she –

But she doesn’t know. And how could he expect her to?

Seven years ago, when Stannis had –

Jon stops that train of thought, burying the memory instantly, hands clenching into fists at his side.

“You wound me, Lady Sansa,” Theon says dramatically, drawing Jon’s attention back with a hand braced at his chest in mock offense. “You know I mean everything I say.”

“And that’s the problem,” she says back, laughing.

Theon offers her a roguish grin. Jon curls his lip at the sight. “You think I can’t beat your brother? Have you no faith in me?”

“A very little,” she says teasingly. Margaery shakes her head beside her, clearly entertained by the banter.

Theon hoists his sparring sword to rest along his shoulder, chest puffing out at the challenge, but when he turns to face Robb once more, he catches sight of Jon at the edge of the courtyard, their eyes meeting on a halted breath. His grin falls instantly, replaced by a tight-lipped frown, very near a sneer if Jon thinks too long about it. But the Greyjoy seems to have just enough deference not to keep the expression long, straightening, a short bow of his head accompanying his greeting. “My lord,” he says stiffly, all hint of his earlier amusement bled out from his voice.

Robb turns at the address, finding Jon easily, bowing himself with a similar greeting. When Jon finally drags his eyes back to Sansa, she purses her lips, curtseying politely, eyes falling to the floor. Margaery settles a hand along her arm at her side.

Her clear disinterest rankles him, nostrils flaring beneath his heavy breath. “Do continue,” he says to the men, turning back to them. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Robb seems about to say something, before he thinks better of it, tapping his sparring sword in the dirt in apparent contemplation. It’s Theon that speaks then.

“Join us, my lord.”

Sansa’s head snaps up at the words.

Jon raises a brow at the offer. Robb glances to Theon, a cautionary look to his features. But Theon ignores Robb, chin hitching high, lips settling into a self-satisfied smirk. “That is, if your lordship would deem to cross swords with a Stark.”

“You’re not a Stark,” he says without bite, only bluntness, but he sees the way the words strike him regardless.

Theon’s face goes dark, lips twitching, the hand at his sword tightening over the hilt.

It puzzles him, how Theon Greyjoy could take such offense. Is it such a grand thing, to be a Stark? Does it mean so much?

His chest constricts at the thought. It used to mean much. He can hardly recall the feeling now, though. But even still…

A Greyjoy.

Jon finds himself sneering at the other man.

“I’m sure Robb could accommodate that,” Margaery calls out from her place beside Sansa. The other woman turns to her, eyes wide, clutching at her arm.

She only shrugs a shoulder, an impish grin to her features. “Though I daresay it should be rather hard for our dear Lady Sansa to choose who to pledge her favor to,” she says slyly, grin turning devilish.

“Margaery,” Sansa hisses beneath her breath.

Jon is already stalking forward, unlacing his leather jerkin, possessed of something he hasn’t a name for. Sansa swings wide eyes back at him, catching the way he’s staring at her all the while, shrugging out of his jerkin to just his cotton tunic beneath. She swallows thickly, mouth parting as her breath hitches. He doesn’t admit to the rush that overtakes him then.

So she isn’t so unaffected by him, is she?

“I think a spar is an excellent idea, Lady Margaery,” Jon says. Margaery excitedly pats at Sansa’s arm linked through hers with the affirmation. “Assuming Lord Stark here is up to it.” He glances to the man finally, buttoning up his sleeves over his forearms and reaching for a sparring sword along the rack of blades beside them. Theon moves out of the way grudgingly when Jon circles round to the center of the yard with the Stark heir.

Robb nods, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “It would be an honor, my lord.”

“Don’t take it too hard when he knocks you flat on your ass, Targaryen,” Theon mutters off to the side.

Jon flashes him a condescending grin. “You and I are not the same, Greyjoy.”

Robb can’t seem to help the bark of laughter that breaks from his mouth at the words, though he smothers it quickly, offering an apologetic look to Theon as he stews angrily at the dismissal.

They get into a ready position quickly. Robb rolls his shoulders, eager and focused. “I do hope you will be entertained, Lady Margaery,” he calls out teasingly, “even if I should lose.”

She chuckles prettily, head cocked as she watches the men slowly start to circle. “Then I will cheer for you, my lord.”

A singled raised brow, a saucy smirk gracing his lips. “Will you now?”

“It only seems fair,” she muses, glancing at Sansa beside her. “I suppose it would be improper for your sister to grant her brother favor above her betrothed, so I shall have to do, my lord.”

Sansa gives a sidelong glance to Margaery, a barely discernible huff passing her lips. Margaery’s smile broadens at the tease.

“I think I can live with that, my lady,” Robb says, fingers flexing over the hilt of his sword.

The comfortable, playful teasing stirs something in Jon. It’s a strange sort of yearning, a coil in his gut. He glances to Sansa over his shoulder. Her smile wilts instantly.

It grips at him suddenly – a thunderous need.

That coy smirk she had graced Theon with. That flutter of a laugh. That easy, endearing crinkle at her eyes, shoulders shaking lightly in her mirth, red tendrils of hair brushed back with fine-boned fingers.

(A need he doesn’t recognize – not fully, not yet.)

She stares back at him, face a blank visage, a sheen of ice overtaking her.

She has no such smiles for him, especially not since he’d berated her so condescendingly at dinner the other night. No more walks in the garden or accompanying him in the library. He’d grown used to her presence, even when he’d kept a purposeful distance. He’s been too forceful with her, too familiar with his touch. She’s to be his wife, yes, and touch is inevitable, touch is…

Jon swallows, his skin tingling with the anticipation he won’t admit to.

Touch is the least of what will occur between them come the wedding night, but even still, until then, he will not take such liberties with her. She’s clearly not amenable to such intimacy, not yet at least, and Jon is loathe to think she considers him a brute.

But has he given her any reason to think otherwise?

And why should it matter in the first place?

Jon snarls, looking back at Robb. His opponent seems to recognize the shift, the signal, because his face hardens, all mirth leaving him, and then the game begins.

Jon is the first to strike, and Robb parries his swing easily, foot bracing back in the dirt. He pushes off, swinging low. Jon dances out of the way, circling round, eyes trained on Robb. They meet again, a stinging clash of their mock blades, and Jon shifts left, knocking Robb off balance with an elbow. Robb stumbles back, righting himself immediately, just in time to parry another swing from Jon, this one almost vicious in its intensity, and his arms buckle slightly, locking at the elbow. He grunts beneath the force of it. Jon hears the sharp intake of Sansa’s breath, the hushed murmur of her brother’s name issuing forth in concern.

The sound coils something hot and unrelenting in his gut. He shoves off of Robb, panting, circling round again.

Robb circles similarly, a weary smile gaining on his face. “Not a leisurely spar then?” he chuckles, already winded.

Jon scoffs, but it isn’t a scornful sound. A dark mirth fills him. He thinks he might have liked this Robb Stark, had he known him before.

(Before – when Jon had once yearned for his mother’s family like a stupid, lost little boy. Before – when he’d been a stupid, lost little boy.)

“You don’t fight for leisure, either,” Jon muses, breath raking from him. “You fight to win.”

Robb shakes his head, still chuckling. “Aye, but at least I’m not so dour about it.”

Jon raises a brow, smirk tugging at his lips, unbidden. Another clash of their blades, a parry, a missed swing, a shove to the shoulder, grunting, feet shuffling across the yard, a kicked-up cloud of dust when one stumbles back, chests heaving, tunics soaked through with sweat. A clang, metal ringing sharp in the courtyard. Again, and again, and again. Neither knows how to relent.

Yes, he’d have liked this Robb Stark. If he thinks too long about it, he likes him even now. But Jon knows well enough to be wary of wolves.

Sansa’s image floods his mind, for she is a wolf, too, even in all her silk dresses and pretty courtesies. There is a flash of teeth behind that primly, pursed mouth, Jon knows. A bite as cool and cut as winter.

And he wonders suddenly – wildly – what that bite might taste like, whether that cool ice of hers would persist against the hot press of his tongue, what sounds she might make when he’s spreading her milk-white thighs apart to sink inside her.

Would she howl for him, as wolves are wont to do?

Jon’s chest heaves, a maddening heat suffusing him, and he blinks the image back furiously, barely managing to avoid Robb’s incoming swing. The edge of his blade swipes close to his chin, and Jon stumbles back at the near miss, ears catching the sudden intake of breath from the watching ladies, as well as Theon’s whoop of satisfaction. Jon steadies himself, wiping a hand across his sweat-slicked brow, dark curls plastered to his skin. He growls lowly, shifting his sword into an overhold, advancing on Robb. He is waning, he knows, but he will not lose. Not here, with her watching. Something about the thought lights a flare of resolve in him.

Jon feints right, parrying Robb’s blow and swinging round, blade coming at his side, and Robb barely manages to swing his sword back in time, but the force of Jon’s strike, caught at an awkward angle, trips him up, and he’s stumbling back, hand going out instinctively to brace his fall before righting himself just in time.

Except, not just in time.

Jon swings hard, sweeping Robb’s legs out from under him, and Robb lands back along the dirt with a rough grunt, breath winded from him, looking up to find the tip of Jon’s sword at his throat, a mirror to his earlier victory against Theon.

They stay staring at each other, breathing heavily, Jon’s eyes dark and focused, his hand never lowering.

“Well,” Margaery says with a smack of her lips, “That was a riveting win, wouldn’t you say, Lady Sansa?”

Jon blinks away the heady battle haze, arm lowering, stepping back a pace. He glances to her, still panting, tunic stuck to his chest with his sweat.

Sansa lifts her chin. “Valiantly done, my lord,” she says tightly, a hint of a scowl gracing her features, “For a man with royal training against an opponent already flagging from previous spars.”

“Sansa,” Robb admonishes from his place on the ground, looking up at her aghast.

Theon smothers his laugh in his fist, but not enough for Jon to miss it.

Margaery raises both brows at her friend in surprise, her amused smirk still steadily put.

Jon lets out a rueful laugh, voice rough. “It seems not much impresses you, Lady Sansa.”

She doesn’t answer, keeping her chin high. Theon steps toward them, picking Robb’s fallen sword up off the ground. “I think it’s one of her many virtues, actually,” he says smugly.

Jon throws a disdainful look his way. “I’m not particularly interested in what you think about my betrothed,” he warns.

Theon opens his mouth but never gets the chance to retort.

“Alright, Targaryen, you’ve had your fun. Now, are you going to help me up or not?”

Jon looks down at Robb leaning back in the dirt with an expectant look and a hand held out. He catches the laugh that threatens to escape at the image. His throat tightens, an unfamiliar ache settling in his stomach. He reaches out and grabs his hand, hauling the man up. Robbs dusts himself off, groaning softly when he stills with a hand to his side.

“Are you wounded, my lord?” Margaery asks, voice lilting gently, though the subtle thrum of concern is apparent even to Jon.

Robb scoffs, straightening. “Aye, at my lady’s complete lack of appreciation for my battle prowess, even considering such a brutal defeat.” He flashes a grin at Jon.

The expression is jarring in its ease. An honest grin, goading and friendly. Jon’s frown deepens, that soft, unexplainable yearning battering around his chest.

These damn Starks.

“I was breathless for the whole affair, I assure you,” Margaery promises, a charming smile accompanying the words.

Robb glances back to her, brow raised. “Is that so?” His voice is breathy, labored.

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Oh, go take a bath, Robb, you’re utterly filthy.”

Robb looks down at his muddied tunic and then narrows his eyes at Theon’s guffaw.

“You too, Theon Greyjoy. You’re worse than Robb.”

Theon’s laugh cuts off abruptly, glancing back at Sansa with a petulant frown.

Jon stares at her at the edge of the courtyard, eyes boring into hers. He doesn’t miss the way her gaze rakes quickly over his form, and he wonders if she will give him the same kind of fond tease, if she will remark on the way his tunic is fitted to his chest with sweat, or the way his curls are disheveled and damp from exertion. But she only purses her lips after her brief appraisal, turning fully to Margaery beside her. “Shall we go for a walk?”

Margaery links her arm more surely through Sansa’s, turning them already. “Yes, let’s,” she agrees.

With a duo of curtsies, Sansa and Margaery leave the courtyard, skirts swaying in their wake. Jon watches her go for long moments. When he looks back, he finds Theon staring at him, a deep furrow to his brow, not even bothering to hide his scowl.

Jon cocks his head at him, inviting whatever scathing comment is languishing on his tongue. But Theon only shakes his head, hefting both his and Robb’s swords over his shoulder, turning to the Northern heir. “I should go find Bran. Reckon he’s dodging his lessons with Ser Rodrik.”

Robb nods, clapping him on the shoulder in farewell, and Theon leaves without a backwards glance.

“You know,” Robb says, once they’re left alone in the training yard, “You don’t seem to be making much headway with my sister.”

Jon arches a brow at him, unsure whether to laugh or groan or sneer at the jab. A disbelieving scoff leaves him. That curl in his gut, it doesn’t seem to leave these days. Certainly not when he’s surrounded by maddening Starks.

“She can be…” He stops, considers, rolling the words along his tongue, “Difficult.”

Robb snorts a laugh. “And you haven’t even met Arya, yet,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

Jon gives him a questioning look.

He sobers up easily, gaze going to the space Sansa had occupied. “The thing is,” he says, tone disconcerting and inexplicably low, “Sansa generally gives people the benefit of the doubt. Looks for the good in them. And she’s never discourteous.” He looks to Jon sharply then, eyes probing. “Which makes me wonder what the hell it is you’ve done to make her so.”

Jon sucks a breath through his teeth, gaze never relenting on Robb.

Just a common brute, he imagines her thinking, remembering the heat of her glare when he’d dragged her into his arms.

(And why should it matter? The thought pesters at the edge of his mind, insistent.)

“I’ve not harmed her, if that’s what you’re implying,” he near growls.

Robb considers him a moment, cocking his head at him. “No,” he muses softly. “No, she wouldn’t allow that.”

You will unhand me, my lord.

It’s not a line he means to toe again.

“And I don’t believe you would,” Robb says finally, eyeing him still.

It shouldn’t make him feel like this – grateful and relieved and seen. Least of all, by a Stark. And yet here he is, greedily taking in his words, that recognition.

A tendril of copper hair just out of reach, a glance of frost-blue eyes, throat pale and slender and gulping beneath his calloused touch.

The searing impression of her earnestness, frail and genuine.

No, he would not hurt her.

The realization is startling in its sincerity.

“Forgive me, my lord, for my bluntness,” Robb begins, face grave, “But Sansa is a tender sort, too tender for her own good sometimes, and whatever it is that’s between you two, whatever it is that’s…hardened her, I do not care for it.”

Jon blinks at Robb’s sudden fervency, mouth parting, but no words coming forth.

“As a brother yourself, I think you can understand that,” Robb says.

The bile is ripe at the back of his throat, and Jon has to swallow back that slice of shame.

(Not how one is supposed to love.)

His head feels too foggy, his chest too tight. The words sink, weighted, along his tongue, until his throat is rife with them. “I’ve no intention of hurting your sister.”

No intention, it’s true, but he thinks he might have already, all the same. He grinds his jaw, hand curling over the hilt of the sword still in his grip. “She’s to be my wife, after all. And I take care of my own.”

I don’t want anything from you.

He pushes the words from his mind, the remembrance carving a place between his ribs to anchor there.

Because what could he possibly mean to her outside of duty?

“Then take care of her,” Robb says, the hint of a demand coloring his words, “Properly.”

Jon gives an incredulous chuckle, rueful and unexpected, hand tightening over the hilt of his sword. “From one brother to another?”

“Aye.”

“She’s not been an easy sort to live with, has she?”

Robb barks a laugh. “Aye, I’ll give you that.”

Jon flashes a knowing smile at Robb, the ease of it unfamiliar and jarring. It’s not an unwelcome feeling though, and perhaps this is where it begins.

The blur. The downfall.

Robb’s smile wavers somewhat, a hesitancy marring his charm. He takes a breath, his sudden frown thoughtful, his eyes a soft-hued blue. “Do right by her, my lord. I promise, she will always do right by you.”

It’s not said as a demand or a warning or a compromise. It’s said like a promise, knowing and comforting. Like an embrace.

Like a brother.

She’ll always do right by you.

Somehow, he believes it.

Jon glances to the spot Sansa had previously occupied, his recollection of her playing like shadow on his mind.

“Valiantly done, my lord.” A paltry concession.

And why should it matter? That thought – that plaguing, insistent thought. He thinks he understands now, loathe as he is to admit it.

It matters because suddenly, inexplicably, Jon finds he cares what she thinks of him.

It matters because her opinion of him means something now.

Jon swears beneath his breath.

Fucking Starks.

He’s going to regret this, he knows. He’s going to regret every bit of this.

#jonsa #from instep to heel #my writing #jon snow #sansa stark #jon x sansa #jon and sansa #jonsa fic #game of thrones #got fanfic

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sailorshadzter · 5 years ago

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across the sea and back again. chapter 4.

this chapter took me a lot longer to finish than i anticipated, but here it is, finally done! we’re getting close to the end and i’m excited to say i will fully finish this fic before next week!! whether it ends up being 5 chapters as planned, or maybe 6, it’s coming to an end and i hope you guys are enjoying it as we go!

just a few notes: there’s no conflict with the night king- that in itself would take at least two additional chapters to include- and i really wanted to make this au different, so i said fuck it and scrapped the idea. initially, i was going to do it because i need to figure out what to do with the dragons, but i have an idea for them finally!

i did mean to bring arya home in this chapter, but it felt like too much once i got through half of the chapter, but i promise the last of house stark will join her family very soon!!

thank you to everyone for your continued support on this fic. reading your comments here & on ao3 fuel me to keep going. i appreciate every comment, reblog, and like you guys give me. even if i dont respond to them all, know i see them & truly, truly appreciate the nice words!

that being said...here’s chapter four. :)

Watching Jon retake the North was enough for those who had yet to offer their support; the sons and daughters of remaining Northern houses- Umber, Manderly, and the like- they flocked back to Winterfell to beg on their knees for forgiveness of their father's sins. Given of course, for beyond the sheer fact that they would need all the support they could get in the coming battles, Jon could not bring himself to punish a son for his father's crime. He supposes it's only a matter of time before the declaration for his claim to the Iron Throne will be made.

"Dorne promises support." It's Sansa's voice cutting in, bringing him back from the depth of his own thoughts. They sit together in her solar, or perhaps it belongs to them both, considering the amount of time they spend together inside. She sits behind the large oak desk, dozens of scrolls and letters scattered across the top, some not even yet open. "You know how they hate the Lannister's." She smirks, blue eyes lifting from the letter as she tosses it down among all the others. "But they will ask for something in return." In the few weeks since they had reclaimed Winterfell as theirs, she's stepped into her role as Queen in the North as if she had truly been born for it. It's a role that suits her far better than any other one ever could. "With winter coming, we have little to offer them right now." She sighs, shaking her head as she reaches for another of the scrolls, this one still yet to have been opened.

continue reading on ao3 read chapter 1 on tumblr read chapter 2 on tumbr. read chapter 3 on tumblr

He crosses the room and settles onto the edge of the desk as she leans back in her chair, red hair a stark contrast to the black wool gown she wears. Before he can speak, her features are twisting in dislike, blue eyes narrowing as she scans the letter she reads. "What is it?" He asks, a cold sense of dread washing over him. After all they've gone through, he can't think about more problems already arising.

"It's from Tyrion." She answers, but she does not pull her gaze from the letter.

"Lannister?" He asks as if she could even mean another man of the name, his voice full of the surprise he feels. She looks up then and nods, handing him the letter that she holds. Blinking, he turns his gaze down and reads the few lines of script written along the parchment.

Lady Stark, I'm certain you're surprised to see a letter from me, but I hope this finds you in good health. The rumors of your disappearance and death circulated, even here across the Narrow Sea, and I was not certain I'd hear your name spoken again. It has been told that you and Jon have reclaimed Winterfell in the name of House Stark and they call you their queen. Though my alliance is with another queen, I commend you for your strength and ability to take back what always belonged to you.

Surely you must wonder why I am writing you, it is on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen, the true heir to the Seven Kingdoms, and thus the one who should sit upon the Iron Throne, not my sister. I'm sure you wish to see her off the throne as much as anyone.

We have heard the rumors of your half brother's birth, that he is Targaryen born. Daenerys does not wish to fight for the throne with her own blood, but she will, and I am giving you this warning now: do not fight her. My queen is a ruthless one and she will stop at nothing to claim what is hers. Stand with her and take the Iron Throne in the name of House Targaryen. Jon, if truly of her bloodline, will be rewarded for his alliance, as well as the North.

I write to you in hopes there need be no war between our two sides, we have a common enemy in Cersei and thus a common goal. We have arrived in Dragonstone, the old seat for House Targaryen. Write to me here with your answer.

Best regards, Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen.

Jon looks up from the letter to meet her gaze, though she looks lost in thought. "Hand of the Queen? For Daenerys Targaryen?" He speaks in disbelief, recalling the Lannister imp from those days so many years ago, from before they had ever left Winterfell. "Of all the people..." He goes on with a shake of his head, tossing the letter to join the others she's set aside. "What do you think of it? You know him better than I do."

Sansa sighs, shrugging her shoulders as she leans forward, elbows propping her up on the desk as she lowers her cheek into her palm. "Tyrion is no different than the rest of them, kind to me as he was. He looks to serve himself, as most men do." She sighs again, raising her face from her hand, stretching her arms across the desk. "I think we must talk with the lords about it, before we do anything." Jon nods, knowing this was not a choice they could make on their own. "But..." She trails off as she turns her gaze back to him. "He is right- if we don't play this out right, we will have two wars to fight for the Iron Throne." Jon nods, knowing she's right.

Though she opens her mouth to speak on, she's cut off by the door swinging open and in comes Rickon, carrying Robb who is giggling and babbling, one little fist extended up into the air. In the few weeks since their taking of Winterfell, Rickon has fallen quite hard for his little nephew. Although the initial realization that Jon was not his brother by blood was hard for him to understand and accept, he has come to learn that brotherhood isn't all about the blood they share. Sansa smiles as her little brother approaches where they sit, the worries of the realm forgotten as she leans in to brush a curl from her son's forehead. "Look Sansa," Rickon says excitedly as he passes the baby into her arms, but so he faces forward to still look at him rather than his mother. "Where's Robb?" He coos as he slides his hands over his face and then pulls them back with a quick movement. "There he is!" He cries and at once Robb is full of giggles, his gummy smile bringing a chuckle from both adults as they watch the scene unfold.

Her family, though once broken and pulled apart, was slowly coming back together. It was only a matter of time before they found Bran and Arya, until they were all together again. And she would look forward to that day until it came.

[ x x x ]

In the days that follow the letter arriving from Dragonstone, Sansa wrestles with the choice she knows that they must ultimately make. She can't quite explain it, but she doesn't trust Daenerys Targaryen- something tells her that this dragon queen will bring with her destruction, not salvation, and in the end they will face a war far bigger than the one with Cersei Lannister. It's another gamble, the idea that runs through her mind every time she's faced with the thought, a gamble far bigger than any of the others they've made up until now... But she knows, there's no fighting the power of a dragon, especially when there was three of them.

Three days after the letter arrived, the Northern lords are assembled in Winterfell's great hall. Sansa and Jon sit side by side at the head table, looking out into the sea of faces staring back at them. "Thank you for coming on such short notice," Jon is the first to speak, as he so usually is. Though she is queen, Jon is her voice, his ability to rally men to his side uncanny. She admires his ability to boost the confidence of even the lowest man, his ability to fill hearts with hope, with faith in doing the right thing. "The queen has received a letter from Tyrion Lannister." A murmur rises up among the lords- there is little trust in the imp, as there is little trust in any Lannister. "He writes on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen." The voices fall silent and he watches as shock registers on nearly every face in the room. "They sit in Dragonstone as we speak, making plans to sail for Westeros so Daenerys may lay claim to the Iron Throne."

"To claim a throne that does not belong to her?" Lord Royce speaks first from where he sits beside Brienne of Tarth, a few lords nodding in assent around him. "She is not the rightful heir, as she must have heard by now."

"Aye, she's heard," Jon goes on, rising up to his feet, sweeping around to the front of the table they sit behind. "She offers peace if we support her claim to the throne."

"Or so says the imp," Howland Reed says, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "Can such a promise be trusted?" There is little love for the Targaryen name, Jon knows this as well as any man, especially there among the Northmen. They have not yet forgotten what happened to the Stark men in King's Landing so many years ago. And though they support Jon, it is only because of the love they had for him to begin with, because of the Stark blood that still yet runs through his veins. They consider him far more Stark than Targaryen and he supposes he is quite thankful for that.

"Probably not," it's Sansa who speaks now and all eyes turn to their queen, including Jon's, who shifts where he stands to focus on her. They have discussed at length what they plan to do and they can only hope the Northern lords trust in them enough to go along with it. "But we think we should offer our support to her, at least for the time being." A heavy silence falls, the gazes staring back at her now narrowed, their shock outweighing the anger they surely must feel at her words.

"You wish for us to align ourselves with a Targaryen?" Lord Manderly spits, though he shoots Jon an apologetic sort of look, who shrugs as if it means little to him. "And then what? We're to help her reclaim the throne that belongs to Lord Snow?"

"Not entirely," again it's Sansa speaking, hands folding together atop the table she still sits behind. "We cannot fight a war against three dragons." She goes on, blue eyes sweeping across the room, taking in the sight of every face that stares back at her. "But we can offer her support and gain her trust. From there we can determine what kind of threat she really is to us."

Silence descends once again and after several moments, Jon speaks again. "We will make no decision that you all don't agree with." He speaks honestly, recounting the words he and Sansa had discussed only the night before. "If you don't think it wise, then we will not invite her here, we will not go along with our plan. But..." He trails off, turning so he might look at Sansa across his shoulder. "The queen is right, we cannot fight a war against Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons."

"As I've told you before, you have House Mormont's support in all that you do, Jon Snow." Lyanna Mormont cuts in with a sharp nod of her head. It takes but a moment more for other heads to nod, for voices of assent to fill the room.

"We trust your judgment." Lord Umber speaks, another child that's been put into the place as head of his house. Beside him, Lady Karstark sits, nodding her head in agreement. In the end, all of the lords come to agree with the terms they've spoken of. And so when they've been fed and most have set out to return to their own houses, Sansa pens her letter to Tyrion, knowing that there would be a long journey ahead. For all of them.

[ x x x ]

"A letter, my lord."

It's Varys that hands him the letter, having come into his chamber just a moment before, not bothering to offer the courtsey of a knock. They have known one another so long now, he doesn't mind all that much. Not that Varys would care if he did. Tyrion glances at the scroll now in hand, the Stark seal the one he's been waiting to see. He breaks it open and unrolls the scroll to reveal the neat, slanted script thats written across the parchment. "She invites us to Winterfell to discuss terms of a potential alliance." He's shocked by the words written, he had not thought Sansa Stark to be so easily swayed. But then again... He supposes she's never faced a foe with a trio of dragons at her beck and call. Though, something tells Tyrion if there was anyone to ever oppose his queen, it would be her.

"And you think she means it?" Varys asks, coming around to stand at his back, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe. "You know what the whispers say..." Even here in Dragonstone, the whispers of Westeros reach him. "That the North and Dorne both support Jon Snow as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. That the Iron Islands will come behind him, too, thanks to Theon Greyjoy." They know the people of King's Landing would not so readily accept a Targaryen ruler- after decades of violence, they would look to the man who had taken back the North with little bloodshed. They would look to the Northern girl they knew once as their future queen, bethrothed at one time to their golden prince Joffrey. The peasantry would flock to Jon Snow and Sansa Stark long before they would ever stand with a Targaryen.

"You sound as if you think we should stand behind a different queen." Tyrion sighs, tossing the letter down onto the desktop as he reaches for his goblet of wine, draining it in a single gulp. "I have no choice but to believe her," he says then, pouring himself another goblet full. "It looks as if we're to head North."

[ x x x ]

Sansa spends her days ensuring that Winterfell is prepared to welcome the dragon queen and her army of Dothraki, not to mention her three dragons. It's been nearly a month since Tyrion's response had come to assure her that Daenerys sought peace and that they would make haste to arrive at Winterfell before winter came. The winter winds have begun to blow and most certainly, winter was upon them, and so she knows it is only a matter of time before Daenerys Targryen arrived on their shore.

It's a rare moment where she's not working and instead, she's settled into Robb's chambers, the baby tucked into her arms as he sleeps. Outside in the courtyard, despite the flurries of snow that fall from the cloudy skies, Jon spars with Rickon, teaching the boy to use a sword as Ned Stark had once taught him and Robb when they were Rickon's age. She can hear every clash of the wooden swords they use in place of steel and the occassional gasp from a crowd that must be gathered around. For a moment, it's as if they were back to their happy, carefree days of childhood.

She wishes things never have to change, but she knows yet another war looms ahead and they must be ready for it's arrival.

Knock, knock.

"Come in," she softly calls and it's Lord Royce there, stepping inside the the room to come and stand before her. "Have you heard word from White Harbor?" She asks, thinking that it must be Daenerys he comes to speak to her of. But, to her surprise, he shakes his head.

"There's a rider... At the gate." He says instead and she cannot say why, but a lump rises to her throat. Something tells her she must greet this rider herself. And so she rises up to place her son carefully into his cradle and she follows Lord Royce from the room and down the halls until she takes to the stairs, heading down into the main corridor and then out the double doors into the courtyard.

"Sansa!" It's Rickon's voice calling out to her from the far side of the courtyard, where he and Jon are still sparring. "Come watch!" He shouts, waving his wooden sword high into the air. A laugh escapes her and she raises her hand to wave back to him, though she turns and heads instead for the gates, which as she approaches she raises her hand to the guard in the tower, giving him the go ahead to allow the gates to be opened. There, waiting to come through, was a single horse drawn sled, though a somewhat wild looking brunette walks alongside it. By now, Jon and Rickon, along with several others, have begun to approach where she stands, watching as the sled comes through the now open gates.

Her heart has begun to race, faster and faster, her breath catching in her throat as the person settled into the sled comes into her view. "Hello, Sansa." Bran says in a strange, stoic sort of voice, but his eyes... Those are the eyes of the little brother she knew from childhood. She chokes on a sob and she rushes towards the sled, climbing into the back of it so she can throw her arms around him. "Though I suppose I am to call you your grace now," his voice is at her ear and she lets out a laugh, only hugging him tighter. When she wills herself to let him go, it's so she might stare at him, taking in the sight of him, grown nearly into a man. If he were to stand, she knows he would stand taller than even she. "There's much for us to discuss." Bran says in that same strange voice, a voice she doesn't know. But he's home, so she doesn't care about what he sounds like or even how he looks. She only cares that he's home.

He's home and so is another piece of her heart.

[ x x x ]

It's late into the night, but they sit up in the rooms they've had prepared for Bran to stay in, the rooms that once belonged to him as a child. Bran and Jon sit before the hearth, quiet as Sansa tucks the blankets over Rickon and Robb who both sleep peacefully in the bed that was meant to be Bran's. She can't help but to smile as she brushes a curl from Rickon's forehead, leaning over to kiss both boys on the tops of their heads before she crosses the room to settle into the chair she'd only just vacated moments before. "He looks just like you," Bran says to Jon, gesturing towards the sleeping pair, meaning of course the baby that sleeps beside his youngest uncle. "Though he will be taller than you." Sansa can't help but to spare a laugh at Jon's expense, but even he must chuckle at the comment.

"Have you... Seen him?" Sansa asks after a moment, turning her gaze towards her younger brother. In the last several hours, he's spoken to them of many things, including his visions and his role as the Three Eyed Raven. Perhaps it's wrong of her to ask, but to know a glimpse of her son's future... Even just the smallest inkling that he will be happy. That everything they're doing is going to be worth it in the end. Bran's eyes swerve from the bed and instead fall onto her, holding steady for a long moment before he gives a single nod. Something like relief rushes through her and she lets out the breath she's been holding, sinking back into her chair.

"I've seen them all," Bran admits after a moment, glancing from one face to the other. He's seen the fates of all their children, though the rest have yet to come. Someday, Winterfell would be full of the laughter of children, much as it had once been when they had all been children within the walls. "But it's a long road ahead."

Jon casts a quick glance towards Sansa, reaching out a hand to tenderly touch hers. At the touch, she startles, but her lips curve with a smile as she turns to face him for just a moment. "Daenerys will be here any day." Jon says when his gaze has settled back onto Bran's, who nods, indicating he already knew this. Jon wonders what else his little brother knows, what else he's keeping to himself. But he knows he must trust him, just as Sansa once trusted him; it was faith in each other, faith in knowing that there was always one person who would keep you safe no matter what. "We must be ready."

"You will be." Bran says, though he turns his gaze to Sansa as he speaks. Though he cannot say it aloud, he knows it will be her that in the end, saves them from the destruction that Daenerys Targaryen brings. He didn't have to tell her what would come because she would never waver, she would never back down from doing what she thought was right. Bran knows that his sister would stop at nothing to protect her home and her family, though she might not know it yet, there was nothing Sansa would not do in the future to protect both her son and Jon.

And that alone makes her the most dangerous player of them all.

[ x x x ]

It's the next morning when a rider comes through the gates with the alert that Daenerys Targaryen had arrived in White Harbor. But by the time the rider came, the line of soldiers had already been spotted as they made their way from the docks to Winterfell. Sansa stands on the battlements, watching as in the distance, the soldiers make their way down the road that will lead them through her gates.

She's still yet standing there when the dragons come, screeching and belching flames as they fly overhead. "Sansa." It's Jon. She turns to face him where he stands just an arm's length away, his Stark features a little more solemn than usual. "It's time." Sansa nods, silent as she steps closer to him, slipping into his arms a moment later. He holds onto her for several long moments until neither of them can ignore it no longer.

Daenerys Targaryen has arrived in Winterfell.

[ x x x ]

The mother of dragons is not all that Sansa expected her to be.

She is soft and small, with wide violet eyes and silvery hair that she wears in the most elaborate of braids. But she strides into the hall with a confidence that reeks of arrogance and though she smiles prettily enough, Sansa can see right through her. Suddenly, it's Lord Baelish's voice that floats through her thoughts; everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend. For an instance, she's in another place entirely, a place full of ash and dust, something small and sharp in her hand... Sansa blinks and the vision is gone, but Daenerys still yet stands there, for she and her small entourage have approached the head table where Sansa sits with Jon and Bran to her either side, proof that House Stark was far from dead. "Welcome to Winterfell," Sansa speaks carefully, slowly, not a single soul in the room rising for this self proclaimed queen.

And at once, Sansa see's that she was right to think her arrogant, for those violet eyes dart around the room that she finds to be empty aside from the three that sit in front of her. Beside her a woman with eyes of such a striking shade of gold that Sansa is momentairly taken aback, but the surprise fades when she opens her mouth to speak. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Queen of the Andals and the First Men... Protector of the Seven Kingdoms." There comes a long pause and for a moment, Sansa thinks her to be finished speaking.

She isn't.

"The Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt," the woman says this last title as if it's a warning. Sansa exchanges a quick glance with Jon, but her attention returns to the woman with golden eyes as she still yet continues to speak. "The breaker of chains." Another silence falls and it's only then that Sansa realizes the woman has finally finished rattling off the titles and names this so called queen has given to herself.

"Ah, so you are finished," Sansa says with a tilt of her head, though her rosy lips are smiling. Jon has never seen this look upon her face before but it is one she's worn countless times in countless places for countless people. "I am Sansa Stark, Queen in the North. I thank you for traveling so far. I hope the seas were not so rough."

"They were calm, my lady, thank you." Daenerys speaks for the first time, her tone and smile matching with the woman that sits before her. She dares, in the privacy of this room, speak as if she's not heard Sansa's introduction.

"Pardon, your grace, but I am not just a lady." Sansa interrupts before the Targaryen woman can continue. "I am a queen, much like yourself." Her smile is dangerous as she folds her hands over the top of the table. "Chosen by my people."

"Forgive me, I didn't receive a formal education like you must have but if I remember correctly there's not been a King in the North since Torrhen Stark bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen..." Daenerys speaks again, blinking those violet eyes, her gaze never once wavering as she stares down at Sansa where she sits. "In exchange for the lives of the Northmen he swore an oath to my house in perpetuity." She goes on, her smile smug as she turns to a man standing just behind her, a man Sansa had not noticed until that very moment. "Tell me, what does perpetuity mean again, Lord Tyrion?"

"It means forever, your grace." Tyrion Lannister speaks, stepping up to stand beside the queen he's promised his loyalty to. Looking out at the table of Stark's, he's reminded quite of the old days when Ned and Catelyn Stark had once sat there.

"It means forever," Daenerys grins as she turns back to face Sansa. "So I assume, my lady, you've invited me here to bend the knee. You wrote of peace, of an alliance, yet calling yourself Queen in the North puts you into open rebellion against me. Against your rightful queen." Her gaze narrows, sharpening like steel, but unlike many before her, Sansa Stark does not bend, does not break. Rather, those icy blue eyes of hers darken, not an ounce of fear in their gaze as she squares her shoulders.

"I have no intention of bending the knee." Sansa replies, watching as Daenery's nostrils flare, her mouth opening and closing as if she's not quite certain what she's to say next. Sansa imagines this is a woman who rarely hears the word no, who rarely does not get as she wants. "It is true, I spoke of an alliance, but I never once spoke of bending to your rule."

"That is unfortunate," Daenerys quips, shooting the imp beside her a glare, as if this meeting not going her way is entirely his fault. "Unfortunate that you should invite me all this way only to break faith with House Targaryen."

At these words, Sansa can't stop the chuckle that escapes her. "My apologies, I only laugh for what faith in House Targaryen do I have?" She sobers, those blue eyes once again falling upon the woman before her. "Your father burned my grandfather alive, he burned my uncle alive. He'd have burned the entire Seven Kingdoms alive, had he not been stopped."

"My father was an evil man," Daenerys breaks in and for the first time since she walked into the hall, Sansa feels a bit of humanity from her. "On behalf of House Targaryen, I ask your forgiveness for my father's crimes against your family. And I ask that you not hold a daughter accountable for her father's sins." The violet gaze is softer now, somewhat sad, and Sansa swallows, recalling how Jon had once said those same words to her in regards to the families of the rebellious lords that now served her and House Stark once again. "The centuries of peace with a Targaryen on the Iron Throne and a Stark as Warden in the North were the best Westeros has ever seen... I am the last Targaryen-"

"You are not."

All eyes swivel then, turning to Bran who has spoken for the first time since the meeting began. "Jon is your nephew and therefore, the last remaining male heir of your House. He is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne." He speaks calmly, matter-of-factly, his expression never changing even as his eyes meet the mother of dragon's.

Daenerys regards him for several long moments before a sigh escapes her. "I have heard such a thing.... But how I am to know for certain that you are my brother's son?" She turns her gaze to Jon then, noting his lack of Targaryen looks, wondering just how any son of her family could escape the Targaryen genes. "It is as I bid Tyrion to write, if you are my kin, I do not wish to fight with you." Something tells Sansa that this is a lie, that this woman would topple any person, any kingdom, if it meant she got her way. Once again Daenerys is looking at her and she holds her head up high, knowing that in the end, no matter what it cost her, she would never bend. Not ever.

"Promise Northern independence and I will abandon my claim to the throne." Jon speaks and Daenerys turns her gaze from Sansa to him. "Swear that oath and I will not fight you for the remaining Six Kingdoms." His dark eyes hold fast to violet and the silence in the room is thick, heavy. "You needn't decide it now," he goes on, turning to Sansa who smiles fondly upon him when their gazes meet. "The queen has prepared rooms for your stay, after all." His purposeful use of queen strikes Daenerys and she shifts her gaze back to Sansa, who nods, her smile for her instead. It is a charming smile, even Dany must admit.

"I will think about your proposition most carefully," Daenerys finally speaks, though those around her look truly surprised by her response, as if even they expected her to turn on her heel and storm from the room. "I cannot promise what my answer will be."

"You are welcome to stay, until then," Sansa speaks, knowing that despite it all, she must earn this woman's trust. She must make her think that in the end, the North will be on her side in her fight for the throne. "I will have someone show you to your rooms," she gestures towards Brienne who stands in the corner of the room, who then ducks out to find Agatha who has been tireleslly working to ensure the rooms are well prepared for this queen and her group.

As Daenerys is led from the room, Sansa sinks back into her chair, suddenly drained of her energy. Beside her, Jon turns to face her, a hand falling into place against her thigh, his skin warm against hers despite the layers of clothes between them. "That went well," he says and she lifts her face to him, grinning in spite of herself. "You know what we must do next." He goes on and she nods; of course does. Jon smiles and he leans in, capturing her mouth with his for a quick kiss.

That alone gives her the strength to rise up, ready to meet whatever comes next.

[ x x x ]

"Do you believe him? Do you believe that he is my brother's son?"

Daenerys rounds on him the moment the door has closed, leaving them alone in her antechamber. Sansa Stark turns out to be a generous host, offering the warmest, best wing of Winterfell to Daenerys and her group. Tyrion finds himself housed in rooms far nicer than the ones he stayed in on his last visit to Winterfell. "Well, your grace..." Tyrion begins, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain as she is in the truth of Jon's birth. "If I may speak freely..."

His queen regards him for a moment before she nods, sinking into a chair nearest the hearth. "You may," she says, eager to hear what her Hand has to say in this situation. Tyrion Lannister was a smart man, though a heavy drinker, he's willing to make choices that others cannot. She trusts his judgment above all others, save for perhaps Missandei or Jorah.

"If you remember, I told you once that I was married to Sansa when she was but a girl." Daenerys nods, recalling the conversation from just a few months before, when the rumors of the wolves of Winterfell came to them in Dragonstone. "She is fiercely loyal to her family, to her House. To the North. She does not forget the wrongs done against her nor her family." Again, Daenerys nods, for does she not know the same feeling? "When she escaped King's Landing, she was forced to marry again, but I have heard the rumors of what she endured here in her own home at the hands of her husband, Ramsay Bolton." That too had been a subject of their conversation and back then, Daenerys had felt a spark of pity for the woman- yet another thing they shared was the abuse at hands of men who thought themselves above them. But now that she's met the young woman- she feels little else but contempt. It seemed as if Sansa Stark was going out of her way to defy her.

"And what does any of this have to do with Jon Snow being my nephew or not?"

Tyrion stands at the table beside where she sits and he pours two goblets of wine, passing the first one to Daenerys, who accepts and sips at the drink, surprised by the sweetness of it. "I only mean to give you some insight to who she is, your grace," Tyrion says when he's gulped down a mouthful of the wine himself. "A noble born girl, married twice against her will, one of those leading to truly terrible repercussions." He takes to the chair across from his queen, legs aching from the long hours they had spent both at sea and on land. "Do you think a woman raised in a world such as this one would so willingly marry a man- a man she thinks to be her brother, albeit bastard born?" Westeros did not view incest as the Targaryen's did and certainly a girl from House Stark would not lay nor marry a man she calls her brother. "It is true, those who could speak the truth of Jon's birth are no longer here to speak for themselves, we have but a High Septon's journal... But, your grace, if I know Sansa Stark like I think I do, she would never marry a man she calls brother. That itself is enough proof for me."

A silence descends and for a moment, Daenerys can only take another sip of her wine, thinking about all of the things Tyrion has just said to her. "I think you're right," she finally says a few minutes later, raising her gaze from the fire to him, violet eyes finding green. "So what of Jon Snow's promise to deny his place as the rightful heir, if only for Northern independence?"

"That is your choice to make, your grace," Tyrion begins, pausing only to take another sip of his wine. "But I have known Jon Snow to be a man of his word, unbelievably honorable, like the man who raised him."

Again there comes silence, but it is quicker to flee as Daenerys shifts in her chair to fully face him, the firelight casting her into a golden glow. "And would the North stand behind him, otherwise?" She asks, slowly, carefully, the only question that truly matters. Tyrion holds to her gaze a moment longer before he gives a single, solemn nod. The North would stand behind Jon and only Jon, especially now that they call Sansa their queen. The Seven Kingdoms would find peace in a world with an alliance such as theirs- a half Targaryen, half Stark prince and his already beloved Stark bride. Tyrion doesn't have the heart to tell his queen that even those in King's Landing would stand behind Jon Snow before they ever stood behind her. "Then I suppose I already know what I must do." She says softly, barely audible, a statement more to herself than to Tyrion.

A promise of peace... Of Northern independence... It would all be worth it, if only to get her to where she needed to be. And then when the Irone Throne was the chair she sat upon, she would give Sansa Stark and the North exactly what they deserved. If they were not for her, then they were against her.

And just like that, her mind is made up.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #jonsa au #essos au #my writing #i wrote this

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danwhobrowses · 5 years ago

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10 Things that would’ve Improved the Game of Thrones Final Season (For Me)

So it came to my attention that recently it was the First Anniversary of the Final Episode of HBO’s ‘Game of Thrones’. I was taken back to my memory of the BinGOT thing we had at work where we all made predictions of who lived, died and ‘won’ from the last ep (I was in 2nd or 3rd place). And since my mother has started binging it during quarantine I thought in the spirit of that environment I’d discuss a little what I would’ve changed in the final season.

Spoilers for Game of Thrones Season 8 Below, if you haven’t watched it then you’re better off not reading this frankly, if you haven’t been spoiled already at least.

So for starters, the final episode is not the worst tv I’ve ever seen, it just was a sloppy final season in general that really didn’t satisfy the 2 years of hype waiting for it, it’s like with the How I Met Your Mother finale, but that annoyance being more than one episode. But without further ado here are 10 things I would’ve changed about the final season Note: Most will involve the finale. The first 2 episodes were great.

10 - Ten Episodes The Long Night was 1 episode, the LONG NIGHT. A Culmination of the army of living and dead confined into one episode. One of the main problems with the final season was that the pacing was a bit rushed, it made character progression seem unnatural and dropped long-built plot points like water through a sieve. With 10 episodes, which was not a big ask given that this was the usual number and the gravitas of it being the final season would easily allow it to be green lit. D&D immediately backed themselves into a corner by giving a limit they weren’t used to and too much content to put in.

9 - Bite of the Spider Varys’ death was an upsetting start of the penultimate episode, while I would’ve loved him to have survived start to end and potentially ended on top (because he’s never shown to be as cunning or dangerous as he is in the books) there was some sense in him dying. However, Varys was shown sending a letter before his arrest and that never came back up, the finale could’ve used this by revealing to the public Jon’s true heritage, which would’ve immediately undermined Dany’s claim and set up a better conflict. Also we never knew what the voice in the flames said to him...

8 - A More Fitting Long Night While everyone probably popped hard for Arya killing the Night King, myself included, the nature of it was rather abrupt. I don’t think anyone can buy that she sneaked past that entire army. I do feel like the Night King was just a MacGuffin for the Long Night, given that he did so little in the actual fight. This is where a multi-part Long Night would’ve been key as well, going from the Night King being immune to Dragonfire to dying a bit later was not a good pace, and we lacked any conflict with Jon like we teased twice, Arya probably wasn’t the most poetic person to kill him either but GoT seldom did poetic deaths (Joffrey, Cersei, Euron). While the Long Night had exemplary deaths like Theon, Lyanna, Jorah and Beric, the Night King fell among the ranks of Melisandre and Edd in terms of meh deaths. The Long Night should’ve been a bigger bloodbath than it was, half the Dothraki somehow survived remember, we didn’t get to see Ghost fight at all either, no giant spiders, a lot of the tension was lost with the way some fight scenes were filmed; it was too easy to read between the lines and not enough characters had any true ‘oh god this person could die’ scenes.

7 - Resolution for the Characters we didn’t See and Plots unresolved With so much funding and finality in the show, there felt like there could’ve been more stuff that could’ve been resolved; what was the Quaith’s prophecy about? What really happened with the Doom of Valyria? Why does Dragonglass and Valyrian steel kill White Walkers? What is Daario doing after Dany died? Were the Faceless Men really that okay with letting Arya wander around knowing their skillset? Nobody hired them to help in the war either. What happened to the remnants of that warlock dude who stole the baby dragons, they sent one scorpion and that’s it, what happens with the Little Birds now that they’re leaderless? Who was Azor Ahai? What were the spirals about? There are a lot of questions the show kinda just, ignored.

6 - The Mad Queen So, Dany going from ‘I’ll stop if they surrender’ to ‘Burn them fucking all’ was abrupt for many, the majority of fans were not ready or willing to accept turning on their Kaleesi in just one episode. While I could see the conclusion coming from being jumped, losing another ‘child’ and her closest friend as well as her new boyfriend being her nephew and a legitimate threat to her legitimacy despite already pledging fealty, Dany’s descent could’ve used more time, and less naivety. While the death of the dragon was a huge shock, the idiocy fell on Dany in thinking that Cersei would play fair and wouldn’t try to occupy Dragonstone while she abandoned it. There also fell inconsistency when the same fleet and rows of Scorpion crossbows suddenly got Stormtrooper aim during ‘The Bells’. Euron is a renowned sailor, he ruined a Dornish fleet in a previous season, he may be an annoying bastard but you have to treat his naval tactics with a bit more respect - and make Dany less stupid with Cersei doing Cersei things. A lot of people definitely needed more time in buying the idea that Dany had lost her cool and that she blamed all of Westeros to justify burning everyone unashamedly.

5 - Proper Redemption We all know who we’re talking about. Jaime, Jaime, Jaime. In the end he just proved Olenna’s point didn’t he? And his turn away from redemption was only to serve as an example point for Tyrion to use to convince Jon to kill Dany. Jaime didn’t have to live, but he didn’t have to die rushing to Cersei’s rescue, or even due to Euron stabbing him. If anything Jaime should’ve died with some Honour, to be the inverse of Ned as he was presented in Season 1.

4 - My Lady does not have to mean M’Lady This is probably the most selfish ones of my 10 but as a shipper at my very heart and soul I wanted one, at least one, ship to survive this entire turmoil and Gendry and Arya were that couple. We almost had it as well, but then for some mad reason D&D decided that Gendry, despite literally saying that “none of it will be worthwhile if you’re not with me”, stayed in Storm’s End. Arya’s character endgame was right in her venturing off not being bound by the fact that she’s a noble, but Gendry spent a lot of time not caring that he was of Kingsblood to basically being his Father’s son. He’ll rule Storm’s End, marry some woman to have kids, but he’ll still have fallen into the same pit as King Robert did. It would’ve been much more satisfying and hopeful if Gendry abandoned the titles and land he never wanted or needed to accompany someone he loves and who loves him back on an adventure into the unknown. She’s not a ‘lady’ if she’s only marrying a blacksmith and love is the death of duty.

3 - Sansa is NOT Smart (and gets what she actually deserves) Right. So I really, really didn’t like Sansa. Like, I get it, she got held hostage by the Lannisters, watched her father get beheaded, got accused of murder, learned that her brother and mother died, watched the guy who fancied her mother and kissed her kill her aunt and then got effectively sold to an abuser in an arranged marriage. But Sansa is not the smartest player in the game, it was annoying that they tried to portray her as one, she had one idea that anyone could’ve told you ‘don’t be stupid against Ramsay Bolton’. She spent all of Season 8 mainly giving side eye like a petty bitch, completely trying to undermine Dany despite the two being very very similar (remember Dany was raped, sold off in an arranged marriage and watched family members get killed too) to the point where she was conspiring for Jon to usurp her. And in reality she took her ball and left, she was so pissy that the leaders didn’t pick her to be Queen of Westeros that she literally pointed out her own brother’s infertility, claimed that the North wouldn’t bow to a monarch, then declared herself Queen. Hide the ‘Yas Queen’ goggles for a sec, this wasn’t empowering she was throwing her own brother under the bus because she wanted to be queen, and she learned far too much from Littlefinger and Cersei’s playbook to actually be a just one. The North is allowed to be an independent nation, but Sansa’s ‘victory’ was more earned by virtue of a lot of shit happened to her than her actually demonstrating qualities to be queen.

2 - Bran Stark can’t come to the Phone right now... While we’re on the subject of Stark children not being fit rulers, Bran. What a cockamamie decision that was. I was 100% behind the destruction of the Iron Throne, but the chorus of laughter with a democratic rule was a bit of a slap in the face. Of all the choices though, Bran had to be near the bottom, it felt completely unearned that he spent literal seasons disconnecting from the world even to the point where he told Meera and Sam that Bran Stark is no longer here anymore only for Bran Stark to magically resurface when a crown is in waiting. I think it defeats the whole Three Eyed Raven thing too, the guy isn’t really one for the people, which is the problem every other ruler before him failed at. If you can’t pick a just person to lead, then why not a council instead? Just using Bran was a poor and messy decision.

1 - THE MOTHERFUCKING VALONQUAR One of the few expectations across all of Game of Thrones was the wondering over whether Cersei was gonna get what’s coming to her, the Maggy the Frog prophecy was going along quite well up until the Valonquar bit, where the younger sibling that was going to choke the life out of her was: bricks. BRICKS! Of all the long-winded prophecy foreshadowings to drop this one was the worst, Cersei (and Jaime) died in underwhelming, thoughtless fashion, the lack of fanfare on killing off one of the best and most ‘love to hate’ villains in the show only cemented the fact that the finale was not able to live up to the hype. True, most of these are small changes, but it’s worth remembering that there was some good coming out of the final season and it was the lack of those little things and attention to detail that led to the season ending on an underwhelming note.

We did however get a good ton of memes out of it, and at work a long-winded discussion on who should get the ‘winner’ 5-points (compared to the 1 correct points) since we had technically agreed that the 5 points goes to “whoever correctly guesses who sits on the Iron Throne” XD I still can’t believe I was right in Drogon melting the throne though that was one in a million

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nightqueendany · 5 years ago

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Original Final Season 7 - Episode 7: A City Fit For A King

This entire episode and subsequent ones take place in various King’s Landing locations. The episode also takes place entirely at night, the Long Night has descended on King’s Landing and it will remain night until around the middle of Episode 10

Arya and Gendry

Finally reunite, he jokes he was just going to be on his way to Winterfell to see her but she came to him instead, after they hear about the retreat of the North and the Wall falling, Arya tasks Gendry with making her a specialized weapon, Gendry is only too happy to oblige

Once team Stark arrives on the Greyjoy ships/with the dragonglass, Gendry teaches the other smiths on the Street of Steel how to work the dragonglass and convinces them to start making weapons for the coming battle against the Army of the Dead (he uses the Long Night as his evidence to convince them)

Team Stark/Greyjoy

Arrive in King’s Landing, Bran successfully/stealthily gets a small party of them into the city to meet up with Davos, Tyrion, Jaime, Gendry, and Arya

Team Targaryen

(Jorah, Missandei, Melisandre and Grey Worm) make it into King’s Landing, Bran/Tyrion know to look for them because of the raven from Summerhall

Sam and Gilly

Also arrive in King’s Landing as there’s really nowhere to go with the dead coming south - much of Westeros that believes in the threat of the White Walkers is converging on the city

Jon and Daenerys

Arrive just outside King’s Landing, their armies gathered there believe they are going to attack the city but Jon and Dany inform them that there is a much more important threat coming for them all - the Army of the Dead

Arya meets Jon and Dany outside the city gates and leads them secretly inside to meet with everyone else

Baelish

Runs into Gilly in the thick of things, asks her what she’s reading, she shows him Septon Maynard’s diary, Baelish reads the passage about Rhaegar and Lyanna’s marriage, juicy stuff, the cogs start turning

Baelish later catches up with Howland Reed (whom he knows was with Ned when he found Lyanna dying of a “fever”), pumps him for information, what did he and Jon talk about back at Greywater Watch, what did Howland give Jon?

Howland is onto Baelish but accidentally lets slip the “gift” (Rhaegar’s harp) for Jon was something of his mother’s, Baelish’s spidey senses are tingling off the charts, he asks Howland if this has anything to do with Rhaegar and Lyanna’s secret marriage, Howland is taken aback, can’t answer, Baelish is satisfied, he’s figured it out, this is an even better secret than Dany’s infertility, it’s fucking Christmas for Littlefinger

Baelish confides in Varys, this news is mind blowing however neither can predict how Dany will react to this news (they don’t know Jon has told Dany yet), however, if she reacts in a way that derails their plans - marry Jon, name Sansa heir - they have already set up their contingency plan anyway

Bran

Tells Jon/Dany that the Night King has undead Viserion and while this initially worries everyone about the Night King’s arrival, Bran assures everyone that the Night King staying with his army rather than flying ahead. Viserion would only burn the living making them un-turnable so the NK would prefer his army to attack the living instead. Undead Viserion is only for fighting Dany’s living dragons

Bran and Arya have a private moment and he goes back to pestering her about her magical Stark blood. Arya still thinks it’s stupid - she’s the assassin, he’s the warg. But Bran reminds Arya that her assassin abilities rely on her becoming someone (something else). If she can turn into a different person with just a face, what else could she be capable of? Arya is reluctant, but finally allows Bran to blindfold her (like she was sightless at the House of Black and White) in order to help her see and Arya wargs Nymeria for the first time. Arya is stunned by what she’s just been able to do but realizes there’s not much difference between becoming someone else with a face and becoming her wolf. Bran tells Arya she’s always been the warrior in the family, he needs her to be a different kind of warrior in the fight against the dead

Bran convinces everyone they need to treat with Cersei so Cersei will open the gates of King’s Landing to allow everyone to take refuge in the city/defend the city as that’s where the AOTD are headed

Bran explains the Night King is headed to King’s Landing because one million people reside in the city - if the Night King takes King’s Landing, there won’t be any army in the world that can stop him (a city fit for the night king), they must protect the city/the people at all costs

Cersei

Cersei sends word to Euron summoning him back to King’s Landing.

Team Stark/Targaryen meet with Cersei and the meeting is relatively brief, just a few key players - Bran, Jon, Dany, Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion, Qyburn, The Mountain - Cersei quips why would she let all Stark/Targaryen armies into her city, what if they’re there to pull a Tywin and sack the city, Bran points out they’ve been in the city for several days and hundreds of soldiers are already waiting to act if she doesn’t comply - they can either do this the easy way and leave Cersei alive and safe in the Red Keep, or they can do this the hard way and kill her before the dead arrive, Cersei reluctantly opens the city to all the armies and all the people of Westeros seeking asylum from the Army of the Dead

As they are leaving Cersei, Bran turns back to her and answers the question she’s been too afraid to ask but has been wondering since the very beginning: The one she’s feared, the one she’s been afraid of, the one who has cast her down and taken all she holds dear... it’s her past self and the memory of that prophecy haunting her all her life. The Younger, More Beautiful, Queen.

Episode title would come from a Bran line about King’s Landing being the perfect city for the Night King to attack. It’s where Aegon I landed so of course the new big “conqueror” of the series, the main “King” would have to “land” here as well - and he will have his own dragon to boot, just like Aegon I.

Episode 7 Inside the Episode: A City Fit For A King

1) Everyone in King’s Landing? Really?

I know, I know. But it makes sense. Season 7 nearly everyone converged on King’s Landing for the “summit” only to leave that same episode, and then the same thing happened in Season 8 with everyone converging on Winterfell only to leave it a few episodes later too. Plus, it makes the most sense for everyone to want to protect King’s Landing because of the city's population. “That’s more people than the entire North, crammed into that.” So it would be WAY more devastating for the AOTD to attack King’s Landing than to just hang around the North. As Bran would tell everyone in this episode, if the Night King takes King’s Landing, there won’t be any army in the whole world that can stop him. So it finally gives us STAKES for what would happen if the living lose. Like, real stakes.

2) Bran the Strategist?

It makes a lot of sense for Bran to be the strategist here and calling many of the shots because a) he’s all knowing and can see hundreds of thousands of battles into the past, what strategies worked, which ones didn’t, and b) we’re setting him up to be King here. To see Bran flex his skills and show them off was totally what was missing from Seasons 7&8, you know, showing the audience WHY Bran is the perfect person to be King because of his abilities - along with a more human Bran in general and remember, here he is normal Bran, just all knowing too, like Bloodraven.

3) Baelish figuring out R+L=J so easily?

Like I’ve said, Baelish is the information guy. He knows everything. He can put things together before anyone else can so it makes sense he would find this out about Jon on relatively few clues. Plus, he was around for the Rebellion. He’d be quicker to put this info together than say, Jon or Dany, who hadn’t been born yet.

4) Warg Arya?

FUCK. YES. Arya is already a warg in the books but I feel like this is also where all the HOB&W stuff was going in the show as well. Arya is showcasing her abilities and not only that, her magical powers will have a role in the endgame, unlike in 8x03 where she just stabbed the Night King with the Catspaw dagger - something literally any other character could have done.

5. YMBQ??

Yep, it’s Cersei’s past self. Sorry guys. I’m just convinced of this. I know the books suggest it could be Dany and there’s definitely a lot to support that. But Dany didn’t kill Joffrey or drive Jaime away or get Cersei imprisoned by the faith, none of it. It was Cersei herself. Cersei has been behind all her own downfalls so to me, the YMBQ is Cersei’s younger self, the memory of the prophecy, wanting it to not come true, and Cersei inadvertently doing everything to make the prophecy come true.

As always, comments are welcome.

Until next week!

To Read Previous Episodes:

Original Final Season 7: Preface Post

Season 7 Episode 1: Family, Duty, Honor

Season 7 Episode 2: Greywater Watch

Season 7 Episode 3: The Last of the Dragons

Season 7 Episode 4: Dragonglass

Season 7 Episode 5: The Storm

Season 7 Episode 6: Summerhall

Season 7 Episode 7: A City Fit For A King (Current Episode)

Season 7 Episode 8: Protectors of the Realm

Season 7 Episode 9: The Battle For The Dawn

Season 7 Episode 10: ?

#anti got #anti D&D #game of thrones #bran stark #Arya Stark #Gendry Waters #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #petyr baelish #varys #Cersei Lannister

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gameofcleganee · 5 years ago

Text

The Wind

Pairing: Sandor Clegane / The Hound x reader, Arya Stark

Summary: You bump into Sandor and Arya for the first time.

Set: Season 4

Warnings: language, skinning rabbits,

Notes: I really enjoyed writing this new character! I wasn’t sure how much info I wanted to include about her, but I really like the idea of her, so I wanted to share some of it. I also know a lot of people don’t really care about all of that and just wanna get to the juicy bits, so I made it optional for reading. Backstory is in italic.

Also, sorry I haven’t been too active this weekend. It was my birthday, so I’ve been out and about all weekend:)

PART 2

Feedback is appreciated x

Being a skilled assassin in Westeros was the perfect way for you to keep your wallet full. There was always someone who wanted to get rid of someone else standing in their way. All they had to do was to give you a name, a location, and some money and you would fix the rest. You were sly, no one knew who you were, but everyone knew of your doings. All over Westeros and Essos were people wanting your service for many different reasons; anyone from highborns wanting to get rid of someone standing in their way of power and wealth, to smallfolk having a feud with their neighbor over some stolen goods.

As the war broke out in Kings Landing you had left, not wanting to be a part of any unnecessary drama. The “assassin business” wouldn’t be blooming in a city of war, considering there will be a lot of people dying and focusing more on keeping themselves alive rather than others. You didn’t care much about who was seated at the Iron Throne, you lived your life obeying your own rules. With this in mind, you got on your horse with your few belongings and decided to head somewhere else. You weren’t exactly low on gold and silver coins, so you weren’t necessarily hastily looking for work, you had the time and money to relax.

You had followed Kings Road to the Riverlands from King's Landing, making things like money and food easily accessible, considering the many people, towns and inns along the road. The sun was about to set as you were setting up camp for the night. Well, it wasn’t really a camp; you built a small fire for heat and food and put down your small mattress beside the fire, as well as your horse unsaddled tied to a tree.

You were squatting down before the rabbit you were preparing for dinner when you heard a deep voice from behind you.

“You got any food?” You turned around to face a man and a girl on a big, black horse. The man was wearing big armor, broadening his shoulders, while the girl was only wearing some leather pieces. They looked dirty and tired as if they’ve been on the road for a long time.

“Sure,” you said, pointing with your bloody knife to the three rabbits on the ground beside you, “is rabbit alright?”

The man sighed. “It’ll do.”

He jumped off the horse and helped the little girl down. You grabbed two of the rabbits by their ears and stood up to hand them to the man. You felt generous today, and food wasn’t really an issue for you; you were a good hunter and you had enough money to eat at an inn if it came to that. And, some company was always nice.

“What about ale?” he asked.

“No ale, sorry. Just wine,” you pointed to the flask on the ground.

“Sounds good to me.”

He looked familiar; the big scar that covered half his face and his wavy hair covering some of it. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Have we met?” You asked. He looked at you for a second before grabbing the rabbits from your hand.

“They call me the Hound.” Of course, the kingsguard, Sandor Clegane.

He sat down on a log beside the fire and started skinning the rabbits.

You scoffed and frowned. “You don’t seem as scary as they all make you out to be,” you shoved your rabbit onto a stick for the fire. He looked at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Where have you been hearing your stories?” he asked grumpily. You almost felt threatened by his question.

“It's my job to know the people of Westeros,” you said as you sat back, watching your dinner over the fire.

The little girl finished taking care of the black horse and sat down next to Sandor, looking at you. You could tell she was trying to read you, she seemed curious.

“What do you do? You don’t look like you belong here in the wilderness,” the girl asked. She was sitting with her hands on her knees. “You look like a highborn,” she added. Flattered by her vague way of complimenting your appearance, you smirked. You contemplated how much information you should give them about your “job”.

“Simply put, people give me money for me to get rid of other people for them,” you said.

“So you're a killer?” the girl burst out. “That’s not a job,” Sandor smirked at her innocent outburst, as did you.

“It pays good money, which makes it some kind of a job, I suppose,” you paused and looked at the little girls’ face. She looked skeptical. “Don’t worry, I don’t kill for free… Unless you give me a good reason,” you said jokingly, and you could tell her face relaxed.

You were all munching away at the steaming hot rabbits as the sun was starting to set. The girl broke the silence. “So you're a good fighter?”

“It's what I do, and it's what I’ve always been doing, so yes. It has kept me alive so far.”

“Can you teach me something? He won’t teach me anything, he says I'm not capable because I'm a girl,” she pointed to Sandor who just shook his head. You huffed at the man.

“His way of combat is different compared to mine. My way of fighting is quick and light. It's much more suitable for women, considering our smaller size,” you explained for the girl. She seemed intrigued. “I mainly use daggers, but also swords and a bow and arrow, nothing heavy,” you laid out your weapons in front of the girl.

The girl studied your foreign weapons. “I had a small sword once. My brother made it for me, I named it Needle, but it was stolen by some Lannister pricks. Now I don’t have anything. He won’t even let me have a knife, I have to snatch it from him when he's not looking,” she said and pointed at Sandor. You chuckled at his surprised facial expression. “So can you teach me something?” the girl jumped up from where she was sitting. “Please?”

You agreed to teach the girl some moves. You borrowed her a weapon and got on with it. She wasn’t bad, at all, considering her young age and little experience. You could tell there was potential in her to become a skilled fighter.

You showed her several ways to dodge attacks, how she should move her legs and how she should hold her weapon. She didn’t defeat you, but she managed to dodge more attacks than you expected.

After a while, you managed to knock her onto the ground without breaking a sweat. She was exhausted, her chest heaving and sweat pearls formed on her forehead. You heard Sandor chuckle from where he was sitting by the fire.

“Don’t laugh! You try defeating her!“ the girl burst out. “She’s bloody good.”

“Show me what you’ve got then,” Sandor huffed and stood up, grabbing his sword.

As soon as the girl got out of the way, Sandor charged an attack at you. You read his moves before he was able to hit you; you quickly dodged his attack by jumping to the side and poked your sword in his back, careful not to actually penetrating his armor.

“Stabbed,” you said, grinning at the man. He looked down at your sword and scoffed.

“Horse shit, let’s go again,” Sandor said, stepping back and positioning himself once again. You read his movements and followed his steps. You poked your sword at him, but he managed to defend your attack. You exchanged a couple of hits, none of you hitting your target. You could feel him trying hard to defeat you.

You jumped to the side, swung your sword at his head, he threw his arms carrying his sword up to defend himself. You took the chance, grabbed your dagger from your belt and once again poked him in his side.

“Stabbed, again.”

Sandor grunted, threw his arms down and placed his sword in his belt. He grunted and turned around to sit back down.

“You’re good,” you could tell it was hard for him to admit he just got defeated by a girl. You just stood there grinning.

“Flexibility and speed can be more powerful than strength and heavy armor.”

“It has kept me alive so far,” Sandor said. “...but maybe I could learn something from you after all,” he mumbled.

The little girl found this awfully amusing, seeing the Hound being beaten by a woman, using the fighting techniques he had looked down on for so long.

After a while of sitting by the fire, sharing your wine and waiting for sleep to take over, the girl broke the silence.

“I’m going to sleep,” she said and got up. She laid down on her skinny mattress a few feet away from where you were sitting. You could hear her mumbling; they were names of people you knew well.

“Joffrey. Cercei. Walder Frey. Meryn Trant. Tywin Lannister. The red woman…” you gave Sandor a confused look. “…Beric Dondarrion. Thoros of Myr.”

“What is she on about?” you whispered to Sandor, curious as to what connections she had to these people.

“It's her list of people she’s going to kill. She has to name them all before going to sleep,” he sighed.

“Feisty one, she is,” you chuckled at the little girl. She seemed sweet, but maybe she wasn’t as innocent as she looked.

“Ilyn Payne. The Mountain. The Hound.”

You looked at Sandor at the sound of his name on the girls’ killing-list and raised your eyebrows.

“Oh, better watch out,” you said ironically and smiled. He chuckled at your comment.

“I’ve got you to protect me, don’t I? A professional killer.”

“Don’t know if I’ll manage to go against her by myself,” you whispered jokingly, not wanting the girl to hear, so you didn’t end up on her list along with the other doomed men. A slight chuckle was his only response. A little while went by, only listening to the crackling fire.

“You're Y/N,” you were taken aback by Sandor’s sudden comment. “They call you the Wind down in King's Landing.”

You turned your head to face him. He was just looking into the fire in front of you. “You're the one who killed that Bolton prick a while back,” he continued.

He was right. You did kill a Bolton a few years ago. He was causing a lot of trouble for many houses, until one day you were paid to get rid of him. No one knew who had killed him except you, and the person who had paid you, but everyone knew he was mysteriously murdered.

You were kind of shocked at Sandor’s’ knowledge about you. “Yeah, that was me. How did you manage to figure that out?”

“I hear stories as well; living in Kings Landing. Stories of a highborn lady who abandoned her house, trotting around Westeros killing nobles,” he explained. “You seem the part. Don’t think there are too many like you out here.”

You felt exposed. No one had made you feel as unveiled as you did. No one really knew who you were. Though you didn’t feel unsafe. You consider yourself good at reading people and their intentions, and you knew how to fight and protect yourself if it came to it.

Not knowing how to respond, you just shrugged Sandor’s statement. “Lucky you, solving the mystery.” Again, silence. He wasn’t a very talkative man, and you wouldn’t consider yourself one either. The silence was comfortable.

“Where are you headed in the morning?” Sandor asked. He looked at you, waiting for your answer.

“Don’t know, away from King's Landing for now. I’ll see where the road takes me,” you responded, not knowing exactly why he was asking. “Need a helping hand?” You didn’t have any schedule, why not tag along.

“I'm taking the girl to her aunt Lysa for ransom. In the Vale,” Sandor began. “We both fled from King’s Landing when the battle broke out. I was going to take her to her brother and mother at the Twins, but the sons of a bitches got murdered when we got there. My best chance now is her aunt. All of the Starks are fucking dead.” So, she’s a Stark. No wonder she’s so feisty. Putting two and two together you realized who the little girl was.

“That’s Arya Stark,” you said. “Clever man, you are. You can probably get a fair bit of money for her. Not many Starks left, gotta keep their bloodline strong.”

“Exactly,” he sighed. “It's hard work keeping an eye on a kid, especially a Stark kid,” you chuckled at the thought of the big man running around looking after Arya. “You're a woman, you're better at taking care of kids and women than me,” he paused for a second, “especially little kid women.” You laughed at his explanation.

“If you want me to come with to take care of your captive I will, don’t have anywhere to be.”

They seemed like alright people. Some company on the road was always nice. Helping others was simply put what you already were doing. Why not help these people out and maybe have a good time doing it; it may be more fun than murdering strangers. “In exchange, don’t kill me,” you said jokingly. “If you try, I’ll shove your sword down your throat and take the girl for ransom myself,” you smiled creepily, it only made Sandor chuckle.

“The same goes for you, woman.”

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