#he better not even LOOK at lyanna

[star-realities]

I have multiple game of thrones dr and I’ve never seen/read it LMAO

[buildoblivion]

*sits bolt upright in bed* what if howland reed has lyanna’s wedding cloak

[entitled-fangirl]

Doll.

Cregan Stark x Velaryon!wife!reader

Summary: Cregan is a girl dad. That’s it. That’s the summary.

Masterlist

………………………….

"Where are you, my perfect girl?" Cregan wondered aloud as he walked to the door.

His daughter, Lyanna, sat in her chambers, brushing the string hair of her favorite doll.

Only three now, she was a striking resemblance to her mother- violet eyes and that silver Targaryen hair.

He smiled as he leaned onto the doorframe and watched her.

She looked up to him with her bright eyes and held her doll out to him.

He chuckled lightly and walked into the room, kneeling next to her and taking her doll, "What am I to do with it?"

"Brush."

He raised his eyebrows but made no move to argue, running his fingers through the tangled string of the doll.

The doll was well aged it seemed, having been dragged everywhere they went. It held the same features as she did, clearly custom made to hold the same look.

Cregan never considered he'd get even more protective when the child began to slowly look like her mother.

Speaking of, Y/n entered the chambers with a smile, "And just what exactly are you two doing in here?"

Cregan only turned his head with a smirk, but Lyanna jumped up and ran to her mother, giggling when she was picked up with ease.

He watched the two approach him as Y/n took in the sight, "Brushing hair, are we, my love?"

He let out a breathy laugh, "I was commanded to, I'm afraid. Princess's orders."

Y/n mocked surprise, "A princess's orders? Well, you can't deny those, can you, Lord Stark?"

Lyanna giggled again, finding comfort in her mother's arms.

But her mother frowned, "Lyanna, why don't we brush your hair now? It seems we've been focused on the wrong hair."

Cregan looked up at that, only now noting the tangled mess that was his daughter's hair.

She huffed and shook her head.

Y/n gave her a patient smile, "You shall feel better when you do."

Lyanna shook her head again with a mean grunt.

Y/n's eyes lit up and she leaned to rest her forehead on the side of the girl's head, "If you let me brush your hair, surely your father will let you brush his."

Lyanna's eyes lit up excitedly, and Cregan's widened.

The woman looked to Cregan, "If that's alright."

He hesitantly nodded, "If it gets her hair brushed, I suppose."

Lyanna then began to wiggle, and Y/n set her down, watching as the girl ran around the room, grabbing all of her combs and hair ties.

Y/n took a moment to lean down and give Cregan a soft kiss, "You look dashing today, my prince."

Lyanna paused and looked at the two, "Papa's not a prince."

The two couldn't stop soft chuckles from leaving their lips. Cregan spoke up, "I only am because of your mother."

The girl looked more confused than before.

Y/n reached out and pulled the girl towards the bed. Y/n sat at the foot of it, having her girl stand so she was the right height for brushing. She became to patiently and softly comb through the hair of her daughter, "You truly are a princess, you know, Lyanna."

Her head tilted, "But why?"

Cregan stood himself up and walked towards them, "Because your mother is a princess, too."

"No, mama would be a queen. And papa is the king," she said nonchalantly as if common sense.

Cregan laughed and set himself in front of his daughter with his back to her, fulfilling his promise of brushing his hair, "I am no king, darling."

Y/n spoke up again, "Your grandmother, Rhaenyra, is the Queen. Grandsire Daemon is the King consort. Everyone else are the princes and princesses."

"Uncle Jace?"

Her mother nodded as she worked a knot through, "Yes. Even uncle Jace."

Lyanna took that for an answer and began to hastily run a comb through her father's long locks, practically tangling it more than before, but he allowed her to.

"Your mother once lived in a large castle," Cregan smiled. "With servants and guards and large dragons!"

Their daughter's eyes widened, "Dragons?"

He nodded, amused that he had caught her attention, "Oh, yes. Very large dragons. Ones that breathe fire when commanded."

"But only when their Targaryen rider commanded," Y/n chirped up to keep their daughter from panicking.

Lyanna hummed as she worked on her father's hair, seemingly unaware of her mother still working through hers. "Are they mean?"

Y/n smiled, "Oh. No. Dragons are quite kind when they wish to be. Their size is the scariest part."

Cregan reached out, picking up the doll again and messing with it absentmindedly.

"Hey!" Lyanna yelled. "That's mine!"

Y/n frowned, but her voice never rose, "Do not yell at your father."

"He has my favorite doll! Give it back!"

Cregan turned his body around completely to look at his girl. He held that commanding look in his eye that he rarely wore around his family, "Excuse me?"

Lyanna's brows furrowed and she held her hand out, "Give it back."

Y/n leaned back, abandoning the hair brush to watch Stark blood fight itself.

Cregan's shoulders pushed back, "Do not speak to anyone that way, much less your father."

Lyanna stomped her foot, "It is mine!"

He forced himself to take a deep sigh and his voice lowered in pitch and volume, "Speak again in this manner, and I will take the doll away."

Their daughter grew angry quickly. "DON'T!"

Y/n frowned, "Cregan-"

But it was too late. He stood up with the doll in hand and placed it on top of the dresser, out of the girl's reach.

She immediately turned to her mother and wailed. Y/n pulled her into her lap, comforting her.

Cregan looked at his wife with a disapproving gaze, "Do not-"

"Cregan." She spoke gently, "Be delicate with our girl."

"She's playing you for a fool."

Lyanna pulled away from her mother with puffy red eyes and tear streaks on her cheeks. Y/n gently wiped the tears away and cooed at the girl. Lyanna sniffled as she spoke, "Then I'll… I'll lose you."

Y/n frowned, "My girl, what do you mean?"

"I won't have you."

"I'm right here, Lyanna."

"But then you'll leave."

Y/n looked up to Cregan, who looked just as confused as her. He knelt down beside the two, "Your mother is not leaving, Lyanna."

"She'll… she'll leave the room… and… and I won't have her anymore."

Her mother quickly connected the dots. "My sweet girl. Is that doll me?"

Lyanna nodded and hiccuped lightly.

Cregan felt his heart drop to his stomach. What horrid father takes away a reminder of the girl's mother?

Y/n cooed, "Lyanna, I am safe. You are safe. Your father makes sure of it."

"But when you leave, I won't have you."

Y/n felt her eyes water and her lip tremble. She pulled the girl off of her lap and into Cregan's arms. "I can't…" She stood suddenly and left in a rush.

Cregan held the girl firmly, trying to distract her from her mother's absence. "Dear daughter. Please listen. Your mother loves you very much. With or without a doll, your mother will not leave. Not ever."

Lyanna sniffled but nodded.

He smiled lightly, "C'mere, girl."

The child practically melted against her father's chest.

…

Cregan later creaked open the chamber door that he shared with his wife.

She sat in the bed, her eyes puffy from a past session of crying.

"My love, what happened?"

She sniffled and shrugged, "'M fine. Overwhelmed, I suppose."

He nodded, walking up to the bed. He brushed hair from her forehead and placed a kiss there. "Lyanna is fine now. She fell asleep."

Y/n sighed, "I should have been more help."

"No. No. That's fine. You did what you could."

"It was the doll," she sniffled.

He took a breath as he sat on the bed. "Alright?"

She looked up and smiled through her tears, "Your hair is horrendous from Lyanna's brushing. Let me fix it."

He gave a playful huff and sat in front of her, his back to her once again. "Talk to me."

"I had a favorite doll when I was younger. Much like her," she said as she ran her fingers through the reddish locks. "But… It looked much different. Brown hair, and dark eyes."

Cregan imagined it in his head, unsure of where she was going with it.

"I always thought that… that my doll was so beautiful. And… and I looked nothing like it."

A breath escaped him as he began to understand. "So you believed-"

"-I believed that I was ugly."

"You know that's not true."

"I do now. I didn't then."

He felt her begin to part his hair and pull lightly at various parts. "I don't quite understand still."

"Our daughter sees me in her favorite doll. I… I could receive no greater honor."

"Ah." He was sure she was braiding his hair at this point.

Silence filled the room for a while and he relaxed into her hold. Finally he spoke, "I have petitions after this."

"I know."

He frowned, "What are you-"

"-Let me finish!" She giggled.

He playfully huffed and kept still.

A while later, she tied off the braids and kissed the crown of his head from behind. "Finished."

"Thank you, my love." He stood and approached the vanity to see her handiwork. Two braids ran down the top of his head, keeping the top layer of his hair up. "This is… rather impressive."

She smiled, "I am a Velaryon. If I know anything, it is how to braid."

He smiled back, moving to her and pulling her in to his arms, "I'm sorry for before. I should have spoken calmly to her. I lost my temper."

She leaned against him, "We all make mistakes, Cregan."

He nodded, "You have no idea how frustrated I get when she looks like you, but attains my stubbornness."

She began to laugh, "Well, perhaps the next one will be the opposite."

He frowned, "The next one? When will that be?"

She took his hand, leading it down to her currently flat stomach, "Maester says almost seven months to wait."

Cregan's eyes widened, "W… T… Truly?"

Y/n smiled, "Truly."

He let out a surprised and excited breath, grabbing her face and pulling her into a searing kiss. He pulled away and stared into her eyes, "Another one."

"Another one."

"The gods have blessed me tenfold."

"Aye. But you have to be the one to tell Lyanna that she will not be an only child."

He grinned, "A small price to pay, I assure you."

………………………………

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn, @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[the-fiction-witch]

What are you doing here?!

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aeron Bracken Couple - Aeron X Reader Reader - (OC) Lady Lyanna Blackwood Rating - Sexy AF (Mild Smut) Word Count - 1475

Aeron Bracken arrived back to his chambers after a rather long day of dealing with his uncle’s orders, he was exhausted eager to get to his chambers and his bed. However rather unexpectedly he found the fire already lit, candles lit around the room, the soft scent of Petrichor in the air, and the chamber of Stone Hedge cosy and comforting.

However, Aeron nearly dropped his jaw as he saw the sweet sight laid upon his bed.

As Lyanna Blackwood lay in his bed!

Lyanna laid on her back with her head dangling off the end of the bed, her usual boots kicked off by the bedside, her legs up, bare feet kicking around in the air, wearing a black gown that had fallen gathering around her hips, her hair in a braid falling to the floor, in her hand one of the small well painted wooden horses’ that Aeron had kept in his room since childhood.

Aeron’s tired, sweaty figure looked dishevelled and bewildered, his brow furrowing at the sight of her, Aeron’ eyes raked her form laid on his bed, his mouth nearly watering at the view, before eventually finding his voice and speaking up.

“What are you doing here?!” he asked the fear and concern flooding in his voice almost too scared to raise it,

"good afternoon to you too, Aeron" Lyanna smiled wickedly purposely teasing him,

“How- How did you even her in here?!” His tone was full of alarm,

“Window was unlocked,” She shrugged,

He took a breath running his hand over his face, into the roots of his light brown hair, taking a moment before he spoke, “Do you… have any idea… the trouble you could get us both in!” His volume crawled up,

“I missed you,” She smiled with a playful pout,

And he gave in, “You would not believe how much I missed you,” he confessed lowly, reaching his bed and climbing in to sit over her, taking the horse toy from her hand and setting it down on his night stand before his arms snaking around her waist,

Lyanna giggled as he immediately attached himself to her,

“You can’t keep doing this Lyly, You could get us both in so much trouble, at least send me a raven that you are coming, who knows who could have walked in and found you here,” He reminds her, “You know Stone Hedge isn’t safe for you, As Raventree Hill is not for me. We must meet places secretly,” He said playfully peppering her throat and chest with kisses,

“But then we have to snuggle in the muddy woods, rather than your nice big warm bed,” She whimpers batting her eyes to make him melt,

“Is that so?” his smirk grew on his lips as he slowly moved to sit on his bed tugging her waist with him to pull her onto his lap so he could look at her better. He hummed quietly before resting a hand on her thigh in a gentle grip, his thumb rubbing small circles on the cloth gown. “You like my big bed better then?”

“So how much exactly did you miss me while I was out doing my training?”

Lyanna giggled resting her hands on his chest and rubbing her nose on his, "Very very much, I miss your bed," she cooed stroking up and down his chest,

Aeron practically melted into the touch, feeling her rubbing her nose against his and hands stroking over his chest his breath practically hitching at the action. He gently pulled her closer, almost completely against his chest. “You know, I missed you a lot more,” he murmured against your skin before he began to press kisses up and down her neck,

"did you? Maybe I should come visit more often," She teased squeezing her thighs around him a little,

Aeron hummed under his breath as he continued to trail his kisses on her neck, “I’d have you here every day if I could,” he mumbled, “Seven Hells, I’ve missed you,” he said with a low voice, practically looking at her like a man starved.

"You would? You’d want me here every day, laid waiting on your bed for you to come home?" She whispered in his ear,

Aeron shuddered, his breath hitching He felt his mind already beginning to race with thoughts of her lying on his bed waiting for him every night, he clutched her almost possessively against him, his forehead falling against her shoulder. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “Gods,” he whispered. “Must you torment me with such beauty,”

“Oh? You wouldn’t want me laid waiting for you?” She teased,

“Lyly, You’re not making this easy for me.” he groaned under his breath, his hand that was on her hip slowly beginning to roam its way up her side, his heart thrumming fast. His mind wandered to do to her, “Lyanna… don’t tease me,” Aeron murmured lowly, he took his time dragging his thumb across her rib, feeling her skin slightly shiver under his touch, before slowly trailing his hand back up to trace her collarbone. He could feel his heart thrumming in his chest, his breathing becoming shallower, and his eyes roamed over her form, feeling his mind slowly become consumed by her, as well as the sinful thoughts that began to swirl in his head.

“When… When do you…” he began, his voice quiet and barely above a whisper, “…When do you need to be back to Raventree?”

"Dawn," She cooed,

Aeron inhaled shakily, the imagery and thought of her in his bed… all night. He gently pulled her down hard against himself leaving no inch of them disconnected, his hands wrapped around her like a vice, practically holding her captive on his lap.

"Aeron!" She laughed shifting her hips as she felt his stiff cock under her,

He didn’t even know how he managed to string his words together as he spoke, but his voice was noticeably heavier and slightly rasped. “Will you stay… all night?”

“Maybe,” She teased,

Aeron buried his face in her neck and groaned lightly, the movement of her body only making him harder. He tightened his arms around her waist, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to collect himself, but he was already losing control. “Gods, what are you doing to me?” he mumbled his lips trailing up and down the skin, leaving behind soft kisses.

"Don't be foolish you know exactly what I'm doing," She giggled,

Aeron’s breath hitched, his hands gripping her hips like a lifeline. The movement only served to force his cock to its utter limit of stiffness, and it took all he has to not buck his hips upwards desperate to force a sweet sound from her lips. “Gods… you’re so cruel,” he whispered, slowly trailing his kisses to her ear, giving it a soft bite.

"Cruel? I’m just helping my poor Bracken after seeing how he missed me so badly," she seductively cooed in his ear,

Aeron let out a shaky breath, He pressed his face against her neck, his breath coming out in pants as he slowly began to lose control, the pace of her movements against him only adding fuel to the fire. He tried to speak further, but all that came out of his throat was needy little sounds as he clutched her closer to him, his eyes squeezed shut. “Gods, yes… yes I know… I want you so badly…”

She chuckled and kissed down his neck "Well then, since you missed me so badly Aeron, I suppose I could help? Would the rest of tonight tie my poor horny boy over?"

Aeron shuddered his head falling back against the bedboard, and his eyes squeezed shut as he felt the fire inside him only grow hotter. He choked out a slightly desperate whimper as her touch and words continued to rile him up to no end. “Gods yes…” he pleaded breathlessly, his hand gently grasping a fistful of her hair, “Please…”

Lyanna chuckled and picked a spot on his neck where she bit down sucking on his skin, lapping her tounge against him,

Aeron let out a shaky moan that was borderline whorish as he felt her give him a deep love bite, the mark only serving to set his mind ablaze. His hand tightened its grip on her hair, and his entire figure shuddered beneath her, almost like a bow pulled taut against a string, his breathing coming out in needy pants as he tried and failed to form words to speak. “Gods, don’t stop… please, don’t stop…”

"This what you want Aeron?"

"Yes! Yes, yes... it's what I want Lyanna... Please..."

She chuckled fixing a stray piece of his hair, "What's the magic word?"

He let out a small moan on his gasp, knowing full well what she wanted taking a moment to collect himself before he spoke, "I love you..."

"I love you too," She smiled finally pulling his lips to hers in a deep intimate kiss. 

Part two

[visenyaism]

Somebody should use visenya name curse to accuse visenya II of being a twinsest baby (I know the irony), and I need it to be ned

I think I said in this AU Ned does heroically die in the Rhaegar vs. Aerys mini rebellion event. Robert names his firstborn son Edric after him and is bereft for the rest of his life which is a bit shorter than canon because Lyanna does poison him.

There’s a quick disputed succession over who gets Storm’s End and the potentially mysterious circumstances of Robert’s death, but Renly is a child and Ser Stannis Baratheon can hardly usurp his nephews spot from his position on the Kingsguard even if he DOES think his goodsister looks a little too smug. During this, Brandon Stark and his wife come to court to support Lyanna, at which point Catelyn clocks Visenya ii pretty quickly because in canon she is a better detective than Ned. however ​littlefinger and also varys are independently of each other trying to engineer more of a stark-targ schism on the low for secret blackfyre contender (in varys’ case) so visenya being a lannister is more of a superfluous detail than a hinge of the scheme.

[esther-dot]

Sansa's Sworn Shield 3k by @kittykatknits

“You could play come into my castle with her, she likes that game,” Rickon offered helpfully. Jon desperately wants an evening alone with his wife. Unfortunately, Rickon is determined to protect his dear sister from Jon's less than honorable intentions. Challenged to yet another duel, and running out of champions, Jon decides to find another way to solve his problems so he can finally come into Sansa's castle.

The pursuit of non-bath time happiness 3k by @captainbee89

After Jon refuses Gendry's ask for Arya's hand, citing the fact Sansa was not yet betrothed, Rickon observes and, with the help of Shaggydog, Ghost and Arya, comes up with a plan to have Jon realise he should court Sansa himself. And if it were to result in Jon being less strict about bath times, that was totally coincidental!

Goodbye Means Going Away (And Going Away Means Forgetting) 2k by @vixleonard

Memory is unreliable. No one understands this better than Rickon Stark.

corresponding manip by @norrlands-nonsense

what this palace wants is release 26k WIP by @bravegentlestrong

When Sansa and Jon show up at Bear Island, Rickon is already there holding court as King in the North and planning a war with Lyanna Mormont. They look exactly like the parents who he lost. Once Jon and Sansa take over the whole ruling-the-kingdom thing, Lyanna and Rickon use their political capital to parent trap Jon and Sansa.

No Smooth Road 4k by @maybetwice

Jon and Sansa are in love. It ought to be as simple as that.

His King's Command ficlet by @vivilove-jonsa

“Sansa wants a babe. You should give her one.” Jon had been cleaning Longclaw but glances up at his king, his ten-years-old cousin, who is staring at him expectantly with his arms crossed.

Rickon's Refuge 1k by @vivilove-jonsa

On those nights, Rickon feels like a child of eight, not a man grown. On those nights, he seeks out Sansa, a tolerable replacement for the mother he lost, the one he barely remembers now, though that is not in his conscious thoughts.  She lets him lie in her bed.  She will stroke his hair softly and sing.  He's never told her but he likes that.  It makes him feel safe and loved and like he still has a mother who isn't a faded memory.   “Rickon? What are you doing in here?” He scowls at the deep voice even though he loves him. “What are you doing in here?!” he asks sharply in reply to Jon’s question, the petulance plain in his tone.

Marry Me In Some Old-Fashioned Way 2k by @blackholeofprocrastination

A misunderstanding with Rickon leads Jon to reconsider his future at Winterfell and his feelings towards its red-haired mistress.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - next time -> HISTORICAL: 1930S

[hadesisqueer]

It's been a long time since I read Fire and Blood and the rest of the ASOIAF books (been meaning to reread them because I don't remember that much of them tbh, I read ADWD like seven years ago) and I'm not keeping up with the new show, but every time I see stuff about Rhaenyra and Jace I remember once again why I disliked Jon's legitimacy in the show. It's not just because even if Rhaegar married Lyanna that marriage would not have seen valid to anyone given the guy was already married and had two children with Elia Martell. It's because it's kind of poetic.

Rhaenyra was the legitimate heir to the throne. Her father had said so, and kept saying so over and over again, and with all her flaws, she was a better option than her brother. Jacaerys was also a great prince, clearly with excellent diplomatic skills —I doubt Cregan Stark would have sworn to him if he didn't see something in him—, and would have probably made a great king. But neither of them were allowed to actually be queen or king. Because Rhaenyra was a woman. And Jace was a bastard. No matter that his mother is the heir and not the other way around, no matter that Laenor knew and didn't care and gave him and Luke and Joffrey his name and treated them as his own, no matter that Corlys and Rhaenys also treated them as their grandchildren and recognized him as Velaryons. He would always be seen as a bastard even if he would have made a better king than his uncle. Just like his mother, even if she was better than Aegon II and was named heir by her father was also still seen as an illegitimate heir because she was a woman.

So, yes. I believe that if Jon had been kept a bastard, it would have been better. The Dance of Dragons was the start of the downfall of the Targaryens. The Targaryens tore each other apart because of power and because people could not just let a girl and a bastard boy rule. So I think it'd be ironic and poetic that the last scions of House Targaryen were a girl and a bastard boy.

Also sorry, but the show was stupid for making people immediately believe and accept that Jon was Rhaegar's son and the heir to the throne just like that, not just because the marriage to Lyanna would not have seen illegitimate. If I recall in the book you got Young Griff who has the classic Targaryen Valyrian looks and was supposedly raised to rule and was the perfect prince-- and yet he needs to marry Daenerys. Not only because she's the one with actual armies and dragons, but because without her, his claim is weaker than the Golden Company in the show. Because no matter what he says, he can't actually prove he really is Aegon VI (he probably isn't, I still think he's a Blackfyre). And now, you're telling me that in the show, people immediately believe that Jon is Rhaegar's legitimate son and heir to the throne because *checks* his best friend and his brother said so? Are you serious? Lmao.

[melrosing]

MBO Robert's Rebellion: Season 2 Episode 4

what the fuck is this: it's me drafting a fake robert's rebellion tv show through a series of bullet points. there will be two seasons of ten episodes each

SEASON ONE: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6, Episode 7, Episode 8, Episode 9, Episode 10

SEASON TWO: Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4

prev: 2.03

next: tbc

so I did fully try to see if I could get that fishing boat scene out of here but in the end I decided I couldn’t and also now I’ve decided I’ve found meaning in it after all. I’ve found meaning in Ned’s fishing boat adventure

also I am finding the Rhaegar/Elia and Rhaegar/Lyanna the most difficult to try and suss out but I’m feeling a lot clearer on them now at least in terms of how I personally want to interpret them so…. yeah this has been fun for that

title for this one: who else completely forgot gulltown existed

A raven flies to the Eyrie; inside Jon Arryn’s solar, we see Jon, Ned and Robert all assembled, apparently having slept there waiting for this missive. Jon reads aloud for the three of them, and so they learn of what has become of Rickard and Brandon Stark. Ned is frozen in the sudden onslaught of grief. Robert asks what news of Lyanna. Ned tells him without needing to hear it: she wasn’t even there. The missive ends as Aerys demands Jon’s fealty, and the heads of his wards. Robert and Ned look to Jon, suddenly aware of their vulnerability here. Jon asks if they truly doubt him - they are as good as sons to him, he says, and better than any he might have had. They are each the heads of their houses now, and must lead them for Lyanna. He goes then to Ned and comforts him as he falls apart

Lyanna awakens beside the embers of a campfire, Rhaegar’s cloak wrapped about her. She has been dreaming again, and senses something terrible has happened - but can’t think what. Rhaegar returns from between the trees from watering the horses. Lyanna asks him if it is strange that she’s hardly thought of her father since she left his camp? How frightened he must be. Suddenly frantic, she tells Rhaegar she needs to go back, and tell her father she’s alright. She’s meant to be at Brandon’s wedding. It will be any day now.Rhaegar looks at her sadly, and Lyanna realises she remembers the dream she’s been pushing to the back of her mind. She looks to Rhaegar. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Rhaegar looks back sadly. Lyanna collapses into his arms

Rip

Jaime walks into the throne room to relieve Lewyn Martell at the foot of Aerys’ throne. He looks up at the king with disgust and trepidation. Aerys sits at the top, gnawing at his fingernails - last night felt so good so right, yet now he’s more frightened than ever. He asks Merryweather if they’ve received word from Jon Arryn. Merryweather, uneasy, says there is still time

Maester at the Eyrie writes missives to the lords of the Vale, rallying them against the crown. The ravens fly out in different directions across the region

A call to arms lands in the hands of Lord Grafton, who reads it with a sullen look. His maester asks how he should like to reply. Grafton considers this a moment, before announcing that House Grafton remains loyal to the crown, and what the prince has done with some northern girl is no concern for men of the Vale

Lyanna riding through the woods, her eyes distant. Rain chucking it down. Rhaegar rides beside her in silence. After some time, he tells her that it wasn’t her fault what had happened to her father and brother. Lyanna wonders how it could be anyone’s fault but hers. Even now, she doesn’t know why she’s still running - she should’ve married Robert Baratheon as her father had wanted, and then perhaps Lord Rickard and Brandon would still be alive. Rhaegar reaches over to turn her face to his, and tells her that Robert Baratheon is not her fate. He never was. Lyanna, shocked at Rhaegar’s sudden intensity, asks again where it is that they are going

Lewyn Martell with Elia in Maegor’s Holdfast. Elia asks after the King; Lewyn says that the King is well. Elia says that’s not what she means. Lewyn pauses, then says he wouldn’t let anything happen to his sister’s daughter; it was the last thing he promised Loreza. Elia says that in life Loreza had thought marrying her to the Prince would be the best thing she could do for her daughter - though spiting Tywin Lannister was no small part of it. But this isn’t a safe place, and she isn’t happy; no-one laughs here, and her children have no idea where their father is. Neither does she, for that matter. Hesitating, Elia says she supposes the Prince is a friend of Lewyn’s, and asks his forgiveness for speaking ill. Lewyn says that he doesn’t think the Prince had friends, not even Arthur for all the time he spent by his side. Elia ponders that, then reveals that for the first year she’d thought she loved Rhaegar - he was hard to know but he said he’d seen her in his dreams. How could she not love that? Only now, she thinks perhaps he’d dreamt wrong. He thinks this northern girl is - she doesn’t know what he thinks she is. But she finds herself despising Lyanna - isn’t that foolish? That she hates this child, and yet still some part of her clings to Rhaegar. Lewyn says he doesn’t think it is foolish to have loved the Prince; many women have. Elia agrees, and says she knows now that she was just another

In Jon Arryn’s solar with Ned and Robert (are they ever getting out of there? stay tuned). Jon Arryn tells the boys he’s received messages of solidarity from many of his vassals - but not all. Lord Grafton has written back declaring his fealty to the crown, and though he has always esteemed Jon’s intelligence, he suspects it falters here. He recommends Jon send Aerys his wards’ heads before the King claims his. Robert says it’s a given then - they must march on Gulltown, and see who gets to keep their head. A rare smirk from Jon Arryn; they have enough men to take on Gulltown, but this will be only the first of their battles. He turns to Ned. He is Lord Stark now; what does he wish to do? Ned says he wants Lyanna back. Jon nods; then they’ll have need of his northmen - how fast can he rally them?

Robert and Ned say goodbye as Ned prepares to traverse the Mountains of the Moon; Robert will march to Gulltown with Jon in the meantime, gathering men as they go. Robert says that if they’re Jon’s sons, then Ned is his brother, and when they get Lyanna back they will make it law. Ned nods, slightly tearful, and the two go their separate ways

Rhaegar and Lyanna approach Summerhall. Lyanna’s eyes shine at the sight of the ruin: it is sad, beautiful, and altogether ethereal. She dismounts her horse, and wanders towards it on foot. There are flowers growing in between the wreckage, and amongst them her favourite, winter roses. Lyanna is confused, telling Rhaegar that she has only known them to grow in the North. Rhaegar tells her he’s come to these ruins since he was a boy; here, the music comes to him, and he sees things in waking dreams. For some time now, he reveals, he has seen her. That’s really it for Lyanna; they kiss

One week later. Robert marching through the Stormlands, Gulltown on the horizon. Bit of tooting from the war trumpets idk. Jon Arryn tells Robert that cannot hope to have caught Grafton unawares; Robert says he certainly hopes not

Ned meanwhile, wearing a Daemon hood: he’s about to cross the Bite. He boards a fisherman’s boat, paying handsomely for the man’s silence. The fisherman warns that there is a storm coming, and Ned pays him more - they have to depart now

Grafton’s men emerge from the walls of Gulltown. Jon reminds Robert that this is real war now, not a melee. Robert like ‘depends how you look at it’ and leads the charge, bellowing

From the fishing boat, Ned looks up at the rapidly darkening skies. The waves grow taller, and Ned tells the fisherman he’s sorry for ever forcing him to ride such a storm. Fisherman reveals he knows who Ned is, and he knows where he’s going. He himself used to be a Duskendale man, till Aerys did for good lord Denys, so fuck the king etc he’ll get Ned across the Bite if it’s the last thing he does. Anyway it literally is bc two seconds later he’s been thrown overboard and Ned’s knocked out as he collides with the side of the boat. I’m sparing my imaginary production crew the trouble of filming this basically

Robert amidst the chaos of battle at Gulltown. He spies Marq Grafton and charges at him. As Robert makes his first strike at Grafton…

We cut abruptly to Ned, waking up on the beached fisherman’s boat. The fisherman’s daughter is clearing the detritus from the deck. Ned asks where her father is, but the girl won’t look at him. She tells him she has gotten him to the Three Sisters, like they promised they would; if it’s to be worth her father’s life, he’d best do what he came to do

Aerys at his supper table alongside Rhaella; Varys leans in to whisper news of Gulltown. We don’t hear it ourselves, but we can tell what the news is as we slowly zoom on Aerys’ face, terror on Rhaella’s in the periphery

Robert at the seat of House Grafton, accepting the surrender of his opposition, and the fealty of one Lyn Corbray. He looks delighted with himself. Jon Arryn praises him quietly but reminds him that this battle was only the first - and the first of many, he fears. Robert like, so be it. He wants his bride back

Rhaegar and Lyanna stand beneath a heart tree. All about them are the charred remains of trees burnt decades ago, but this one survived. Rhaegar ties cloth about their hands himself as they look deep into each other’s eyes. Together they say the words, and it is done

[zaldritzosrose]

To Tame a Wolf: Part One

Summary: The battle for alliance had begun. The Greens and the Blacks. The North was a desired ally. And a marriage would be the way to secure it.

TW: She/Her Pronouns, use of OC (Lyanna Stark), mentions of character death, arranged marriage.

Words: 1,939

Part Two

Thank you to @lady-phasma for betaing this for me!

A Dragon In Winterfell

Lyanna waited outside, her brother having received word that Prince Aemond and his dragon were on the horizon. And Lyanna had been sent out to greet him.

Aemond flew on Vhagar, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. He knew, in theory, what he needed to do in negotiations: offer what the council had instructed him to, and not leave without an answer, or even better, an acceptance. But it was what was to be offered that bothered him.

He had never pictured himself as a husband. Not that he considered himself undesirable, it had simply never been something that had crossed his mind. But duty was duty, and if anything could be said about Aemond, it was that he would always do his duty. And right now, his duty was war.

The distant roar of a dragon was enough to signal the prince’s impending arrival, the looming shadow of the mighty she-dragon eclipsing Winterfell’s courtyard. There was, most likely, not a single Northerner who had truly seen a dragon up close. Even in the sky, Vhagar was a sight to see. As the shadow dipped, Lyanna readied herself and the nearby servants for Aemond’s arrival.

Aemond dismounted quickly. If it was his choice, he would have this entire situation done within a day. Politics, or should he say that patience was not his strongest suit. And patience was surely something he would need for this.

“My prince,” Lyanna dropped smoothly into a curtsy, as did the servants around her. Aemond inclined his head in respect, his movements stiff - both from riding and his wish to be anywhere else.

“My lady, I appreciate the welcome,” Aemond responded, the need to remain polite warring with the need to move on to the true reason for his visit.

But he did allow himself a moment to pause and look at Lyanna. If this was the woman to whom he was intended to offer his hand, surely, he should take the time to assess her as she was. While it might seem cold, Aemond knew this arrangement was not intended to be based on his desires. This arrangement was simply that. An arrangement. Feelings were of no consequence.

Though he had to admit, the stories of her beauty did not do her justice. She was a true beauty, he realised. The dark hair and grey eyes, so synonymous with the Starks. The soft rosiness of her cheeks, that had bloomed from standing out in the cold Northern air. He suppressed a chuckle realising that either way, on the surface, he would benefit from this arrangement with a beautiful wife.

“My brother awaits you in our Hall, my prince.” Lyanna gestured towards the large doors behind her, before leading Aemond out of the cold and into the warmth of Winterfell’s walls.

The halls of Winterfell had a beauty of their own. Heavy stone walls, built to withstand the cold and likely more sinister foes. Like the halls, he stood in reflected the people that lived there. Hardy. Stubborn. And hard to defeat. It was this notion that made him realise why the North was such a desired ally. Aemond had little interest in the décor and architecture. He had one focus, and he would see that through without distraction.

Lyanna walked quickly, the only sound to be heard was the swishing of the heavy fabrics of her gown and the soft clacking of their boots against the stone floor. There was no small talk, which if he had to admit, Aemond quite appreciated. The doors to the hall were opened and Lyanna only glanced back momentarily before entering.

“Brother, Prince Aemond has arrived,” she announced to whom, Aemond assumed, was Lord Cregan.

The resemblance was notable. The dark hair, grey eyes. But where Lyanna was soft, Cregan was harsh - ever fitting the Wolf in the North moniker. Aemond inclined his head, to which Cregan returned the same gesture before gesturing for Aemond to sit.

What surprised Aemond, however, was when Lyanna took a seat at Cregan’s side. He knew things were a little different in the North. But he had not expected Lyanna to be present in the negotiations. If she noticed his surprise, she said nothing. She simply waited for her brother to begin.

"Lord Cregan, it is an honour to meet you. I have come on behalf of King Aegon and the Green Council to discuss an alliance between our houses." Aemond spoke confidently, reciting the words that his grandsire had drilled into him upon his departure.

The negotiations were long, but in Aemond’s eye, they were fruitful. Cregan was receptive, more than expected, to Aegon’s offers as King. But Aemond knew that it was only a matter of time before the secondary motive for his arrival was to be revealed.

“And for the North’s alliance, what does the Crown offer us?” Cregan asked, the faintest of smiles on his bearded face as he glanced over at Lyanna.

Marriages and betrothals were common bargaining tools, so it was no surprise that this was the expected next step. Aemond still felt the faintest unease settling in his gut at the prospect.

“The Crown offers marriage, my lord. Between Lady Lyanna and myself.” Aemond said the words simply, there was no need for flowery proposals.

But the look on Lyanna’s face was not what he expected. Surely a lady would feel honoured to be chosen to marry a prince. Lyanna looked anything but honoured. While she did not look angry, she did not look happy either. She was simply…indifferent.

“A generous proposal, my prince. And one that I will duly consider.”

And with Lord Stark’s words, the negotiations were ended. Aemond hoped, deep down, that the decision would be reached before the day’s end. But he felt he was hoping for too much. The prince looked to Lyanna once more, hoping for some sort of reaction. Joy, disgust, anger. Anything would be better than the blank look that currently coloured her features.

Only time would tell.

Aemond left the hall, knowing his part was done. For now. But he could already hear the words being exchanged between the siblings. The words were not angry, but they were not kind either. And it seemed that most of the ire was coming for Lyanna.

“I am not a prize to be exchanged for victory, brother!” Lyanna snapped, “And especially not to a Kinslayer!”

Lyanna’s voice just carried through the heavy wooden doors. Aemond could not help but feel a sting at her words. Was it him as a man she took issue with, or being married off itself? The word Kinslayer also carried a sting of its own. it seemed the title had carried itself all the way up North. Aemond knew he should not let it hurt him, but to know even a stranger saw him like that, was a slice to his usual stoic heart.

He did not stay to hear the rest. Their conversation was not for his ears. He took himself down the halls, seeking refuge in what he hoped would be a library. With the help of a nearby guard, he soon found himself seated in a heavy armchair surrounded by books. A sole comfort no matter where he found himself.

Lyanna was furious. Though at who, she was not sure. She did not know Aemond well enough to dislike him, but she knew enough to feel a sense of trepidation at being his wife. Stories of Aemond Targaryen had not taken long to make their way North.

Infamous for losing his eye to his nephew, the self-same nephew he killed on dragon back not so long ago and claiming the largest living dragon at only ten years of age.

The stories painted him as a man of little emotion, focused solely on the duty of being a prince and dragon rider. Not a man Lyanna had ever envisioned herself marrying, that was for sure. Though if she were honest, she had never truly imagined marrying anyone. She had been lucky in that regard; most ladies of Lyanna’s age would likely have been married off by now.

But she was not just a lady. She was a Stark. Just as much a prize as the North itself. Even if she despised the notion.

She knew Cregan would accept the proposal. He had decided to support Aegon before Aemond had even arrived. Her brother was a smart man, smarter than most gave him credit. Despite his young age as a Northern Warden, Cregan knew well enough to side where the benefit would fall greater on their house.

And right now? It was to side with Aegon as King.

By marrying Lyanna to Aemond, Cregan believed that he was putting Stark blood closer to the throne. And that was more than worth the price of his sister’s disdain.

The betrothal was official. And Lyanna was set to leave with Aemond for King’s Landing as soon as possible. War did not allow them the gift of time. Lyanna had at least hoped for time to prepare to leave, but Cregan assured her that her belongings would follow on behind her.

And then she realised the Crown’s intention. The sooner the wedding was held, the sooner war would begin. War was the focus, that was obvious.

Aemond left first, assuring Cregan and Lyanna that everything would be prepared for her arrival. A letter had been sent when Cregan accepted, informing Aegon and the Council that the marriage was to go ahead.

The ride was long for Lyanna, and the time did nothing to bolster her feelings towards this marriage. She didn’t hate Aemond, she had assured him of that before he left atop Vhagar. And he has assured her in kind, he had no reason to hate her either. But they both knew that there was little between them.

They would barely even be considered friends, for they knew nothing of each other. There was likely to be little time to learn such things.

Almost two weeks passed and Lyanna was at the gates of the Red Keep. She had never visited the South herself, but her brother had told her stories. Nothing would ever compare to the beauty of Winterfell in her eyes, but she could appreciate the Keep, nonetheless. For it was to become her home, whether she liked it or not. She assumed people knew of her arrival. It wasn’t often that Starks, or Northerners, came to the capital and to come on the arrangement of marriage would be more than a novelty.

As the carriage came to a stop, Lyanna took a deep breath, hoping to somehow calm herself. She knew nothing of what to expect the moment she stepped from the safety of her carriage. A voice outside could be heard instructing the horseman to open the doors.

Suddenly,  the flash of sunlight hit her eyes. Different from what she used to in the North. As her sight adjusted, she felt a hand reach out and offer to assist her exit, which she gladly took. Thankfully, her welcome was quiet. War did that to cities, most people were likely safely inside their homes. And she was glad of it, a crowd was not what she needed at this moment.

She could see a handful of people, she assumed were royal servants and as she looked further, she saw the figure of Aemond. Standing tall and regal in the small group of servants. Strangely, she was relieved to see a face she at least recognised.

Even if that face belonged to that of a stranger.

a/n thank you so much to everyone who gave the confidence to do this! feedback is always appreciated!

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 2.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 2.7k

aegon wasn't as badly injured from Rook's Rest like in canon in this AU, he has a few burn scars near his torso but wasn't crippled / bedridden.

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity

who wants to live forever - sarah brightman • nothing's new - rio romeo

chapter specific warnings: non-descript smut, blood

Sleep was easy to find that night for Lyanna– her body and mind were exhausted from the events of the day. She felt sore everywhere, especially between her legs. It ached like she had ridden a horse hard for days and she would most certainly need to be drawn a bath in the morn.

It was easy for her to fall into a state of unconsciousness, but it wasn’t a true sleep. It felt very much like being ill with a fever, flitting in and out of being awake, dreams and nightmares dancing behind her lids. Sweat skimmed her brow as she tossed and turned.

Squeak, squeak.

 The Red Keep was the noisiest, creakiest building she’d ever slept in– not even comparable to Storm’s End, which stood tall for generations against the most ferocious of storms, waves crashing against the weathered bricks.

Squeak, squeak.

Lyanna’s eyes fluttered open, light illuminating behind the curtain. She turned to the side, seeing that Aegon was gone, feeling better for it. She couldn’t quite shake how he looked at her last night after they coupled– something akin to disgust and pity, as if she was no more than an inconvenience for him. Mayhaps she was. She rubbed her eyes, wiping away the errant hair stuck to her forehead from sweat, sitting up. A gnawing pain gathered at her lower belly, as if she’d lost something precious to her. 

Stepping onto the stone floor, she slipped on her house slippers. A flash of red caught her eye– blood was on the bed. It wasn’t much, a spattering spit inked into the cotton sheets and it was reminiscent of when her moon’s blood would catch her off guard at times. But this wasn’t her moon’s blood. Her pulse hammered in her neck, remembering Aegon’s words from the night before, her eyes leading to the now dry, stiff cloth on her nightstand, which was also stained with blood. It was a reminder of what she lost– a part of her innocence, a chapter of her life closed. She was no longer a girl, fretting with girlish thoughts and girlish problems– she was a woman, a wife– she was the Queen. 

The realization came to her like a ton of bricks falling on her and her legs wobbled under her like a newborn fawn’s– she was the Queen. People would look to her for guidance, for an example– she felt underprepared for it all and her insides continued to swirl like a storm off in the distance, ever looming, ever there.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Lyanna’s eyes narrowed, the incessant squeaking noise that had woken her up was still going– there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, no pattern. Walking to the window, she drew back the curtain and looked outside. It was a perfectly calm, tepid, sunny day– clear skies.

Fetching her house coat, she wrapped it taut around her body, snuggling into it and covering her silken sleeping shift– she didn’t know if Aegon would be out in the solar and didn’t want to chance it. She felt ill at the thought of being… exposed to him in broad daylight. 

Squeak, squeak. Bump. Bump.

The noise was rampant now, irritating Lyanna. She wished to find the source of the disturbance, mayhaps it was something simple, like a window left open or a rat. She had hoped it wasn’t a rat.

The solar was empty upon investigation, the curtains half-open. The noise, now speeding up in its frequency, appeared to be coming from the washroom on the far side of the chamber. The door was ajar by an inch or two. Huffing, she padded over to the door and peeked in.

In hindsight, she very much wished it had been a rat. A big, fat, disgusting rat with protruding teeth and a hundred babies scattered around it. Anything would’ve been better than what she saw.

Aegon, she surmised– his backside to her, a few errant scars and burns littered around his torso. He was naked as the day he was born, his muscles taut as he drilled into a woman– she was littered in jewels and pearls in her matching outfit with Aegon, nude. She had dark brown hair and fair skin, her body undulating and shivering against each thrust Aegon made– Lyanna came to the quick conclusion that she was a whore. Lyanna’s husband was fucking a whore. Fucking a whore in their chambers, with all the vigor and fervor of a dragon, panting up a storm and whispering to her, even smacking her ass and praising her. 

She was going to be sick. She was going to vomit on the floor, cry, scream, confront him, claw the whore’s eyes out– she had to get away. A small gasp escaped her lips unwittingly as she fled back to their bedroom. Her hands were shaking as the image replayed in her mind– she never expected her and Aegon to love one another, she couldn’t ask that of him, of anyone. But he seemed pained to even touch her the night before, to lay with her– he couldn’t even look at her fucking face. Was she so hideous that her own husband couldn’t… she grabbed a pair of embroidery scissors, her body moving faster than her mind. The squeaking noises of Aegon and his whore coupling was going on for well over thirty minutes, when he could barely be inside of Lyanna for three the night before. 

The sound of his voice, the little she had heard, as he whispered to the woman, citing her as beautiful, lovely, sweet– Lyanna clutched her skirt with one hand, the scissors in the other as she began her descent. 

Her hand stabbed into the bed, cutting and slashing around the stained sheet, the edges frayed into a jagged mess. Once the twisted fragment of cloth was free, she discarded the scissors as she slammed through every door she could– out of the bedroom, out of the solar– she didn’t know what to feel, she felt too much. 

The bloody token was clenched in her fist, her knuckles white as she knocked fervently on the door of the Queen mother. 

One of her handmaidens answered, her head bowing, “Your grace–”

“Lyanna?” Alicent’s voice called. She was sitting at a table near the open window balcony of her solar, tea cup in hand. She was still in her nightgown, hair down and flowing behind her. She took one look at her good-daughter’s face and eyed her handmaiden, “Leave us, Talya.”

“This– this is proof,” Lyanna whispered, holding out the stained sheet, “This is proof that I… have done my duty– I tried, I am trying–” she sniffed, tears running down her face as her hands shook violently. 

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her face soft, “Oh, dear girl,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around Lyanna, all encapsulating and warm, “I know, I know. You’ve done so well– did… did he hurt you?” she asked, her voice so quiet it was almost unheard.

Lyanna shook her head as she dropped the sheet, slotting herself against Alicent’s chest, sobbing her heart out. 

“I know it hurts, my sweet girl,” Alicent breathed, “It won’t always hurt. Eventually… you become numb." She moved the two of them to the couch and simply held the poor girl while she shook and sobbed for the better part of an hour. Alicent petted her head softly, not saying anything more until Lyanna’s sobs quieted to simple sniffs. “Mayhaps– we should have you move into your own chambers. It isn’t uncommon for husband and wife to be in separate chambers. King Viserys and I did not… sleep in the same bed for the better part of our marriage. I’m all the grateful for it– you need your own space to curate, to make your own. You are the Queen now, mayhaps we shall set up luncheons with the ladies in your new chambers, hm? We shall break fast together every morn before we go to the Sept, and we should even charter a weekly trip to the Grand Sept– but let me not get carried away with plans so soon. Let us focus on getting you into your own solar, your own bed,” she put her hand under Lyanna’s chin and tilted her head upward, “It gets better, I promise.”

– 

Lyanna returned to their– no, it was Aegon’s alone now– chambers a few hours later, after calming down and breaking her fast with Alicent. It was completely empty now, she checked the washroom, just to make sure.

After properly dressing for the day in a simple blue gown, tying her hair up in a braided bun. A quick peek in the mirror disappointed her slightly– she didn’t look queenly yet, merely a little girl trying to play the part. But it would have to be worked on.

Slowly, she gathered her things– mostly just one or two things to carry, and the rest for the servants to take down to her new chambers. Sometime during her organization, she heard the door close. Expecting it to be a servant, as they’d been in and out for the past hour taking her things, she didn’t turn around. “Please, don’t forget the chest near the door– it has all of my cloaks in it.”

“What’s going on here?” A voice, Aegon’s she quickly surmised, spoke.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as the scene from earlier in the morn plagued her mind. His voice to her now sounded to cold, versus the warm, husky drawl to which he praised the whore with. She took a breath and stood up straight, smoothing out her skirts. “I am moving my things to my chambers.”

“Your chambers? Is this not your chambers?” he spoke with a sarcasm that made her blood boil, his brow raised.

“It is yours. Husband and wife have separate chambers all the time.”

“Did my mother tell you that? It sounds like her words,” he scoffed, walking a bit closer to her. He smelled of musk and fire, something deep and animalistic she couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I must say, it’s quite a record. A mere day it took for my mother to poison your mind against me. Tell me, did she use her infamous line about me being a sinner? Talk about my voracious, impure appetites?” 

Lyanna’s brow knit in irritation, hands clenched onto a half-finished embroidery piece. It was of Sunfyre, Aegon’s dragon, whom she’d never seen, but had heard of. She started it when the betrothal was announced and it was to be a gift for him. The wood of the hoop cracked under her fingers. “Was she good to you, dear husband?” 

He was confused now, tilting his head. “Whom? My mother?”

“Did you purchase her those pearls? Or was that a gift from one of her other suitors?”

Aegon’s face blanched slightly as he cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you expected.”

“What I expected?” Lyanna’s voice quivered.

“Yes, what you expected,” Aegon countered as he clenched and unclenched his fist, “My… proclivities aren’t exactly a secret. You knew what you were getting into–” 

“Don’t– don’t! I expected to marry a king– and yes, I’d heard… rumors. I thought mayhaps you… might’ve turned a new leaf after the war.”

“Fucking hell, you sound like my grandsire. Is that what you expected then? Batting your lashes and exchanging a few words between us and I’ll swear off of other women’s cunts for the rest of my life? Mayhaps if you weren’t so…” 

“So what? Say it, so I know where I stand.” 

“You’re plain looking. You aren’t some great beauty that they write songs about, that men go to war for, hm?”

Lyanna stopped then, her throat going dry. Her finger tips felt numb as an aching feeling spread through her body in waves, emanating from her chest. 

“When my grandsire told me I was to marry one of the Baratheon girls, I’d hoped it to be one of your sisters. Cassandra, or mayhaps Floris. Now that is a woman! Blue eyes always were a favorite of mine. Mayhaps when they come to visit again I’ll stick my cock in one of them– I doubt their husbands are satisfying them as well as they could be.”

It felt as if her blood was on fire, her hands twitching. She could feel her pulse in her neck, her head spinning. She could hardly believe the words she was hearing– it felt as if he had stabbed her and each word was another twist of his knife in her gut. 

“Cat got your tongue, wife?” 

She felt her blood pumping through her body whilst feeling like her body was devoid of blood at the same time. A blank stare came over her, her eyes glazing over. Her mouth was taut in a line. Was it possible for the numbness to hurt? It rolled through her in waves like a sickness and she felt bile rise in her throat. It was acrid, stinging her mouth and poisoning her tongue. 

Her movements were a blur, she could hardly see a few feet in front of her, her body was autonomous as she left Aegon standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face, as if putting her down was some great feat, as if he’d conquered her already fragile disposition and proven himself better.

She locked herself in her new chambers for three days after that, only taking Alicent as a visitor. She didn’t cry– she just hid. She had the mirrors removed temporarily, thinking herself so ugly she couldn’t bear to see her own face, just as Aegon couldn’t even look at her face. 

–

“Have you no shame, son? Where did I go wrong in raising you that you could be such a brute, a monstrous cad to your wife?!” Alicent continued on, going on for the second hour of yelling at him.

“My ability to feel shame was ripped away from me at a young age, mother. You and grandsire should know best about that.” he replied dryly, swirling his wine in his goblet.

“She is a sweet girl, Aegon! A bit naive, yes, but so was I when I married your father.”

“Is that what this is about, mother? You see a small version of yourself in that girl? Is that why you so valiantly protect her– would that make me my father then?” He took a sip. “That is a new insult, quite creative you are with that one.”

“You are hopeless, Aegon.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. We are all fucking hopeless.”

Alicent left, slamming the door behind her.

Aegon stared at his half-empty cup of wine, staring into the red, swirling liquid. He was a vicious, monstrous cad. Not like his brother was, at least he was useful in his monstrousness, bringing half the realm to heel on that geriatric dragon of his.

 Aegon was more akin to a dog than a dragon, feeling the yank of his chain once more. Mayhaps he was a bad dog– he bit the hand that tried to feed him, leaving him starving and alone.

He got up from the settee and moved to refill his glass when he saw a flash of gold in the corner of his eye. Bending down, he picked up an embroidery hoop. The edges were cracked, splinters of dark wood jutting out. The thread weaved in it was golden and pink, in the shape of a dragon– half of one, anyhow. He could spot the likeness of his proudest achievement half a mile away. It was a depiction of Sunfyre, half finished. It was quite good.

He put down the bottle, discarding his goblet for the time being. He wondered who did this– mayhaps Helaena or Jaehaera. 

Then it dawned upon him– he had seen Lyanna holding it when she was gathering her things days before.

Just before he said those things. Hurtful, awful things. His fingertips traced the stitches of the embroidery, amazed that she was able to portray Sunfyre so accurately without ever having seen him.

Aegon’s lip wobbled slightly as he felt tears well up in his eyes. He wasn’t a bad dog– he doesn’t know why he bites. He just does.

taglist: @mariahossain @zillahvathek

[julibf]

Sansa Stark connection with

the Blue Rose

A GAME OF THRONES 

We all know that the Blue Rose has a very important significance in the story of ASOIAF and many readers seem to believe that Sansa story has nothing to do with the Blue Rose, but George managed to sneak in some hints that the blue rose will be a big part of Sansa story. We start to see the connection right in the beginning of the story, when King Robert is visiting Lyanna in the crypts of Winterfell. 

"I was with her when she died," Ned reminded the king. "She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father." …….."I bring her flowers when I can," he said. "Lyanna was … fond of flowers." (A Game of Thrones - Eddard I)

We have George telling the reader how important flowers are for Lyanna storyline. 

THE HAND’S TOURNAMENT

"It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling. (A Game of Thrones - Sansa II)

Sansa is experiencing her first Tourney, this is even greater than her dreams. Now, we all know that her aunt Lyanna Stark was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty in the Tourney of Harrenhall. She received a crown of frosting blue roses from the beautiful Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and if you read Sansa’s chapter you would think those events have nothing similar, yet, if you pay attention, you can see the crumbs that George have left for us. 

Ser Loras was the youngest son of Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. Sansa had never seen anyone so beautiful. His plate was intricately fashioned and enameled as a bouquet of a thousand different flowers, and his snow-white stallion was draped in a blanket of red and white roses. After each victory, Ser Loras would remove his helm and ride slowly round the fence, and finally pluck a single white rose from the blanket and toss it to some fair maiden in the crowd….. Sansa never saw it. Her eyes were only for Ser Loras. When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst. .... To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry. (A Game of Thrones - Sansa II)

Ser Loras, the KNIGHT OF FLOWERS, gives Sansa a red rose (different from the white ones he was giving to the other maidens). A few chapters later, on Eddard VII, Ned notices that the flowers in Ser Loras armour are covered in sapphires making the flowers all blue. 

When the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and he heard Sansa's fervent whisper, "Oh, he's so beautiful." Ser Loras Tyrell was slender as a reed, dressed in a suit of fabulous silver armor polished to a blinding sheen and filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The commons realized in the same instant as Ned that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires. (A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII)

First, we have Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers, who wears an armour covered in blue flowers, giving Sansa a rose and telling her she is beautiful. Later we have Lord Baelish telling Sansa that she has her mother ‘s look and tells her Catelyn was HIS queen of beauty. For last, we have Sandor Clegane the champion of the lists after protecting Loras from the Mountain, having been named champion by Loras, escorts Sansa home.

Sansa was the Queen of Beauty and Love of the Tourney, only the author deconstructed the events in tiny little pieces. Again, George is literally giving us a puzzle with tiny little pieces that we must put together in order to get this story right.

A CLASH OF KINGS. 

In this book, we are going to read a tale about the Blue Rose of Winterfell in one of Jon Snow chapters. The author is going to intercalate the chapters giving us a foreshadow for the end of the story. The chapters 51, 52 and 53 are going to be very important for the story.

A CLASH OF KINGS CHAPTER 51, JON VII

In this chapter Jon Snow captures Ygritte and while she is his prisoner, she tells Jon and the audience, the story of Bael the Bard, who stole the maiden of Winterfell and left in her place a blue rose. 

She smiled again, a flash of white teeth. "And she never sung you the song o' the winter rose?" "I never knew my mother. Or any such song." "Bael the Bard made it," said Ygritte. "He was King-beyond-the-Wall a long time back. All the free folk know his songs, but might be you don't sing them in the south." "The Stark in Winterfell wanted Bael's head, but never could take him, and the taste o' failure galled him. One day in his bitterness he called Bael a craven who preyed only on the weak. When word o' that got back, Bael vowed to teach the lord a lesson. So he scaled the Wall, skipped down the kingsroad, and walked into Winterfell one winter's night with harp in hand, naming himself Sygerrik of Skagos. Sygerrik means 'deceiver' in the Old Tongue, that the First Men spoke, and the giants still speak." "North or south, singers always find a ready welcome, so Bael ate at Lord Stark's own table, and played for the lord in his high seat until half the night was gone. The old songs he played, and new ones he'd made himself, and he played and sang so well that when he was done, the lord offered to let him name his own reward. 'All I ask is a flower,' Bael answered, 'the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens o' Winterfell.'" "Now as it happened the winter roses had only then come into bloom, and no flower is so rare nor precious. So the Stark sent to his glass gardens and commanded that the most beautiful o' the winter roses be plucked for the singer's payment. And so it was done. But when morning come, the singer had vanished . . . and so had Lord Brandon's maiden daughter. Her bed they found empty, but for the pale blue rose that Bael had left on the pillow where her head had lain".(A Clash of Kings - Jon VI)

In the song, Bael calls the maiden of Winterfell the fairest flower that blooms in the gardens of Winterfell and stills her for himself. The Lord of Winterfell thought he meant the winter roses from the glass castle gardens, but it was the girl that Bael wanted for himself.

The next chapter of the book, chapter 52, is SANSA IV

In this chapter Sansa will get her period and be ready to give children to the king. A winter rose (a maiden Stark of Winterfell) is flowering and blooming. 

"When she woke, the pale light of morning was slanting through her window, yet she felt as sick and achy as if she had not slept at all. There was something sticky on her thighs. When she threw back the blanket and saw the blood, all she could think was that her dream had somehow come true. She remembered the knives inside her, twisting and ripping. She squirmed away in horror, kicking at the sheets and falling to the floor, breathing raggedly, naked, bloodied, and afraid. But as she crouched there, on her hands and knees, understanding came. "No, please," Sansa whimpered, "please, no." She didn't want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now...... The sight of the food made Sansa feel ill. Her tummy was tied in a knot. "No, thank you, Your Grace." "I don't blame you. Between Tyrion and Lord Stannis, everything I eat tastes of ash. And now you're setting fires as well. What did you hope to accomplish?" Sansa lowered her head. "The blood frightened me." "The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You've had your first flowering, no more." Sansa had never felt less flowery. "My lady mother told me, but I . . . I thought it would be different." "Different how?" "I don't know. Less . . . less messy, and more magical." Queen Cersei laughed. "Wait until you birth a child, Sansa. A woman's life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you'll learn that soon enough . . . and the parts that look like magic often turn out to be messiest of all." She took a sip of milk. "So now you are a woman. Do you have the least idea of what that means?" "It means that I am now fit to be wedded and bedded," said Sansa, "and to bear children for the king." (A CLASH OF KINGS - SANSA IV)

I must admit I was always surprised that so many readers never notice how Sansa chapter where she flowers comes right after the chapter where we hear the tale of Bael the Bard and never put the two together. If the story follows the end of the show, Sansa will be the last maid left in Winterfell, since Arya is sailing in the sea and Jon will be the King Beyond the wall. 

A STORM OF SWORDS

Finally, my favourite foreshadow in the entire serie!!!!

This was it was noticed by https://www.tumblr.com/nattyslove22 please go check her gorgeous post here in this link!!!!

To catch the little crumbs that George left us in this book, we have to go back to book 1, A GAME OF THRONES in order to find our clues. In that novel, Catelyn kidnaps Tyrion Lannister and takes him to the Vale, to her sister castle the Eyre and while she is there, she mentions that Lysas apartments are close to a small garden of blue flowers.

Lysa's apartments opened over a small garden, a circle of dirt and grass planted with blue flowers and ringed on all sides by tall white towers. The builders had intended it as a godswood, but the Eyrie rested on the hard stone of the mountain, and no matter how much soil was hauled up from the Vale, they could not get a weirwood to take root here. So the Lords of the Eyrie planted grass and scattered statuary amidst low, flowering shrubs. It was there the two champions would meet to place their lives, and that of Tyrion Lannister, into the hands of the gods. (A GAME OF THRONES CATELYN VII)

Later in A STORM OF SWORDS, we will have Sansa leaving her apartments and finding the entire garden covered in snow. We know that it’s the same garden because George made sure to point out the sculpture of the Weeping woman in both chapters. 

In this scene, we have Sansa being kissed by the SNOW on her lips in a garden of BLUE FLOWERS, reviving her dreams of love and innocence. The entire chapter feels like a dream, where Sansa longs for home, for the dreams that she used to dream. 

She awoke all at once, every nerve atingle. For a moment she did not remember where she was. She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep, not her sister, and this was not Winterfell, but the Eyrie. And I am Alayne Stone, a bastard girl. The room was cold and black, though she was warm beneath the blankets. Dawn had not yet come. Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping, but this dream had not been like that. Home. It was a dream of home. …….. Snow was falling on the Eyrie. Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? Already the snowfall lay thick upon the garden below, blanketing the grass, dusting the shrubs and statues with white and weighing down the branches of the trees. The sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the long summer of her childhood.

We are going back to her childhood. 

She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell. That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning. Hullen had helped her mount, and she'd ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world. I thought my song was beginning that day, but it was almost done.

We have now Sansa for the first time in the novels, mentioning HER SONG, the song she thought it was going to happen in Kings Landing, the song that she now believes has come to an end. But what if, her song is just about to start???

When she opened the door to the garden, it was so lovely that she held her breath, unwilling to disturb such perfect beauty. The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. All color had fled the world outside. It was a place of whites and blacks and greys. White towers and white snow and white statues, black shadows and black trees, the dark grey sky above. A pure world, Sansa thought. I do not belong here. Yet, she stepped all the same. 

Ghostly silence is very on the nose. 

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

SIGH, this will NEVER not be the most romantic chapter of the books.

THE BLUE ROSE AND SANSA STARK

Many of you, will say that the Blue Rose is not Sansa, its Jon Snow, which I agree somehow. The books point out to Jon as the blue rose, but the books also point out as the maiden of Winterfell as the winter rose. 

A very interesting point to notice is that this time, George is making the story a little different. You see, in the tale of Bael the Bard, Bael is the singer who enchants the Winterfell maiden, runs away with her and gives her a son; the same thing with Prince Rhaeger, who stole Lyanna and gave her a son, Rhaegar, just like Bael was a singer and played the High Harp, we have several characters in the books mentioning what lovely singer the dragon prince is that he even made Lyanna Stark cry with his sweet voice. With Jon and Sansa, the story will be a little different, because in this story, Sansa is the singer!!!!!

CREDIT https://nobodysuspectsthebutterfly.tumblr.com/post/716900314509361152

Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. (A Game of Thrones - Arya I)

Well look at that, the same instrument that Rhaegar used to play. 

Margaery’s kindness had been unfailing, and her presence changed everything. Her ladies welcomed Sansa as well. It had been so long since she had enjoyed the company of other women, she had almost forgotten how pleasant it could be. Lady Leonette gave her lessons on the high harp, and Lady Janna shared all the choice gossip. Merry Crane always had an amusing story, and little Lady Bulwer reminded her of Arya, though not so fierce. ( A Storm of Swords - Sansa II)

And of course, Jon only mentions Sansa a few times but he makes sure to mention Sansa singing.

"Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow.". (A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII)

It was Sansa who bewitched Jon Snow with her songs, right in the beginning of the story. Which is why I believe that Sansa first child will be a girl and not a son, like Lyanna and Rhaegar. 

THE POWER OF SONGS

Its with a song that Sansa saves her life during the battle of Blackwater. We all know that during that chapter Sandor Clegane abandons Joffrey guard and goes looking for Sansa in her room. He is drunk and angry and Sansa believes he will either rape or kill her, she is terrified of him, but instead of screaming or crying, she sings for him and her song calms him and makes him cry. 

Later, in the next chapter Sandor Clegane comes looking for Sansa in her room and threats to kill her, Sansa is terrified of him and instead of screaming or crying she starts to sing and her song calms him and makes him cry. 

His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life." Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day.

Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray, soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.

She had forgotten the other verses. When her voice trailed off, she feared he might kill her, but after a moment the Hound took the blade from her throat, never speaking. Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. A CLASH OF KINGS - SANSA VII)

Yes, Sansa is no warrior and can not use swords, but she was still able to defeat the great Sandor Clean by using a song. I love that detail in her story. This is a Song of Ice and Fire and my baby girl is one of the singers of the story.

OK, this is getting long, so I am finishing here. I am a re reading of all the books this year, expecting for a release date of WINDS (we can dream right?) but I am getting surprised at how many little details I am finding this time. The books are full of little surprises. 

BTW, I am planning to do a thread pointing out the parallels between Sansa and Rhaegar and let me tell you, the singing its not the only one I notice so far!!

[atopvisenyashill]

I don't ship jonsa, but i also think that Arya will be the one to kill Dany. Think about it. Arya is Lyanna reborn, we are told again and again in the books and Daenerys is the male version of Rhaegar. (Not my words. Daenerys' own supporters and her own fans keep harping on about this.)

What better thematic way to show Lyanna finally defeating the man who basically murdered her by forcing his child on her at such a young age while he held her captive, then by having a willful Stark girl, who is her niece, who looks exactly like her, end the last tyrant to wear the name Targaryen?

This is why I truly believe Arya Stark will be the end of Daenerys Targaryen. Not Jon Snow.

Yes, I honestly need a tag for this but I do think Arya's arc about who deserves death, who deserves to mete out death, and when death is a blessing, are bringing her not just to killing Lady Stoneheart but killing Daenerys. I have a post about it here that goes into the "arya is surrounded by the horrors of Valyria, about to come face to face without a woman who is the personification of Valyria" and another great one here that goes into how "who kills Dany" might even be left a mystery. I haven't talked about it here but I have my tags on this post here (by the great stumpy, I think her reading on how Dany could be killed is pretty spot on to how it would happen) and I'll paste them here-

#‘she doesn’t require those skills for her mother’ is a very good point. i think she’ll kill both and it’ll be sort of two sides of the same #killing lsh is about the mercy aspect when it comes to the person being executed. it’s about reckoning with her complex feelings towards the #feminine towards her mother towards her grief. the slave asks for mercy and the faceless men grant it. and i think here arya will understand #why death can be a mercy. and why skipping the trial aspect is bad (see her killing the singer). it’s about arya working through her grief. #whereas killing dany is mercy towards the many and not the one being executed. it’s about where her story ends. not low after killing her #mother but becoming a queenslayer and feeling no shame over it. the culmination not of her emotional journey but her actionable one. from #befriending the poor and peasantry to killing a queen to protect them.

So much of Arya's story - not dissimilar to Dany's! - is that she befriends the smallfolk & common born, sees the way they suffer, and is attempting to do something to help alleviate that suffering, but alleviating it is so much harder than they expected. Whereas I think Dany's story is careening towards a moment where she decides the only way to "help" is to cleanse them with fire to be remade anew just as she was, Arya's story is coming from understanding when it's time to step in - when killing becomes a mercy. For her mother, that's part of the Heroine's Journey; Arya having rejected the feminine for the masculine, descending into the underworld, coming back with new gifts and skills, and finally reconciling herself with the feminine. No, this doesn't mean Arya is going to suddenly start wearing dresses; rather, it's about how her issues with sewing are about Catelyn not about Sansa. It's about her unresolved issues with her mother.

But part of "justice" as Arya learns is that death comes not just as a mercy for the poor, but as retribution against the powerful. That part of the lesson isn't a factor in her killing LSH so it will be found elsewhere. But where? It won't be with Littlefucker or the Night King, it won't be with the Freys...there's not a lot of options left! But Arya, like the rest of her siblings, is going to find out the truth about Lyanna and what happened to her. That's going to be relevant!

[swordsandarms]

i know you just tend to lurk (me too) but your fandomised rhaegar thoughts are very validating lol. ive always thought blue roses are symbolic of a child born from love, not symbolic of a woman. like lyanna has the roses cause she's jon's mother and rhaegar's love, not because they're her "thing"? never thought that was far fetched til coming online lmao.

OK, this was in my drafts for like a decade.

The roses aren't really the child or the woman, but a representation of the (tragic, but bittersweet) love itself. Though, of course, Jon as the "fruit"/"proof" of it is still at the centre of it all.

Used to hate the concept of "tragedy" and not understand how that can be compelling/satisfying. Turns out a lot of tragedy is badly done, hence the feeling of meaningless/pointlessness of it all some of them give you. Look at HOTD. The problem with the writing is that everything is made meaningless, not that your "favourite" isn't winning everything. It is the fact that it's all bitter and no sweet at the end of the day. (Not the book version, which is also a matter of how much better ASOIAF handles the "continuation" of the tragedy better than GOT).

I see Rhaelya as a representation of the concept: "The love was there. It didn't save anyone, it didn't change anything, but the love was there."

Once you get to look at it like that, it becomes very annoying when people in the fandom sound like a broken record of "what's nice about this?? EveRYoNE dIeS". Yeah, that's how tragedies work, but look at it as such and you'll see the nice, too.

It's not about how "oh, why would you think the author is trying to paint Romeo and Juliet as a romance when he liked Rosaline before, and now suddenly her overnight?"/"oh, it's all about how they are dumb teenagers messing up"/"oh, isn't Orpheus the dumbest for turning round".

Romeo and Juliet are young people finding a shiny thing in a shitty society that creates generational cycles of pain and hate for stupid reasons. The ending is satisfying not because the love is successful but because the characters - and readers are meant to - finally get that. Orpheus turns round because he loves Eurydice and if you did you would, too.

Westeros is a hellscape of ambition, heartlessness, and corruption. Everyone is stabbing everyone's back for a bit more of land, a bit more of wealth, a bit more political influence. Selling and pawning their loved ones for a corn chip. (Controversial opinion, neither Elia or Lyanna should have been in that position, but that's the reason why, "loving families" and all. Even more Controversial, Rhaegar shouldn't have been in that position also. And that's the "good" people - as Controversial as people might think that statement is for Rhaegar. But also OH, you mean selling off Cersei didn't work out well cause she was meant to be a pretty object and didn't have to be taught about armies and resources, just vanity? Or Lysa for some reason wasn't all that grateful to papa to give armies to the great alliance when they needed them, for reasons of keeping the one "trueborn child" she had sheltered, cause that's the one thing you promised her she could get if she did your bidding?) Looking away from what is fair when it is "lawful" according to the status quo (and fandom finds it easy to pinpoint it when it's someone deemed hateworthy, but will be 1000% lenient towards a Ned Stark, and will even hold characters they hate accountable when putting FAIRNESS ABOVE LAW).

And the thing about ASOIAF fandom is THEY LOVE THIS SHIT. They love to romanticise it all. But there's the paradox of it all. Romanticising comes with this idea of unrealistic wistfulness, I guess. If a character lives in "the cruel real world", the romanticised ideal is nice to think about. If they actually reach for ideals, they are fools who should get real about living in the "cruel real world".

Oop, I ventured far from the point. But I just love the whole CONCEPT of the blue rose at its roots. 💙 It literally means just that at its roots. Something wistful but unattainable.

[martellspear]

We don't know the entire story yet, so it's impossible to make a judgement like you're doing.

I'd argue that Elia was in fact in on all of Rhaegar's schemes to bring about prophecy. They both knew she couldn't have anymore kids, and so she allowed him to seek out a woman who could...Lyanna.

A crown prince must have more than 2 kids, Elia failed her only purpose. No wonder Rhaegar turned to Lyanna.

I mean, Dorne seems OK with anything so long as there's an agreement between all parties involved.

Robert didn't love any of the women he slept with. His vows meant nothing.

Rhaegar meant everything. He cared for Elia and his children, but also seemed to be in love with Lyanna. His vows had meaning, even if they were interpreted differently.

Hi, anon. I'll assume you've read "tolerate it" and that's what made you come here.

We don't know much about them but I highly doubt Elia was 100% on board with everything. I think he shared some aspects of the prophecy but can you, honestly, tell me that she would take part in the most humiliating moment of her life? Willingly?

"Jon Arryn and Robert and Lord Hunter joking a moment before what was happening dawned on them, Ned watching as Rhaegar was about to stop in front of his sister, mad Aerys glowering in the distance, Elia stiff-backed and trying to act as if nothing was wrong, Jon Connington probably looking vaguely sad, and so on." — source

That's what Paolo Puggioni, an artist George hired, said the author himself told him.

One of my darling moots put in words, better than I would ever be able to, thoughts about Elia and the polyamory relationship some people like to insert her into, you can read it here.

Yes, Elia could be accepting and supportive of others who do it, it's their life. But she's the Crown Prince's wife and future queen. Why would she even consider adding one more person to their relationship? Especially knowing the consequences of those? And not only for her personal life and her children; think about Dorne, the Stormlands and the North's reaction to such insult and pair it up with everything the war cost (Brandon and Rickard died before it even truly started). "But with Rhaegar being king-" George has made clear how fragile monarchy in Westeros actually is.

Elia would put her children in a dangerous position if she not only fully agreed to Rhaegar's plans but also welcomed Lyanna and his bastard. Additionally, I'd love it if you could point it out for me where it says a crown prince can't have only two children (seriously, I'd like to know). Elia gave him two healthy kids and it almost cost her her life, she didn't fail anything.

(consider this to be about book!rhaegar and lyanna; my thoughts on their show version couldn't be more different)

I don't think Rhaegar loved Lyanna at all. And sometimes it honestly felt like he'd rather if she died after giving birth. She was a means to an end. Personally, I believe he manipulated her and then either kept information from her (she wouldn't stay if she knew what happened to her brother and father) or kept her there against her will; two disgusting scenarios. Rhaegar was obsessed with the prophecy, he changed his entire lifestyle for it. If it was love, he could've abandoned his crown and gone to Essos 🤷🏻‍♀️.

If Elia was aware, why wasn't she in Dorne and completely safe? Why didn't Oberyn know of this? "No, but he goes after the Lannisters-" he wanted justice. Even if the person who set them up was Rhaegar, the one who gave the order was Tywin and the one who did it was his beast. Aerys and Rhaegar were not people he could go after, maybe in his afterlife.

More importantly, and I'll be repeating myself here, it doesn't matter if she loved Rhaegar or not or how deeply she did it. Rhaegar's bastard is a direct threat to her children and their future and I doubt Elia - or anyone who hasn't lost their wits - would happily comply with that.

I have done nothing but gathering information and filling voids, what most do in this fandom tbh. There's little we know of how it was like but Rhaegar did hurt Elia again and again; and I do believe he was fond of her, which only makes things worse.

I don't have to know his thoughts to know that some of his actions were disrespectful, hurtful and disgusting; Elia doesn't have to agree or be aware of his plans for crowing another woman QoL&B (and later run away with her) to be humiliating.

Rhaegar, and Rhaegar alone, handled everything with all the sensitive and grace of a reversing dump truck.

[genz420]

Beauty of Scars & Flowers - Chapter 6: Lustful Thoughts.

Master List

Previous Part - Next Part

The sun shone down into the Godswood; the warm sun was a contrast to the cool breeze of winter. Two silver-haired Valyrians sat in the company of the dark-haired pup of House Strong. Any on-looker would take the scene as three ladies relaxing, but a closer look would reveal that the straight-haired beauty was a prince.  

The positions of the three of them could raise questions, with Helaena leaning against the Heart Tree and her two companions lying before her. Aemond had been so gracious as to bring a blanket for the three of them to lay on, but instead, the soon-to-be lady of Harrenhal took one of the pillows he had brought and made herself comfortable resting upon his shins. 

Aemond and Lyanna exchanged books, Aemond giving Lyanna one about the histories of his house while Lyanna gave him one of her annotated books on botany. Aemond had been reading more of the notes Lyanna had made rather than the original contents while gently playing with the few loose curls he could reach. 

Lyanna glanced up at the sky, studying the clouds and trying to draw shapes from them. She let her book fall atop her chest. She hadn’t been actually reading the words on the page; instead, she focused on the prince she was leaning against. Side glances that she was sure he could not see or would notice, she watched as his jaw clenched and realized, and his nostrils flared. 

She found her inability to focus on the book frustrating. Her inability to not pay Aemond attenuation was frustrating. She was a woman grown, yet she felt no better than when she was a child with a crush on the stable boy. 

Aemond watched as Lyanna’s eye darted from cloud to cloud. The way her chest pressed against her dress as she took a breath, the way her tongue moved across her lips every so often to wet them. The acts were so innocent, yet Aemond’s heart reacted more to them than when he had seen a naked woman. 

He wanted to hear her voice, for her attention to be focused on her rather than on the stupid clouds in the sky. Prephase, he needed to take to the skies to gain her attention.   

“Are my family's histories boring to you, My Lady Strong?” Aemond finally broke the song of the birds, his voice slightly coarse, and he could only regret not first drinking from the glass beside him before he spoke up. 

But the words did their job, pulling Lyanna’s attention away from the fluffy clouds and towards him. The sun beating down on them had caused her cheeks to turn slightly pink and for a few beads of sweat to develop on the curve of her neck. 

Lyanna could see the slight smile on his face, allowing her to know that his question was one of jest rather than serious. 

“They are indeed my prince. In fact, they are so boring that I find myself growing tired at the sight of the words,” she retorted, a false smile on her face. 

Aemond could tell there was more plaguing her mind than just boredom. Her smile was the giveaway. This smile was unlike the others. It did not make her eyes smaller nor reach the apples of her cheeks. It was the same smile she gave Ser Alan in the garden not even a week ago. Had she already grown bored of his company like she had Ser Alan? Did she think he was a brute, too? 

“She is homesick,” Helaena spoke up, not glancing away from the page she was scribbling away on.  

Helaena didn’t need to look at the two before her to know that they were exchanging longing glances and ghosts of touches. 

"Indeed I am Helaena.  I find my yearning for home growing each day,” Lyanna agreed, not wanting the Targaryens to know how her feelings were affecting her.

She was indeed homesick to an extent. She missed the embrace of her dearest companions, her uncles and cousins, and the sense of family that Harrenhal had. She missed the smell of ash and moss that would drift through the breeze of ruin. 

Maybe that is why she enjoyed the prince's company so much; the smell of smoke often lingered on him. On his skin, she assumed. The skin she wished to feel pressed upon hers, the warmth that probably radiated off him. 

“Our company isn’t to your stratification?” His question snapped her out of the ramble occurring in her mind. Grounding her back, Lyanna could not stop the shame creeping into her stomach as she remembered that she was lying before a heart tree. 

No doubt some god was judging the improper thoughts that plagued her mind. Or maybe the eyes of the past, present, and future were watching them, laughing because she was so smitten.  

Lyanna turned her head toward Aemond, laying her cheek on the pillow that rested against his shins. The sunlight only furthered the handsomeness of the prince, the way the rays cast shadows upon his cheeks and made his perfectly set hair glow. The gods were unkind to make a man so breathtakingly handsome, and she could only wonder how the ladies of the court did not swoon every time Aemond graced their presence. 

“Your company is the only thing keeping me here and not naming one of my second cousins as heir,” Lyanna replied as she stretched her arms out. “I do not know how much longer I can take of dress up and dull conversation with knights and second sons,” 

Her words were one of jest. She would sooner force herself upon a sword than allow one of her beloved relatives to take what was her. She had done things she was not proud of to ensure that the seat of Harrenhal was hers, convincing her Lord Paramount with wicked sins to prevent him from disinheriting her. 

“I believe you will have a proposal soon, don’t you think so, brother?” Helaena’s soft voice once again reminded the two of them that they were not alone. 

Both Aemond and Lyanna turn their gazes from one another to Helaena, who is still set on the paper before her. Acting if her words did cause Lyanna gratitude and Aemond horror. 

“And who will it be from? I do not believe Ser Alan will ask for my hand.  It seems Ser Daemion Valyron is more interested in the sea than women.  I think the only ones who might propose are the old lords who want a young bride,” Lyanna said, jesting with her friend. A true smile graced her face as she talked. 

Aemond had not yet heard that one of Lyanna's new prospects was Daemion Valyron; the idea of them marrying put a smile on his face. The mother gracing the realm in the flesh would happen sooner than a Strong and a Valyron marrying, Aemond thought to himself. 

Aemond also thought that Lyanna should not marry an old lord; she was young and deserved someone relative to their age. To waste a beauty such as her on someone so close to death would be cruel. 

“And what old lord are you talking about?” Aemond pondered, wanting to know if he would possibly scare away the old hags that were encroaching on Lyanna’s hand.  

“Ser Jason Lannister has been having more visits with my uncle, and Larys has been commenting on how beautiful I would look in gold and red.” She spoke as if the words were not told to her in confidence. “And then, of course, your grandsire,”

That final word was enough for Helaena to look away from her art and for Aemond to lean more toward her. Yet Lyanna acted as if it meant nothing more than her saying she wished for a glass of wine. 

“The hand?” Aemond asked, wanting to ensure that Lyanna was talking about Otto rather than summoning the spirit of the late Baelon. 

“Larys has also been saying that he believes green is flattening on me, not that your mother house colours are green, but all know that all Hightowers have been donning green for years now,” Lyanna rattled on as she closed her eyes on relaxed back onto Aemond legs. 

“If you marry our grandsire, you will be our good-grandmother,” Helaena commented as she went back to drawing. She liked the idea of Lyanna being family, yet she doubted Otto would seek Lyanna’s hand. 

“The match isn’t for him, some other Hightower,” She corrected as she fought off a smile and felt one of her curls slightly pulled on. 

“Who?” Aemond inquired, not allowing himself to feel hope that maybe, just maybe, the gods had finally taken pity on him and influenced his grandsire's opinions.  

“I do not know; Larys likes to keep me in the dark about serious potential suitors,”

Lyanna opened her eyes and looked at Aemond. “Are you going to accompany us at the banquet?” 

The dreaded banquet that his mother was hosting, the reason was void from his mind, yet he could understand if Lyanna would be excited for such an occasion since the queen had yet to host one since she arrived. Aemond knew that the night would be a bore, that he would spend it at the side of some lord as they talked his ear off about how comely their daughter was. 

“No,” He answered simply as he pulled a few blades of grass from Lyanna's locks.

“I wish for you to attend,” Lyanna told Aemond, not a command but just her voicing her desire. 

No one had expressed so openly to him that they wanted to have him around. Such bluntness put a slight smile on his face. 

“If I do attend, I fear that you, my lady, will be keeping me busy,” Aemond jested with her, running his fingers slightly through the few strands of hair that were within his reach. The action made Lyanna blush and smile with such care and gentleness that the prince did not often show people. 

“I will be entertaining-”

Lyanna did not finish her sentence as the reflection of light off armour caught her attention. She would have rather been caught running stark naked through the Godswood at Harrenhal by the women who raised her and her cousin than be in this current situation. 

Queen Alicent and Ser Criston Cole are standing at the entrance of the Godswood. She had a disappointed look on her face, and her hands held together. 

Lyanna did not know she could move so fast, but as she shot up to stop leaning against Aemond. Black spots appeared in her vision, but that did not stop her from moving to stand. Aemond quickly followed her actions, not because he had seen his mother but because such fast movement from Lyanna caused him to worry that there might be danger. The refile he felt as he saw that it was just his mother quickly faded as he knew that their position could be deemed improper.  

Lyanna does not stop the feeling of Aemond's hands upon her waist, stopping her from curtseying before the queen. Lyanna did not miss the way that the knight beside her gripped his sword as if Lyanna were about to attack the queen. Neither did Aemond.    

For the past two days, Aemond had blown off his morning training with Ser Criston to join Lyanna and Helaena while they broke their fasts. Each time, claiming that his mother needed him to find his drunken brother, and even now, he had told Ser Criston that he had gone on a flight to Vhagar. 

He did not miss the disappointing look that Ser Criston gave him before turning his gaze upon Lyanna. His expression turned sour, and the prince could not stop the slight worry about Lyanna’s safety, as Ser Criston was not the best at restraining his anger.

“Mother,” Aemond greeted, his hands leaving the curve of Lyanna’s waist. He silently prayed to himself that he might be able to commit the curve of her body to memory. He would want hours tracing the curves if he were allowed.  

Alicent did not miss the improper touches that her son shared with the lady in front of him. The face of the lady was unknown to her, yet the fact that her two most reserved children seemed so comfortable in her presence did not go unnoticed. 

“We had plans. Or did you two forget?” Alicent asked, not seeking an answer. 

Helaena and Aemond looked at one another, wanting the other to answer their mother. Helaena remembered such plans yet did not want to attend, but Aemond forgot while he lounged with his sister and Lyanna. 

Lyanna could feel the nerves building in her stomach as she looked between the three royals. She knew that there would be a scolding in her future from Larys if he found out about this. Alicent turned her gaze away from her children and toward the unknown woman.

“You have not yet introduced yourself,” Alicent told Lyanna, her stone matching the same authority that the septs in Lyanna's childhood. 

“Lyanna Strong,” Lyanna quickly said, and she did not miss how the queen's face twitched. The bitter feelings between house Strong and Hightower seemed to remind every present within the queen. 

“Lady Lyanna, I think it will be best for you to retire for the day,” Alicent told Lyanna, a sticky, sweet smile on her face, which caused Lyanna to nod and bow her head before the queen quickly. 

Lyanna does not waste a second before moving to leave the Godswood, leaving behind the annotated book she had given Aemond to read and the faint smell of lilies. She did not want to spend another moment in the presence of Alicent and Ser Criston, instead heading back to her chambers. 

Author Note:

Heyyyyyyyy. Guess who completely forgot about this story. Definitely not me. Saw the new episode. Cried twice. Saw Aemond and then immediately wrote this.

Taglist: Reply if you wish to be added to the taglist!

@delaynew @coldmermaidhologram @snh96 @sahvlren

[mkstrigidae]

Winter's Child Preview WIP (Surprise!)

Some of the pieces I have written for Winter's Child are more edited than I realized, so I thought I'd share one here as a treat for all of you who have stuck with the story through my accidental hiatus. We start reeeeally getting into some of the lore I've developed for the story going forward, and I'm excited to hear what you think of it!

“It’s so dark, father.” Sansa shuddered as her eyes flicked around her and she clutched tight at her father’s hand. She was all of eight years old, and had never been this far back into the crypts. Her other hand was firmly ensconced in Bael’s fur as she held onto his leg. “Why must our kin rest in such a- a lonely place?”

Her father chuckled, the sound echoing in the cavern.

“’tis not lonely, child.” He told her, easily lifting her up onto his hip. “Our crypts hold our kin- the history of our house. Hard men and honorable men and men who survived many winters. Can you think of better company for us in death?”

Sansa had to admit that this made sense. she snuggled closer to her father, tucking her head in his neck. Lady seemed wary as well, sticking close by Bael’s side. She was still tiny, next to the massive adult direwolf, and kept darting under him, eyes flicking around at the stone figures.

“You’re freezing already, sweetling.” Her father frowned, putting a hand to her cheek. “Your skin is like ice.”

“I’m not cold.” Sansa insisted, stubbornly. She didn’t want to go back yet. The crypts frightened her, but it was so rare that her father’s attention was focused on her and her alone. “Why are our crypts underground?”

“Where should they be?”

“Mother’s family lay their kin to rest in the rivers.” She murmured, playing with a lock of her father’s dark hair. “The Targaryens burned their dead, Maester Luwin said.”

Her father smiled at her.

“Would that your brothers paid half as much attention in their lessons.” He shook his head. “We return to the embrace of the earth- to rest under the roots of the weirwood and the eyes of the old gods.” he was quiet for a moment as they reached her aunt Lyanna’s tomb. “The old gods grant us the privilege of their power while we live.”

“Our gifts.” Sansa murmured. “The direwolves.” Bael leaned his head down, nuzzling at her dangling feet and she giggled.

“Yes, sweetling.” her father murmured, his eyes flashing for a second. “We return that gift to the earth when we die. The stone keeps in our bones, but our ancestors rest on the earth itself.” he gestured towards the older tombs, overrun with great, twisting white roots. “We feed the weirwood in death, allowing her to take back our magic.”

“Old Nan told me that the crypts are deep enough to keep our wild magic in.” Sansa told him. “Especially the Starks of old. Before Torrhen. The kings of winter.”

“Perhaps she is right.” Ned murmured, setting Sansa down to stand next to him in front of Lyanna’s statue. His gaze was indecipherable as he looked on her stone face. She had been beautiful, Sansa knew. Everyone always said so. She was beautiful even in stone, her companion, Alya, carved beside her. “The gift granted to the Starks of old was different from the wolves, sweetling. Harsher, wilder- more dangerous. Those who could call winter to their fingertips do not rest easily.”

“Why not?”

“To hold sway over winter was to call and command death itself.” Her father told her, his voice soft. “To live with one foot in the world of the gods. It was a wild gift, Sansa, and not one to be taken lightly.”

She nodded, solemnly. She had read the stories of the Stark kings of old. She wasn’t sure she would ever want to meet one, even if they were kin. One question kept tugging at the back of her mind, though.

“Father?”

“Yes, sweetling?”

“Why did the gods take it from us? The winter-blood gift, i mean.”

“I wish I knew.” Ned told her, his gaze not directed towards her, but rather to his sister’s face. “But none but Torrhen Stark and his immediate kin would know, and his bones remain silent. They hold no answers for us here.”

The two were silent for another moment.

“Do you think the gods will ever give it back to us?” Sansa asked, softly.

Her father’s face momentarily crumpled into a deep grief before he seemed to steady himself, digging a hand into Bael’s thick fur.

“Perhaps.” he murmured, laying a wreath of evergreen atop his sister’s tomb. There were snowflakes etched up and down the stone. Sansa had always thought it oddly beautiful for something so grim. “We can only wait on the gods, sweetling. One day, they may answer your question.”