#gregor clegane imagine

[themotherofblood]

CHAPTER 3 | RIVER OF GOLD | The Journey | T.L x Reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2

tw: mentions of rape and murder

~ the wedding was charming, if a little gauche ~

"My new home— it doesn't feel much of a home. It is foreign, I am foreign. I see it in the way the attendants glance at me, mayhaps my wild hair. A mythical creature trapped in a fine gown made of crimson velvet and gold. The beaches however are beautiful, sometimes I take off my boots and stand at the shore; salt water cools my feet and just for a moment. I don't miss home."

The journey had been swift, the preparations made through the evening with rows of wheelhouses and bannermen on horses, a joy parade to have Tywin lead his young wife to his ancestral seat. Ravens were sent hours before the blazing afternoon sun, to have your chambers thoroughly prepared and unpacked with your belongings. It appears Lady Genna Lannister had taken personal initiative to gather a toehold of handmaidens and a personal secretary for your coffers.

Your sisters had been tearful, puffed-mouthed poppets clinging to your skits with their dolls in hand. Nyela had fixated a minute glare upon your husband as he conversed with his brother in the Great Hall. The household staff gathered to see off their darling lady and liege lord.

"You swore you would take us with you," Ellia whimpers,  "we supposed to visit Uncle Doran."

"We were supposed to," you correct, taking a piece of her loose behind her ear "I'm sorry darling." You engulfed her, the scent of lily soap so strong, it felt like engulfing your mother.

Nyela still clung to your back, small eyes—hooded and glaring at Tywin. When he turned to look at you, an amused frown settled upon his forehead as he looked to your hip.

"You're our sister, you stay with us." She grumbles, if her tiny ineffective fists could do anything, she wished she could drag you to your chambers and lock you in.

"I will write to Doran and Oberyn, they will come get you. Alright?" You crouched to meet their eyes, holding on one shoulder each.

Ellia, still pouting, buried her head in your shoulder, nuzzling the motherly warmth she often tried to find in your arms. Your brother walked over, having taken your brother from his nursemaid's arms and walked over to you. The boy, barely over two summers, had not a clue of why his siblings lamented for you. A stranger yesterday and now a stranger today, you held his little fist. Tracing over his face, the feathery touch of your fingers tickling at his skin making him giggle.

"I'd be a stranger to you the next we meet," you cooed as his tiny fist curled around your finger, babbling away at your hair sat by your chest. "You be good."

Your brother Olvyar turned to you next, a brotherly smile curling in his lips and eyes covered in guilt. You knew he felt terrible for stopping you from running, but in truth he was saving you from the cruel wrath of your father's pride—you were not his pride, even with his flesh and blood, you never would be. The one hard bone your father swallowed, even though Olvyar was his brother's seed sired by your mother. He was a son, a young man knighted and proud.

Olvyar for the longest time wanted nothing to do with your father's estate nor Westerlands politics, if he could. He too would have abandoned your father for adventure at sea with Oberyn, however seeing as though the only mere morsel of affection within Loren Maerilys was for him, you'd told him. Standing on your toes and pinching your older brother's teen puffy cheeks.

"You take care of us, you would be the lord of Deep Den." You hissed at him, hoping your brother would see reason beyond his boyish dreams

When you looked into his eyes, your own was looking back at you, just far more grief-stricken as yours were glossy. You opened your mouth, your form of a farewell was to be another lecture to your elder brother. He however chased your word back into your mouth as he opened his.

"I will look after them, and write to you at every turn of the moon." He reiterates, tilting his head just so as he looks down at you. "I will take care of them, I will be the Lord of Deep Den."

You held his arm, sternly nodding at him before pulling him to a half embrace. Squeezing his larger body so tight he had to set little Loren down to reciprocate.

"Don't let them be afraid, Olvyar. Don't let them be alone." You whispered, closing your eyes tight to fight away the tears threatening to fall.

"Never."

"My lady... it is time," Tywin called, standing with his hands clasped in front of him with a coaxing quirk to his brow and a forever stern disposition.

You bowed your head, to use your brother's chest as a shield as you wiped the salted drops away from your lash line before straightening yourself.

Dressed in a comfortable gown, devoid of fastened corsets or itchy gold hems to travel with ease through the eight hours of journey to Clegane Keep and then after a respite another four hours to Casterly Rock—your new home.

You offered not one look to your father as you walked out of the Great Hall holding onto both your sister's hands on either end. Your brother following behind as you were ushered to your carriage, you gave Deep Den one more glance; a superstitious tendency as you called to Mother Rhoyne for protection before taking the footmen's hand as he helped you into the sizable carriage. Reined in by eight horses, the wheelhouse was rather extravagant for such a short journey.

You settled in for a moment, sighing and resting your head against the plush velvet padded walls inside the carriage, your new home— you were married.

Perhaps even your bedding had made it so anxiously apparent on your skin that you no longer belonged to yourself, but to the crimsons and golds of house Lannister, to Tywin—

He had been rather aloof to your presence since the bedding last night, having made you feel so warm, an exasperating pinnacle and making you squeak at the strum of his fingers. Your cheeks burned hot even as you felt the gentle cramp within your claimed environs.  Then this— your handmaiden Odiele found an odd form of compliment when Tywin's cupbearer had approached your lady's maids to inquire of your health.

You took that wholeheartedly as you had prepared yourself to break your fast, and then the waft of cold hit you. Not a word, not a word to you beyond formalities, it is at that moment your mind gave way to further past your bedding and to the ceremony feast. Your Daima Eldrã had told you, men often melt when their frigid minds crawl to their pillar. It was a deal, that was your marriage. You looked to your belly, wondering if a blonde child had already made a home there, waiting to spread within you and have you waddling about all fat and sweaty.

You were sure your mind had raced even harder than the dozen horses shifting in your riding party outside, however, the very man that clung to the crevices of your head peaked through the door of the wheelhouse. Pulling himself in and sitting opposite you, he glanced at you for a mere moment, the glint of questioning in your eyes that called to him. You thought he would ride with his brother. 

"You seem displeased?" Tywin raised his brow, appearing defensive, perhaps irked by your reaction.

"No- I thought you were to ride with Lord Kevan, my lord," you muttered, still finding it hard to meet the steel green of his eyes, the frown perpetually etched onto his forehead often left you dislodged for your firm disposition. He did scare you, you would never let him have the satisfaction of knowing so.

"If that is what you wish, my lady." Tywin shuffled to the edge of his seat. His discontent was apparent, you had displeased him. He is your husband, he is trying, and you are trying.

"No- I, stay..." you stutter holding onto his arm "Please." You blurt out meekly.

He grunts for an answer, turning to the stained window as you shuffle closer to it, waving at your sisters clinging to Olvyar's side as the horses neigh, and the procession moves. The first carriages trot away from the moat bridge, and then your carriage moves. That unsettling dread fills your chest again, regressing you to a child of seven summers being sent as a ward to Dorne to your uncles. You gave up the olive greens of your house to the mustards of Martells and now you gave those up for the crimsons of house Lannister. Shedding skin after skin, no home would truly be yours, first the burden of your father then the responsibility of your uncles and now a child bearer for your husband.

Tywin should have travelled with Kevan, irked at his brother's attempts to find leisure in this match. Kevan had physically hauled his elder brother away from their carriage to yours. So here he sat, within the first hour of the ride. The carriage shielded both bodies from the chilled air outside but made the inside unbearably stifling with tension, you would meet his eyes, freeze and curl your lips to a tight smile before uncomfortably looking away.

A young thing so fierce he had thought, you cowered from within, a small sense of satisfaction within Tywin. Maybe you wouldn't try and strangle him to death at night, or stab him as he coupled with you. A Martell after all, a tinge of distrust was highly warranted of the Old Lion. What worried him even more was taking you to Clegane's Keep. A true test of your loyalty— what loyalty? It had only been two days since your wedding— he could picture a torn sneer over your face. Being made to present your dainty hand to the man who had raped and murdered your dear aunt and Targaryen cousins.

He watched as the rocking of the carriage lulled you to soft slumber, head resting against the cushioned wall. Hugging yourself with your neck cranked to find comfort, pouted mouth breathing puffs for lazed breaths. The terrain of the Gold Road was smooth with nary a bump, yet Tywin came to sit next to you. The uncomfortable crank in your neck ought to make it ache in the morning, your head finding itself on his shoulder as you slept, the thick cloak covering your body as you lift your legs next to you. Resting against your husband.

A tight jostle however startled you to consciousness, your adamant need to still remain ridden by sleep you peeked one eye open, taking a moment to gather your bearings, Tywin's hold on you tightened, making you aware that you were indeed resting against his body. An apologetic frown upon your brows as you made an attempt to shuffle to the other end, his hold remained firm.

"Sleep." He whispered, squeezing your shoulder.

You, by the Mother's grace, remained a bed for the remainder of the journey. A mellow call of your name is what broke you away from your clouded warm dreams of the sea.

The face of your handmaiden however above you as she sat with a cloak in her hands, you grumbled awake, rubbing your eyes with the back of your palm.

The tenuous tugs of sleep still had you curled to the cushioned seat, grumbling as Syaria pulled you up, accustomed to your demands for more sleep she shifts to hold you straight. You scowl at her mothering, hissing as you felt the bitter tug of the hairbrush she ran through your mussed hair to neatly put into a braid.  She slipped the cloak over your shoulders, humming to herself as your body was finally in focus and properly awake.

"Lord Tywin?" You croaked, one last broken yawn breaking through you. Shrugging the gentle ache in your shoulders.

"Out with Lord Kevan." She mused, letting you a satisfied hum before shoving a branch of Meswak for you to chew on.

You had a faint memory of feeling warm, the heavy feel of arms upon you to find your husband's chin resting on your head as he lay awake. You shuffled out of the carriage, the other maids of your horde holding up a sheet of white cloth as you changed behind its security into more appropriate riding clothes. You sat on the foot of the carriage, shooing away the Westerlands maid as she bent down to lace your boots, you were perfectly capable of tying them yourself.

Once ready they pulled away the white curtain as you stood to your height, stretching your arms up in the air to yank at any odd knots within your skin, the carriage had swaddled you in for nearly seven hours from dusk to dawn. The Gold Road was painted orange with the peak of the morning sun, horses neighing away as people changed shifts, a moment of respite and preparations for your arrival at Clegane's Keep.

You walked back five paces, your lovely black mare Nysa sat with her hooves curled in, Eldrã lovingly feeding the sweet thing apples, spoiled girl—

"Might I interrupt for a ride?" You called, Eldrã turned to you smiling, she petted your cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"You rest alright, dæriya?" she asked, concerned but toying at a far greater subject as she with ease switched to her mother tongue of Rhyone. He was with you last night. sweet girl

"Quiet well, daīa." you hummed holding onto Nysa's reins as you pulled yourself onto her.

Fredrick already stood at the ready. If you were to bolt away from the procession, you pointed your head to the edge towards the clearing where you were sure your husband sat with his brother breaking fast.

"Sleep well, Serret?" you asked a spurt of happiness within you, having the people closest to you accompanying you through this new journey.

"Well enough, my lady." He smiled baring his thirty-one perfect teeth, one happened to be chipped.

"Race with me?" you smiled sheepishly, pointing at the edge of the forest.

"I don't think racing at your station is appropriate now." He pressed, he wouldn't deny you. He never could, he never would.

"And if I were to order you, use my station. Would you do it?" A cheeky grin spread through your face, head tilted and mischief coating your features after a moon.

"Then I shall have no choice but to obey, my lady."

"Then we race!"

Nysa took off with the speed of storm winds, your braids whooshing against the wind as you tore through the forest line, the sun already risen, the orange fading and clear blue skies up above. It felt like an exotic delicacy willed into your environs as the fresh air bathed your skin away from the lingering tensions from the night before. You stopped, right at the edge of the forest line. Turning back to find Fredrick five paces behind before he too halted next to you.

You giggle, poking your pink tongue out at him before turning to bask in the scenery, you finally let your thoughts flow as you tarry.

"How am I expected to raise my palm to a man that raped and murdered my aunt," you muse, that sullen heaviness in your heart wet again weighing you down.

"Do you want me to kill him?" He blurted, a jape in all honesty but a blade pierces a man all the same.

You chuckle, shaking your head— a fine prospect, a violent one but one that Oberyn had fantasised over multiple times, Gregor Clegane's head resting at his foot.  You wondered if you stared at his plate of food at lunch, you wondered if The Mountain might fear you of poisoning him. The entirety of your family sat shaking their heads on your shoulder.

You looked around, about a yard away sat your husband by a thoroughly filled table, a black tunic and vest of sable fur with his leg bent and resting over his other. Fine leather boots reaching up his knees, he was watching you from a distance. His arm shot in the air, finger bent to call you over to him.

You sighed, looking at Fredrick before turning Nysa as you trotted over, dreading the conversation you were soon to have.

"My lords." You bowed, barely meeting their eyes. Relishing the sudden warmth against your skin from the lit fire.

"My lady."

"Wife."

Lord Kevan rose from his seat, gesturing for you to replace yourself,  he passed a knowing nod to his brother before leaving.

"Are you cold?" Tywin asked, inspecting the gloves on your fingers and the fur lining of your coat.

"The weather hasn't agreed with just yet I'm afraid," you agree, smiling at him "The Dornish climate is a lot more forgiving." 

All you could do was rub your leather gloves palms together, speak to him, say anything dammit—

"I have employed a governess for you," Tywin began, setting his plate of food "all the way from Oldtown."

"What use would I have for a governess? Our children would have years before they needed one."

Tywin looked surprised for a moment like the mention of possible children tickled at his hoped.

"You were raised Dornish, it is for your own good."

You frowned, toying at the cusp of what he meant.

"What? Being devoid of good societal behaviours, do you think I am unladylike?"

Tywin's lips pressed into a hardline "You are expected to be the Lady of Casterly Rock, now I will not have mockery being made out of my lady wife and by extension me."

"And why do you suspect it is so? It is you who wanted a lady wife with more than half a brain, have your feet turned cold now my lord?" You appeared irked, pushing your weight against the chair you sat on, married for two days and your husband already believed you daft.

"Do you intend on letting Gregor greet you?"

Silence, an arrow right on the mark you stared at him through the lining of your scrunched eyebrows, that heaviness greeting itself once more.

"You will perform your duties, my lady, you wish not to be greeted. I will allow it. However, the matter of the governess is unchanged if you are to raise my sons."

"My lord, the Keep is ready for you." a foot soldier approached.

You sucked in a sharp breath, wishing you had a pendant vial of poison before stepping foot in that establishment. Tywin gave you a stern look once more before helping you into your horse.

The two of you rode to meet the procession, you very valiantly chose to ride in on Nysa, the niceties of lady ship so far behind your mind, and your husband shook his head as he rode in front of you.

The attendants of Clegane's Keep and the one monstrously large man stood amongst the crowd. People revered the blonde image of Tywin atop his white stallion. Their liege lord once in a moon had come to grace them.

Smile, you should smile but instead, your face seemed to have frozen itself to an unimpressed leer, eyeing Gregor with the malicious power of Mother Rhyone, drop dead— drop dead you sick bastard.

Footmens rushed to lay stools by the horse to make your unhorsing more graceful as you huffed off, patting Nysa as she gently neighed before walking to your husband.

The gruff voice of Gregor Clegane echoed, you were wishing a lance through his heart "Welcome to Clegane's Keep, my lord—" he bows his head before turning to you "My lady."

The anticipation burned up as Tywin watched you from his periphery, honour the fool that ruined your family, you lifted your hand and Tywin's chest deflated. A gloved hand turned and presented for the Mountain to bend and lay a kiss upon your palm. A gloved palm, you remained untouched.

"Clegane's Keep is yours."

Tywin turned to Kevan this time, his younger brother who appeared rather amused at your doings. He merely hoped that you would be introduced to Genna soon.

A gloved hand, a leather toy for a dog, deprives him of the honour of greeting you. You never said you'd let him.

Ahhhh first of all, I thank everyone for the support through this odd time of drama. I figured I’d best focus on my writing and thank everyone that reached out to me.

Secondly. I totally wanna make the reader poison Gregor Clegane, I’m just not sure if I wanna do it this early.

Taglist (thank youuuu💐)

@joker640 @wondergal2001

[maxfieldparrishes]

can't wait for the last two books to come out so i can watch sandor clegane evolve into his final form: Girl Dad™

[chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct]

Drawing of my Game of Thrones OC Royona Clegane💗

Also if anyone can tell me the actual name of the kind of headdress she's wearing? I've looked everywhere and i can't figure it out.

[alannybunnue]

OMG Sandor/ Gregor Clegane yandere thoughts or headcannons if you do that?

Oh my...

I don't do it normally

But i can make exceptions, and this is one of them.

¿?

Sandor is...complicated, if i would say so.

He acts like this hateful man who loves killing and all with everyone but you.

With you, he just freezes, not knowing what to do exactly, he doesn't want to be cold or hateful to you but he also can't be soft...

Congratulations, you have put this man on a rollercoaster

So for the time being, he will be your protector...without your knowledge of it, so expect to be surprised whenever someone that was insulting you a hour ago is found dead in the yard 🙃

In case, you do try to talk to him, with time, he will open up to you, not of his feelings though, it's mostly him being nicer to you. But you still won't know who is killing people who treat you badly 👀

If there's any chance of him taking you away, it would be back at the Battle of the Blackwater, instead of going to Sansa, he goes to you and don't think that you would have much of a choice.

Not that he would immediately take you, he would try to convince you...but he is not that good at convincing others and he lacks the patience.

So he...knocks you out (He feels very guilty over it tho-) and takes you away with him.

So...as a yandere, his primary characteristics would be Possessive and Protective, and that is very scary if you are defiant on this. He wouldn't hurt you right away (unless you push his buttons) but he would make sure that you are staying where he needs you to be, so he knows you are safe from others.

So...if you think he is bad...then my baby, you are not ready for his brother

Gregor is that one motherfucker that everyone should stay away from...that of course, until he sees you.

And if he wants something, he is going to get it. Like immediately.

He is not shy about what he wants, he won't freeze like his brother, he is going to take you and you have to accept it, unless you want to be in a...depressing state.

Possessive and Selfish and every fucking bad thing about a yandere, that is Gregor (Little shit-)

My best advice? Be on his good side, don't defy him, do as he wishes for the time being, and you will be saving yourself from a bunch of broken bones. Wait until he is vulnerable enough to slice a knife on his throat. 💖

It will be way worse if you are close to Sandor, because Gregor likes to torment his brother. Even more if both are yandere for you.

Holy shit, what have i done?-

¿?

So yeah...i gave you guys the idea

What will you do now?

[drymushroomfics]

Fraye Hill of House Lannister

Previous Next

Chapter Sixteen. Part Two

a/n: This chapter is angsty and a little chaotic. There is a little violence as well.

The festivities continue and Fraye is ready to leave. She is bored watching Lords and Ladies mingle from her seat and walk up to herz giving fake well wishes for her name day. She'd much rather sit and sulk in her chambers.

"Lords and Ladies, I have a special performance lined up for you all today, in honor of Fraye!", Joffrey exclaims with a large smile across his face.

Fraye watches as two dwarves walk out. One dressed in armor and another dressed like a little boy.

"Please, big brother, I won't touch your toy again!", the little one cries as the other pushes his face down on fake coals.

Fake screams errupt as they use a stunt to immulate fake burnt flesh on the side of his face.

Fraye's eyes widen, realizing what's happening. She looks over and see's Sandor, he's looking away and down to the ground. She sees his hand on his sword, gripping it tightly.

There is a quick wardrobe change and the drawf that is clearly Sandor is walking back out with another dwarf with a blonde wig and a crown; clearly Joffrey.

"My uncle's ward is coming to stay with us, dog! I can't wait for you to see her!", the little Joffrey says.

Out walks a third dwarf, dressed like her.

"Hello your grace! Hello hound!", the little version of her says, with a flirt in her tone.

"Hello, my lady. I hope you find your stay here to be pleasant! Let me know when you find a husband. Or I'll have to be gracious and help you find one.", the little Joffrey says.

"You are so kind, your grace! But do not worry. I will find someone!"

The little Sandor walks away with the little Fraye, pretending to flirt with each other and laugh.

A fourth dwarf enters, dropping to his knee in front of little Fraye.

"Please marry me, My lady! You would make me so happy!", he begs.

"I could never marry you! I think I am too good for any man.", little Fraye spats, turning to look at little Sandor behind her, "Almost any man.

The little dwarf standings, tackling the little Fraye to the ground.

"How dare you mock me!", he screams.

The little Sandor pulls the dwarf off of her, kicking him back into their tent.

"Look at the mess you've made! Now who will you marry?", little Joffrey asks.

"The hound!", she replies.

"She is a pretty thing. Nice big tits.", the small Joffrey laughs, talking to little Sandor, "Would you like her dog?"

The little Sandor nods his head frantically.

She watches in horror, the real Joffrey cackling like a hyena.

"I love you, Fraye.", the little Sandor says, pretending to passionately kiss the small version of her.

They comedical pretend to hump at each other as the fourth dwarf, now dressed in a servent costume, watches. That same dwarf runs to the small Joffrey.

"Your dog has been fucking your uncle's ward.", he says.

"This can't be true! Not the perfect, holy, Fraye!", little Joffrey states.

"No. It is true, your grace! I saw him putting his dog cock right into her!"

"They with both pay for lying to me!", the little Joffrey says, chasing all of them away and back inside their tent.

Joffrey stands up clapping and laughing.

Fraye looks over and both, Jamie and Sandor, have their hands on their swords.

"Now wasn't that a hillarious story, everyone. A joke.", he spats, turning to Sandor.

"So why, dog, would you be sneaking into her chambers? Aren't I a gracious king? If you wanted the bitch, you could've just asked?", he asks him.

Sandor says nothing.

"Your King asked you a question.", Cersei says.

"I-... I do-"

"It was me, your grace.", Fraye says, standing, "I forced myself onto him. He told me no and I didn't listen. That is why I want to marry Sandor Clegane. I- I have shamed myself and want to make up for it."

"Well... Well... Now you spill the truth! Ya know, I was going to be gracious to you and let you wed my dog but I don't think I will... Not after you went behind my back and fucked him like a whore!", he yells.

Fraye can feel her heart beating in her chest.

"Then who?!", she yells at him.

"You will hold your tongue when you address me!"

"I think it is time for her present. Ser Meryn, drag her to the floor.", he commands.

Ser Meryn Trant walks to Fraye, grabbing her and dragging her to the middle of the courtyard.

"Your present is not here to see you, my dear Fraye!", Joffrey smirks, "But you will be seeing him tomorrow. He is on his way now from the Westerlands now."

Fraye knows what house is in the Westernlands. Her eyes widen.

"I WILL NOT!", She screams, trying to get out of Ser Meryn's grasp.

She looks at Sandor. His face has turned pale.

"M-my king. Why would you dishonor your best knight with a whore? A used whore", Sandor asks, trying to get through to him.

"Because I know he will make her suffer! Just as she deserves. I suggest you hold your tongue before I have Ilyn Payne cut it out!"

Tyrion stands, "Your grace. I think you are making a mistake!"

"Why would I care what you have to say, imp?!"

"Tyrion is right,  my son. Is this a wise decision? You know what her fate will be. I do not belive your grandfather will be happy about this match.", Cersei tells him calmly.

Jamie stands, "Nephew, you can't possibly think grandfather will stand for this. You know what will happen to her!

"It doesn't matter what anyone wants because I AM KING! I do not care! Fraye will be married to Gregor Clegane tomorrow morning and that is all!"

Fraye screams, suddenly running at him. Ser Meryn grabs her. She fights with all her might!

That's the cue for Sandor to act. He pulls his sword, heading right for Ser Meryn. He pushes Fraye to the side, drawing his own sword. Fraye watches as Sandor and Meryn Trant fight. She can see how angry he is. He is throwing hit after hit, not caring what happens. He's blinded by rage and not thinking clearly.

"I COMMAND YOU BOTH TO QUIT THIS NONSENSE!!", Joffrey yells.

Sandor and Meryn Trant both stop, turning to face him.

"Is this bitch really worth losing your life for dog?", he asks him.

"I would give my life for her safety.", Sandor says, honestly.

It shouldn't surprise Fraye but it does.

"She is already promised to your brother so there is nothing I can do now... You have been a loyal dog til now but her- She's never been loyal. She sneaks around Kingslanding and thinks no one can touch her because she can fight. She won't be so tough when I'm through.", Joffrey says, looking back at Ser Meryn Trant.

"Beat her! But leave her pretty face! She'll need it for tomorrow", Joffree orders, "And dog, you will do well to stay out of it if you wish to live."

Jamie moves to help up Fraye but it stopped by guards, "There is no helping Uncle! You must obey me as I am your King!"

Jamie draws his sword, turning toward Joffrey, "I do not care. Your mother raised you better. Or so I thought. Fraye has done nothing against you and yet you want to send her to her death. That is not King-like. That is cruel and jest."

"Escort my Uncle to a cell until after the wedding. His tongue will earn him the same fate as Ned Stark if he stays any longer.", Joffrey says, losing any patience.

Ser Meryn picks Fraye up over his shoulder. She scratches and tries to fight out of his grasp but it is to no avale.

"Dog! You are dismissed... But if I catch you trying to run with her, I'll have both of your heads."

[muadweeb]

reverse revenge cannibalism? hereditary? something. feeling alot. house manderly cannibalism slay....

[alannybunnue]

I AM JUST PUTTING THIS HERE

i hope this is ok- in response to the yandere clegane brothers, omfg. it’d happen after the hand’s tournament, they both see reader simultaneously and decide they’re his. gregor doesnt have the patience to ask for their hand, he’ll simply take them and kill anyone who tries to stop him

but sandor had the same idea, especially when he sees his brother leering at reader the way he has been all night. the only difference is he considers telling reader to run home (wherever that may be) but he wouldn’t be able to protect them if that were the case

basically gregors need stems from “i’ll kidnap them bc they’re mine” while sandor’s is “i’ll kidnap them bc i can keep them safe”

it’d boil down to which clegane is faster in putting their plan in action, sorry i rlly liked this idea 😮‍💨

YES. omg same I love the Clegane Brothers

[charmwasjess]

The choice to make Dooku a Master of Makashi, Form II, the Contention Form, is so wonderful and I’m going to tell you why I love it.

Christopher Lee was 6’5 and huge. Adding onto that fact, we can imagine the physical reality of a person who dedicated their life to lightsaber study, who taught it as a Temple instructor for years as a full time job BEFORE blowing off to learn Sith combat arts. They could have easily made him a hulking space tank Gregor Clegane style fighter. Instead, he fights with lightsaber ballet. 

Which, as anyone who has done actual ballet knows, far from being delicate, is incredibly physically intensive and grueling work.  

What’s so interesting to me is that Makashi isn’t even a powerhouse form. Form II was developed before the good defense-as-offense of Soresu or the utility of Niman. It was a form designed by Jedi who were fighting against other lightsabers for the first time in the Sith Wars; it’s designed around disarming instead of killing, and lacks the big moves to fatally finish a fight. You can see a couple times (the end of the Obi-Wan and Anakin portion of his duel in AotC is a good example) where Dooku has to actually stop fighting to try to do a killing blow as opposed to seamlessly working a fatal stroke in. Even as a fully-revealed Sith at the height of his evil powers, he leaves duels, he rarely finishes them. 

And yet, Dooku is tremendously successful with Makashi in the prequels and the Clone Wars series for a variety of reasons that have nothing to do with the form itself, and everything about how he uses it. One, because he has the size and physical stamina to get hammered through the form’s weaknesses and lack of defenses to stay on his feet. Asajj is a prodigy, but she gets absolutely bounced around using the exact same form with a slighter build. And his reach makes him very dangerous. Two, because of the hallmark Makashi move, Contentious Opportunity, where a Makashi practitioner basically throws the sink at you to give themselves a little breathing room to get the complicated precision of the form back up and running. Dooku throws combatants through windows. He throws architecture at them. He throws dinner tables. His favorite, of course, is throwing lightning; in so many Clone Wars duels, you can see the exact moment a fight stops being fun for Dooku or where he’s feeling cornered or vulnerable by the point where he starts BBQing everyone. Ultimately, even his downfall can go back to the form: in RotS, he gets pinned down by a more burly form (Anakin's absolutely drilling form V) in a situation where he can't manage to buy himself a beat.

I just love this fucking detail so much: the way that lightsaber forms can be completely different depending on the body and personality of the people using them.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

3 - An Intrigue Drenched in Blood

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

Length: 8.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, animal death, discussions of child murder and infanticide, brothels, blood and violence, slight canon divergence

Notes: Previous Chapter Here, Things pick up from this point on, I assure you. Series Masterlist Here.

Bright and noisy was the state of Kings Landing as knights poured in from every corner of the most populous cities. All with their shiny armour and polished bravados like they were every bit of confident that they would win the winning gold and glory. They were never your kind of attraction even in your younger years here. The play fighting that so many of these men staked their life on, and of all the days to miss it was yesterdays which had the worst of action.

Not allowing the chance to even truly approach for a question, Ser Gregor Clegane otherwise known as The Mountain had speared the newly knighted Ser Hugh with a lance right through the throat. A space in his armour seemingly perfect for such an action and it felt hard to believe that it was nothing but a coincidence. Nothing in this city was a coincidence anymore it felt.

Walking towards the stands you passed by where curiously your King uncle was absent from his seat. Not a man to miss a spectacle you toyed with the ridiculous notion that he would ride in the event. Even now you could recall a time when you were thirteen and a tourney was on just like this one, you had stopped by the tent King Robert was in and admonished him for being so foolish to join.

It was easier to be comfortable with him in those days. You were sat up on a table, popping grapes into your mouth as you casually would remark that not only would no man dare hurt the King even in jest, but that the armour he was trying to fit in was about fifteen years too small. Were you not so close, he might have gotten you in trouble for such a comment. You couldn’t imagine even having a conversation with him that would allow for fun now.

The King was less miserable, and typically more reasonable and sober back then and you were still full of a youth like pep in this city. You still had the urge to explore the nearly fifty miles length of tunnels hidden about by the former dynasty and the pretty colours, bright sun, and vast diversity of lords and ladies impressed you. You still could walk into this city with a smile, unlike now. Maybe it was the loss of a childhood trait, or more realistically it was the adult understanding that this was a dangerous place and you’d be a fool to think otherwise.

You still wore the pretty dresses, and entertained the noble daughters whom were some degree of friends but the spark was gone from your eyes despite it all. This place and it’s people no longer giving you joy, instead just now a place of bloodshed and the tediousness of cleaning up after your King’s messes. No wonder your fathers scowl had deepened the lines in his forehead so much, you were beginning to think you’d return to Robb in Winterfell, stress having doubled your age on him.

Spotting Renly, he gave you a closed mouth smile of surprise as you pulled your skirt upwards to climb the steps before flattening it all out as you sat next to him. His voice was as light as ever, not that you expected much. “When you asked if I’d be here, I didn't actually expect you to show up. I thought this wasn’t your kind of thing, my dear niece.”

Tilting your head with a slight grimace you relented. “No, I can’t say I see the great appeal in cheering about men whose claims are they are young and very good at knocking men off horses with a stick.”

Nudging you with his arm, Renly smirked. “Shame, you could do with some fun in your life, shake up the terribly boring personality my brother passed onto you.” Glaring with only a flicker of your eyes to the side, you felt back a slight smirk as he just sauntered onward like nothing. “I hope for Robb Stark’s sake you aren’t such a rigid, bore in bed as well. Last thing one of those northerners need is less enthusiasm in their personal lives.”

Rolling your eyes, you took a breath before just passing him onto the truth. “I promised Shireen I’d go see a tournament, so I can write to her all about it.” You dared not look at him, knowing it was something unjustly vile about her on his tongue.

You think you could see him shrug somewhat beside you. “At least it gets you out for once, you and Lord Stark seem to be working way too hard for a King whose never going to thank you for it.”

Watching the very man approach, he nodded with an unblinking stare for just a second before sitting next to his daughter. No one thought your jobs, certainly not Hand of the King’s job was done for the sake of thanks. Not when the King had attended maybe two or three small council meetings over the course of the six years you’ve been sitting in on them to some degree.

Squinting in the bright sun, you shrugged with an otherwise flat expression. “Someone in this family should do the hard work for once, I may as well take over that mantle.”

Chuckling, Renly and yourself glanced over to the King making his own way to his seat finally, the bumbling sack of nerves and apologies that was his squire following suit with the wine. “Don’t be so harsh on our King, takes a lot of energy to fuck as many whores as he does at that age.”

The contenders next begun to ride up. Ser Gregor large and as brutish as ever on a large yet skittish black horse that seemed to be as unsettled as many felt looking at the man. On the other side, dressed in a bright and ornate armour with poise was his opponent. Curls atop his head neat and styled and a rose in his hand as he looked towards the stands near where you sat, for a subject to give it too.

Settling on the young redhead in the front stands a few rows from you, you could see the elation in Sansa’s shoulders as she gently accepted it. “Thank you, Ser Loras.”

Unnoticed to her as he took steps away, glancing up to the rows where you sat he glanced with a pointed glint in his eyes. Renly did not respond, but the words were there as there was solidarity in your silence. You would tease your uncle as he would you, but something between the dynamic you two had build up seemed to have been discussed in the men’s private affairs. Your teasing was never meant as anything but fodder for banter.

The shared look was not romantic, but they tended to stay away in public due to image. Much of the court knew about Renly, you weren’t as sure many, if any at all, outside of the small collection of whisperers, knew enough to say the same about the son of Mace Tyrell, heir to Highgarden.

In the seat below you and one above the two Starks, Lord Baelish turned with a jaunty grin. “A hundred gold dragons on the Mountain.”

Renly beside, did not hesitate. “I’ll take that bet.”

The two knights made their way to each side of the procession as the lower man begun to brag of his confidence. “Now what will I buy with a hundred gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish Wine, or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?”

With a quirk of your eyebrow, you glanced at him. “You could even buy a friend.” The reaction was as satisfying as such a man could emote. A smile as if he knew a secret you didn’t and it only reminded you why bothering to speak to him was so grating. Lord Baelish not allowing for a moment to let another get the one up on him even in words he always felt compelled to have the final look, the final say.

The trumpets sounded out, both riders finally going towards the other as it only lasted for a mere moment. Loras’s Lance striking Ser Gregors shield and pushing him back. The large black horse fumbling in it’s steps as it fell into the wooden railings and knocking the large knight himself to the ground. The crowd cheering with delight as you felt the pride next to you.

Pride in both energy and voice as Renly shouted down smugly, “Such a shame, Littlefinger. It would've been so nice for you to have a friend.”

Standing up and turning to face you both with a quieter tone and a wider smile, you felt the creeping below your skin with a narrowing of your brows. “And tell me, Lord Renly. When will you be having your friend?”

Both of you said nothing, but the glares spoke many things all at once that the man only found amusement in as he turned back. You and Renly glancing at the other for only a moment of seriousness before you glanced back to the waving Ser Loras at the people. “Dare I ask how much gold you two are playing around with to come up with that little stunt?”

Renly laughed, the one thing about you that separated from your father is that you didn’t have to lecture to disprove. If the rich wanted to play with their money like jesting boys, you’d just let them it didn’t matter to you. Leaning in to whisper closer to your ear, “To be fair my dear niece, it wouldn’t have worked as well on any other horse. A man’s animal is only as wild as it’s owner they say.”

The next words didn’t come out of your mouth, as the sounds combined with what image flashed in the side of your vision gathered a mix of yells and stunned silence. Ser Gregor at some point having acquired his sword, took it through his horse’s neck in a single slice. The anger in him wild and untamable as he turned on his opponent, knocking Ser Loras to the ground only just missing from by strikes to his shield.

Both you and Renly standing at the action, Loras was good, but not good enough for that. Strike once twice, enough that you felt the bubbling anxiety in your chest before a growling voice came down from that of the King’s Stand to leave him be.

Striking his sword against his before each pushed away from the other, brother against brother stared the other down in a hatred that spoke more about themselves then it did defence of another. Ser Sandor Clegane, the brother of the giant Knight in front of him with half his face burned in a sear of fire for life. Half the hair on that side barley able to cover it beyond the strands coming from the top of his head that weren’t destroyed.

It wasn’t of any interest to you, nor did it matter, but you recall learning what such a mark meant and how it happened. The two now clashing swords, your eyes narrowed and your nerves grew tense in your muscles. This would get out of hand until more bloodshed arrived but only one man dared to interrupt such a commotion.

“Stop this madness in the name of your King,” The roar from the stands as King Robert stood was strong and echoing. Ser Gregor taking a final swing as the other ducked the blow with a surprising grace as he bent down to kneel, sword stabbed in the ground with a bow of his head.

You felt Renly’s own nerves ease beside you as the Mountain threw his sword to the ground with a raging huff and stormed off. The King yelling to let him go as the crowd parted in a justified terror. The Hound was not a man you enjoyed associating with, found too much pleasure in the necessary harshities of life and considered you to be as aggravating and dull as he did your father. However, he did follow around your wretched cousin for most of his days and that would make anyone angry.

The crowd cheered for Ser Loras and The man most just called The Hound as the smaller and younger raised the others hand in the air of victory, you and Renly sitting back down slowly.

Glancing at him, you could see a brightness in his eyes looking at the proclaimed Knight of the Flowers, and you couldn’t see it within you to give anymore passing jests at the matter. His new close association with the Tyrells struck you as an odd choice, and it pinged a distrust in your brain but you in no way had let it effect what a terror that would be for him.

Renly wasn’t a fighter of any kind, you weren’t even sure he had ever held something longer then a stick to play fight with and certainly had never been hit hard enough to bleed. It’s scary to imagine that you are forced to sit there and do nothing as the man you love has a blade shoved into him.

You perished the thought, you dared not let yourself imagine anything for the two faces which struck you as the scariest.

Sighing to yourself as you walked through the Red Keep you were thankful for the silence, the handmaidens appointed to you were fine girls, good at their jobs, but they were also giggly and chatty and fussed over you a bit too much. Having to tell them day after day, “I can walk myself through the castle halls my ladies, I assure you.”

When you were younger, it was either one of your fathers household guards that would keep and eye on you, or another who wasn’t sworn to serve but seemed to always know when you snuck off. Ser Barristan was in the sworn brotherhood of the Kingsguard, but he took a liking to you the day you arrived in Kings Landing. Not quite good at holding your tongue just yet, but you were still serious and respectful like your father taught you.

It was one day he had been sent by the King to fetch his niece so he could spend some time with you that he came across the most unique of sights. A wide area of Lord Stannis’s quarters had been pushed up against the wall and he stood in the middle with you, only aged thirteen, with a wooden sword in your hand.

He watched for a while, seeing the clever instruction your father was giving you. Ser Barristan knowing your lord father to be a formidable opponent and one that he would not wish to fight on the other side of a battlefield. Yet it wasn’t that style which he taught you.

You were less hacking and slashing, and more about swift movements and carefully timed slices that would cut down faster then your strength could overpower. After that, it was he who often found his way to accompany you when the King had no immediate need of him.

Days like this, you almost missed that. You didn’t want the hen chatter of girls fussing over you like you were the princess but you did miss the company of those who didn’t see fit to treat you like a dainty doll. Sometimes you had wondered if your strange mix of ladylike properness and a tendency to more lordly tasks was because of your father. He gave you and Shireen a lords education and such teachings led you to other interests.

To many you weren’t ladylike enough, but it wasn’t as if you pretended to be anything but the highborn lady you were born as. You enjoyed the company of other women, you took pride in your appearance like many, but you also spent much of your days as a teenager being kicked in the mud and hit with wooden swords by three teenage boys that had no qualms of making you feel like you were fine at being both.

However, as you heard a groan of frustration and tiny pattering of feet scampering beside you as it dodged into the hall, you were met with an amusing sight. Arya was covered in a layer of sweat and grime as well as what appeared to be scratches along her forearms when she stopped. Bending forward to rest her palms on her thighs as she caught her breathe, only flinging back up in surprise when you chuckled.

Slowly approaching, you didn’t bother hiding a smirk. “Such a ghastly state of dress for a highborn girl such as yourself, Lady Arya.” Your chuckle bellowed to a much heartier laugh at how quickly she told you to shut up.

Coming closer to you, she plopped herself down onto a small series of steps as you carefully sat down to join her. “Syrio has me catching cats. If I can be quick enough to catch them, then I’m quick enough to move around my opponents.” You smiled fondly at her, exhausted and covered in scratches that looked unseemly like looking at your once self.

Glancing up, you kept your eye on the black cat hiding around the corner. Peeking it’s one ear’d head out occasionally to eye it’s chaser. “You’re smaller then a normal target. They’re stronger but if you’re faster then them, that’s how you get them before they get you.” When she looked at you with a curious question in her eye, you shrugged looking back to the black cat. “It’s what Jon told me when he started to teach me how to swing a sword.”

Looking up with narrowed brows she asked, “I thought your father taught you?”

Nodding, your fingertips started to tap at the other in a fidget. That memory was still clear as it was when it happened. “Sort of. You were just born, you wouldn’t remember any of it. But it was one night I couldn’t sleep and I ended up wandering into the training yard. I was fooling around with one of the training swords, no idea what I was doing at all. And before I knew it, Jon had snuck up behind me and hit me in the legs with one and I just fell to the ground.”

Arya looking a bit taken back, but you laughed. “We all used to rough house a lot more back then, me and your brothers. He and Robb were around fourteen or fifteen by that point, and I was twelve. So just shy of being too old to pick on girls anymore.”

Moving to tuck her knees closer to her chest she wrapped her arms around them. “So what, he hit you and then..?”

You mimicked the same position, “At first he joked that if I was going to play with swords I should at least learn to not turn my back unguarded. But then he asked if I really wanted to know how to use one.” Feeling far away, the girl next to you disappeared as well as the castle walls around you. “I think we met up after everyone went to sleep for three weeks straight. He taught me some basics, then realized I would learn a bit better if he didn’t teach me how to fight like him, but how to fight against someone like him.”

Smiling to yourself, it was during those nights all to yourself that had done you two in. You weren’t a lady in that moment, and he wasn’t a bastard. You were just you and Jon, your best friend guiding you how to fight simply beacuse you wanted to know and he wanted to teach you. You got roughed up a lot, in the privacy of the night, Jon certainly didn’t shy away from grabbing and throwing you around when you got too cocky.

“When I returned home, my father recognized what kind of cuts and bruises they were, instantly. I never told him who did it, I was scared he’d write to Lord Stark and Jon would get in trouble. But he never got mad at me. No, he figured if I wanted to learn and I already was, then he saw no reason to not continue himself.”

Those days you think were some of the last time you and your father so easily got along. He smiled and laughed during those lessons in his quarters, proud of his daughter so keen on learning the things that helped made him the Lord he was. You hadn’t seen your father so freely smile like the did on those days in a very long time. It was the last time he felt truly like your father, and not more like your Lord.

Lost in thought for more then you assumed, Arya’s voice startled you. “Does it bother you?” Glancing down at her, but she was looking at her feet not you. “Having to act like a lady when you want to do things the boys do?”

Considering for a moment, you saw no reason to sugar the truth. “For a while it did. When I came to Kings Landing for the first time, everyone treated me like a fancy highborn lady when both on Dragonstone and in Winterfell, people just treated me more like who I was already.”

Formality of such high luxury certainly was not common on Dragonstone. Being doted on and cared for like it was a waste of your effort to lift a finger that much was not the way of your father. You didn’t have so much done for you, that you forget what it means to earn your keep through your own means.

“But, I think I had to learn that it wasn’t being a lady that I didn’t want.” Glancing down to her, who now was looking at you with wide eyes. “It was just that I didn’t want to be the kind of lady people like the Queen wanted me to be. I’m nothing like Sansa, but I’m as much a lady as she is.”

Arya looked away quickly, a flash of long hurt in her eyes that you knew stemmed from a sister who didn’t treat her well. “My father wants me to be like her.”

Not even a second hesitation did you spend, “He doesn’t.” Turning to face her properly, you called her name firmly. “Arya. Fathers will always want things for their children, things that they have no way of knowing what we’d like about it or not. He’s not a mind reader, he can’t see the future you want for yourself and sometimes accepting that it’s different then what he envisioned takes time. But he adores you, and he would never tell you to be someone you can’t be.”

Running a hand over her hair, you could feel her trying not to lean into it. Trying to look impassive instead of upset as you continued. “We’re not all going to get the future we dreamed of, but that doesn’t mean your father wouldn’t support your choices no matter how different from Sansa’s they are at the end of the day. He went out of his way to hire Syrio to teach you something he first said wasn’t for girls. He wants you happy, even if it doesn’t lead you to the future he wants or you want.”

“Like how you didn’t get the future you wanted?”

Taken back, you didn’t understand her words but there was no anger or judgment in them as she elaborated. “You didn’t get to marry who you wanted, but every time I see you writing or opening a letter Robb sent you, you still smile in the same way my father does at my mother.”

Not in these open walls would you broach that. Not sure of what she knows or suspected or if you were just projecting onto her. You smiled, and your next words echoed the very thing Jon told you would be what was in store for you. “I’ve known Robb since I was eight. He’s easy to fall in love with.”

Your lips remembering his, and how easy it was to let his touch and his deep words make you lose yourself in him. But also the boyish grins whenever he teased you, the lack of worry you had knowing you could say anything to him and there’d be only support. Even before.

Somewhere in your heart was something far different that needed not thinking of now, or even if you had to think long enough to be real with yourself. But it was locked away for a reason. You couldn’t take that feeling with you, you had to let it go in order to give Robb who you really were. Not just pretend.

That part of your heart, had been captured protectively by the other. That part of your heart now sat heavy alongside that of the wolf who took it with him. That part of love was tucked away safely at the Wall with the one who insisted you not take it with you. You were with Robb now, and no matter what one part of you said, the other part of you yearned to see Robb and actually be happy. You did want it.

“Sometimes the things we want, aren’t the things we originally asked for. But that’s part of duty, how to be just and firm in our choices. Whatever your duty becomes, you have to learn to want it. Otherwise it’ll just eat away at you.”

Glancing up, you saw the little tomcat start to inch away down a stairwell, pulling a smirk as you nodded your chin over to it. “I hope you really want that cat, Arya because he’s about to bolt.”

Her head whipping up, you watched her leap to her feet sprinting down the hall as the little black cat sprinted off faster. As Arya grumbled loudly, you laughed freely.

Much true of words, you didn’t come here wanting to be wrapped in the tendrils of liars and spiders, but as you entered Lord Stark’s room? The very spider sat in the seat across from him, his face somewhat less apprehensive as it was you who entered, not one of mistrust. “My lady.”

“Lord Varys.” You did not sit int he seat beside him, coming to the end of Lord Stark’s desk and leaning back against the wall closest to it, arms crossed as you and him shared a look. His eyes steady and serious as you nodded. “Am I interrupting?”

Cordial and showing no intent, yet he never fooled you. “Not at all, in fact it makes it easier to share such sensitive information while you both are here.”

Lord Stark stared intently at the man, trying to gauge just as you. “Lord Varys seems to think the Kings life is in danger.”

“Oh I don’t think, Lord Stark. I’m afraid I know.”

Your posture couldn’t be more uptight and rigid as your stoned face, but you found no patience in playing nice as Lord Varys did. “Are you speaking of the same kind of danger that killed Jon Arryn?”

A slow nod, his voice was even as if none of this effected him. Despite his very presence and confidence of truth saying otherwise. “If you suspect Lord Arryn was poisoned, it would need to be one that was fast and utterly incapacitating if given the proper dose.”

“If we suspect?” Your emphasis on the doubt of we as in you and Lord Stark had Varys raise an eyebrow to you.

“I assure you my Lady, I don’t act on questions or doubts.” Glancing between you and Lord Stark he settled on what appeared to be the one who relaxed his trust more. “The tears of Lys, they call it. A rare and costly thing, as clear and tasteless as water. It leaves no trace.”

Lord Stark rose, pacing in thought towards the open air of his balcony. Your jaw clenching in consideration of the idea. What Grand Maester Pycelle had said, he seemed confident at first it must have been natural causes. If he didn’t sense a foul attribute then this ran deeply, did it not?

Asking who would give it to him, his voice was muffled as he still looked out to the city. Lord Varys playing such a game that irritated you. Telling you what you already know, but in a riddle to avoid any prying listeners to the subject. Never close to a man who says what he means. “Some dear friend, no doubt. But which one, there were so many. Lord Arryn was a kind and trusting man. There was one boy, all he was he owed to Jon Arryn.”

Squire to Knight upon his masters death, and yet once the master was dead soon was the squire turned knight. Something was tying up it’s loose ends but the ends of what? Lord Varys only saying whoever paid Ser Hugh would’ve been someone able to afford such a price.

His hands pressed against the top of his chair, the same yarns spun in Lord Starks head. You looked from him to Lord Varys. “Jon Arryn was Hand for over twenty years, why kill him now?”

Leaning forward, he spoke of something he knew the answer to and yet still forced you and Lord Stark to form more of that very thing on your own. “He started asking questions.”

There was no way of knowing how haunting this meeting would be to you one day.

The ferocity of your Uncle as he called a meeting of the small council himself told everyone whom didn’t already know the newest update, that something was about to explode. King Robert was the most blatant example of the fury of a Baratheon as any of you living now.

Something akin to madness was in his eyes as you watched him arrive, there was a calmness in both Lord Varys and Renly, a curiousness in Grand Maester Pycelle as he arrived and a difficult to read Lord Baelish who was the only other one present then Pycelle who didn’t know. As Lord Stark finally arrived, walking in you wondered how much of a unified front it appeared to be.

Niece and brother on both sides of the King Baratheon and a horrific message displayed. The only time your King uncle did not mince words, was now. Drenched in anger and vengeance that did not sit comfortably in your stomach. He looked at Lord Stark with all the vitriol he could, spitting out in anger “The whore is pregnant.”

Lord Stark hardly finding it in him to care for hiding his disgust but they fell on the Kings deaf rage.

It was like he didn’t even hear the man speak. “I warned you with would happen. Back in the North, I warned you but you didn’t care to hear. Well hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them dead.”

You hadn’t been born until two years after the rebellion ended, you’d never seen him in a place that wasn’t in times of peace and yet he ranted and raved as if all three of them were armed and blooded at the gates. This was not a man you recognized, this was a man who spoke of an unborn child with the same he did of Rhaegar Targaryean.

Lord Stark’s tone was deep, cracking with a shocked twinge at who this man was. “You will dishonour yourself forever if you do this.”

The fury grew louder as he spoke. “Honour? I’ve got seven kingdoms to run. One king, seven kingdoms. Do you think honour keeps them in line? Do you think it’s honour that’s keeping the peace? It’s fear. Fear and blood.”

Your father had a similar idea but never in a lifetime would it be in a manner like this. Lord Stannis felt that if people don’t fear you they won’t follow you. That if you can’t scare the wicked away then the good will not stick around to be picked off by what you refuse to pluck out. If you don’t pull the weeds out by their roots with determined force, then they will overtake the garden and nothing good will stay to grow between the rot.

Your voice was rough, as if your throat was scratched in need of water but it was hissed out without much care for hiding the feeling building. “Fear and blood isn’t far from fire, now is it?”

The King turned to his left to look at you, but you did not flinch back at the rage nor the spitting words from his mouth as he said your name. “Careful now. You’re my niece but you watch that.”

“You’re chasing shadows twenty years removed, shadows you can’t even be sure are real.”

Lord Varys far calmer then the other member still glaring your way. “My lady, you wrong me. Would I bring lies to the king and his council?” You both stared at one another, and in just a brief moment so quick you could’ve imagined it, there was a flash of something in his eyes.

Something like what he found in yours unsettled him. The way you know for a fact, he had looked at Lord Stannis many times over. Lord Stark asked who even provided the information. The spider’s answer did nothing but leave the wolf and little stag unconvinced. Or you supposed, given the calm manner which Renly refused to challenge and the true fury in the other?

Perhaps the two unconvinced members of this council, were indeed two wolves.

“Jorah Mormont. He is serving as advisor the Targaryeans.” You huffed a breath of disbelieving laughter at such a spy. As Lord Stark looked as unimpressed, he himself having much more direct reason to press to them that he wasn’t to be relied on.

“Mormont? You bring us the whispers of a traitor half a world away and call it fact?” Lord Baelish trying to reason that being a slaver is not the same as a traitor and yet only traitors would betray their loyal family and flee across the sea to escape whatever sentence justice demanded from him. You took no part in entertaining slave traders.

“And if he’s right?”

Glaring once more at your king, “And if she miscarries, if the child dies in infancy? We do not plan murders based on a whispers of what if, your grace.” Your name spat once more but you did not hear. “You mean to fear someone who doesn’t even exist yet so much, that you’d murder it in their mothers womb and call that anything but that of a coward?”

King Roberts face almost red from fury as he once again hissed your name. “I told you to watch yourself or have you forgotten who is king here?”

You stared at him as still as possible, not recognizing this as your uncle. This King was a stranger.

“No, your grace. Have you?”

Lord Stark speaking up before the King took a chance to raise his voice so loud it booms through the seven kingdoms. “The Narrow Sea still lies between us. I’ll fear a Targaryean child the day the Dothraki teach their horses to run on water.”

Looking in shock between you both, he yelled at the others to talk sense into you two.

Lord Varys took his chance, looking to Lord Stark notably as opposed to you both. “I understand your misgivings, my Lord. It brings me no joy delivering this news to the council. It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing. Yet we who presume to rule, must do vile things for the good of the realm, however much it pains us.”

Grand Maester Pycelle took his reasoning, a rational approach to a fruitless endeavour. “I bear this girl no ill will, but should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many towns will burn? Is it not wiser, kinder even, that she should die now to tens of thousands live?”

Tell that to the unborn child you refuse to give a chance, you thought to yourself.

Renly finally spoke, and you felt that weight in your chest plummet down and slam you hard into the floor. “We should have had them both killed years ago.”

Your eyes blazed as you looked at him, across the table. His were with no guilt even. Of course, the brother handed everything he did not earn nor deserve by the brother he now sat beside advocating for what he sees as the least amount of effort for the most unfair of results. Lord Baelish spoke somewhere to your left but you did not break your eyes from Renly.

“When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, best close your eyes and get it over with. Cut her throat, be done with it.”

The men here all sickened you but none as vile as Lord Baelish. Not even King Robert’s rage made you feel as if you were covered in the slime from a swamp from his voice alone.

Lord Stark looked his old friend right in the eye. “I followed you into war, twice. Without doubts, without second thoughts, but I will not follow you now. The Robert I grew up with didn’t tremble at the shadow of an unborn child. I will have no part in it.”

“You’re the Kings Hand, Lord Stark. You’ll do as I command or I’ll find me a hand who will.”

Lord Stark’s only action, was to look his friend in the eye as he pulled off the pin of his position, and tossed it onto the table as it landed with a clunk. “And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man.”

The yelling went on for some time. Not a single one of you with the capability to have him calm his fury and the unravelling of what once made him a King fell before your eyes. As some finally begun to leave, you sat in your seat before projecting loudly. “Your grace? A word?”

Room emptied out, he turned to you. His voice quieter but not without it’s rage. “You have a lot of gall to speak to your king like that, girl.”

Not moving an inch your eyes blazed towards him with a narrowed brow. “Speak to you like what? Like you’re a coward afraid of an unborn infant?”

“A coward-”

Slowly pushing yourself up, you braced your palms on the long table. “Tell me, your grace. What happened the last time a half Targaryean babe was murdered along with their mother? How well did that serve us in the long run, or I am I just supposed to assume that House Martell has forgiven all of that?”

King Robert stormed closer, leaning his fists much like you did your palms. With a tilt of his head you felt as if he somehow still towered over you. “They were that son of a bitch’s own children or did you forget that too? You’d have them alive now and walking around doing gods know what just beacuse doing what needs to be done isn’t honourable?”

“This isn’t about honour,” Your own voice finally rose to a proper shout and your uncles head jolted back as his eyes widened for a moment. “I’m talking about justice. You aren’t an honourable King for doing this, but you’re certainly not giving Lyanna justice by murdering women and children who’ve done nothing.”

“She hasn’t been done right by until every member of that family is dead-”

He leaned forward and so did you. “You served her justice. You killed Prince Rhaegar at the Trident, you were the jury and executioner for his crimes and blaming those who weren’t even there or alive for it has nothing to do with Lyanna and you can’t serve a just sentence for something that isn’t even close to have happened yet.”

You weren’t fool to think you got through to him, but he was lost in thought for just long enough for you to find the limit of your handling be reached. “Don’t do anything to people who haven’t proved a harm to you. That unborn child is someone you’ve never met, you have no idea what they could grow up to become, uncle.”

Passing by, he was simmering down as you were when you stopped beside him. “I’m not even telling you what to do about the girl. You choose to kill her, and just her I will not argue. But you cannot punish an infant just beacuse they have drops of Targaryean blood somewhere in their veins. You have no idea what that child could turn into, and if they are a threat? Then we serve out that justice. But only when justice is required.”

You got to the door before he spoke, voice raised to catch the distance as he turned to look at you.

“It doesn’t matter what you two do. If I won’t give it to him, I won’t give it to you.”

You shook your head, a sad sigh breathing from your lips. “I wasn’t asking for it, your grace. And with all due respect, I’m not just your niece. I’m his daughter. Not yours. I wasn’t raised to think you were ever in the right towards him.”

The door which closed behind you sealed you and Lord Stark inside. You have to admit, there was nothing more of a bizarre shock to the day this had been, then being told Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis had visited this brothel together. You father alone being here was enough to conjure an image of him that you wondered how rigid and emotionless you came across to these woman as he likely did.

Lord Baelish had urged you and Lord Stark to visit his establishment, to see the last person Jon Arryn visited before his death.

The girl in front of you, her name Mhaegen, was little more then a child. Younger then you, but you doubted with your heart that were you to ask Lord Baelish how old she was, that he’d give you an honest answer. In her arms, was a stunning baby girl.

Bright green eyes, already the makings of a strong face of dark hair and once more a ping inside you clung. Two actually, but the first one was how much of a Baratheon this little girl was. “She looks like him, don’t she, My lady? She has his nose, his black hair?”

You stood slightly in front of Lord Stark, running your finger down the girl’s cheek. She looked so much like Shireen did at that age, you wondered if you held her, would she yank at a stand of your hair until your head was leaning cuddled against hers. Something your new baby sister had loved to do when you could still hold her at that time.

But this baby wasn’t just a reminder of your sister, it wasn’t even a clue of mystery about how this all connected to Lord Arryns death. No, you were looking at this baby girl, your raging Uncle’s bastard daughter and you were stunned by this was your cousin.

This small girl was your cousin like Joffery was, and yet this girl smiled weakly as you tickled the side of her neck with a coo and a smile. How many of them were in this city alone? How many of them didn’t have a clue that they belonged to a family that could give them life outside of the poverty of flea bottom?

Lord Stark stepped up beside you, as the no doubt teenage girl looked to him. “I named her Barra. Tell him when you see him, my lord. If it pleases you, tell him how beautiful she is?”

Lord Stark said he would, but you both knew it would not matter. The King barley had any love in his heart shown towards his own children, for as many faults as Queen Cersei had no one could doubt the love for her children was a real as her hair was blonde.

Children, babies, that meant nothing to the man your uncle had become.

“And tell him I’ve been with no one else. I swear it my lord. By the old gods and the new. I don’t want no jewels or nothing, just him. The King was always good to me.”

The gods have mercy what a web of lies King Robert had played this girl up to, to think he’d ever entertain her as more then something to warm his bed and little Barra as anything but a bastard to cast out beacuse highborns like the King had no use for anything that didn’t bear his name or his house’s titles.

Perhaps becoming a Stark was the final nail hammered in that deemed you not one of him anymore.

Lord Stark asked what it was Jon Arryn wanted, and to the only amusement you found that day, she looked almost worried she painted the wrong idea of him. “He wasn’t that sort of man, my lord. He just wanted to know if the child was happy. And healthy.”

He looked at the glee on the young mothers face at her babe, the longing and tragedy deep within your eyes barley hidden by a steel mask that weight you down. He ran his hand over the baby’s foot gently as he spoke, “She looks healthy enough to me. She’ll want for nothing.”

He didn’t have to pull you physically, but it seemed like tearing away from the girl was a cruel task. Just an infant who had a lifetime of poverty and neglect in front of her all beacuse your King Uncle had no taste for self decency. You thought too of the one in the armoury, Gendry. How learning of who his father was, would come as no comfort considering the sort of man Robert Baratheon was proving himself to be.

No child deserved to grow up fatherless, but perhaps knowing who they are could hurt or disappoint then thinking they were just a no one. Joining Lord Stark into the next room where Lord Baelish looked as relaxed as ever and you felt as rigid as ever.

It wasn’t such a place that bothered you, but it certainly was the eyes and ears of who owned it and for what. You wondered if there was even any women in this establishment who didn’t fuck just to fill Lord Baelish’s need for information.

“What do you know about King Robert’s bastards?” Lord Stark had asked him.

With a sly grin, it was impossible to tell which he looked at more. The proper Stark, or you. “Well, he has more then you for a start.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you pushed it down as far as it could go.

“How many?”

Lord Baelish glanced at you with no doubt this time, before sliding them back to Lord Stark. “Does it matter? If you fuck enough women, some of them will give you presents.”

Presents being children who will never feel like their apart of a world that respects them.

Lord Baelish gave you no answer as he walked slowly to you, Lord Stark, and the accompanying Jory to the door. Something inside you was screeching and yelling, like it had the answer to something you weren’t quite at yet. It made your heart pound, but it also set your blood alight like it burned. You didn’t know why, and yet what arrived outside for you was it’s own present that intended to ruin.

Members of the Lannister guard surrounded the area, standing two to one of the Stark’s own household guard their spears at the ready. All three of you slowly wandering into the streets slowly, your lips parted as galloping came forth until a horse with Jaime Lannister sat atop came by. “Such a small pack of wolves.”

He was not a foe you could beat, nor were you prepared for such at all kind of fight. Not truly. Jory using a calm reason to such aggression. “Stand back, Ser. This is the Hand of the King.”

The eyes on him were glinting with smugness but anger. “Was the Hand of the King. Now I’m not sure what he is, Lord of somewhere very far away.” Climbing off the horse, he paced every so slowly with a bravado only a true dangerous fighter could pull off like he could. “I’m looking for my brother. You remember my brother, Lord Stark? Blond hair, sharp tongue, short man.”

Lord Stark steady and calm as you were with a heart that wanted to strangle your lungs from within, “I remember him well.”

Looking to the side at nothing, there was as smirk that seemed to think the northerners cared to play such a game, or you for that matter. “It seems he had some trouble on the road. You wouldn’t know what happened to him, would you?”

He had done none of that, but Lord Stark did not go against his wife’s actions even for a single second as he declared, “He was taken at my command. To answer for his crimes.”

Lannister men shaking their amour as some reached for a better hold on their weapons as the lion pulled his. “Come, Stark. I’d rather see you die sword in hand.”

Moment of anger, or naivety, or just a helpless love you stepped forward with sharp narrowed eyes, “If you threaten my lord again-”

Lord Stark held a hand out, gently keeping you in place and by his side despite the lion pointing his sword with a smirk. “Threaten? As in, I’m going to open your lord from balls to brains and see what Stark’s are made of?”

“You kill me, your brother’s a dead man.”

It all happened so fast, Jaime turning to his own, “Take them both alive, kill his men.”

You had little on you, a small blade that you pulled from a pocket that fit in the palm of your hand almost. You sliced it at the weak softness on the Lannister armour of the one who approached you, crying out as blood split from the cut and you ducked to avoid his counter.

You were fast but it was against too many and a woman whom had no armour, only a dress, and no real weapons to speak off as the Stark guardsmen were taken out most by surprise. As you moved, almost punching into the neck of a Lannister one it punctured a wound enough to have him sputter up and fall to the side as Jaime Lannister shoved a small dagger of his own into Jory’s eye.

Stood in shock for just long enough that the rest were overwhelmed until it was them against the two of you. Lord Stark pulling his own sword, you were suddenly hauled backwards by two arms which didn’t feel like armour was behind them.

Lord Baelish’s voice in your ear as you fought against him was a whisper, “You’re far more useful alive then dead, my dear.”

You were not strong, something Jon, Robb and your father all trained to to keep in mind. Even a man like Lord Baelish could keep you as long as he tried harder then your muscles did, but you couldn’t. You watched the two men clash swords, Jaime confident and Lord Stark desperate. You had hardly seen the Lannister fight in person, but he must have been quite good as for the briefest of seconds?

Lord Starks sword pushing him backwards, his eyes flickered between the man and the weapon worried that there might be a possibility that he loses. Just as Jaime lost the upper hand, one of the Lannister guards stepped forward.

With a harsh push, stabbed his spear into Lord Stark’s leg bringing him to his knees. Already shaking, you gasped with what little breath remained as the hold keeping you from the fight loosened. Enough to slip your arm just enough to lunge back into the middle of his chest.

Jaime standing back in hesitation, watching as you rushed to his side, uncaring of the sweat and blood staining your arms and dress as you grabbed Lord Stark to keep him from collapsing entirely. He shook from the pain and blood loss, you shook from the shock and pathetic cry of how useless you were in a place like this gods forsaken city.

Jaime Lannister climbed atop his horse, turning in place as he gave you both one last look that radiated of both anger and something like a sympathy that you wished you could snatch away and shove down his throat until it choked him. “My brother, Lord Stark. I want him back.”

The City Watch had found you like that, a barley conscious Eddard Stark with a spear in his leg as you looked to the dead around you. Killed for what? In retribution of a man who tried to have a ten year old boy murdered twice?

The weakening look in Lord Stark’s eyes as he grew weaker, your lungs did not breathe nor did it feel like your heart ever stopped threatening to explode from your chest.

For a reason you could not explain, the sight or the light and angle making his appearance remind you so close to that of his son, you for a brief second imagined Robb in his place.

You didn’t understand why your mind conjured such an image, but you knew it horrified you all the same.

[dipperscavern]

Gregor clegane is so fucking scary to me i feel a need to share this in a search for mutual understanding.

Sandor? Lovely, amazing, gorgeous, very demure nor very mindful but i can forgive that if its him. Gregor? GET THE PEPPER AAAAAHHHHH SPRAY GET THAT THING AWAY FROM MEEE. DONT TOUCH IT WE DONT KNOW IF IT HAS DISEASES

-crow anon, in my thoughts again

I KNOW HE SCARES ME SO BAD. DO YALL KNOW THAY BIG GUY IN BOSS BABY THAT JUST GRUNTS AS A FORM OF COMMUNICATION?? that’s literally what i imagine gregor doing. but tbh even if he wasn’t the way he is i’d still be social distancing from him cause you can’t have the name gregor and not be a heinous ass bitch

now…, sandor clegane…. id do it until jesus returns with a low taper fade okau i’m sorry

[madwomansapologist]

Can you do a oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand ?

Can it be that you are a powerfull and sstunning woman leader and warrior and you reject them because you think they dont know struggle feels like , and you meet dany and fall in love with her eventually becoming queen and ...welll queen?

burn it | Oberyn Martell, Ellaria Sand, Daenerys Targeryen

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Oberyn Martell, Ellaria Sand and Daenerys Targaryen | AO3

synopsis: As the commander of the Martell's army, you dream about the day where your people would finally destroy the Lannisters. You share your life with Oberyn Martell, one of the greatest warriors that ever existed, and Ellaria Sand, a woman whose mind is as sharp as yours. It was perfect. Until you meet the dragon.

warnings: female!reader. Elia Martell needs to be avenged. Gregor Clegane needs to die. Lannisters death implied. Eddard Stark my beloved, my hero, the best man Westeros could ever had, my one and only savor. Imagine if the plot line with the Lannisters in Dorne and Daenerys conquering Westeros hapenned at the same time.

note: thanks for your request! So... I could never write those characters as weak cuz I love them and their arcs and actually I think that Oberyn is one of the best characters ever written, so I didn't follow your request in the exact way you wanted. Either way, I hope you like it!

When you're born in a war, you need to understand that no one but your side is human. If you don't, you curse yourself. Because thats gonna be a moment when you'll treat your enemy as a human and that will be the cause of your fall. You never committed that mistake.

Resentful is a great word to describe you. To describe how your mind works. You learned to divided the world in two: the ones by your side and the ones that need to be destroyed. Its only you and them against the world. You, Oberyn and Ellaria.

Few can say they found one great love in Westeros. And you have found two.

Oberyn offers you the tenderness that none could imagine coming from a warrior. You don't fear him seeing your wounds and scars: Oberyn's skin match yours. His pain feels like home. His gentle touch, sharp words, dirtiest smiles: Oberyn was made to defy you.

Ellaria helds you with a security that none could imagine coming from a bastard. You don't fear her hearing your worst thoughts and filthy truths: Ellaria's mind match yours. Her pain feels like home. Her rough hands, straight demands, dirtiest words: Ellaria was made to mirror you.

"The Lannister's ships were seen crossing the Narrow Sea."

Lying your head on Ellaria's chest, feeling the tip of her fingers slowly carresing the naked skin of your back, you almost didn't hear his words. You opened your eyes, glaring at Oberyn. Sitting on the other side of the bed, his dark eyes stared at the celling.

"And what we gonna do?" Ellaria asked. "They are too powerful." Ellaria would keep talking, but she felt your smile against her skin. "Whats on your mind, my lady?"

"The Lannisters are powerful." You supported yourself on your elbowns. Your humid hair, humid because of what them made to you, fell in front of your eyes. Ellaria tucked your hair behind your ear. "But thats not their land."

"So you want to judge them?" Ellaria licked her lips. "I think we could do that."

"No." You reply. Oberyn's stare burned your cheeks. "Lannisters are the ones that love judgments. I don't have energy to waste with their intricate lies. I want a war."

Oberyn disagreed. "We need a judgment. We need to hear to truth. We need to punish them with more than just a sword."

"We would win a war, but a judgment? Have you already forgotten what they did to Eddard Stark? I've never meet a more honorable man, and he was executed for treason. We can win a war."

"Eddard was executed because he was so honorable." Oberyn approached you, moving on the mattress. "We can do better than him. If we play it right we can end their bloodline."

"It don't feel right." You look deeply inside his dark eyes. "My lord, trust me. I feel it in my bones."

"I trust you. With my life. So trust me. We can make them pay." Oberyn slid his callused hands across the row of your column. "Unbowed."

Ellaria kissed his free hand. She made her choice, and it was to trust Oberyn. Looking at you, she let the words slide across her lips. "Unbent."

It didn't seem right. It wasn't the right choice. But nothing would stop Oberyn. Elia was your queen, but she was his sister. 'Was'? Can death separate brothers? Elia is his sister. Not even death can transform a 'is' into a 'was'.

"Unbroken." You ended, crawling to them.

"Repeat that."

You must have heard it wrong. You totally heard it wrong. That is no chance you didn't heard it wrong.

"Dragons." One of your sworn squires told you. "Three dragons."

Followed by your personal guard, armed with your usual weapons of choice, your horse was a extension of your body. You put on your armor to no look weak. You wouldn't look threatening, not with three dragons around you, but you couldn't look weak. The path circling the Sea of Dorne wasn't a concern of yours, all you could think about was Daenerys Targaryen.

She made her way from Dragonstone to Dorne. Why? No ship, no men, no army, but three dragons. If she wanted a war, she would win. But she asked for you. Daenerys Targaryen asked for you. You can't look weak, but that was no reason to go armed for a war.

Approaching the bay, you already could see them. Those dragons made you think about death. About how easy it could be for you to die because they felt hunger. Because they were bored. Because they didn't like your scent. If you didn't need to look strong, if you were just a soldier and not a general, you would be crying of fear.

Carressing what seem to be a squama, all you could see was the long blonde braided hair. Her clothes somehow reminded you of her dragons. You heard that she wasn't a warrior, but now you see what she is: a conqueror. The valyrian blood run in her veins.

"You asked for me." The crash of the waves, whatever the noises dragons made were called, made you scream to be heard. You leave your horse and squires behind, an act of trust.

When she turned it was difficult to not gasp. Daenerys Targaryen. Her beauty wasn't exaggerated. Or her guts. A Targaryen in Dorne? She may have dragons, and it did took you by surprise, but the history shows what your people did to them before.

The only way to defeat Dorne is by turning it into ash. Daenerys don't look like someone that would waist her time on that task.

Daenerys released her dragons. He flew away. She didn't even stumbled with the force of his jump. "Every Small Counsil needs a Lord Commander."

It wasn't a order. A request. A beg. It was just a simple phrase. And with something so simple she said more than anyone could. The Small Counsil server the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I am not a lord."

She look and talk like a conqueror. "And I am not a king."

Your smirk made Daenerys felt something different. Something warm.

"Thats a thing a lot of people before you tried to change without success", you started. "I fight for Dorne."

"But who said you would have to choose between Dorne or my offer?", said Daenerys. Her violet eyes seen to glow. "You're at one 'yes' of ending the Lannisters. At one 'yes' of avenging Elia."

You tried not to look tempted. "The Lannisters are under my watch. You offer me nothing I don't already own."

Daenerys took a deep breath.

"Don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself. People here want justice, a confession, a proper judgment. You don't need that. Not only you don't need, but you don't believe it would work. What you want, what you know would be the best, is to feel the warm blood on your hands. Thats something I can give you."

You looked back. Your little army was far enough to not hear a word of what is being said. And her dragons are loud enough to make you certain of that.

"Why are you offering this to me?"

"Because you hate those who I hate. They killed your queen. They killed my brother, my father, the kids your queen foal."

It wasn't enough. "Lannisters collect enemies. If you want me to be honest, than do the same. Why me?"

"I need a Commander that I can trust. I need a Commander that won't forgot their words and kill me when winds change. I need a Commander that will kill whoever needs to be killed and defend whoever needs to be defended." Daenerys smile at you. "You are loyal to a dead queen. If I avenge her, would you be loyal to a living one?"

Daenerys took off her leather gloves. She reached out for you, showing her pale hand. "All you need to do is to make a feast. Have your fun, but make sure to lock all Lannisters in the room. I will make the rest."

It was difficult. The most difficult choice you ever made. But you couldn't lie to yourself.

You didn't took her hand into your. You didn't opened your mouth ou decorated your face with a smile. You bowed.

"My Khaleesi."

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[15-lizards]

okkkkk buttt imagine a Clegane sister getting sent to the faith then rising up high by weaponising faith and scripture to become a dark Hilda von bigen? In the Baratheon era because the lannisters think she’ll be obedient dog but she’s just very cunning- she’s had to, and power hungry- she felt powerless as a kid, and wears better masks then any tyrell on their best day- survival she turned into a political art. High sparrow could never

This is so fierce but Dagmar does NOT have the ability to hold her tongue and temper like at all unfortunately ❤️ complete inability to do any political intrigue like she’s just not made for it. Alternate universe where Gregor just sends her off to a motherhouse after she goes berserk after the whole Iva Marriage Debacle and channels her inner Saera and gets kicked out and has to go to the silent sisters bc she’s so bad at it. Probably gets her tongue cut out or something by them live laugh love

Iva would be a really good manipulator political player if only her submissive shaking little lamb persona was an act instead of her actual personality. AU where she’s the one who gets sent to a motherhouse and littlefinger finds her and he thinks hmmm I can use her I can train her but she just cries all the time and can’t remember any of the secrets she’s supposed to listen to and he’s like. Okay well I thought this was going to go a different way I may have severely overestimated her capabilities she is actually not that smart. And poisons her or smthn cause she knows too much

[wildfirefruitjars]

Guess I wasn't completely done with family portraits, for here is house Clegane! Though this time I made it more difficult for myself and didn't just draw siblings, but also parents, and because I hate myself I also drew said siblings as kids... I had fun, tho! It was fun playing around with how much or little I wanted them to look like each other, and it was of course quite the challenge to "babify" the characters!

Oh well, first of course have Daddy and Mommy Clegane! We know very little about either, but I like to imagine they hate each other <3

Gregor I took great pleasure in giving freckles as freckles are adorable and Gregor is anything but! Also I wanted him to look around twelve as a kid, but he looks older... but that's fine, we know he was a huge preteen anyways!

The Piss-puppy himself, Sandor. I've drawn his scar on his right instead of his left as I usually do, as somebody (Sansa) is very confusing/inconsistent about what side it is! -_- Also babby Sandor is supposed to be around seven (again, looks too old, but Cleganes just grow quick, ok!) I was just gonna draw him post-burn, but then I was struck by the powerful urge to give him a bowl cut, which just wouldn't work well when bald on one side!

And then we have the sister, whose tooth was definitely knocked out by Gregor! She is supposed to be around five as a kid.

The sister is actually the reason I drew them as children as well as adults. All we know about the sister is that she died young under queer circumstances, which is rumored to be Gregor's fault. We don't even know where she lays age wise in the sibling order! But by dying young, I assume she probably died while under ten, but I originally didn't wanna draw kids, as I wanted to draw facial features and young children are just round-faced, button nosed blobs, so I just drew her as an adult! But then I decided I ought to challenge myself, and I drew babies!

If anybody somehow was bored enough to read my whole ramble, I'm sorry... as a bonus you can get to hear my headcanon names for the unnamed Cleganes!

I like to call daddy Clegane for Rolder and his father for Caspor (whom I might draw one day) Mommy Clegane I've decides to name Tanda and for the sister I've chosen Lynora :P

[swordsandarms]

I think the obvious problem in discussing whether there is a "right" way to deal with Joffrey in order to minimise damage (like Sansa did with Ser Dontos) and applying to how the girls behaved around him at the Trident is no one from Winterfell had yet knowledge that Joffrey was a cruel boy that required finding "special ways to maneuver the damage he wants to inflict".

The Trident is a big reveal moment for the characters coming down from Winterfell of what the current Lannisters are and to be wary of the future. (For the readers, it's already made clear with Bran, but no one in-world knows yet about what actually happened to Bran).

There is no "working" way for the occasion and people involved in which either of the girls react, when faced with what was happening in the moment. They both react in instinctual ways to the situation. Arya tries to fight against it (which is after the fact seen as well meaning but ineffectual); Sansa is more of less just taken aback, doing neither effectual or ineffectual of either acting or talking, just a sideline voice who says something for the sake of it but would not dare act. Given the chance to eventually speak she is also ineffectual in "restricting damage" by trying to put matters in a "acting like no one present did damage and all who did aren't relevant anymore so let's move on" way (Nymeria or Mycah - not that Mycah did something, obviously, but he's a convenient scapegoat for "pacification" for Sansa because she cannot harm him any further by it, one supposes).

Furthermore, the problem is Joffrey, and the questionable situation he puts the girls in for them to have to react - it's not like if Arya wouldn't have been Joffrey's focus, him hearing as much as Sansa inputting "stop" and "you're spoiling it" would have gotten a nice reaction from him also. Imagine only - post no-longer-having-the-limitations-of-being-ONLY-a-Prince Joffrey being told to "stop" because he's making someone else uncomfortable/ruining their day! If we are to judge by what damage the girls' behaviour "causes", be sure Sansa herself would be in line for a lot of "damage" coming her way without her being out of focus.

Both Arya and Sansa learn hard lessons about how to move carefully around dangerous men with power over them from here on, but for both it is a matter of "punished for doing/saying the wrong thing in the past already and getting hit" whether literally or metaphorically before, not of some inane talent to be applauded for. Yes, Sansa can do the "Dontos episode".... After A LONG TIME of tiptoeing around Joffrey acting under his true nature and getting punished when she gets it wrong. Likewise, she can generally hide her true emotions from many others as a result of that lesson (and others).

But heck, so does Arya, particularly after she's under Gregor Clegane no less! Roose Bolton, too! FFS, she is at the stage of lying (or at least concealing the truth through careful choices of words) to the Kindly Man, a literal teacher of reading lies!

[writingsofwesteros]

Imagine Gregor Clegane x Chubby Fem

He takes his role as a husband very seriously. keeping his wife well feed.

Three meals each day. He loved the thickness of your thighs, your belly, your hips, your ass, and of course your breasts. He ogled you since the first time he saw you at kings landing.

When she bent over to fill his cup, she caught him staring at her breasts. And before she knew it he had his cock between them.

And even now, he still ogled Ciara just as he did before. He loved her softness, her plumpness, and that she was his.

And if she ever dare complain about her body, he would teach you to love it. One brutal thrust of his hips at a time. 😈

#themountainsbride

OH HE IS A FEEDER! Sweet baby boy just wants to love on someone , bless him!

Sometimes she whines about her body just for the love he gives her and the hard pounding that has her squealing in their little cottage

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #70: Game of Thrones, but make it time travel

I have a terrible weakness for time travel stories - especially when it leads to massive sprawling changes from the moment of divergence. So I thought to myself: which character would be able to most change Westeros through the simple act of time travel?

The answer came easily. Or: What if Ned Stark time traveled from after his death to the middle of Robert's Rebellion?

Just imagine it:

Ned Stark dies in the OT as per canon. He watches the events of canon unfold fold from the afterlife and has a crisis of faith.

For here is a man who has been nothing but an honorable, faithful, just lord. He served his realm in the best manner he could, was a dutiful husband and loving father, and put the good of others above personal advancement or that of his family. He even stained his honor to raise his sister's son as his own and give the boy the best protection he could - and yet.

And yet the gods allowed his son, wife, gooddaughter, and unborn grandchild to be murdered at a wedding. They allowed his oldest daughter to be used and abused by those that should have protected her. They let that thing take over his second son's body-

So when Ned finds a means to return from the afterlife or is allowed the chance tor return and fix things, the Ned who arrives on the morning of the Sack is a very different man than the one who went to bed the night before. Though they are the same at heart, Ned no longer believes or trusts everyone around him to be good, honorable, or want the best for Westeros.

In the New Timeline, Ned tries to prevent the deaths of Elia and her children - he's too late to save Aegon and Rhaenys, kills Gregor Clegane as he tries to force the princess, and though Elia is alive when he finds her, she dies of her wounds soon after - and gets Jamie to give up the Wildfire Plot after murdering the Mad King.

The fight he has with Robert for refusing to condemn the royal family's deaths is even worse than the OT and threatens to bring down the Red Keep.

Afterwards, he races to Lyanna's side... but though he arrives a week earlier than canon, he's still forced to fight his way through her protectors and she still dies in childbed. He does have enough time with her to get her side of the story - that she loved Rhaegar until he went to war to keep her, and has been a prisoner in the tower ever since she said she wanted to go home - and say his goodbyes.

He returns to Winterfell a little more mindful of his wife's feelings - Ned still passes Jon off as his son, but makes it clear that he has no intention of shaming her again, while also making it clear that the North would shame him if he sent Jon to be raised elsewhere - and sets about strengthening the North.

The next few years should be a montage of Ned making alliances and enriching his kingdom: 1) He talks Benjen out of joining the Night's Watch, sends him to survey all the empty keeps in the North, and grants him Queenscrown once the coffers have had a chance to refill after the war; 2) He gets White Harbor and Bear Island to start trading lumber and peat up and down their respective coasts and across the Narrow Sea, which enriches the North; 3) When Catelyn announces her second pregnancy, he starts work on restoring Moat Cailin, claiming that their second son will need a seat someday; 4) He finds some excuse, if not to get rid of the Boltons, than at least keep such an eye on them its next to impossible for them to continue as they have; and 5) Making tentative moves to court the other Great Houses. Doran Martell, grateful he at least tried to save his sister, arranges a betrothal between Arya and Trystane? Sansa gets a fostering in Highgarden? Bran is sent to foster at Storm's End?

Regardless, the North should be in a better position when Robert rides north after Jon Arryn's death - by natural causes this time, Ned having shared with his foster father stories Catelyn told him about Littlefinger's obsession with the Tully girls.

Meanwhile, Ned also tries to do a better job with Jon this time around - make it more clear that he is loved and valued, and that a good post or even a holdfast will be granted to him if he earns it. Ned does not want to place him on the Iron Throne, but it becomes increasingly clear as time goes on that war of some kind will inevitably follow Robert's death and so it's best all his children be prepared.

(Sansa and even Catelyn are taught how to use a knife to protect themselves, Ned honestly claiming he wants what happened to his sister never to happen to another woman in their family.)

King Robert rides north, gets a stiff, "No," for both his propositions - and might actually have come to blows if Ned hadn't arranged for Jamie and Cersei to be discovered in flagrante delicto in the First Keep. Robert rides back south sans a wife and heirs, short one Hand and Kingsguard. Cersei is beheaded, Jamie and Joffrey are sent to take the Black, and Myrcella and Tommen are left to be fostered at Winterfell until they're old enough to have other arrangements made.

Tywin is naturally unhappy about this turn of events and rises up in rebellion. The Iron Islands use this as an excuse to start reaving again, while the Reach withholds their support unless Robert promises to marry Margery - and Dorne merely withholds support.

Almost three years into the conflict, news arrives during the wedding of Robb Stark and Alys Karstark that King Robert died in battle without any heirs. His brothers have gone to war over which of them should succeed Robert to the Iron Throne. Tywin continues to claim that his grandson Tommen, safe in Winterfell, is the rightful heir. Baelon Greyjoy has declared himself King of the Iron Islands... and there are rumors of Daenerys Stormborn gathering forces in Essos for an invasion.

Into this Ned - having realized it was the best choice he could make for the safety and security of his family and the North - declares that Jon is really the trueborn son of his sister Lyanna and her husband Rhaegar Targaryen... and as such has rightfully been Jaehaerys III since birth.

The war which follows is swifter and less devastating than the OT War of Five Kings, but is still war. By largely staying out of the fight between Tywin and Robert, the North has a large army of fresh soldiers and, by marriage, the support of the Vale and the Riverlands. Stannis has Renly assassinated via shadow, but few chose to follow a follower of the Red God. The Stormlands end up throwing their lot in with Jon, as do Dorne and the Reach once they see which way the wind is blowing.

In a situation that should very much echo the situation in the British Isles in 1066, Jon's forces should be in the southeast of Westeros preparing for Dany's invasion when word comes of Tywin leading his forces north to capture Winterfell. Royalist forces should race across the countryside, win a magnificent victory at the Twins, and still be celebrating their success when news arrives of Essosi troops landing in the Crownlands. Jaehaerys' exhausted forces race back across the country... and manage to win the first engagement by the skin of their teeth.

When Dany brings her dragons to bear in the next battle, Rhaegal defects to the other side - and rather than pursue another Dance of Dragons, aunt and nephew come to an arrangement.

A Great Council is called. Jon is elected Lord of the Seven Kingdoms by overwhelming numbers. Sansa is his queen. Dany is named Lady of the Rock after most the remaining Lannisters are exiled or take the Black.

Bonuses include: 1) OT trauma for Ned, who never quite moves past what happened to his family then; 2) Dark horse romance between Jon and Sansa, fueled at first by the comment that Ned would like his daughters to marry good men - like Robb or Jon - and Catelyn encouraging it once she learns Jon is really her husband's nephew; and 3) No one ever learning Ned traveled through time.

And that is legit all the space I have. As always, feel free to adopt, just link back if you do anything with it.

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