#help jon snow is sleeping on my foot

[fantasydreamland]

My Saviour

jon snow x fem reader

Summary: After escaping a wildling raid you find yourself being chased by a hungry wolf until a man of the Nights Watch rescues you. Your first night sleeping at castle black has you shivering to the bone until you seek warmth in your rescuer.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! some violence in opening story, smut, loss of virginity, fluff, some spoilers

word count: 3004

masterlist

You just barely escaped your village being raided by wildlings. You saw some others escape in the opposite direction while everyone else was slaughtered like animals. You sprinted as fast as you could into the woods after seeing your family killed before your eyes.

Once you managed to get far enough away to catch your breath you stop behind a tree, panting onto your frozen hands. A twig snaps and your eyes dart up to meet a pair of vicious golden eyes through the thick snow watching you from another nearby tree. The wolf growls and before you have time to think it sprints towards you. You let out an unintentional scream and bolt in the other direction trying to twist and turn through trees to throw it off your path.

Frozen tears run down your face and your skin screams from the frost bite as you run for your life. Eventually you are led to a small frozen river. You carefully step a foot onto the ice and it lightly cracks. You quickly remove your foot until you see the wolf turn from behind a tree and spot you. You hold your breath and quickly tiptoe along the cracking ice. The wolf chases after you but then stops dead at the edge of the ice as if it knows the danger.

Halfway to the other side of the lake you slip and smash into the ice scraping open your exposed skin and causing the ice to form a much larger crack. You freeze in horror as you watch the loud crack slowly expand.

“Here! Quickly!” You hear a man’s voice shout to you. He spots the wolf on the other side as it turns around and leaves.

You look up to see a very handsome man in all black jumping off of his horse and pulling off his large fur cloak. He throws one end of the cloak towards you to grab onto. You grab it tightly as he slowly pulls you towards him. Your mind was in such a state of shock you no longer felt the ice nipping at your skin as you slid against it.

You began to shuffle closer and the ice let out another loud crack.

“Careful.” The man’s wide eyes met yours, he looked nearly as scared as you. “Remain still, just let me pull you.”

You nodded and put your full trust in this total stranger as he carefully pulled you off the ice and lifted you to stand. You instantly begin to fall over, your frozen bones not able to hold you up any longer.

“Gods, you’re frozen.” the man says as he wraps the cloak around you and rubs your arms to try and warm you.

“Do you think you can get up?” He says gesturing his head to his horse.

You nod, unable to speak through the shivering. He puts a hand on your back as you put your foot through the stirrup. His strong hands grab your sides and lift you up onto the horse. He quickly gets on behind you. You sigh as his warmth radiates against your back, you couldn’t help but press into him.

His arms remain tightly around you as he rode quickly. To where? You didn’t know. But the man just saved your life, you couldn’t help but trust him.

“Thank you.” You choked out in a breathy whisper.

“Shh,” he said as his arms squeezed you tighter. “You’re safe now.”

—

You barely remember the rest of the ride as you drift in and out of consciousness.

“Rider!” You heard a man yell far in the distance.

A loud horn blows and you open your eyes again. Your blurry vision adjusts to a giant wall of ice. The wall. This was Castle Black and this was a man of the Nights Watch. You felt slightly relieved as they’ve been known to protect the people against wildlings.

The large dark door began to creek open slowly. Finally, it loudly came to a halt and he rode in.

Your mind was too hazy to comprehend your surroundings. You could barely see the blurry visions of men dressed in all black through the snow. Soon you began to drift off again.

“Who is this?” You heard a man say.

“I don’t know. I heard a scream then I found her being chased by a wolf.” Your rescuers voice radiated against you as he held you in his arms. You couldn’t even remember him taking you off the horse. “She’s frozen half to death.”

“Bring her inside.” The other man said.

—

The next time you awoke you felt much warmer. You open your eyes to see yourself in a bed of furs in a small dark room with a warm fire going. You look to your side to see the man watching you from a chair. He flinches when you make eye contact with him.

“I- I’m sorry I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” He says shyly. You give him a soft smile.

“Thank you.” You say quietly.

He nods. “Are… are you alright?”

“I think so…” you say unsure.

“Well, there’s a warm bath and fresh clothing waiting for you.” He gestures to a tub in the corner.

You sit up and hiss in pain. You suddenly became more awake and aware of the pain radiating throughout your entire body. The man jumps out of his chair to help you out of the bed.

“Thank you again, sir.”

“Jon,” he says. “Jon Snow.”

“Jon.” You smile at him as you take his hand. “I’m (y/n).”

He gives you a sweet smile. He helps you up and leads you to the tub.

“I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Could you…” you quickly say. “I don’t know if I can do this on my own right now…”

“Oh, um, yes. I can- I can help you, if you want.” He says timidly.

You nod and turn your back as he comes closer to you. He unties the strings of your tattered dress and his fingers brush against your skin causing electricity. He turns his gaze away as you slowly pull your dress off your body, leaving you fully exposed. Your heart races as he lends you his hand to hold while you step into the tub. Heat rises in his cheeks and it takes all his will power to not stare at your naked body.

Your weak arms shake as you lower yourself into the warm water. Your hand grasps on the edge of the tub as your other squeezes tightly onto Jon’s. The warm water soothes and stings your skin at the same time. You lean forward so all he can see is your bare back which was covered with cuts and bruises.

The air is tense as you both move in silence. He sits down on the stool beside the tub. He grabs a sponge and soaks it in the water before lightly wiping your back. You hiss and quickly he pulls away.

“It’s ok.” Your eyes meet his with a soft look.

He nods as he continues to gently wipe the dried blood from your skin. The tenderness of his touch makes you sigh. When he’s finished he grabs a small pale beside the tub and scoops up some water.

“Lean your head back a little.” He says almost in a whisper.

You do as he says and lean your head back. You close your eyes as he pours water over your hair. You sigh and lean more into his touch as his fingers work through your hair. The new angle giving him a slight view of your exposed breasts makes him nearly choke on air.

You turn your head and look into his eyes as he gently wipes the remaining blood from your face. The world felt still as you gazed at each other. Staring deep into each others eyes felt like you had known one another for a lifetime. He softly wipes the blood from your lip and couldn’t help but think of what it would be like to kiss them. He thought you were the most beautiful and intriguing woman he had ever seen.

“What happened?” He breaks the tense silence.

“Wildlings raided my village…” you said quietly, turning away and looking down into the water. “I barely escaped. I was running from them then suddenly I was running from a wolf chasing me… I don’t know how I’m still alive right now.”

“Did anyone else get away?” He asked.

You met his eyes. “Some. I saw people escaping the other direction.”

He nods, a sad expression on his face. “And your family?”

You shook your head looking back down.

“They could have escaped…” he says reassuringly.

“No.” You said flatly. “I saw the savages kill them.”

“I’m sorry.” He said lightly brushing your shoulder. Your breath catches at the touch.

Jon grabs you fresh robes and sets them on the stool before turning to help you up. You take both his hands as he lifts you from the water. The candle light illuminating your naked frame. He can’t help but glance at your wet body before meeting your eyes again, making you blush. He awkwardly looks to the side with red cheeks as you step out of the tub holding onto his hands. He passes you the robes to put on and steals one last glance of you from the corner of his eye.

“I’ll be in the room right next door if you need anything.” He says shyly.

“Thank you, Jon.” You stand near the bed as he heads towards the door.

“Goodnight (y/n).”

“Goodnight.” You say as he leaves the room and you crawl into bed.

—

You wake in the middle of the night shivering. The fire was dull and the warm room turned cold. The wind whistled loudly from a storm raging outside. After trying hard to fall back asleep you give up and get up from bed, wrapping one of the furs around you.

You sneak out the door and into Jon’s room. Your heart stops and you gasp as your eyes connect with the red eyed white wolf laying next to Jon’s bed. You stumble back and bump into a table causing a clatter that wakes Jon.

“(y/n)?” Jon says hazily as he wakes up. He notices your terrified expression toward the wolf.

He gets out of bed revealing his exposed upper half which manages to distract your thoughts for a moment before you turn back to the wolf who was still laying down leisurely.

“I promise he won’t harm you. He’s not wild, I’ve had him since he was a pup.” He walks towards you and turns to the wolf. “Ghost, come.”

The wolf stands and slowly walks over causing you to stumble backwards again.

“Shh it’s ok, I promise. Here…” he says taking your hand.

You timidly move your hand with his towards the wolf. You held your breath as he sniffed your hand then gave you a small lick. Jon lets go of your hand as you continue to pet Ghost, all the fear easing away.

“He likes you.” Jon smiles.

You smile and stand as Jon opens the door for Ghost to leave. “Wait outside boy.”

He turns back to you, rubbing his bare arms as he starts to adjust from being out of his warm bed.

“Is something wrong?” He asks, slightly shivering.

“No, I just can’t sleep.” You say as you begin to shiver again too.

“The nights can get very cold here.” He says, noticing your obvious shivering. “We can share the bed… if you want.”

You looked at him for a moment and didn’t respond before walking past him toward the bed and slowly crawling under the furs. Your eyes met his and he followed as he also climbed under. The shivering did not stop and eventually your teeth began to chatter.

“Come here,” Jon said pulling you closer.

You let him pull you into his arms until he was cuddling you close. Your heart raced and you swear you could feel his racing against your back.

“I’m not hurting you am I?” He suddenly asks, remembering your injuries.

“Not at all.” You whisper back.

The room is still cold but the warmth of him behind you soothes some of the shivering. You shuffle closer into him but then freeze as you felt something hard pressed against you. You knew he noticed your reaction as you felt him also tense.

Your breath quickened and you didn’t know what to do. After a moment, you took a deep breath and relaxed against him. You feel him relax his arms before hugging you tighter. Although you managed to relax your body you were still filled with nerves. Pushing your fear away you boldly press yourself against him again, this time clearly intentional. Jon groans in your ear and pushes his member harder into your backside.

“Jon…” you breathe as he slowly begins kissing your neck while you grind against him.

You turn around to face him and your eyes meet full of bewilderment and lust. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you hard. His tongue demands entrance to your mouth and you happily oblige. He kisses you like it’s the last kiss he’ll ever have.

You pull him closer against you before your hand moves from his waist trailing down his torso. He gasps into the kiss as you lightly grab his hard member over his trousers. You reach for the strings of his pants but he quickly grabs your hand to stop you.

“I can’t…” Jon says with a pained look on his face, clearly not wanting to stop.

“Why not?” You whisper.

“I- I swore a vow. As a man of the Nights Watch.”

“Oh… They make you swear not to lay with a woman?”

“Something like that… we swear to never marry or father children.”

“So… you do not actually swear off of… sex.”

“Well I- Yeah… I guess not…” Jon furrows his brows at the realization.

Without another word he throws caution to the wind and reaches between you to pull the ties of your robe before pushing it off your shoulders. He grabs your breast and leans forward to put the other in his mouth making you let out a quiet moan. His lips make their way up your collarbone to your neck until they land back on your lips. His hand begins to explore your body until his fingers lightly brush against your most sensitive area causing you to gasp and break the kiss.

“Jon…” You sigh, “I have never…”

“Me neither…” he whispers back.

You smile and lean over to capture his lips again. This time he lets you pull the strings of his pants before he pulls them fully off. You barely get a glimpse of his lower half before he’s on top of you littering kisses all along your jaw and neck.

“Are you sure?” He whispers as you feel him rubbing his length against you.

The feeling makes your brain fuzzy and you quickly nod staring deep into his eyes.

“It is going to hurt… at first.” He says.

You nod again and he pushes into you making your jaw drop and your face scrunch in pain as you grab hard onto his biceps. He stops but you pull him closer signaling to keep going and you hear a low groan escape him as he pushes through. Once he’s fully inside you he stills. You pant through the pain as you adjust to him. He waits not just for your sake, but with the way you squeezed so tightly around him he was already struggling to not lose control and finish before this has even begun.

After another moment he begins to move slowly as your foreheads are pressed together. You breathe through the pain as it starts to fade. Your pained expression soon turns into pleasure and you’re suddenly desperate for more of him.

“Jon please… faster.” You whisper to him.

Without another word he starts thrusting faster into you until your moans begin to fill the room. He kisses you hard in a failed attempt to keep you quiet.

“Shh.” He smirks down at you, slowing his pace. “You are going to wake everyone up.”

“Sorry…” you whisper and giggle.

His speed picks up again and you bite your lip to hold try and hold back your loud moans. Your hands tangle into his curls and tug hard. He groans in your ear and gently bites your neck in response then kisses the tender spot. It becomes harder and harder to keep quiet as he slams into you harder and harder. You bite down on your lip so hard you thought it might bleed again. You gasp his name as the pressure in your belly builds. Every cell in your body ignites and you begin to see stars. Suddenly everything snaps and he quickly covers your mouth as you scream out. His thrusts become more sloppy as he quickly reaches his own peak and pulls out. He can’t stop himself from grunting loudly as he spills himself onto your stomach. In that moment his mind was so blurred by the feeling of you he completely forgot where he was. You nearly faint at the gorgeous sight of him above you as he came.

He crashes down beside you and reaches for a cloth before cleaning you up.

“You are going to wake everyone up...” You tease.

He chuckles, “I would be very surprised if we did not.”

“Well… at least I am no longer cold.” You give a shy smirk.

He smiles and kisses your temple before pulling you in close so you’re laying on his chest. You would face your problems in the morning. Right now you just savor the feeling of your saviours strong arms wrapped around you and his heart beating against your ear as you both drift off to sleep.

[julibf]

JON WAS PROMISED TO SANSA PART 2

Ok, now lets go to the books chapters. Again, we are trying this theory that Jon Snow may be the Prince that was Promised to Sansa.

People may think that I am crazy but if you re read the books all over again, paying attention to a small detail, you may start believing this theory too. As I was reading the books again, I started noticing that every single time Sansa’s receives a marriage proposal, the next chapter that follows is a JON SNOW chapter. I know that this theory has been talked about several times and we all believe the chapters to be a big foreshadow of Jon and Sansa romance, but what if the idea of the chapters is to tell the reader that Jon and Sansa ALREADY have a betrothal? what if the author is trying to tells us that those two characters are already promised to each other?????

That would be a twist!!!!!!

Right from the beginning we have King Robert arriving at Winterfell and visiting Lyanna Stark tomb in the crypts, there he offers a marriage alliance between House Baratheon and House Stark, with the marriage of Sansa and his son Joffrey Baratheon. This is the only chapter that Sansa will receive a marriage proposal not directly, in this chapter is Ned Stark that receives the proposal since Sansa is only 11 years old in the beginning of the story and her father is her guardian, after that, since Sansa will lose her parents and protectors, the proposals will happen directly to her.

A GAME OF THRONES CHAPTER 4 AND 5

Chapter 4, Eddard I 

"Come south with me, and I'll teach you how to laugh again," the king promised. "You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done." This offer did surprise him. "Sansa is only eleven." Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years." The king smiled. "Now stand up and say yes, curse you." "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace," Ned answered. He hesitated. "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife …""Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." The king reached down, clasped Ned by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."…… For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming.

What if the dead were watching Ned break his promise made to his sister and are sensing the Doom of House Stark?? This proposal is immediately followed by Jon Snow first chapter in the books. 

Followed by JON I

BTW, in this chapter we have Jon getting completely drunk in the feast. Word in the castle have traveled and everyone knows Sansa has been betrothed to Joffrey. I always assumed that Jon was so upset in the feast, not because he was seating far way from the rest of the family, but because he heard of the news of the betrothal between Sansa and Prince Joffrey. 

He had sated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance. The procession had passed not a foot from the place he had been given on the bench, and Jon had gotten a good long look at them all…… His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

Jon is jealous, again, in a first glance we may think that he is jealous because he is a bastard and can not be part of such important ceremony, but what if he is jealous because he can not be sited right next to Sansa???A few moments later, Benjen Stark comes to talk to Jon and that’s when Jon ask Benjen to go to the wall and take the Black…

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTERS 6 AND 7

Now those two chapters are quite interesting, because both are surrounded by SONGS, in Sansa’s chapters, we have the singer singing THE BEAR AND THE MAIDEN FAIR while Sansa is being introduced to the leader of House Tyrell, Lady Olenna also know as the QUEEN OF THORNS, while in Jon’s chapters, we have a singer playing The Dornishman's Wife while Jon is introduced to the leader of the Freefolk, Mance Rayder THE KING BEYOND THE WALL (who just happens to be the singer)  Sansa is taken to meet the Tyrells by Ser Loras, someone she clearly desires, Jon is taken by Ygritte, someone who desires him.  In both chapters Jon and Sansa are asked to tell the truth and their lives are in danger, Sansa feels like if she tells the truth and the information falls into the Lannisters ears she could be punished and killed and Jon knows that if Mance doesn’t believe what he says, his life is at risk. Sansa tells the truth, Jon lies. 

In the end of this chapter Sansa receives a marriage proposal by the Tyrells, while on Jon chapter, Bael the Bard is mentioned in relation to Jon’s sisters. Once again, by the end of the chapter Sansa will receive a marriage proposal followed by a Jon Snow chapter.

Sansa I 

The Tyrells invite Sansa for supper and during the meeting they make a marriage proposal to Sansa, while the dinner is happening the musicians play the song THE BEAR AND THE MAIDEN FAIR very loud. George really want you to notice this song in this chapter. You may as well wonder where this song comes from, and it seems that Ser Duncan The Tall first heard this song at the Ashford Tourney (yes, that same Tourney that foreshadows the marriage between Sansa and a Targaryen prince)

"I want you to tell me the truth about this royal boy," said Lady Olenna abruptly. "This Joffrey." Sansa's fingers tightened round her spoon. The truth? I can't. Don't ask it, please, I can't. "I . . . I . . . I . . ." " The old woman turned back to Sansa. "Are you frightened, child? No need for that, we're only women here. Tell me the truth, no harm will come to you." "My father always told the truth." Sansa spoke quietly, but even so, it was hard to get the words out. "Lord Eddard, yes, he had that reputation, but they named him traitor and took his head off even so." The old woman's eyes bore into her, sharp and bright as the points of swords. "Joffrey," Sansa said. "Joffrey did that. He promised me he would be merciful, and cut my father's head off. He said that was mercy, and he took me up on the walls and made me look at it. The head. He wanted me to weep, but . . ." She stopped abruptly, and covered her mouth. I've said too much, oh gods be good, they'll know, they'll hear, someone will tell on me. "Go on." It was Margaery who urged. Joffrey's own queen-to-be. Sansa did not know how much she had heard."I can't." What if she tells him, what if she tells? He'll kill me for certain then, or give me to Ser Ilyn. "I never meant . . . my father was a traitor, my brother as well, I have the traitor's blood, please, don't make me say more.""Calm yourself, child," the Queen of Thorns commanded. "She's terrified, Grandmother, just look at her."

That’s when Lady Olenna calls for a Song to cover up the conversation between them. 

Sansa felt as though her heart had lodged in her throat. The Queen of Thorns was so close she could smell the old woman's sour breath. Her gaunt thin fingers were pinching her wrist. To her other side, Margaery was listening as well. A shiver went through her. "A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well." Lady Olenna Tyrell and her granddaughter exchanged a look. "Ah," said the old woman, "that's a pity."

Finally, the Tyrells, once they have their truth about Joffrey, move to their next goal. The marriage alliance. 

Lady Olenna frowned. "I see no need to give him a choice. Of course, he has no hint of our true purpose." "HE SMELLED THE SCENT ON THE SUMMER AIR!" Sansa wrinkled her brow. "Our true purpose, my lady?" "HE SNIFFED AND ROARED AND SMELLED IT THERE! HONEY ON THE SUMMER AIR!" "To see you safely wed, child," the old woman said, as Butterbumps bellowed out the old, old song, "to my grandson."(A Storm of Swords - Sansa I)

Next chapter of the book is JON I

In this chapter Jon is brought before Mance Rayder, since Rattleshirt doesn’t trust him. In the King’s tent, Jon mistakes Styr for Mance Rayder. But it is the gray-haired man playing the lute who is the King-Beyond-the-Wall. Rattleshirt reveals his misgivings about Jon to the king, but Mance wishes to speak with Jon alone.

The tent was hot and smoky. Baskets of burning peat stood in all four corners, filling the air with a dim reddish light. More skins carpeted the ground. Jon felt utterly alone as he stood there in his blacks, awaiting the pleasure of the turncloak who called himself King-beyond-the-Wall. When his eyes had adjusted to the smoky red gloom, he saw six people, none of whom paid him any mind. A dark young man and a pretty blonde woman were sharing a horn of mead. A pregnant woman stood over a brazier cooking a brace of hens, while a grey-haired man in a tattered cloak of black and red sat crosslegged on a pillow, playing a lute and singing: The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring. But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing.

If the show is correct, Jon is Dornish, since he was born in the Tower of Joy and if he marries Sansa she would literally be the Dornishman’s wife. I also like how the song compares the woman to the sun, which brings back to Jon thinking of Sansa as radiant. 

While Jon and Mance continue to talk, the King beyond the wall tells Jon that he remembers him from his visits of Winterfell, he tells Jon that he was also present at the Feast for King Robert that happened at the beginning of the novel, that’s when Jon mentions Bael the Bard back to Jon Snow story!!!

" The night your father feasted Robert, I sat in the back of his hall on a bench with the other freeriders, listening to Orland of Oldtown play the high harp and sing of dead kings beneath the sea. I betook of your lord father's meat and mead, had a look at Kingslayer and Imp . . . and made passing note of Lord Eddard's children and the wolf pups that ran at their heels." "Bael the Bard," said Jon, remembering the tale that Ygritte had told him in the Frostfangs, the night he'd almost killed her. "Would that I were. I will not deny that Bael's exploit inspired mine own . . . but I did not steal either of your sisters that I recall. Bael wrote his own songs, and lived them. I only sing the songs that better men have made. More mead?"

Now this is the first time in the story, that the idea of one of the Stark sisters be stolen by a freefolk is introduced. Not only George brings back Bael to Jon’s chapter, he starts to associate the story with Jon’s sisters. Based on the end of the tv show, Jon will be the King beyond the Wall, who and Sansa will be the last Stark maiden in Winterfell.

By the end, just like Sansa, Jon is asked to tell the truth. Mance Rayder ask Jon why he deserted the Nights Watch. Of course, we all know that opposite of Sansa, Jon doesn’t tell the truth, he lies to Mance about being resentful of the Starks. 

"He gestured at the board between them, the broken bread and chicken bones. "Here you are the guest, and safe from harm at my hands . . . this night, at least. So tell me truly, Jon Snow. Are you a craven who turned your cloak from fear, or is there another reason that brings you to my tent?" Guest right or no, Jon Snow knew he walked on rotten ice here. One false step and he might plunge through, into water cold enough to stop his heart. Weigh every word before you speak it, he told himself. He took a long draught of mead to buy time for his answer. When he set the horn aside he said, "Tell me why you turned your cloak, and I'll tell you why I turned mine." …….. "And did you see where I was seated, Mance?" He leaned forward. "Did you see where they put the bastard?" Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. "I think we had best find you a new cloak," the king said, holding out his hand.

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTERS 68 AND 69 

SANSA VI

Now we have Sansa arriving at the Vale, scaping from Kings Landing. She arrives at the Vale with the help of Littlefinger. As soon as she is introduced to Lady Lysa she receives a marriage proposal to marry her cousin Lord Robert Arryn. The proposal doesn’t bring much joy to Sansa that laments that marrying for love may never happen to her.

Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry." "I . . . I am married, my lady." "Yes, but soon a widow. Be glad the Imp preferred his whores. It would not be fitting for my son to take that dwarf's leavings, but as he never touched you . . . How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. 

NEXT CHAPTER????? Once again, JON SNOW!!!

I knew it the moment I saw this line next to jon’s chapter that George was planning this marriage. That’s why I never believe that Jon and Sansa would have a political marriage, this union would be for love. 

 A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTER 79 AND 80 

Now, on this one, their roles are inverted. Now is Jon who will receive a marriage proposal and of course, it will be followed by a Sansa chapter. Again, it's like the author is trying to tell us that those two are already promised to each other and can not accept anyone else.

JON XII 

We start the chapter with Jon practicing sword fighting with Iron Emmet and he can not stop thinking about King Stannis Baratheon offer to legitimize him and make Jon not only a Stark but also the Lord of Winterfell. During his practice with Emmet he remembers another fighting practice many years ago at Winterfell….

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. (A Storm of Swords - Jon XII)

Jon thinks of rebuilding Winterfell, just like Sansa in the next chapter will literally rebuilt the castle in the snow.

Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father's heir….. It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

A interesting detail is that, the offer to be legitimized by Stannis comes with a demand. Jon needs to marry Val. Stannis wants the union of a Stark with a wildling princess, to unite the Freefolk with the North (but what if in the end we get a Wildling King marrying a Stark Queen?)

"Good," King Stannis said, "for the surest way to seal a new alliance is with a marriage. I mean to wed my Lord of Winterfell to this wildling princess." Perhaps Jon had ridden with the free folk too long; he could not help but laugh. "Your Grace," he said, "captive or no, if you think you can just give Val to me, I fear you have a deal to learn about wildling women. Whoever weds her had best be prepared to climb in her tower window and carry her off at swordpoint . . ." (A Storm of Swords - Jon XI)

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset. Would I sooner be hanged for a turncloak by Lord Janos, or forswear my vows, marry Val, and become the Lord of Winterfell? It seemed an easy choice when he thought of it in those terms . . . though if Ygritte had still been alive, it might have been even easier. Val was a stranger to him. She was not hard on the eyes, certainly, and she had been sister to Mance Rayder's queen, but still . . . I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

Jon is now thinking as a wildling and realizing that he needs to steal Val if he wants the marriage to be valid. Which is why I have no doubt that he is stealing Sansa in the end of the books, this storyline is foreshadow in his chapters numerous of times. But the marriage with Val doesn’t make Jon very happy, he doesn’t love her and hardly know her. Just like Sansa, Jon would like to marry someone he loves, and not have a marriage just for a political alliance. But the truth is that he does longs for a family, for Winterfell, he dreams to one day be a true Stark. 

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow. He had his answer then.

Finally Ghost comes back to Jon and he has his answer right there. The wolf brings back the memory when they all found the puppies. Jon belongs to the old Gods like his wolf and he cant turn his back to his old golds. I always assumed Bran sent Ghost to help Jon make his decision. 

As he walked toward the armory, Jon chanced to look up and saw Val standing in her tower window. I'm sorry, he thought. I'm not the man to steal you out of there.

So we this chapter Jon Snow was forced to make a decision and turn down not only Winterffell but also the marriage alliance with Val, the wildling princess. He decides he wont be the one stealing her, but he did show a desire for love, family and Winterfell. Next Chapter we are going to have Sansa being “kissed by the Snow” and those kisses are going to rekindle her childhood dreams…. 

SANSA VII

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….. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. …. 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, I will never get over this little foreshadow. The poetry, the romantism, the idea of dreams. This little paragraph will always be one of my favorites written lines in this entire novel. The idea that a new lover can enchant Sansa and bring back all her childhood dreams after all the pain and sorrow that she went through. And again, the dream involves Winterfell….

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

And then  she goes to work, once she starts playing with the snow she wonders what she would like to build…

The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood.

For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with thesteep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top . . .

Again, in the past chapter we had Jon dreaming on rebuilding Winterfell, having a family, marrying for love. In the follow chapter we have Sansa literally rebulding Winterfell with the help of “Snow”. She longs for her old days, the days of her childhood. This for me was always one of the strongest foreshadows of their romance and future. 

So thats it. I can not wait to see more chapters in the future, if we ever get to see THE WINDS OF WINTER. Some may ask, but what about Sansa marriage to Tyrion???? well, that was not a proposal, Sansa was just forced into that marriage, just like Jon was forced into consummating his relationship with Ygritte. I shall write about Jon and Sansa parallels in the future too, it's insane how similar their storylines are.

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

JON SNOW DAY 11: DEFENDER OF REALMS ⚔️🌍

The first meeting between Jon and Gilly takes place outside Craster’s Keep, where poor girl is scared to death because of Ghost. Jon tries to calm her down but Chett and Lark make things worse by further scaring her.  In the end, Gilly runs away from all of them.

“That wolf’s looking at you hungry, girl,” Lark said. “Might be it fancies that tender bit in your belly.”

Jon was not amused. “You’re scaring her.”[...]

“There was no call to scare the girl,” he told them.

Jon never stands aside when someone bullies the weak so of course he defends the girl to Chett and Lark. However, for all his noble intentions, he’s unable to calm her down. This foreshadows what will happen the next time Gilly will appear: Jon once again will be unable to help her. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because his influence and power is limited at this point of the story.

The next day, Gilly appears for a second time in front of him. It’s Sam, his best friend, who prompted the girl to seek Jon out . Sam has an idealized version of Jon in his mind, where the boy is able to solve problem others can’t. That’s why when he was unable to help Gilly himself, he sent her to Jon.

Her arms closed over the swell of her belly. “Is it true, m’lord? Are you brother to a king?”

“A half brother,” he admitted. “I’m Ned Stark’s bastard. My brother Robb is the King in the North. Why are you here?”

“The fat one, that Sam, he said to see you. He give me his cloak, so no one would say 1 didn’t belong.”

It’s interesting that Gilly asks about Jon’s relation with the King in the North. Her line of thinking is a logical one: the brother of the King probably has enough authority to help her. Unfortunately for her, that ain’t truth in Jon Snow’s case. His status wasn’t changed and was certainly not improved ever since his brother became a King. Jon remains a steward of Night Watch as he was before his brother’s coronation. Of course, Gilly who lives beyond the Wall and has zero knowledge of westerosi status quo couldn’t possibly know that.

“Won’t Craster be angry with you?”

“My father drank overmuch of the Lord Crow’s wine last night. He’ll sleep most of the day.” Her breath frosted the air in small nervous puffs. “They say the king gives justice and protects the weak.” She started to climb off the rock, awkwardly, but the ice had made it slippery and her foot went out from under her. Jon caught her before she could fall, and helped her safely down.

Gilly, who as I said above is not knowledgable on westerosi things, makes the best description for an ideal King as someone “who gives justice and protects the weak”. So far, none of the westerosi King candidates can’t be descripted as such. Could Jon Snow fill that description once he comes on a position of power? I’ll write more on this later as I’ll examinate Jon as Lord Commander.

However, during that time this scene takes place, Jon simply doesn’t have that kind of power. Both Sam and Gilly are overestimate his power and influence by asking him to save her. While Jon is horrified to find out that Craster is offering his own sons as a sacrifice to the Others there is nothing he can do about Gilly.

He can’t bring her with him because Lord Commander wouldn’t agree to take one of Craster’s wives with them and thus broke the alliance the Night Watch has with the man. But even if Old Bear agreed, their expendition is no place for a pregnant woman. Jon can’t promise to help her when they come back because he doesn’t even know if he’ll survive the journey. And if he does, once again can’t help her as long as the Lord Commander disagrees.

Jon watched her go, his joy in the morning’s brittle beauty gone. Damn her, he thought resentfully, and damn Sam twice for sending her to me. What did he think I could do for her? We’re here to fight wildlings, not save them.

It was impossible, and dishonorable besides. So why do I feel so ashamed?

Jon feels guilt for not being able to save someone in need. Note, that this is the first time - but certainly not the last- he sees wildings as something more than his enemies. In his encounter with Gilly, he didn’t think of her as a potential enemy but as someone that needed help.

After his encounter with Gilly he changes his behavior towards Craster. He never liked that man, but now he decides he won’t accept the man’s hospitality, aka he won’t eat the food he offered them.

I will not eat Craster’s food, he decided suddenly.

By doing this, he takes a different stand towards the man from his superior officers. Jon doesn’t want to ally himself with a man who is sacrificing his kids to Others. He even shares his view with Jeor Mormont who doesn’t agree with him.

“My father . . .” He hesitated.

“Go on, Jon. Say what you would say.”

“My father once told me that some men are not worth having,” Jon finished. “A bannerman who is brutal or unjust dishonors his liege lord as well as himself.”

“Craster is his own man. He has sworn us no vows. Nor is he subject to our laws. Your heart is noble, Jon, but learn a lesson here. We cannot set the world to rights. That is not our purpose. The Night’s Watch has other wars to fight.”

The clashing views between Jon and his mentor, foreshadow what kind of leader he will become one day.

Flash forward to Jon becoming Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He continues to be concerned about the fight against the others as his predecessor was. However, he also fights for justice and protects the weak.

Where once he couldn’t save a single pregnant wilding girl because of his lack of power, now he uses his position of power to save all the free folk; by letting them settle south of the Wall; he offers them protection against the upcoming Long Night.

This meta would be incomplete without mentioning one of Jon’s most controversal actions; the switching of the babies at the Wall. In the past, he was powerless to stop Craster’s sacrifices. But as Lord Commander he has to do something about Melisandre’s plan to burn Mance’s infant son alive. Is the plan he comes up unfair and cruel to Gilly? Yes. Gilly is justified to hate Jon for what he did to her and her child. However, is Jon's plan also necessary in order to make sure that both babies will survive? Also yes.

I’ve seen fans theorizing that Jon could let Sam and Gilly take with them both babies in order to save Mance’s son. In my opinion, that would lead to disaster because Stannis and Melisandre would find out soon that no baby was left on the Wall and they would send soldiers to bring the baby back (and thus Mance’s son would suffer the terrible fate of being burnt alive). I believe that Martin made the best decision by making Jon come up with that harsh but also necessary plan.

In conclusion I want to say Jon Snow isn’t just someone who fights for justice and protects the weak but also someone who tries to set the world to rights ( like he did when he offered protection to the free folk).

[stompandhollar]

The Only Son of The Falling Snow!! what a beautiful title, please tell us more, what ship, what fandom and whats the general plot??

<3

omg raniyah i was HOPING you’d have pick this one 🥹

So the title is the name of a song by Bear’s Den, and it reminds me so much of Jon. Its so gentle and somber, but with so much under the surface.

It’s a Jon/Satin fic (🙊) bc i couldn’t help myself, and it’s a canon complacent fic set right after Jon comes back from the dead. It’s gonna be multi-chapter, with HEAVY Jon introspection. I just love writing deep dives of characters through fics it’s my kryptonite.

Vibe is lots of nights watch brothers shenanigans (Edd and Pyp shine, and so does Sam and ofc Tormund) and Jon grappling with 8,000 moral issues at once bc he likes to pick moral quandaries up and carry them around like sticks for no reason.

Snippet:

“It isn’t like that.”

“It could be.”

“Aye, it could be. but as Lord Commander—“

“As Lord Commander,” Pyp laughed, “You can do whatever you want!”

“That doesn’t mean I should.” Jon barked, growing impatient with his company. Why in Seven Hells did they have to gang up on him like this?

“But you do want to,” Edd stated, carefully. It was half a question, half a statement.

Jon looked between the three men, sizing them up. The bloody lot of them, they cared for him. They cared for him, and this wasn’t a trap. To hell with it.

“Of course I want to.” He sighed. The two fools beside him slapped him on the back, but Jon continued. “I’m attracted to him, but it wouldn’t be right. I don’t want to sleep with him, no, Gods, I want to sleep with him, but, think of the boy—!”

“He’s older than you.”

“He’s my steward! It’d have been backwards had I been sleeping with Lord Commander Mormont, yea?”

“Only because he’s as old as dirt.”

“Edd, you aren’t listening. My position affords me less freedom, despite what power might imply. I cant prowl around like a damned dog in heat! Acting on whatever urges—“

“If I may,” Sam interjected.

Snow paused. He never barreled through his side comments like he did Ed and Pyp’s.

“You may.”

“Were he a woman. Would you feel the same?”

There was no need to think over this scenario. The Old Gods of his father had less… rules, then The Seven. It wasn’t shame that stopped Jon in his tracks when it came to Satin— It was duty.

“Even more so.”

“Then don’t act,” Said Sam. Jon watched his gaze steadily. “You’re behaving honorably, Jon. It’d be different if you had feelings for him, real feelings…”

“I don’t. I care for him, of course I do, I care for all of you, but—“

“But you don’t want to sleep with any of us.” Edd smirked. Jon put a hand in his shoulder and let himself relax with a smile.

“Kill the rumors.” Jon nodded appreciatively at Sam. “His standing with the brothers has shoddy footing as it is.”

(don’t listen to Jon. He does have feelings 🫡)

[your-mom-is-a-hoe]

i was today years old when i realized feet are the perfect pillow size for cats

[batmanrry]

Pretty hurts?

A/N: WOWWW JON SNOW COMEBACK?? I’ve been having some terrible writers block so I apologize if this is poorly done. I’m rewatching GOT with my dad and my hyper fixation on Jon Snow is quickly coming back so enjoy!

Pairing; Jon Snow x Fem! Reader

word count: 1,242

warnings: Unprotected sex!! (USE PROTECTION GUYS.), oral (female receiving),

I shuddered as the cool breeze of Winterfell hit the bare skin of my back. Stupidly enough, I continued to tell myself that beauty is pain this morning when I was picking the sheer and backless gown.

Very stupidly enough.

“Backless in the coldness of Winterfell m’lady?” One of the maids spoke.

“Pretty hurts?” I said playfully, making an excuse. “And please call me Y/N, no need for the titles,” I added on with a warm smile. The maid was about to reply, when her mouth closed and her eyes averted downwards. I was confused for a moment, I turned around and that’s when I saw Jon Snow approaching. Sword in hand, ready to practice.

He was very nice to look at. There were a couple of nights I came out here to also practice, when all of Winterfell was asleep, except of course him. He would be out too. We chatted quite a bit but never in front of our families. I kind of liked it that way. I can’t deny, there was some tension between us. At least to me. His shoulder hair length got me every time, no doubt about it.

“Lady Y/N.” He spoke as he was coming towards me with a polite nod.

“Lord Snow.” I copied his actions.

“Nice dress, but not very suitable for Winterfell, don’t you think?” He joked while stretching himself. His arm muscles, visible through his black long-sleeved shirt. I couldn’t help but stare. This man was absolutely godly. If he would just give me one chance. “Hm?” He broke me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see a smirk on his face. He totally saw me checking him out.

“I fully agree my lord, I know something that could maybe warm me up…” I said suggestively. He stopped all movements, slowly turning his head to look at me. A certain lust in his eyes.

Gotcha.

“And what is that m’lady?” He walked over to me. In no time he towered above me. I looked at him with a mischievous look, stepping, if even possible, closer to him. I ghosted my lips over his and put my hand on the handle of his sword, lightly grabbing it.

“Fighting.” I smiled. My movements were quick and fluid as I snatched the sword out of his holster and threw it towards the dummy, the blade piercing the fabric stuffed with hay right in the middle of the supposed-to-be face. I turned back to Jon, his head tilted with a lopsided grin in unbelief.

“In a dress and heels? Impressive.” He spoke, lightly clapping his hands together. I shrugged my shoulders and gave him a cocky bow. When I arose though, he was close to me once again. I looked around, no one else was out here with us. The maid was long gone and everyone else was inside drinking and making obnoxious noises. I looked back at him, not even daring to break eye contact. We stood there for what seemed like forever. But then, I raised a finger, hooking it in the lace of his trousers pulling him even closer, and he finally broke.

Before I knew it, His lips crashed onto mine, it was a very passionate kiss. I didn’t even hesitate to kiss back. My hands wasted no time tangling in his hair, his own falling to my thighs, lifting me up. I squealed, holding onto him for dear life, praying the slippery ice wouldn’t make us fall. He carefully walked to his sleeping chambers, not once breaking the kiss. He slammed the door with his foot, walking us towards his bed and throwing me down.

He climbed on top of me, kissing my lips, his tongue slipping in. He then moved down to my neck, leaving marks wherever he could. Meanwhile, his hand slithered its way down, the bottom of my dress lifting as he slipped his hand underneath. My back arched as he rubbed against my core. Moans coming out left and right. I had no shame in being loud, if anything, I wanted people to hear. Although they probably wouldn’t with the party going on.

Jon untied the laces of my dress as I undid the laces of his trousers and worked on the layers of his shirt. In no time we laid bare before each other. He groaned at the sight of me. I smirked, raising up to kiss him very slowly. His bottom lip was captured between my teeth.

“I want you,” I whispered into his ear. Placing a kiss on the lobe.

“You have me, m’lady.” He whispered back to me as I laid back down. Kissed down on my body, taking his time with my breast and working his way down. I was growing impatient as he was teasing me. He kept eye contact with me, smirking while watching me beg for him with my eyes. He placed kisses all over my thighs, leaving his mark everywhere while he was at it.

I gasped, death gripping his hair and the silk pillow my head was placed on as he licked a strip right up the middle and then latched onto where I needed him most.  “Jon!” I very loudly screamed in pleasure. His tongue stayed still as I grinded myself against him, that familiar pressure building up in my stomach. He wrapped his hands around my thighs and pulled me closer, absolutely devouring me.

I moaned as loudly as I could, letting the whole kingdom know how good their beloved bastard was making me feel. He groaned as I tugged on his hair, sucking my clit harshly and fucking into me with his tounge. Before I knew it my climax hit. I arched my back moaning a string of curses and his name. I heavily panted as I was coming down from my high, shuddering once again when he placed soft kisses onto my clit.

Jon crawled his way back up to me. Kissing me as he pumped himself a couple of times. I gasped into his lips when I felt his tip pushing into me. He inched himself into me, giving me a moment to adjust. I dug my fingers into his back, the most beautiful groan coming from his mouth. He started moving, starting with slow thrusts and gaining speed.

“Fuck, Jon!” I threw my head back as he fucked into me, his pelvis hitting my clit everytime. His thrust quickly became fast and hard. My hands tangled in his hair and my eyes going to the back of my head.

“Shit- just like that, fuck!”

The room filled with our moans, the lighting from the candles around his room making it ten times better. I clenched around him as my high quickly approached.

“Come on sweetheart, cum for me.” He encouraged, lifting my hips to angle then upward. I screamed his name along with a chant of curses. His movements became sloppy and then came to a halt when I felt his warm release spill into me.

We layed in silence catching our breaths. Jon’s face tucked the crook of my neck, my fingers combing through his hair. His hand was kneading my love handles.

“This party was a lot more fun than the one downstairs.” I broke the silence. I felt the vibration of his laugh as he raised his head up to rest in his hand and placed a soft kiss on my lips.

“Agreed.”

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Sansa VII (Chapter 80)

My little snow angel! ❄️🥰

Tandem chapter alert: <- Jon XII, ASOS

Quick summary from @esther-dot. :)

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.

Lots of dreaming the past few chapters.

When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. Later, when he was older, he had been ashamed of those dreams. - Jon XI, ASOS

x

<- Jon XII

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall.

+.+.+

The Eyrie was no home. It was no bigger than Maegor's Holdfast, and outside its sheer white walls was only the mountain and the long treacherous descent past Sky and Snow and Stone to the Gates of the Moon on the valley floor. 

It's everyone's favourite waycastles! A bit disappointing they're not holding hands this time.

She could see Sky six hundred feet below, and the stone steps carved into the mountain, the winding way that led past Snow and Stone all the way down to the valley floor. - Alayne I, AFFC

x

Steep stone steps crept up the mountainside past the waycastles Stone and Snow, but they came to an end at Sky. - Alayne I, AFFC

+.+.+

Aside from her aged maid, Sansa's only companion was the Lord Robert, eight going on three.

Lol.

+.+.+

Lysa was as lonely as she was. Her new husband seemed to spend more time at the foot of the mountain than he did atop it. He was gone now, had been gone the past four days, meeting with the Corbrays. From bits and pieces of overheard conversations Sansa knew that Jon Arryn's bannermen resented Lysa's marriage and begrudged Petyr his authority as Lord Protector of the Vale. The senior branch of House Royce was close to open revolt over her aunt's failure to aid Robb in his war, and the Waynwoods, Redforts, Belmores, and Templetons were giving them every support. 

It's The Grand Vale Conspiracy!

The Corbrays are singled out before that nugget.

+.+.+

The mountain clans were being troublesome as well

Thanks for the constant reminder.

+.+.+

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.

Don't worry, I think I hear the band tuning up your favourite song.

He remembered Robb as he had last seen him, standing in the yard with snow melting in his auburn hair. - Jon IX, AGOT

+.+.+

She pushed her pillow away reluctantly, threw back the blankets, went to her window, and opened the shutters.

[...]

Sansa left the shutters open as she dressed. It would be cold, she knew, though the Eyrie's towers encircled the garden and protected it from the worst of the mountain winds. 

Ned!

He crossed the room, pulled back the heavy tapestries, and threw open the high narrow windows one by one, letting the night air into the chamber.

The wind swirled around him as he stood facing the dark, naked and empty-handed. - Catelyn II, AGOT

+.+.+

She donned silken smallclothes and a linen shift, and over that a warm dress of blue lambswool. Two pairs of hose for her legs, boots that laced up to her knees, heavy leather gloves, and finally a hooded cloak of soft white fox fur.

My little white snow fox!

+.+.+

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.

I sometimes forget no colour isn't always a negative thing for these Starks.

<- Jon XII

You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here.

+.+.+

Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees, and wondered if she were still dreaming. 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.

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. 

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses

❤️❤️❤️

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.

Rewind!

AGOT:

Prologue: ice threat introduction.

Final chapter: fire threat introduction.

ACOK:

Prologue: cold-hearted King Stannis with his dying maester.

Final chapter: kindhearted King Bran with his dying maester.

ASOS:

Prologue: Chett, drifting snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

Final chapter: Sansa, drifting snowflakes, and...?

Snow was falling.

vs.

Snow was falling on the Eyrie.

___

What was wrong with him? He could hardly breathe. Had he gone to sleep? 

vs.

Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory. Was this what woke me? 

[...]

it was so lovely that she held her breath

___

It was a heavy fall, thick white flakes coming down all about him. 

[...]

The snow was drifting in to cover him. 

vs.

The snow drifted down and down, all in ghostly silence, and lay thick and unbroken on the ground. 

___

He got to his knees, and something wet and cold touched his nose. Chett looked up.

vs.

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling.

___

He could feel tears freezing to his cheeks.

[...]

He felt as though he were being attacked by a cloud of pale cold bugs. They settled on his shoulders, on his head, they flew at his nose and his eyes. Cursing, he brushed them off.

vs.

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks.

[...]

She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips.

___

It isn't fair, he wanted to scream. Snow would ruin everything he'd worked for, all his careful plans. 

[...]

There’d be no lord’s life for the leechman’s son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. 

[...]

The snow's taken it all from me . . . the bloody snow . . .

Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig.

vs.

It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

[...]

Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. 

Chett associates the falling snow with Jon Snow, but in this almost identical scene, please don't believe Sansa's ghostly silent drifting snowflakes are Jon Snow. That would be silly.

+.+.+

At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground

Oh no, Alyssa's broken and half-buried.

+.+.+

It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for.

Would someone feed these poor kids?

<- Jon XII

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it.

+.+.+

But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

We can't have a godswood without a weirwood! Isn't that right, Jon?

I believe that's the second time we've been told this about the Eyrie.

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. - Catelyn VII, AGOT

Weirwoods don't take root here. Got it!

Who's the weirwood?

Will they lay Sansa down naked beneath the Iron Throne after they have killed her? Will her skin seem as white, her blood as red? - Catelyn III, ASOS

x

In their midst was a pale stranger; a slender young weirwood with a trunk as white as a cloistered maid. Dark red leaves sprouted from its reaching branches. - Brienne IV, AFFC

x

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

Got it!

+.+.+

She remembered a summer's snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They'd each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she'd had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she'd slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn't, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing.

❤️

+.+.+

What do I want with snowballs? She looked at her sad little arsenal. There's no one to throw them at. She let the one she was making drop from her hand. I could build a snow knight instead, she thought. Or even . . .

Maybe you could put him right next to the dragon knight.

The hollow knights are turning into dragons, she thought. - Sansa V, ASOS

Second and last time 'snow knight' will be written in the text. Both times appear to be strongly suggesting something about children (in forests).

"Sam the Slayer!" he said, by way of greeting. "Are you sure you stabbed an Other, and not some child's snow knight?" - Samwell V, ASOS

+.+.+

She pushed two of her snowballs together, added a third

No comment.

+.+.+

When it was done, she stood it on end and used the tip of her little finger to poke holes in it for windows. The crenellations around the top took a little more care, but when they were done she had a tower. I need some walls now, Sansa thought, and then a keep. She set to work.

The snow fell and the castle rose. 

Whenever I read that last sentence I remove the word fell, and smile.

What's happening?? Is she building what I think she's building?? :D

<- Jon XII

Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

+.+.+

It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood.

Sansa plants trees.

+.+.+

For the gravestones in the lichyard she used bits of bark. Soon her gloves and her boots were crusty white, her hands were tingling, and her feet were soaked and cold, but she did not care. The castle was all that mattered. Some things were hard to remember, but most came back to her easily, as if she had been there only yesterday. The Library Tower, with the steep stonework stair twisting about its exterior. The gatehouse, two huge bulwarks, the arched gate between them, crenellations all along the top . . .

Imagine believing this doesn't lead to Sansa rebuilding Winterfell. Good lord, buy a lifeline.

+.+.+

Was my lady well? Did she wish to break her fast? Sansa shook her head, and went back to shaping snow, adding a chimney to one end of the Great Hall, where the hearth would stand inside.

Dawn stole into her garden like a thief. The grey of the sky grew lighter still, and the trees and shrubs turned a dark green beneath their stoles of snow. 

I never know what to make of that.

+.+.+

Her bridges kept falling down. There was a covered bridge between the armory and the main keep, and another that went from the fourth floor of the bell tower to the second floor of the rookery, but no matter how carefully she shaped them, they would not hold together. The third time one collapsed on her, she cursed aloud and sat back in helpless frustration.

Broken bridges. Is that a metaphor? Feels like it.

+.+.+

"Pack the snow around a stick, Sansa."

She did not know how long he had been watching her, or when he had returned from the Vale.

+.+.+

"That will give it strength enough to stand, I'd think," Petyr said. "May I come into your castle, my lady?"

Sansa was wary. "Don't break it. Be . . ."

". . . gentle?" He smiled. "Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?"

Fuck off.

+.+.+

He walked along outside the walls. "I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold."

"No. It was always warm, even when it snowed. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer."

That's you, Sansa. It's a dark and cold place for others.

+.+.+

She stood, towering over the great white castle. "I can't think how to do the glass roof over the gardens."

We can't forget to build the glass gardens!

Glass, Jon mused, might be of use here. Castle Black needs its own glass gardens, like the ones at Winterfell. We could grow vegetables even in the deep of winter. - Jon VII, ADWD

x

'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. - Jon VI, ACOK

x

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

Littlefinger stroked his chin, where his beard had been before Lysa had asked him to shave it off. 

Me thinks Lysa wants Petyr looking like his younger self.

Gross. Weirdo.

+.+.+

He moved through the garden, gathering up twigs and sticks and shaking the snow from them. When he had enough, he stepped over both walls with a single long stride and squatted on his heels in the middle of the yard.

Whoopsie daisy!

And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow. - Arya VIII, ASOS

x

The Titan of Braavos. Old Nan had told them stories of the Titan back in Winterfell. He was a giant as tall as a mountain - Arya I, AFFC

x

The device painted on the shield was one Sansa did not know; a grey stone head with fiery eyes, upon a light green field. "My grandfather's shield," Petyr explained when he saw her gazing at it. "His own father was born in Braavos and came to the Vale as a sellsword in the hire of Lord Corbray, so my grandfather took the head of the Titan as his sigil when he was knighted." - Sansa VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa came closer to watch what he was doing. His hands were deft and sure, and before long he had a crisscrossing latticework of twigs, very like the one that roofed the glass gardens of Winterfell. 

You know, it just occurred to me that Sansa is using Petyr to help build the castle.

Lol, sucker.

+.+.+

"This is just right," she said.

He touched her face. "And so is that."

Sansa did not understand. "And so is what?"

"Your smile, my lady. Shall I make another for you?"

"If you would."

"Nothing could please me more."

+.+.+

When she used sticks for the covered bridges, they stood, just as he had said they would. 

Crisis averted, the bridges stand!

+.+.+

The First Keep was simple enough, an old round drum tower, but Sansa was stymied again when it came to putting the gargoyles around the top. Again he had the answer. "It's been snowing on your castle, my lady," he pointed out. "What do the gargoyles look like when they're covered with snow?"

Like Jon Snow?

"Yes. The gods have been kind to you, Sansa. You are a lovely girl. It seems almost obscene to squander such sweet innocence on that gargoyle."

"What gargoyle?" Sansa did not understand. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

Heat rose shimmering through the chill air; behind, the gargoyles and stone dragons on the castle walls seemed blurred, as if Davos were seeing them through a veil of tears. - Davos I, ACOK

x

In place of merlons, a thousand grotesques and gargoyles looked down on him, each different from all the others; wyverns - Davos V, ASOS

+.+.+

The Broken Tower was easier still. They made a tall tower together, kneeling side by side to roll it smooth, and when they'd raised it Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. 

Sansa flinging snow that slid to his neck.

+.+.+

"That was unchivalrously done, my lady."

"As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home."

She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

Wait until we do it again.

+.+.+

"I told you that nothing could please me more than to help you with your castle. I fear that was a lie as well. Something else would please me more." He stepped closer. "This."

+.+.+

Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss . . . before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?"

I change my mind, there is a Trauma Olympics, and having to run through a gauntlet of Joffrey Baratheon, Sandor Clegane, Tyrion Lannister, and Petyr Baelish instantly makes you the winner.

+.+.+

"What are you doing?" Petyr straightened his cloak. "Kissing a snow maid."

That's Snow's maid!

+.+.+

I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub

"Well, you are a free man now, but if you will not have the girl, best find yourself a she-bear. - Jon II, ASOS

+.+.+

You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands."

give me your hand

give me your hand

give me your hand

+.+.+

"I won't."

DECLINED!

+.+.+

He sounded almost like Marillion, the night he'd gotten so drunk at the wedding. Only this time Lothor Brune would not appear to save her

Sansa's going to have to save herself this time.

+.+.+

"You shouldn't kiss me. I might have been your own daughter . . ."

"Might have been," he admitted, with a rueful smile. "But you're not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age."

"Petyr, please." Her voice sounded so weak. "Please . . ."

God, he's so deranged. Like, at least I understand Joffrey's mental disorder.

+.+.+

"It's not so great." The boy knelt before the gatehouse. "Look, here comes a giant to knock it down." He stood his doll in the snow and moved it jerkily. "Tromp tromp I'm a giant, I'm a giant," he chanted. "Ho ho ho, open your gates or I'll mash them and smash them." Swinging the doll by the legs, he knocked the top off one gatehouse tower and then the other.

It was more than Sansa could stand. "Robert, stop that." Instead he swung the doll again, and a foot of wall exploded. She grabbed for his hand but she caught the doll instead. There was a loud ripping sound as the thin cloth tore. Suddenly she had the doll's head, Robert had the legs and body, and the rag-and-sawdust stuffing was spilling in the snow.

Well, I don't know about Tyrion Lannister, but I know another giant who should immediately start worrying about his head.

Who truly killed [beheaded] Eddard Stark, do you think? Joffrey, who gave the command? Ser Ilyn Payne, who swung the sword? Or . . . another?" - Tyrion II, ACOK

x

Varys and Littlefinger were no more loyal, he suspected . . . only more subtle, and thus more dangerous. Perhaps his father's way would have been best: summon Ilyn Payne, mount three heads above the gates, and have done. And wouldn't that be a pretty sight, he thought. - Tyrion VI, ACOK

x

"Dear dear Petyr," said Varys, "are you not concerned that yours might be the next name on the Hand's little list?"

"Before you, Varys? I should never dream of it."

"Mayhaps we will be brothers on the Wall together, you and I." Varys giggled again. - Tyrion VIII, ACOK

Which wall?

+.+.+

Lord Robert's mouth trembled. "You killlllllllled him," he wailed.

She sure did.

+.+.+

"Help him to my chambers," Colemon told the guards. "A leeching will help calm him."

"It was my fault." Sansa showed them the doll's head. "I ripped his doll in two. I never meant to, but . . ."

"His lordship was destroying the castle," said Petyr.

"A giant," the boy whispered, weeping. "It wasn't me, it was a giant hurt the castle. She killed him! I hate her! She's a bastard and I hate her! I don't want to be leeched!"

So, who's cutting off his head?

Sansa, Arya, and Bran are incapable of beheading a man. Theon couldn't even do it properly.

Slashing Littlefinger's throat in the Great Hall, and letting him bleed out like a pig on the floor for an audience is not George R. R. Martin writing. That's not what we want to see kids doing.

Winterfell has no headsman, and never will.

Jon is not going to Dragonstone, please don't make me laugh.

So, who's cutting off his head?

+.+.+

They led the boy away. My lord husband, Sansa thought, as she contemplated the ruins of Winterfell. The snow had stopped, and it was colder than before. She wondered if Lord Robert would shake all through their wedding. At least Joffrey was sound of body. 

This is why I love when that side of the fandom loses their mind over Sansa wishing for the Hound instead of Ser Dontos.

She does this a lot. She'll do it again with Tyrion in a second. This is how low the bar is.

+.+.+

A mad rage seized hold of her. She picked up a broken branch and smashed the torn doll's head down on top of it, then pushed it down atop the shattered gatehouse of her snow castle. The servants looked aghast, but when Littlefinger saw what she'd done he laughed. "If the tales be true, that's not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell's walls."

Winterfell's walls! What a perfect place for a head. I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, jackass.

It recently occurred to me that two of our three major giants lose their head in this story. No, not the doll. The other infamous giant.

Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood. - Bran III, AGOT

x

Those as say the giants are all dead never saw this one, I swear. Big as an ox he was, and a voice like stone breaking."

"The Mountain!" Ser Marq said loudly. - Eddard XI, AGOT

x

Hot Pie was kneeling too, before the tallest man Arya had ever seen, a monster from one of Old Nan's stories. She never saw where the giant had come from. - Arya V, ACOK

Gregor Clegane loses his head. Petyr Baelish will lose his head. All eyes on Tyrion Lannister?

Is there any old legends about giants losing their heads that I'm not aware of?

+.+.+

Sansa would have welcomed banishment. The Gates of the Moon was much larger than the Eyrie, and livelier as well. Lord Nestor Royce seemed gruff and stern, but his daughter Myranda kept his castle for him, and everyone said how frolicsome she was. Even Sansa's supposed bastardy might not count too much against her below. One of King Robert's baseborn daughters was in service to Lord Nestor, and she and the Lady Myranda were said to be fast friends, as close as sisters.

A great sign this is the first thing we learn about Myranda.

+.+.+

I will tell my aunt that I don't want to marry Robert. Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows.

Sure thing Jon, you go tell Stannis you have no interest in marrying Val.

Can we take a second to go through this book again, and laugh?

Jon II: gifted a new sheepskin wildling cloak

Sansa III: gifted a new maiden cloak, switched to a Lannister cloak

Jon III: Ygritte insists they're married, because she was stolen

Sansa III: forced to marry Tyrion Lannister

Jon V: dying man, chaos, runs away from his unwanted marriage

Sansa V: dying king, chaos, runs away from her unwanted marriage

Jon XI: How would you like to marry this sofa that looks eerily similar to Sansa Stark?

Sansa VI: How would you like to marry your cousin?

Jon XII: No thank you, Stannis.

Sansa VII: No thank you, Lysa.

Is this hard to notice? I don't know, I don't think so.

+.+.+

Sansa felt sorry for her little cousin sometimes, but she could not imagine ever wanting to be his wife. I would sooner be married to Tyrion again. 

There it is.

Major "Sorry Val, I prefer Ygritte" energy.

+.+.+

"Lady Lysa requires your presence in the High Hall." The singer's eyes undressed her as he spoke, but she was used to that.

Would the author let this girl breathe for five seconds?

+.+.+

To hear the servants talk, Sansa was not the first maid to suffer his advances, and the others had not had Lothor Brune to defend them. But Lady Lysa would hear no complaints against him. 

What are you saying exactly?

+.+.+

Since coming to the Eyrie, the singer had become her favorite. He sang Lord Robert to sleep every night, and tweaked the noses of Lady Lysa's suitors with verses that made mock of their foibles. Her aunt had showered him with gold and gifts; costly clothes, a gold arm ring, a belt studded with moonstones, a fine horse. She had even given him her late husband's favorite falcon. It all served to make Marillion unfailingly courteous in Lady Lysa's presence, and unfailingly arrogant outside it.

The allure of singers. The most powerful men in all of Westeros.

+.+.+

Littlefinger had dismissed the Eyrie's captain of guards and put Ser Lothor Brune in his place.

Tyrion-esque move. And they all abandoned Tyrion.

I want to believe in Lothor Brune so badly.

+.+.+

"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her."

And when I told you the tale o' Bael the Bard and how he plucked the rose o' Winterfell, I thought you'd know to pluck me then for certain, but you didn't. - Jon III, ASOS

x

He doesn't remember, Sansa realized, startled. He is only being kind to me, he doesn't remember me or the rose or any of it. She had been so certain that it meant something, that it meant everything. A red rose, not a white. - Sansa I, ASOS

x

He could tell she did not believe him. If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. - Jon III, ASOS

x

"I will not have the rose and the direwolf in bed together," declared Lord Tywin. - Tyrion III, ASOS

+.+.+

"No one is to enter so long as Alayne is with Lady Lysa," Marillion told them.

"Aye." The men let them pass, then crossed their spears. Marillion swung the doors shut and barred them with a third spear, longer and thicker than those the guards had borne.

Sansa felt a prickle of unease. "Why did you do that?"

"My lady awaits you."

The mother sings her grief for her dead son, Sansa thought, but Marillion grieves for his fingers, for his eyes. - Alayne I, AFFC

If you're looking for rational, unbiased takes on Marillion, you have come to the wrong place.

+.+.+

She looked about uncertainly. Lady Lysa sat on the dais in a high-backed chair of carved weirwood, alone. 

I don't get the weirwood chair, or weirwood Moon Door.

Meh, probably nothing.

+.+.+

Sansa stopped before the dais, and curtsied. "My lady. You sent for me." She could still hear the sound of the wind

Given this is a chapter that heavily features Winterfell architecture, and Sansa almost being pushed out of a tower, I looked hard for Bran, but didn't find him.

Is it the wind? Doubtful, the wind is not her friend in this chapter.

I've noticed he seems to follow Jon and Arya more. I suppose he's taking the Ned Stark approach: don't worry about Sansa.

+.+.+

The High Hall seemed to grow a little colder. The walls and floor and columns might have turned to ice. "He kissed me."

Lysa's nostrils flared. "And why would he do that? He has a wife who loves him. A woman grown, not a little girl. He has no need for the likes of you. Confess, child. You threw yourself at him. That was the way of it."

Sansa took a step backward. "That's not true."

"Where are you going? Are you afraid? Such wanton behavior must be punished, but I will not be hard on you. 

"So you admit it now? It was you, just as I thought. You are as wanton as your mother." Lysa grabbed her by the wrist.

Here comes the accusations of being wanton.

He was a bastard, after all. Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. - Jon VII, ASOS

x

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. - Jon X, ASOS

Strange this would suddenly start appearing at the end of the book for these two specific characters.

These two specific characters who never exhibit wanton behaviour.

+.+.+

We keep a whipping boy for Robert, as is the custom in the Free Cities. His health is too delicate for him to bear the rod himself. I shall find some common girl to take your whipping, but first you must own up to what you've done.

Like always, the author is going to make it as difficult as possible for the reader to find an ounce of sympathy for Lysa Arryn.

+.+.+

"Have you no honor?" her aunt said sharply. "Or do you take me for a fool? You do, don't you? You take me for a fool. Yes, I see that now. I am not a fool. 

It could not be more obvious that every Jon <- -> Sansa chapter transition was written in succession in this book, but if you needed any more evidence, here's the author forgetting to turn off Janos Slynt.

+.+.+

"Did you come with Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood, the time they visited to lay their feud before my father? Lord Bracken's singer played for us, and Catelyn danced six dances with Petyr that night, six, I counted. When the lords began to argue my father took them up to his audience chamber, so there was no one to stop us drinking. Edmure got drunk, young as he was . . . and Petyr tried to kiss your mother, only she pushed him away. She laughed at him. He looked so wounded I thought my heart would burst, and afterward he drank until he passed out at the table. Uncle Brynden carried him up to bed before my father could find him like that. But you remember none of it, do you?" She looked down angrily. "Do you?"

Is she drunk, or mad? "I was not born, my lady."

"You were not born. But I was, so do not presume to tell what is true. I know what is true. You kissed him!"

"He kissed me," Sansa insisted again. "I never wanted—"

"Be quiet, I haven't given you leave to speak. You enticed him, just as your mother did that night in Riverrun, with her smiles and her dancing. You think I could forget? That was the night I stole up to his bed to give him comfort. I bled, but it was the sweetest hurt. He told me he loved me then, but he called me Cat, just before he fell back to sleep. Even so, I stayed with him until the sky began to lighten.

Drunk, and mad.

Info bombs! I don't know why the above would be any less significant than everything else she learns.

Family, Duty, Honor, Sansa. Family, Duty, Honor meant I could never have her hand. But she gave me something finer, a gift a woman can give but once. - Sansa V, ASOS

x

You said it was my mother you loved. But of course Lady Catelyn was dead, so even if she had loved Petyr secretly and given him her maidenhood, it made no matter now. - Sansa VI, ASOS

Why do we revisit this three chapters in a row? She's going to tell him.

+.+.+

Your mother did not deserve him. She would not even give him her favor to wear when he fought Brandon Stark. I would have given him my favor. I gave him everything. He is mine now. Not Catelyn's and not yours.

Is that another random story about a favor Sansa gets to hear? Why?

He had worn her favor in the Battle of the Blackwater, where he'd slain a Myrish crossbowman and a Mullendore man-at-arms. "Alyn said her favor made him fearless," said Megga. "He says he shouted her name for his battle cry, isn't that ever so gallant? Someday I want some champion to wear my favor, and kill a hundred men." Elinor told her to hush, but looked pleased all the same. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to...another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone. - Alayne I, TWOW

Just kidding, I know why.

+.+.+

We made a baby together, a precious little baby." Lysa put her hands flat against her belly, as if the child was still there. "When they stole him from me, I made a promise to myself that I would never let it happen again. Jon wished to send my sweet Robert to Dragonstone, and that sot of a king would have given him to Cersei Lannister, but I never let them . . . no more than I'll let you steal my Petyr Littlefinger. Do you hear me, Alayne or Sansa or whatever you call yourself? Do you hear what I am telling you?"

Over Lysa's dead body will Sweetrobin be fostered.

+.+.+

"The Moon Door." She tried to yank free. "Why are you showing me the Moon Door?"

"You squeak like a mouse now, but you were bold enough in the garden, weren't you? You were bold enough in the snow."

My spidey senses are tingling a bit here.

+.+.+

"Look down," said Lady Lysa. "Look down."

She tried to wrench free, but her aunt's fingers were digging into her arm like claws. Lysa gave her another shove, and Sansa shrieked. Her left foot broke through a crust of snow and knocked it loose. There was nothing in front of her but empty air, and a waycastle six hundred feet below clinging to the side of the mountain. "Don't!" Sansa screamed. "You're scaring me!" Behind her, Marillion was still playing his woodharp and singing, "Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey."

Even knowing what happens, I find this difficult to read.

+.+.+

"Do you still want my leave to go? Do you?" "No." Sansa planted her feet and tried to squirm backward, but her aunt did not budge. "Not this way. Please . . ." She put a hand up, her fingers scrabbling at the doorframe, but she could not get a grip, and her feet were sliding on the wet marble floor. Lady Lysa pressed her forward inexorably. Her aunt outweighed her by three stone. "The lady lay a-kissing, upon a mound of hay," Marillion was singing. Sansa twisted sideways, hysterical with fear, and one foot slipped out over the void. She screamed. "Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey."

Alayne had not seen the body, no more than Robert had, but she did not doubt the fact of the singer's death. - Alayne I, AFFC

+.+.+

The wind flapped her skirts up and bit at her bare legs with cold teeth. She could feel snowflakes melting on her cheeks. Sansa flailed, found Lysa's thick auburn braid, and clutched it tight. "My hair!" her aunt shrieked. "Let go of my hair!" She was shaking, sobbing. They teetered on the edge. Far off, she heard the guards pounding on the door with their spears, demanding to be let in. Marillion broke off his song.

Our little non-fighter found the correct defence.

It's hard to believe she'd be registering what's happening at the door or with Marillion at this point, but we'll give the author a break.

+.+.+

"Lysa! What's the meaning of this?" The shout cut through the sobs and heavy breathing. Footsteps echoed down the High Hall. "Get back from there! Lysa, what are you doing?" The guards were still beating at the door; Littlefinger had come in the back way, through the lords' entrance behind the dais.

Oh look, Petyr Baelish is saving her.

Just like Tyrion Lannister saved her in the throne room.

Just like Sandor Clegane saved her from the mob.

Perhaps -maybe- this doesn't make them protagonists, or love interests? Crazy, I know.

+.+.+

"Her." Lady Lysa grabbed a handful of Sansa's hair. "She's the trouble. She kissed you."

What's missing from this chapter is the fact that Sansa's hair is now chestnut brown. It's never once mentioned in the text. I always thought that was a bit of a blunder from George, but now I kind of appreciate him letting me have the illusion of her building the snow castle with red hair.

+.+.+

"Be quiet!" her aunt screamed. "I never gave you leave to speak. No one cares about your castle."

Half the men in Westeros care about Sansa's castle, Lysa. Both of them.

+.+.+

"I don't want her here." Her aunt's eyes were shiny with tears. "Why did you bring her to the Vale, Petyr? This isn't her place. She doesn't belong here."

Sansa doesn't belong in the Vale, and Jon doesn't belong in the crypts with the other stone kings. It's not their place. I concur.

+.+.+

"NO!" Lysa gave Sansa's head another wrench. Snow eddied around them, making their skirts snap noisily. "You can't want her. You can't. She's a stupid empty-headed little girl. She doesn't love you the way I have. I've always loved you. I've proved it, haven't I?" Tears ran down her aunt's puffy red face. "I gave you my maiden's gift. I would have given you a son too, but they murdered him with moon tea, with tansy and mint and wormwood, a spoon of honey and a drop of pennyroyal. It wasn't me, I never knew, I only drank what Father gave me . . ."

The tansy mystery is solved!

I think people tend to worry too much about this passage. Sansa is a window into another storyline, that's all.

+.+.+

"Have you been at the wine again? You ought not to talk so much. We don't want Alayne to know more than she should, do we? Or Marillion?"

You would be foolish if you think Sansa knowing all this information is going nowhere.

+.+.+

Lady Lysa ignored that. "Cat never gave you anything. It was me who got you your first post, who made Jon bring you to court so we could be close to one another. You promised me you would never forget that."

Ouch. I'm telling you, somewhere deep down he knows.

+.+.+

"Tears, tears, tears," she sobbed hysterically. "No need for tears . . . but that's not what you said in King's Landing. You told me to put the tears in Jon's wine, and I did. For Robert, and for us! And I wrote Catelyn and told her the Lannisters had killed my lord husband, just as you said. That was so clever . . . you were always clever, I told Father that, I said Petyr's so clever, he'll rise high, he will, he will, and he's sweet and gentle and I have his little baby in my belly . . . Why did you kiss her? Why? We're together now, we're together after so long, so very long, why would you want to kiss herrrrrr?"

Rest in peace.

+.+.+

"Lysa," Petyr sighed, "after all the storms we've suffered, you should trust me better. I swear, I shall never leave your side again, for as long as we both shall live."

Brutal.

+.+.+

Lysa threw herself into Littlefinger's arms, sobbing. As they hugged, Sansa crawled from the Moon Door on hands and knees and wrapped her arms around the nearest pillar. She could feel her heart pounding. There was snow in her hair and her right shoe was missing. It must have fallen. She shuddered, and hugged the pillar tighter.

Instead of making the connection to Cinderella, and the glass slipper (Where's your Prince Charming, Sansa?), I have to sit through 179 metas about this stupid shoe being the cause of Littlefinger's downfall. The shoe that's buried under feet of snow on a gigantic ass mountain, probably a mile away from Lysa's corpse, which has been eaten by a mountain lion.

I don't spend nearly enough time making fun of Preston Jacobs.

+.+.+

"My sweet silly jealous wife," he said, chuckling. "I've only loved one woman, I promise you."

Lysa Arryn smiled tremulously. "Only one? Oh, Petyr, do you swear it? Only one?"

"Only Cat." He gave her a short, sharp shove.

Lysa stumbled backward, her feet slipping on the wet marble. And then she was gone. She never screamed. For the longest time there was no sound but the wind.

It's unfortunate Catelyn's dead, this would have been a fun chapter transition.

+.+.+

Marillion gasped, "You . . . you . . ."

The guards were shouting outside the door, pounding with the butts of their heavy spears. Lord Petyr pulled Sansa to her feet. "You're not hurt?" When she shook her head, he said, "Run let my guards in, then. Quick now, there's no time to lose. This singer's killed my lady wife."

Final thoughts:

To summarize, with regards to Littlefinger, Sansa knows the following:

He "found a place" for Jeyne Poole.

He was awarded the empty honour of Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Lord of Harrenhal before the Red Wedding.

He killed Joffrey with Olenna, and framed Tyrion.

He was in love with Catelyn, and claims Catelyn gave him her maidenhead. She did not.

He had a child with Lysa that was aborted.

He killed Jon Arryn with Lysa, and framed the Lannisters.

He convinced Lysa to lie to Catelyn about the Lannisters.

He killed Lysa, and framed Marillion.

He's been pushing a lot of sweetsleep on Robert Arryn.

Sansa is his weakness.

Did I miss anything? Boy, this dude is beyond fucked.

-> return to menu <-

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Fear

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader (with the ability to summon fire)

Inspiration: Season 7, Episode 6 - Beyond The Wall

Warnings: Language

Author note: Honestly my favourite scene! I had writing fever straight after.

Summary: You travel with Jon, Tormmund, Clegane and Beric and others beyond the Wall when you’re ambushed by wights.

Clegane and Tormmund slammed their bodies atop the creature to stop it from running off. It growled and screeched in a way that chilled their bloods more than the weather itself. Jorah grabbed rope from his bag and passed it to Gendry who hastily wrapped it around the creatures legs. The rest of the company watched on, ready to pounce if the creature got too powerful. 

“Jon.” You called out, voice slightly distant and distracted.

Turning to you instantly, Jon worried if you had been injured during the scuffle but it seemed that you weren’t paying any attention to them capturing the wight. 

Your eyes were wide and drawn to a large opening, face frozen with fright. Jon walked closer and noticed that you were breathing far quicker than normal after a fight. He placed a hand over your stomach to remind you that he was there and that you were going to leave but his voice was stuck in his throat when you let out a choked sob. 

“He’s coming.”

Jon was back on high alert at your words. Without questioning how you knew what you knew, he looked out in the same direction. Suddenly, everything fell silent and he heard the wind picking up in the distance with a faint rumbling. The sound of an avalanche drawing near with each second could be heard and the temperature around them dropped rapidly. 

Turning to where his company were restraining the wight, he saw that Jorah had noticed the same as fear latched onto him as well. Knowing that nothing good was coming, Jorah worked as fast as possible in throwing a bag over the monsters head. 

Thinking quick, Jon ran over to Gendry. 

“Run over to Eastwatch. Send a raven to Daenerys - tell her what’s happened.” He rushed out, frantically looking in different directions for a way out. 

“I’m not leaving you-“

“You’re the fastest. Go. Now!” Jon demanded, knowing that the danger was growing alarmingly fast and pushed the young boy in the direction he needed. Jon bolted off towards the large opening, grabbing you by the arm on his way. He couldn’t waste breath explaining himself. 

Quickly glancing back, he saw that the rest of the company were also following fast as the rumbling noise started to grow. He hoped that they’d have an advantage on open ground as one rock formation stood in the middle of an ice plain. 

Crack!

“Stop!” Jorah shouted, halting everyone suddenly. 

You finally snapped out of your fear-induced state and realised that the ice beneath your feet had started to crack. 

The noise behind switched from a rumble to a violent shake and, upon turning back, you all saw a hoard of wights charging for you. 

“Run!” 

Forgetting about the thin ice, you broke for the rock in the centre - praying to any god that was listening that it would be enough. The wights followed succeeding in taking down one of the nights watch. However, the weight of the creatures violent movements, broke the ice floor and drowned them. 

Once safely upon the rock, the company found that a ring of ice shattered around them which forced the wights to stand back. It was tense. The dead creatures stood silent, watching with blue eyes at the prey. They were ready to pounce.

“What are they waiting for?” Jorah asked. His question was met with silence, save for a few painful groans from Beric being tended to.

What were they waiting for?

“I can feel him.” You shivered, having taken a seat on a broken slab of snow-covered stone. 

“You sound like you fucked the Night King.” Clegane growled. He was tense and, quite frankly, tired of all this White Walker business. His remark blew over your head as your body trembled. 

“You don’t understand. I can’t feel my fire. Without it, my abilities won’t work.” 

Clegane rolled his eyes and grabbed you by both arms, shaking you so rough that, for a second, you thought he was trying to kill you. 

“Listen here! We’re fighting an army of dead fuckers who will rip you to shreds if you don’t get your shit straight!” He shouted. 

A hand landed on his arm and forced him a few steps back. “Get away from them!” Jon ordered. 

Clegane shook his head and turned away, muttering loudly for them to hear, “What good is a fucking 'phoenix’ if they’re scared?” 

Jon scowled at the man, almost regretting that he was with them. Then, he turned to you, crouching to your level. 

“Hey, they can’t get to us. See?” He pointed beyond the ring of water. “It’s alright.”

You frowned and looked up at him – your unintended fury surprising the young man. 

“It’s not fucking alright! And I’m not fucking scared!” You snapped, the latter part of our outburst aimed at the Hound before focusing on Jon again. “I can’t summon fire if my insides are frozen. I can’t use it to fight and I can’t do anything to help.”

Jon sighed and placed a hand on your cheek. He knew what it was like to feel lost and hopeless without the one thing he relied on. 

“Then fight. Fight to stay alive.” He told you and you instinctively gripped your Valeriyan steel sword. Just listening to his voice, made you feel like your situation wasn’t so deadly. You leaned into Jon’s touch and wondered how he was emanating heat in such conditions. 

“Only if you promise that you’ll fight to see me after this.” 

Jon chuckled for the first time since he reached beyond the Wall. He knew there was always a catch with you. Deep down, he wished he hadn’t asked you to come. You wouldn’t be in this kind of danger if he hadn’t opened his mouth. 

“I swear on my life,” He began. “That we’ll see each other after this.”

Beric paced past the couple and sighed, “I pray to the Lord of Light for it to be true.” 

It wasn’t long before night had fallen. Your energy was spent but you did everything you could from falling asleep but it was weakening you. Jon moved closer despite the winter chill biting his face. 

“Get some rest.” He insisted. 

You looked at him sadly, whispering back a small, “I can’t.” 

Clegane was taking the lookout and walked past with a loud groan. “Just go to sleep, for fucks sake.” 

Tormmund frowned at Clegane and stepped in front of him, “Watch your tone.” 

Clegane pushed past the Wildling and walked away from the Brotherhood for some peace of mind. Ignoring the Hound, Jon helped you sit down and let you press yourself against him for warmth. 

He didn’t sleep, he was on too high of an alert to close his eyes. But it seemed that being beside him, calmed you enough to lower your guard and worries. In no time at all, Jorah managed a small smile in your direction. 

“Perhaps with some rest, we may get our (Y/n) back.” He said. “Tyrion will not forgive me if his dearest friend doesn’t return.” 

“Nor would my sisters.” Jon nodded. “Or myself.”

It wasn’t long before each of them succumbed to the temptation of sleep in the cold silence. Sitting beside each other to not die. When they woke it was to the sound of their wight captive growling and snarling beneath the bag on its head. 

One by one they all stood up and saw that the wights hadn’t moved from the day before. The stood still and silent. They also realised that they had lost one of their own during the night. Saying their goodbyes as Beric prayed to the Lord of Light, Jon poured alcohol over the body before Beric lit up his sword and set his friends remains afire. 

Jon sighed and walked away to look out over at their problem, hoping that Daenerys was on her way. Jorah also made his way over and, together, they tried to solve the mystery of why the wights fell after Jon killed the White Walker. 

You were stood beside Tormmund when you felt a jolt of fear, shock through your body and fell forward on your knees - limbs numb and bones rattling. You gasped when you felt your chest constrict as if something had found its way to your heart and was trying to crush it. 

Closing your eyes briefly to null the pain, you saw the blue eyes of the Night King. 

Tormmund was at your side instantly, quickly and gently grabbing your arm to get you up, “On your feet, little flame.” He ushered. You caught your breath and looked up past the wights and to the ledge above them. 

There he was. Sitting on his horse with his generals behind. 

“He’s here.”

Tormmund helped you over to where Jon took a seat and left you with him. You sat quietly as talking would waste breath and you needed to save as much as you could for when the dead attacked. 

Crunch.

You and Jon turned sharply over to where Clegane was crouched over the end of the rockface. Tossing small stones to the side to grab a larger one. 

The pair watched as he stood back up, leaned back and then hurled the rock at the dead. There was a sickening slam against one of the skeletons as its jaw fell off. 

“Are you trying to piss them off?” You reprimanded. 

“Nope. Just you.” Clegane replied. 

You rolled your eyes angrily at him and watched as he hurled another rock - this one however, slid on the newly hardened ice and hit an undead foot.

“Shit.” You muttered and stood up. Jon thought the same and joined your side, remembering that you were fighting to stay alive.

Masterlist here

[semperlitluv]

hammock-sharing.

Thank you, @woodswit for the prompt! I know you’re not a fluff reader, but I couldn’t find another angle for this prompt in my back pocket. I hope you enjoy this! Warning: the dialogue includes some wildly run-on sentences.

—

Jon’s pulled from his midday doze by an insistent tapping on his folded arms.

“What do you…”

His last word trails off as he pushes up his sunglasses to better view the redhead standing by his hip. And what a view.

She’s tall and the sun is casting a glow around her that’s only overshadowed by the look on her face. That scowl would probably be impressive aimed elsewhere, but it’s terrifying facing him directly.

“I need to use this hammock,” she demands, hands clutching her backpack in front of her body so tightly, her knuckles are white.

Jon glances around the courtyard. He naps in this small pocket garden between two dorm buildings to avoid his fellow students for a few hours. This disruption might be a pretty one (try gorgeous, or a goddess, his brain supplies), but that doesn’t mean he’s willing to interrupt his precious quiet time any further.

“There are two other empty hammocks right there.” Jon points towards them and slides his sunglasses back down, aiming to end the conversation quickly.

He doesn’t close his eyes, so he can see that the woman is shifting her weight from foot to foot nervously. He sighs.

“Could you… maybe, would you mind moving to one of those empty hammocks?”

He’s not usually so short, but Jon spent the night trying to keep his drunk housemates from killing themselves and he had planned on utilizing every moment of this break between class and going to work for a bit of sleep.

“Unless your name is on this thing somewhere or the university started requiring reservations, I’m comfortable here, thanks.”

Her reply explodes out, and she looks shocked even as she rambles, “I have to use this hammock. I’ve studied in this exact hammock before every single one of Maester Aemon’s exams and I’ve passed them by the skin of my teeth and if I don’t get at least eighty percent then I won’t pass the class and I’ll have to drop out in shame and I won’t go to law school and I’m going to be the only person in my family who is a lawyer because my siblings won’t do it so if I’m not a lawyer then my parents will have to close the practice and disown me and I’ll never see my family again!”

Jon’s on his feet, hands raised in supplication before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Woah, it’s okay,” he says, aiming for a soothing tone. He’s half-planning how to get away quickly. There’s a gap between those bushes…

She drops her hands from covering her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’ve had the worst semester on the planet, and today my douchebag ex stormed into my morning class and caused a total scene, and I’m already having roommate drama since he decided to date her instead — and I was really, really looking forward to studying here, where no one would come bother me.”

She flings her arms out, “and now I’ve been absolutely rude to the cutest boy I’ve seen in months, and hopefully, the ground can just open up beneath me now?” She’s looking down bashfully and Jon’s never found the top of someone’s head so compelling.

“That sounds really awful,” he says, “Aemon’s class is rough. And if it matters that much to you, the hammock is yours,” she starts to reply so he raises a hand, “I just have one condition.”

She’s a little wary, he can tell, but she says, “and what is that condition?”

“I’d like to know your name.”

“Oh! I’m Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

He reaches a hand out and they shake, exchanging shy smiles.

“I’m Jon Snow,” he says, “first, you’re the cutest woman I’ve seen in months, if that helps. Second, the hammock is yours.” He winks — knowing that it’s a disaster — and she giggles.

“Thank you!” Sansa croons, hugging him so swiftly that he can’t react. She hops into the hammock and pulls out her textbook. He watches her settle in, realizes that’s kind of creepy, and drops into the next hammock over to finish his nap.

“Hey, Jon?” She calls, and he pops his head up.

“Maybe we can share a hammock next time?”

His grin is cheek-straining wide.

“It’s a date, Sansa.”

[targaryenimagines]

Tempering the Storm

Daenerys Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 2,164

Summary:

Notes: For @alphawolfworld— I hope you enjoy it. I decided to make my own little spin on it, which I hope you enjoy.

The harsh winds of the North whip at your face as you step from the rowdy Great Hall. Your eyes watering slightly because of it. Pulling your cloak tighter to your body you begin to make your trek back towards your room. Thick plumes of your breath being the only thing that accompanied you on your journey. 

You could still hear the faint sound of laughter and drunken shouts. Something that brings a small smile to your lips. Even if you couldn’t stand to be around the drunkards that inhabited the Great Hall, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth that they were able to be so happy. That they were able to find something to be so carefree about. You just hoped that they didn’t end up regretting it in the morning. 

With a smile, you hunker down against another strong surge of wind as you cross the courtyard. Your body canting to the side as you tried to right yourself. Alas, your body wasn’t used to the conditions that you had put it in. Something that you quickly discovered as your foot hit a patch of ice underneath the snow and your entire world flipped upside-down. The breath leaving your lungs in a whoosh of air as your back made contact with the cold stone of the ground. Thankfully it was slightly cushioned by the snow that made up the entirety of the North. 

Groaning, you flop your head down-- not having the energy to rise from the ground. Trying with all your might to ignore the cool liquid seeping into your clothes. Your eyes slip shut on their own accord as you imagine that you were simply resting against the warm sands of Meereen. The sound of crashing waves taking the place of howling wind. The harsh bite of the weather giving way to the gentle touch of the sun. When your eyes open once more you could feel the way your mood drops when you’re not met with the crystalline blue sky of Essos. A sight that you never knew you would miss so much. What I would do for this snow to become sand.

The soft sound of laughter pulls you out of your thoughts. Craning your neck, you had to squint through the thickening barrage of snow to see the figure approaching you. Even though as it drew closer and closer you could make out the familiar silhouette of Sansa Stark. A woman that you had grown rather fond of during your time in the North. You watch as she stops next to you with a gentle smile curling her lips. The blue of her eyes standing out against the stark fairness of her skin. Familiar waves of auburn being kept in a simple braid. Her soft voice filled with both amusement and concern. 

“Are you doing alright? I can’t imagine that you’re comfortable laying on the ground like that.”

You allow your own smile to appear as you looked up towards her. “I am doing quite alright down here. Why don’t you join me?” 

Her nose wrinkles at the offer. Her blue gaze tracing the lines of your clearly soaked cloak with a disgruntled air. “I would much rather stay where I am.” She turns her head towards the Great Hall-- a slight frown furrowing her brow. As if she was piecing together a puzzle that didn’t make much sense to her. After a moment her gaze meets yours once more. “Where is Lady Daenerys? Should she not be out here with you also?” 

A surprised look blossoms on your face at the question. Your own frown appearing as you mull over the words. The familiar warmth spreading through your chest as you thought about your dragon-- your Daenerys. But it quickly turns sour when memories of recent events come to the surface within your mind. Seemingly sensing your mood change, Sansa glances at the snow-covered ground with a pointed glare before she gingerly sits. Her back ramrod straight as she tried to ignore the feeling of it melting underneath her. 

Offering Sansa a weak smile, you begin to speak. “Dany has a lot on her plate right now. With the impending battle with the Night King and Cersei being a constant threat in the background.” You pause as a small sigh escapes your mouth. “It’s enough to make anyone feel pressured.”

“Has she been neglecting you?” Sansa seemed enraged by the thought. 

“No.” You shake your head at the mere thought of Daenerys doing so. “I just don’t see her as much I used to, but I know she tries her best to make time for me.”

Blue eyes darken at the thought. An expression flashing across her face that you couldn’t quite decipher. “I see.”

A silence settles over the two of you-- only the howling of the wind and far-off laughter permeating it. Opening your mouth, you try to figure out what you could possibly say to Sansa to soothe the situation. Even though you weren’t exactly sure what situation you were in. However, before you could, Sansa turns to you with a slight smile. Her expression much clearer than it had been a moment prior. 

“Why don’t we start heading towards your chamber? I think a change of clothing and wine between friends is more appealing than sitting out here. Don’t you agree?” 

Not knowing what to truly say, you simply nod. 

And with more energy than you were expecting, Sansa springs to her feet and holds out her hands towards you. Her normally closed off eyes sparkling with affection. 

“Then let’s go.” 

---------

“Did Jon truly do such a thing?” You ask in an incredulous tone. Not believing that the silent brooding man could ever do something like that. 

Sansa lets out an airy laugh. “I promise you it’s all true. Jon and Robb got into such mischief together.” A sad look flashes across her eyes before she can hide it. “I miss those days.”

Setting down your goblet of wine, you gently take Sansa’s hand in your own gentle grip. A look of complete understanding washing over your face. “I can understand that, but do you know who can also understand that. Better than anyone I have ever met?” 

She shakes her head in response, but there was the same look in her eyes from before. 

“Daenerys.” You frown at the small scoff that Sansa lets out in response. “I’m serious Sansa. Daenerys knows better than anyone how it feels to long for days long passed. To wish for a different future than the course you have been put on.” 

Sansa lowers her head-- her voice dropping to a low whisper. “You seem to old the Dragon Queen in high-esteem.” 

“I love her, Sansa,” you whisper back. “She has saved me more times than I can count. Has been there for me when I didn’t even know I needed someone. She has never given up on me. Has never faltered in her devotion for me. And I will never do so either.” 

An almost pained look appears on Sansa’s face at the clear conviction within your tone. It was a look that you suddenly understood. For it was a look you had seen many times before. A look that many potential-suitors held when they finally understood your complete devotion to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. 

Sighing softly, you offer Sansa an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

She offers a weak smile in return. “Not as sorry as I am.”

Tightening your hold on her hand, you pull Sansa into a warm hug. Wrapping your arms securely around her as she buries her face into the crook of your neck. A silent understanding passing between the two of you in that moment. That everything was going to be okay in the end. 

The sound of your chamber door causes you both to jump away from one another. Your eyes widening at the slim figure standing at the threshold of the room. A furious violet gaze meeting your shocked one. 

Standing you take a slight step forward. “Daenerys?” 

You pause when her gaze seemingly freezes you in place. Her eyes turning to the woman behind you. A harsh look taking over her features at the sight. 

“What in the Seven Hells is she doing here?” 

With widening eyes, you begin to speak-- desperately wanting to salvage the situation. “Sansa and I met earlier in the courtyard, and after a brief discussion we decided to convene in my chambers for some wine.” You gesture behind you towards the goblets. “And after another brief discussion I decided it best that I should hug her farewell.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrow. “Then why is she still here if you were simply hugging her farewell?” 

You flounder for an answer. Your brain seemingly short-circuiting as you tried to speak. Luckily, a soft voice speaks up behind you.

“I was just leaving.” You wince internally at the sharp quality to Sansa’s tone, but you smile gratefully towards her as she passes you. Thankful that she was able to speak when you couldn’t.

Pausing for a brief moment beside you, Sansa murmurs. “I shall see you tomorrow.” She shoots Daenerys a thinly-veiled glare. “I hope you sleep well.” 

With that she exits the room. The banging of the door being the only sound in the room for some time. Taking a chance, you glance towards Daenerys’s still figure. Only to find that she was still staring at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher. 

You take a small step towards her. Your expression open and honest. “Dany, I promise what you saw isn’t what you think it was. I was simply offering her a hug as a friend. Nothing more.”

Her mouth twists down in a frown. “I am well aware of your intentions, my love.” She turns from you and moves towards the window. Her expression pensive as she takes in the sights just beyond the glass. “It’s hers that I am vexed with.” 

You frown. “What do you mean, Dany?” 

She turns to you with a slight smile curling her lips. The first she had offered you since entering the room. “Oh you must realize how she stares at you, my love. Must realize how she speaks towards you without a care of who overhears.” She turns her gaze back towards the outside world. “Her gaze is filled with that of longing. A deep-rooted longing for something that she can never have. The type of longing that keeps one awake at night. Her words simply highlighting the fact. For they show no inkling of self-perservation as she tries to take something that is already someone elses.” Sighing, Daenerys moves towards the bed where she gingerly sits down. “So, no, it’s not you I am worried about, my darling.” 

Clearly seeing the anguish within Daenerys’s violet gaze, you move to sit beside her. Taking her still gloved hands in your own. Your eyes pleading with her to listen to you. 

“Dany,” you mumur with a soft look on your face. Your hand coming up to caress her cheek. “There is no other person that I could ever see myself with. No other person that I could ever see myself loving as much as I love you.” You dip your head as your next admission comes out. “I am aware of Sansa’s feelings towards me. Even though I had no knowledge of it when I entered this room with her. She has since become aware of my complete devotion towards you. Something that will never change.” 

Daenerys’s eyes flash with various emotions. Though you could tell clear as day that her insecurities were eating away at her. 

“Truly?” She asks with a small tilt of her head. “Even when my plans have to take me away from you for long periods of time? When I can’t spend time with you like I used to?” 

You smile. “Even then. For I know that you will be just as miserable as I am. That we will both be wishing for the day that we can be in each others arms once more.” You bring your lips to hers in a small, chastised kiss. “I am yours, Daenerys. For now and forever.”

Daenerys smiles back at you. Her violet eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. “And I am yours, my love.” She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls your body flush against hers. Her mouth ghosting across your cheek towards your ear. Her warm breath fluttering against the shell of your ear. “I just hope you realize that the next time Sansa Stark tries anything I won’t be so forgiving.”

Chuckling, you turn your head and press your lips against hers. Relishing the feeling of having her in your arms. Any other thought leaving your mind as your hold her tightly to you. 

For there would never be anyone else you would ever need.

Not as long as you had her.

[aboveallarescuer]

Parallels between Aerys II Targaryen and Cersei Lannister (and why they are both foils to Dany)

In this post, I gathered all the parallels I could find between Cersei and Aerys II after recently rereading Cersei’s chapters and Aerys’s section in TWOIAF. While a lot of people have made good points criticizing how Cersei was written (namely, as incompetent, misogynistic and irredeemable, at least in the canon timeline where her fate is already sealed) considering her special place in the narrative (namely, as arguably the female character who most frequently and openly questions and challenges the validity of Westerosi patriarchy, as well as the only major female villain of the story and the only woman among the three Lannister siblings), it’s also true that GRRM intended her to be paralleled with Aerys II in many ways, which will be laid out here.

Recognizing how Aerys II and Cersei are alike is particularly important for emphasizing that both characters were written as foils to Daenerys, so I will also explain how Dany doesn’t share their similarities.

Both believe they are destined for greatness

Aerys II:

Aerys II did not lack for ambition. Upon his coronation, he declared that it was his wish to be the greatest king in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, a conceit certain of his friends encouraged by suggesting that one day he might be remembered as Aerys the Wise or even Aerys the Great. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

The Lord of Casterly Rock deserved rainbows. He had been a great man. I shall be greater, though. A thousand years from now, when the maesters write about this time, you shall be remembered only as Queen Cersei’s sire. (AFFC Cersei II)

That’s not the case with Dany. Her titles (the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Mhysa, Azor Ahai, etc) were given to her by other people, she doesn’t think she’s special despite birthing dragons and receiving multiple prophecies and she’s incredibly hard on herself for every mistake she makes. She simply doesn’t have an exaggerated sense of her importance or abilities like Cersei and Aerys II do.

Both are cut by the Iron Throne

Aerys II:

Yet still the blades tormented him, the ones he could never escape, the blades of the Iron Throne. His arms and legs were always covered with scabs and half-healed cuts. (AFFC Jaime II)

Cersei:

The barbs and blades of the Iron Throne bit into her flesh as she crouched to hide her shame. Blood ran red down her legs, as steel teeth gnawed at her buttocks. When she tried to stand, her foot slipped through a gap in the twisted metal. The more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her, tearing chunks of flesh from her breasts and belly, slicing at her arms and legs until they were slick and red, glistening. (AFFC Cersei I)

While Cersei was only cut in a dream, this moment is still significant because the Iron Throne is infamous for only harming and ‘rejecting’ the bad rulers. GRRM could have written a similar dream for Dany if he wanted to make her and Cersei follow the same direction, specially in AFFC/ADWD where he noted multiple times that they’re meant to be paralleled and contrasted. Instead, while Cersei’s first chapter in AFFC begins with her dreaming of being on the Iron Throne and being cut by it, Dany’s first chapter in ADWD begins with her dreaming of a house with a red door. Also, while Cersei wishes she could sit on the Iron Throne but is unable to because only the King and the Hand can sit on it, Dany willingly gives up on the privilege to sit on an elaborate throne and chooses an ebony bench that "did not befit a queen" in Meereen. So, not only the author emphasized that Dany doesn’t want power for its own sake (but rather to help people) and that she wants to be at the level of her people, he also didn’t take the chance to portray her as a bad ruler (because she is a good one) like he did with Cersei and Aerys II.

Both feel excitement and pleasure at the sight of wildfire

Aerys II:

Frustrated, Aerys turned to the Wisdoms of the ancient Guild of Alchemists, who knew the secret of producing the volatile jade green substance known as wildfire, said to be a close cousin to dragonflame. The pyromancers became a regular fixture at his court as the king's fascination with fire grew. By 280 AC, Aerys II had taken to burning traitors, murderers, and plotters, rather than hanging or beheading them. The king seemed to take great pleasure in these fiery executions, which were presided over by Wisdom Rossart, the grand master of the Guild of Alchemists...so much so that he granted Rossart the title of Lord and gave him a seat upon the small council. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. A king has no secrets from his Kingsguard. Relations between Aerys and his queen had been strained during the last years of his reign. They slept apart and did their best to avoid each other during the waking hours. But whenever Aerys gave a man to the flames, Queen Rhaella would have a visitor in the night. (AFFC Jaime II)

Cersei:

Cersei thought of all the King’s Hands that she had known through the years: Owen Merryweather, Jon Connington, Qarlton Chelsted, Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark, her brother Tyrion. And her father, Lord Tywin Lannister, her father most of all. All of them are burning now, she told herself, savoring the thought. They are dead and burning, every one, with all their plots and schemes and betrayals. It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom. (AFFC Cersei III)

~

Cersei felt too alive for sleep. The wildfire was cleansing her, burning away all her rage and fear, filling her with resolve. “The flames are so pretty. I want to watch them for a while.” (AFFC Cersei III)

~

Jaime knew the look in his sister's eyes. He had seen it before, most recently on the night of Tommen's wedding, when she burned the Tower of the Hand. The green light of the wildfire had bathed the face of the watchers, so they looked like nothing so much as rotting corpses, a pack of gleeful ghouls, but some of the corpses were prettier than others. Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon. She'd stood with one hand on her breast, her lips parted, her green eyes shining. She is crying, Jaime had realized, but whether it was from grief or ecstasy he could not have said.

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. (AFFC Jaime II)

That never happens with Dany. She does describe the flames positively during the ritual to hatch the dragon eggs, but so does Jon Snow and GRRM himself. She does claim the fire as hers, but it has to do with her magical intuition as she puts two and two to birth her children and is ultimately validated. Most importantly, unlike Aerys II and Cersei, Dany a) never feels excitement while watching things burn for their own sake, b) never takes pleasure viewing or imagining her enemies burning and c) is never compared to Aerys II to highlight any disturbing behavior from her part. She is called the Mad King’s daughter by her enemies (the slavers and Mace Tyrell), but the characters around her and the ones who have nothing to gain by defaming her (Barristan, Tyrion, Illyrio, Quentyn) reiterate that she’s nothing like him. Meanwhile, two of the people who have known Cersei the longest (Jaime on the quotes above, Tyrion) compare her to Aerys II.

Both grow paranoid with time; they imagine implausible scenarios in which their perceived enemies are working (often together) against them, accept their baseless fears as truth and make hasty decisions based on them

Aerys II:

The march of the king's madness seemed to abate for a time in 274 AC, when Queen Rhaella gave birth to a son. So profound was His Grace's joy that it seemed to restore him to his old self once again...but Prince Jaehaerys died later that same year, plunging Aerys into despair. In his black rage, he decided the babe's wet nurse was to blame and had the woman beheaded. Not long after, in a change of heart, Aerys announced that Jaehaerys had been poisoned by his own mistress, the pretty young daughter of one of his household knights. The king had the girl and all her kin tortured to death. During the course of their torment, it is recorded, all confessed to the murder, though the details of their confessions were greatly at odds. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

The birth of Prince Viserys only seemed to make Aerys II more fearful and obsessive, however. Though the new young princeling seemed healthy enough, the king was terrified lest he suffer the same fate as his brothers. Kingsguard knights were commanded to stand over him night and day to see that no one touched the boy without the king's leave. Even the queen herself was forbidden to be alone with the infant. When her milk dried up, Aerys insisted on having his own food taster suckle at the teats of the prince's wet nurse, to ascertain that the woman had not smeared poison on her nipples. As gifts for the young prince arrived from all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, the king had them piled in the yard and burned, for fear that some of them might have been ensorcelled or cursed. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

Captivity at Duskendale had shattered whatever sanity had remained to Aerys II Targaryen. From that day forth, the king's madness reigned unchecked, growing worse with every passing year. The Darklyns had dared lay hands upon his person, shoving him roughly, stripping him of his royal raiment, even daring to strike him. After his release, King Aerys would no longer allow himself to be touched, even by his own servants. Uncut and unwashed, his hair grew ever longer and more tangled, whilst his fingernails lengthened and thickened into grotesque yellow talons. He forbade any blade in his presence save for the swords carried by the knights of his Kingsguard, sworn to protect him. His judgments became ever harsher and crueler. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

Once safely returned to King's Landing, His Grace refused to leave the Red Keep for any cause and remained a virtual prisoner in his own castle for the next four years, during which time he grew ever more wary of those around him, Tywin Lannister in particular. His suspicions extended even to his own son and heir. Prince Rhaegar, he was convinced, had conspired with Tywin Lannister to have him slain at Duskendale. They had planned to storm the town walls so that Lord Darklyn would put him to death, opening the way for Rhaegar to mount the Iron Throne and marry Lord Tywin's daughter. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

And when the triumphant Prince of Dragonstone named Lyanna Stark, daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, the queen of love and beauty, placing a garland of blue roses in her lap with the tip of his lance, the lickspittle lords gathered around the king declared that further proof of his perfidy. Why would the prince have thus given insult to his own wife, the Princess Elia Martell of Dorne (who was present), unless it was to help him gain the Iron Throne? The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia's delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar's cause, Symond Staunton suggested to the king. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

~

When the news reached the Red Keep, it was said that Aerys cursed the Dornish, certain that Lewyn had betrayed Rhaegar. He sent his pregnant queen, Rhaella, and his younger son and new heir, Viserys, away to Dragonstone, but Princess Elia was forced to remain in King's Landing with Rhaegar's children as a hostage against Dorne. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The End)

Cersei:

“I am counseling you. If you will not yield the regency to me, name me your castellan for Casterly Rock and make either Mathis Rowan or Randyll Tarly the Hand of the King.”

Tyrell bannermen, both of them. The suggestion left her speechless. Is he bought? she wondered. Has he taken Tyrell gold to betray House Lannister? (AFFC Cersei II)

~

“Lord Manderly hacked the head and hands off the onion knight, we have that from the Freys, and half a dozen other northern lords have rallied to Lord Bolton. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Where else can Stannis turn, but to the ironmen and the wildlings, the enemies of the north? But if he thinks that I am going to walk into his trap, he is a bigger fool than you.” (AFFC Cersei VII)

~

“No doubt. Tell me, was it our little queen who commanded you to kill Lord Gyles?”

“K-kill?” Grand Maester Pycelle’s eyes grew as big as boiled eggs. “Your Grace cannot believe ... it was his cough, by all the gods, I ... Her Grace would not ... she bore Lord Gyles no ill will, why would Queen Margaery want him ...”

“... dead? Why, to plant another rose on Tommen’s council. Are you blind or bought? Rosby stood in her way, so she put him in his grave. With your connivance.” (AFFC Cersei IX)

~

She knew Joff was too strong for her, Cersei thought, remembering the gold coin Qyburn had found. For House Tyrell to hope to rule, he had to be removed. It came back to her that Margaery and her hideous grandmother had once plotted to marry Sansa Stark to the little queen’s crippled brother Willas. Lord Tywin had forestalled that by stealing a march on them and wedding Sansa to Tyrion, but the link had been there. They are all in it together, she realized with a start. The Tyrells bribed the gaolers to free Tyrion, and whisked him down the roseroad to join his vile bride. By now the both of them are safe in Highgarden, hidden away behind a wall of roses. (AFFC Cersei VI)

Cersei’s case is complicated in that she has valid reasons to be anxious: prophecies come true in her world, the Tyrells did kill Joffrey (she’s right in that regard, at least) and the coin found in the cell could be evidence that the Tyrells were involved in Tyrion’s escape. The problem is how she deals with her suspicions. To defeat Margaery, she projected her experiences on her (every widow definitely has sexual appetites, so Margaery definitely has lovers), held on to the few dubious signs that she was cheating on the king (Margaery asking Pycelle for moon tea or having a lively court), tortured an innocent man to confirm the story she needs to incriminate Margaery and arrested several innocent people. Besides that, Cersei also: alienates Kevan by avoiding his recommendations and giving important titles to other cousins based on her hunch that he was bought by the Tyrells (quote above); avoids giving the Tyrells help when the ironmen attack the Shield Islands based on her baseless suspicion that Stannis made an alliance with the ironmen and was, therefore, behind the attack on the Shield Islands with the intention to turn Cersei’s eyes away from the Storm’s End and Dragonstone (quote above); forces Pycelle to "confirm" what she wants to believe because of her guess that he helped the Tyrells kill Gyles Rosby (quote above). And these are just some of the major examples.

Dany has moments when she is unsure of whether the people around her are reliable or not. She questions if Reznak is trustworthy or if he, Hizdahr and the Green Grace joined forces against her or if Groleo could be one of the three prophesied treasons, but she remains willing to listen to their advice and never undermines or punishes them solely based on her suspicions because, unlike her father or Cersei, she has a healthy distrust of others.

Both choose to be excessively and needlessly brutal against their enemies and the people who offend them (even when their offenses are relatively minor and/or not supported by facts)

Aerys II:

When one such reported that the captain of the Hand's personal guard, a knight named Ser Ilyn Payne, had been heard boasting it was Lord Tywin who truly ruled the Seven Kingdoms, His Grace sent the Kingsguard to arrest the man and had his tongue ripped out with red-hot pincers. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

The march of the king's madness seemed to abate for a time in 274 AC, when Queen Rhaella gave birth to a son. So profound was His Grace's joy that it seemed to restore him to his old self once again...but Prince Jaehaerys died later that same year, plunging Aerys into despair. In his black rage, he decided the babe's wet nurse was to blame and had the woman beheaded. Not long after, in a change of heart, Aerys announced that Jaehaerys had been poisoned by his own mistress, the pretty young daughter of one of his household knights. The king had the girl and all her kin tortured to death. During the course of their torment, it is recorded, all confessed to the murder, though the details of their confessions were greatly at odds. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

By 280 AC, Aerys II had taken to burning traitors, murderers, and plotters, rather than hanging or beheading them. The king seemed to take great pleasure in these fiery executions, which were presided over by Wisdom Rossart, the grand master of the Guild of Alchemists...so much so that he granted Rossart the title of Lord and gave him a seat upon the small council. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

When Darklyn and his family were presented to him in chains, Aerys demanded their deaths—and not only Darklyn's immediate kin but his uncles and aunts and even distant kinsmen in Duskendale. Even his goodkin, the Hollards, were attainted and destroyed. Only Ser Symon's young nephew, Dontos Hollard, was spared—and only then because Ser Barristan begged that mercy as a boon, and the king he had saved could not refuse him. As to Lady Serala, hers was a crueler death. Aerys had the Lace Serpent's tongue and her womanly parts torn out before she was burned alive (yet her enemies say that she should have suffered more and worse for the ruin she brought down upon the town). (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

"M'lord, begging your pardon, Her Grace said those as didn't meet their numbers would have their hands crushed," the anxious smith persisted. "Smashed on their own anvils, she said."

Sweet Cersei, always striving to make the smallfolk love us. (ACOK Tyrion III)

~

"Y'Grace," he said quietly, "the boys caught a groom and two maidservants trying to sneak out a postern with three of the king's horses."

"The night's first traitors," the queen said, "but not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning." (ACOK Sansa VI)

~

“I hope you did not wake them, Ser Boros. Let them sleep.”

“Sleep?” He looked up, jowly and confused. “Aye, Your Grace. How long shall—”

“Forever. See that they sleep forever, ser. I will not suffer guards to sleep on watch.” (AFFC Cersei I)

~

“His Grace should send the Wall a hundred men. To take the black, ostensibly, but in truth …”

“... to remove Jon Snow from the command,” Cersei finished, delighted. I knew I was right to want him on my council. “That is just what we shall do.” She laughed. If this bastard boy is truly his father's son, he will not suspect a thing. Perhaps he will even thank me, before the blade slides between his ribs. “It will need to be done carefully, to be sure. Leave the rest to me, my lords.” This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger, not a declaration. (AFFC Cersei IV)

~

“Send some of your whisperers to these shows and make note of who attends. If any of them should be men of note, I would know their names.”

“What will be done with them, if I may be so bold?”

“Any men of substance shall be fined. Half their worth should be sufficient to teach them a sharp lesson and refill our coffers, without quite ruining them. Those too poor to pay can lose an eye, for watching treason. For the puppeteers, the axe.”

“There are four. Perhaps Your Grace might allow me two of them for mine own purposes. A woman would be especially ...”

“I gave you Senelle,” the queen said sharply.

“Alas. The poor girl is quite ... exhausted.”

[...] “Yes, you may take a woman. Two, if it please you. But first I will have names. (AFFC Cersei V)

~

“I cannot have Falyse spreading tales about the city. Her grief has made her witless. Do you still need women for your ... work?”

“I do, Your Grace. The puppeteers are quite used up.”

“Take her and do with her as you will, then. But once she goes down into the black cells ... need I say more?” (AFFC Cersei VII)

Dany doesn’t act like this. She burned the masters in Astapor to protect her retinue and punished the Meereenese leaders who ordered the crucifixion of the slave children, but she also spared all the Yunkish masters and most of the Meereenese masters. Her leniency is the root of her problems in ADWD, since it allowed them to retaliate against the abolition of slavery. Additionally, Dany doesn’t punish Ghael for spitting on her, she doesn’t punish a boy for trying to attack her, she doesn't punish Xaro for threatening her to her face, she chooses not to follow her councillors' advice to punish the former slavers indiscriminately and so on. You can read more about how Dany's tendency is to avoid using violence in this meta.

Both use torture to get people to confirm what they believe or what's convenient for them

Aerys II:

The march of the king's madness seemed to abate for a time in 274 AC, when Queen Rhaella gave birth to a son. So profound was His Grace's joy that it seemed to restore him to his old self once again...but Prince Jaehaerys died later that same year, plunging Aerys into despair. In his black rage, he decided the babe's wet nurse was to blame and had the woman beheaded. Not long after, in a change of heart, Aerys announced that Jaehaerys had been poisoned by his own mistress, the pretty young daughter of one of his household knights. The king had the girl and all her kin tortured to death. During the course of their torment, it is recorded, all confessed to the murder, though the details of their confessions were greatly at odds. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“Tell us how you pleasured the little queen. [...] How many of them did you have carnal knowledge of?”

“None of them. I’m just a singer. Please.”

[...] Lord Qyburn ran a hand up the Blue Bard’s chest. “Does she take your nipples in her mouth during your love play?” He took one between his thumb and forefinger, and twisted. “Some men enjoy that. Their nipples are as sensitive as a woman’s.” The razor flashed, the singer shrieked. On his chest a wet red eye wept blood. [...]

By dawn the singer’s high blue boots were full of blood, and he had told them how Margaery would fondle herself as she watched her cousins pleasuring him with their mouths. At other times he would sing for her whilst she sated her lusts with other lovers. “Who were they?” the queen demanded, and the wretched Wat named Ser Tallad the Tall, Lambert Turnberry, Jalabhar Xho, the Redwyne twins, Osney Kettleblack, Hugh Clifton, and the Knight of Flowers.

That displeased her. She dare not besmirch the name of the hero of Dragonstone. [...] The Redwynes could not be a part of it either. [...] “All you are doing is spitting up the names of men you saw about her chambers. We want the truth! [...] Horas and Hobber had no part of this, did they?”

“No,” he admitted. “Not them.”

“As for Ser Loras, I am certain Margaery took pains to hide what she was doing from her brother.”

“She did. I remember now. Once I had to hide under the bed when Ser Loras came to see her. He must never know, she said.”

“I prefer this song to the other.” (AFFC Cersei IX)

Dany doesn't act like her father or Cersei in that regard either. She allows the use of torture (which is normalized in her world) to question people regarding the murders of former slaves, but she stops it once she realizes that the results are unreliable because, unlike her foils, she cares about punishing the actual perpetrators, not about having her beliefs confirmed at any cost.

Both are often cruel, rude and disrespectful to others

Aerys II:

At the great Anniversary Tourney of 272 AC, held to commemorate Aerys's tenth year upon the Iron Throne, Joanna Lannister brought her six-year-old twins Jaime and Cersei from Casterly Rock to present before the court. The king (very much in his cups) asked her if giving suck to them had "ruined your breasts, which were so high and proud." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

Over his Hand's strenuous objections, the king doubled the port fees at King's Landing and Oldtown, and tripled them for Lannisport and the realm's other ports and harbors. When a delegation of small lords and rich merchants came before the Iron Throne to complain, however, Aerys blamed the Hand for the exactions, saying, "Lord Tywin shits gold, but of late he has been constipated and had to find some other way to fill our coffers." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

Tyrion, as the babe was named, was a malformed, dwarfish babe born with stunted legs, an oversized head, and mismatched, demonic eyes (some reports also suggested he had a tail, which was lopped off at his lord father's command). Lord Tywin's Doom, the smallfolk called this ill-made creature, and Lord Tywin's Bane. Upon hearing of his birth, King Aerys infamously said, "The gods cannot abide such arrogance. They have plucked a fair flower from his hand and given him a monster in her place, to teach him some humility at last." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

Cersei stared at her, aghast. “Your lackwit sister gets herself raped by half of King’s Landing, and Tanda thinks to honor the bastard with my lord father’s name? I think not.” (AFFC Cersei II)

~

She wanted a storm to match her rage. To Jocelyn she said, “Tighter. Cinch it tighter, you simpering little fool.”

It was the wedding that enraged her, though the slow-witted Swyft girl made a safer target. (AFFC Cersei III)

~

“Would Your Grace honor her white knight with a dance?”

She gave him a withering look. “And have you fumbling at me with that stump? No. I will let you fill my wine cup for me, though. If you think you can manage it without spilling.” (AFFC Cersei III)

~

“Very well. Get off those saggy knees and try to remember what it was to be a man.” Pycelle struggled to rise, but took so long about it that she had to tell Osmund Kettleblack to give him another yank. (AFFC Cersei IX)

For the vast majority of the time, Dany is kind and courteous. Her detractors tend to question that fact with two main arguments: a) she laughed at Quentyn; b) she is intolerant about Meereenese culture. Their first argument is very weak. Dany didn't laugh at Quentyn, she laughed about the reason why Quentyn is called frog and then forgot to explain why she did so in the Common Tongue. Even then, though, Quentyn is so overwhelmed by her kindness that he only remembers that "the queen had always spoken to him gently". Their second argument is also unconvincing because Dany's dislike of several aspects of Meereenese culture has to do with their ties to slavery (case in point: the fighting pits) and, even then, she makes several concessions to culturally adapt. Additionally, unlike Aerys II or Cersei, she doesn't express her critical thoughts (which are way less common and way less derogatory than Cersei's) verbally.

Both give rewards and promotions to those who blindly obey and agree with them, regardless of whether they’re experienced, competent or trustworthy

Aerys II:

He was also vain, proud, and changeable, traits that made him easy prey for flatterers and lickspittles, but these flaws were not immediately apparent to most at the time of his ascension. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

His father's court had been made up largely of older, seasoned men, many of whom had also served during the reign of King Aegon V. Aerys II dismissed them one and all, replacing them with lords of his own generation. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

The king replaced him as Hand with Lord Owen Merryweather, an aged and amiable lickspittle famed for laughing loudest at every jape and witticism uttered by the king, no matter how feeble. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

The Mad King could be savagely cruel, as seen most plainly when he burned those he perceived to be his enemies, but he could also be extravagant, showering men who pleased him with honors, offices, and lands. The lickspittle lords who surrounded Aerys II had gained much and more from the king's madness and eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak ill of Prince Rhaegar and inflame the father's suspicions of the son. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

"A weak ruler needs a strong Hand, as Aerys needed Father. A strong ruler requires only a diligent servant to carry out his orders." (AFFC Jaime II)

~

The Kettleblacks would charm her, take her coin, and promise her anything she asked, and why not, when Bronn was matching every copper penny, coin for coin? Amiable rogues all three, the brothers were in truth much more skilled at deceit than they'd ever been at bloodletting. Cersei had managed to buy herself three hollow drums; they would make all the fierce booming sounds she required, but there was nothing inside. (ACOK Tyrion IX)

~

My councillors. Cersei had uprooted every rose, and all those beholden to her uncle and her brothers. In their places were men whose loyalty would be to her. She had even given them new styles, borrowed from the Free Cities; the queen would have no “masters” at court beside herself. (AFFC Cersei IV)

~

Grand Maester Pycelle had wanted an older man “more seasoned in the ways of war” to command the gold cloaks, and several of her other councillors had agreed with him. “Ser Osfryd is seasoned quite sufficiently,” she had told them, but even that did not shut them up. They yap at me like a pack of small, annoying dogs. (AFFC Cersei V)

~

"She would have done better to leave the tower and burn her Hand. Harys Swyft? If ever a man deserved his arms, it is Ser Harys. And Gyles Rosby, Seven save us, I thought he died years ago. Merryweather ... your father used to call his grandsire 'the Chuckler,' I'll have you know. Tywin claimed the only thing Merryweather was good for was chuckling at the king's witticisms. His lordship chuckled himself right into exile, as I recall. Cersei has put some bastard on the council too, and a kettle in the Kingsguard. (AFFC Jaime V)

Besides the Kettleblacks (as shown above), Cersei rewards many other people that are rarely, if ever, willing to question her - Harys Swyft, Orton Merryweather, Aurane Waters, Gyles Rosby, Meryn Trant, Qyburn (the only one who doesn't turn his back on Cersei after she falls from power), etc. The only one that disagrees with her decisions regularly is Pycelle, which is why she rebukes him quite a few times throughout AFFC. Also, while Cersei considers Aerys a weak ruler, they both believe that their Hands should be servants that know their place and follow them blindly.

Dany doesn't restrict herself to only listening to the people she agrees with. She welcomes dissent multiple times throughout the books and so, consequently, her council gives voice to multiple groups (from the Unsullied to the freedmen to the former slavers to the Dothraki).

Both alienate and undermine important allies because of disagreements that could have been mended and fears that lead both rulers to perceive these potential allies as enemies

Aerys II:

The growing rift between the king and the King's Hand was also apparent in the matter of appointments. Whereas previously His Grace had always heeded his Hand's counsel, bestowing offices, honors, and inheritances as Lord Tywin recommended, after 270 AC he began to disregard the men put forward by his lordship in favor of his own choices. Many westermen found themselves dismissed from the king's service for no better cause than the suspicion that they might be "Hand's men." In their places, King Aerys appointed his own favorites...but the king's favor had become a chancy thing, his mistrust easy to awaken. Even the Hand's own kin were not exempt from royal displeasure. When Lord Tywin wished to name his brother Ser Tygett Lannister as the Red Keep's master-at-arms, King Aerys gave the post to Ser Willem Darry instead. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

Perhaps seeking to gain advantage of His Grace's high spirits, Lord Tywin chose that very night to suggest that it was past time the king's heir wed and produced an heir of his own; he proposed his own daughter, Cersei, as wife for the crown prince. Aerys II rejected this proposal brusquely, informing Lord Tywin that he was a good and valuable servant, yet a servant nonetheless. Nor did His Grace agree to appoint Lord Tywin's son Jaime as squire to Prince Rhaegar; that honor he granted instead to the sons of several of his own favorites, men known to be no friends of House Lannister or the Hand. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

Lord Denys, seeing that Aerys's erratic behavior had begun to strain his relations with Lord Tywin, refused to pay the taxes expected of him and instead invited the king to come to Duskendale and hear his petition. It seems most unlikely that King Aerys would ever have considered accepting this invitation...until Lord Tywin advised him to refuse in the strongest possible terms, whereupon the king decided to accept, informing Grand Maester Pycelle and the small council that he meant to settle this matter himself and bring the defiant Darklyn to heel. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

Garth the Gross on the small council and his two bastards in the gold cloaks ... do the Tyrells think I will just serve the realm up to them on a gilded platter? The arrogance of it took her breath away.

“Garth has served me well as Lord Seneschal, as he served my father before me,” Tyrell was going on. “Littlefinger had a nose for gold, I grant you, but Garth—”

“My lord,” Cersei broke in, “I fear there has been some misunderstanding. I have asked Lord Gyles Rosby to serve as our new master of coin, and he has done me the honor of accepting.”

Mace gaped at her. “Rosby? That ... cougher? But ... the matter was agreed, Your Grace. Garth is on his way to Oldtown.”

“Best send a raven to Lord Hightower and ask him to make certain your uncle does not take ship. We would hate for Garth to brave an autumn sea for nought.” She smiled pleasantly.

A flush crept up Tyrell’s thick neck. “This ... your lord father assured me ...” (AFFC Cersei II)

~

Cersei had named her cousin Damion Lannister her castellan for the Rock, and another cousin, Ser Daven Lannister, the Warden of the West. Insolence has its price, Uncle. (AFFC Cersei III)

~

“I have been remiss. With a realm to rule, a war to fight, and a father to mourn, somehow I overlooked the crucial matter of naming a new master-at-arms. I shall rectify that error at once.”

Ser Loras pushed back a brown curl that had fallen across his forehead. “Your Grace will not find any man half so skilled with sword and lance as I.”

Humble, aren’t we? “Tommen is your king, not your squire. You are to fight for him and die for him, if need be. No more.”

She left him on the drawbridge that spanned the dry moat with its bed of iron spikes and entered Maegor’s Holdfast alone. Where am I to find a master-at-arms? she wondered as she climbed to her apartments. [...]

Aron Santagar was Dornish, Cersei recalled. I could send to Dorne. Centuries of blood and war lay between Sunspear and Highgarden. Yes, a Dornishman might suit my needs admirably. There must be some good swords in Dorne. (AFFC Cersei V)

~

He had even had the temerity to object to her sending to Dorne for a master-at-arms, on the grounds that it might offend the Tyrells. “Why do you think I’m doing it?” she had asked him scornfully. (AFFC Cersei VI)

~

“Your Grace, let me take Dragonstone.”

[...] No one had given Cersei such a lovely gift since Sansa Stark had run to her to divulge Lord Eddard’s plans. She was pleased to see that Margaery had gone pale. “Your courage takes my breath away, Ser Loras. [...] Swear to me that you shall not return until Dragonstone is Tommen’s.”

“I shall, Your Grace.” He rose.

[...] Pycelle had to struggle to keep up. “If it please Your Grace,” he puffed, “young men are overbold, and think only of the glory of battle and never of its dangers. Ser Loras ... this plan of his is fraught with peril. To storm the very walls of Dragonstone ...”

“... is very brave. [...] I have no doubt that our Knight of Flowers will be the first man to gain the battlements.” And perhaps the first to fall. (AFFC Cersei VII)

Dany doesn't do this; instead, she makes plenty of concessions to appease her influential allies, from wearing the tokar to marrying Hizdahr by Ghiscari rites if he gives her ninety days of peace to allowing Hizdahr to reopen the fighting pits to accepting a deal between Meereen and Yunkai that allows the latter to reinstall slavery. All of these decisions are ultimately mistakes since they unwittingly prioritize the privileges of the former masters over the rights of the former slaves, but they still show that Dany is capable of making alliances in a way that Aerys II and Cersei aren't due to their black and white thinking.

Both are extravagant rulers who plan grand schemes that are never realized

Aerys II:

His Grace was full of grand schemes as well. Not long after his coronation, he announced his intent to conquer the Stepstones and make them a part of his realm for all time. In 264 AC, a visit to King's Landing by Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell awakened his interest in the North, and he hatched a plan to build a new Wall a hundred leagues north of the existing one and claim all the lands between. In 265 AC, offended by "the stink of King's Landing," he spoke of building a "white city" entirely of marble on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush. In 267 AC, after a dispute with the Iron Bank of Braavos regarding certain monies borrowed by his father, he announced that he would build the largest war fleet in the history of the world "to bring the Titan to his knees." In 270 AC, during a visit to Sunspear, he told the Princess of Dorne that he would "make the Dornish deserts bloom" by digging a great underground canal beneath the mountains to bring water down from the rainwood.

None of these grandiose plans ever came to fruition; most, indeed, were forgotten within a moon's turn, for Aerys II seemed to grow bored with his royal enthusiasms as quickly as he did his royal paramours. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“Would that we could do the same to the rest of this foul castle,” said Cersei. “After the war I mean to build a new palace beyond the river.” She had dreamed of it the night before last, a magnificent white castle surrounded by woods and gardens, long leagues from the stinks and noise of King’s Landing. “This city is a cesspit. For half a groat I would move the court to Lannisport and rule the realm from Casterly Rock.” (AFFC Cersei III)

~

A group of merchants appeared before her to beg the throne to intercede for them with the Iron Bank of Braavos. The Braavosi were demanding repayment of their outstanding debts, it seemed, and refusing all new loans. We need our own bank, Cersei decided, the Golden Bank of Lannisport. (AFFC Cersei VIII)

That's not the case with Dany either. Throughout her reign, she only makes reasonable and attainable decisions to improve Meereen's economy, such as planting grapes, beans and wheat, replanting olive trees, making an alliance with the Lhazareen and freeing the slaves of the hinterlands to bring crops to the city.

Both are unpopular with the common people

Aerys II: (note that Tywin himself is unpopular with the smallfolk)

They cheered Father twice as loudly as they cheered the king, the queen recalled, but only half as loudly as they cheered Prince Rhaegar. (AFFC Cersei V)

Cersei:

As she made her way through the ragged throng, past their cookfires, wagons, and crude shelters, the queen found herself remembering another crowd that had once gathered on this plaza. The day she wed Robert Baratheon, thousands had turned out to cheer for them. [...]

No one was smiling now. The looks the sparrows gave her were dull, sullen, hostile. They made way but reluctantly. (AFFC Cersei VI)

~

Thrice that day she heard the sound of distant shouting drifting up from the plaza, but it was Margaery’s name that the mob was calling, not hers. (AFFC Cersei X)

We have yet to see how the common people in Westeros will view Dany, but she is very popular among freedmen and slaves from all over Essos, so she doesn't fit this either.

Both feel threatened by the shadow of Tywin Lannister

Aerys II:

By this time, King Aerys had become aware of the widespread belief that he himself was but a hollow figurehead and Tywin Lannister the true master of the Seven Kingdoms. These sentiments greatly angered the king, and His Grace became determined to disprove them and to humble his "overmighty servant" and "put him back into his place." (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“Lord Tywin was a great man, an extraordinary man,” he declared ponderously after he had kissed both her cheeks. “We shall never see his like again, I fear.”

You are looking at his like, fool, Cersei thought. It is his daughter standing here before you. (AFFC Cersei II)

~

She was tired of Jaime balking her. No one had ever balked her lord father. When Tywin Lannister spoke, men obeyed. When Cersei spoke, they felt free to counsel her, to contradict her, even refuse her. (AFFC Cersei V)

This is not a perfect parallel because Cersei alternates between hero-worshiping and drawing inspiration and strength from Tywin to resenting the control he had over her, so much so that she lists her father alongside her enemies and takes pleasure in the fact that he's now dead. Even so, both Aerys II and Cersei feel that they were owed the treatment that people gave Tywin.

This doesn't happen with Dany because she doesn't feel threatened by anyone nor does Tywin play an important role in her story.

Both feel threatened by a younger, more beautiful, more popular would-be king/queen

Aerys II:

The cheers of the crowd were said to be deafening, but King Aerys did not join them. Far from being proud and pleased by his heir's skill at arms, His Grace saw it as a threat. Lords Chelsted and Staunton inflamed his suspicions further, declaring that Prince Rhaegar had entered the lists to curry favor with the commons and remind the assembled lords that he was a puissant warrior, a true heir to Aegon the Conqueror. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

~

The lickspittle lords who surrounded Aerys II had gained much and more from the king's madness and eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak ill of Prince Rhaegar and inflame the father's suspicions of the son. (TWOIAF The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring)

~

Meanwhile, King Aerys was becoming ever more estranged from his own son and heir. Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell, the delicate young sister of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne. They were wed the following year, in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, but Aerys II did not attend. He told the small council that he feared an attempt upon his life if he left the confines of the Red Keep, even with his Kingsguard to protect him. Nor would he allow his younger son, Viserys, to attend his brother's wedding. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

~

The memory was still bitter. Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent's tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together. Aerys had not set foot outside the Red Keep since Duskendale, yet suddenly he announced that he would accompany Prince Rhaegar to Harrenhal, and everything had gone awry from there. (ADWD The Kingbreaker)

Cersei:

Her mood was not improved when Mace Tyrell arose to lead the toasts. He raised a golden goblet high, smiling at his pretty little daughter, and in a booming voice said, “To the king and queen!” The other sheep all baaaaaaed along with him. “The king and queen!” they cried, smashing their cups together. “The king and queen!” She had no choice but to drink along with them, all the time wishing that the guests had but a single face, so she could throw her wine into their eyes and remind them that she was the true queen. (AFFC Cersei III)

~

“Your Grace, she ... she is the queen ...”

“I am the queen. (AFFC Cersei IX)

~

It was a pity that Maggy the Frog was dead. Piss on your prophecy, old woman. The little queen may be younger than I, but she has never been more beautiful, and soon she will be dead. (AFFC Cersei IX)

Cersei's case is more justified in that she believes that, by defeating the YMBQ, she'll also prevent her children from dying and the valonqar from killing her.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Both lost a child (children, in Aerys’s case) and fear for the safety of their remaining child (children, in Cersei’s case) to the point that these concerns become intertwined with their fears that someone is out to get them

Aerys II:

The birth of Prince Viserys only seemed to make Aerys II more fearful and obsessive, however. Though the new young princeling seemed healthy enough, the king was terrified lest he suffer the same fate as his brothers. Kingsguard knights were commanded to stand over him night and day to see that no one touched the boy without the king's leave. Even the queen herself was forbidden to be alone with the infant. When her milk dried up, Aerys insisted on having his own food taster suckle at the teats of the prince's wet nurse, to ascertain that the woman had not smeared poison on her nipples. As gifts for the young prince arrived from all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, the king had them piled in the yard and burned, for fear that some of them might have been ensorcelled or cursed. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

I am dreaming still, Cersei thought. I have not woken, nor has my nightmare ended. Tyrion will creep out from under the bed soon and begin to laugh at me.

[...] A dream, that’s all it was, a dream. I drank too much last night, these fears are only humors born of wine. I will be the one laughing, come dusk. My children will be safe, Tommen’s throne will be secure, and my twisted little valonqar will be short a head and rotting. (AFFC Cersei I)

~

Cersei had a sudden vision of the dwarf crawling out from behind a tapestry in Tommen’s bedchamber with blade in hand. Tommen is well guarded, she told herself. But Lord Tywin had been well guarded too. (AFFC Cersei I)

~

The younger queen whose coming she’d foretold was finished, and if that prophecy could fail, so could the rest. No golden shrouds, no valonqar, I am free of your croaking malice at last. (AFFC Cersei X)

Like in the previous parallel, Cersei's bad reactions are more justified due to the fact that prophecies come true in her world and due to her understandable sense of self-preservation.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Both had unhappy marriages and believed that their spouses weren’t the right ones for them

Aerys II:

What Tywin Lannister made of this is not recorded, but in 266 AC, at Casterly Rock, Lady Joanna gave birth to a pair of twins, a girl and a boy, "healthy and beautiful, with hair like beaten gold." This birth only exacerbated the tension between Aerys II Targaryen and his Hand. "I appear to have married the wrong woman," His Grace was reported to have said, when informed of the happy event. (TWOIAF The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II)

Cersei:

“...Your father will find another man for you, a better man than Rhaegar.”

Her aunt had lied, though, and her father had failed her, just as Jaime was failing her now. Father found no better man. Instead he gave me Robert, and Maggy’s curse bloomed like some poisonous flower. If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

She had never forgiven Robert for killing him. (AFFC Cersei V)

The major difference in this parallel, of course, is that Aerys raped his wife and Cersei was raped by her husband.

This doesn't happen with Dany.

Comparisons in the text between Aerys II and Cersei

"Let all of King's Landing see the flames. It will be a lesson to our enemies."

"Now you sound like Aerys."

Her nostrils flared. "Guard your tongue, ser." (AFFC Cersei III)

~

Jaime knew the look in his sister's eyes. He had seen it before, most recently on the night of Tommen's wedding, when she burned the Tower of the Hand. The green light of the wildfire had bathed the face of the watchers, so they looked like nothing so much as rotting corpses, a pack of gleeful ghouls, but some of the corpses were prettier than others. Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon. She'd stood with one hand on her breast, her lips parted, her green eyes shining. She is crying, Jaime had realized, but whether it was from grief or ecstasy he could not have said.

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. (AFFC Jaime II)

~

"Westeros is torn and bleeding, and I do not doubt that even now my sweet sister is binding up the wounds … with salt. Cersei is as gentle as King Maegor, as selfless as Aegon the Unworthy, as wise as Mad Aerys. She never forgets a slight, real or imagined. She takes caution for cowardice and dissent for defiance. And she is greedy. Greedy for power, for honor, for love. Tommen's rule is bolstered by all of the alliances that my lord father built so carefully, but soon enough she will destroy them, every one.” (ADWD Tyrion VI)

Again, as I said above, the comparisons between Cersei and Aerys II come from two of the people who have known Cersei the longest (Jaime, Tyrion).

Meanwhile, Dany is only called the Mad King’s daughter by her enemies (the slavers and Mace Tyrell). The characters who actually know her and the characters who have nothing to gain by defaming her (Barristan, Tyrion, Illyrio, Quentyn) reiterate that she’s nothing like him.

[agentrouka-blog]

Tyrion and Tysha murder mystery hints - first mention in the text

This thing just keeps tugging at me, and this recent thread made me ambitious to examine it in more detail. So I’ll look at hints for an even darker edge to the story of Tyrion and Tysha in the parts of the text that actually mention her.

Since I have limited time, I’ll do several posts. This one is about how we learn about Tysha in A Game of Thrones.

We head into AGOT, Tyrion VI via a chapter transition from AGOT, Jon V, where Jon talks Maester Aemon into choosing Samwell as his assistant. In the presence of his current assistant Chett, who - it is revealed later in the ASOS Prologue - murdered a girl he liked for rejecting him.

Chett gave a nasty laugh. “I’ve seen what happens to soft lordlings when they’re put to work. Set them to churning butter and their hands blister and bleed. Give them an axe to split logs, and they cut off their own foot.”

“I know one thing Sam could do better than anyone.”

“Yes?” Maester Aemon prompted.

Jon glanced warily at Chett, standing beside the door, his boils red and angry. “He could help you,” he said quickly. “He can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I know Chett can’t read, and Clydas has weak eyes. Sam read every book in his father’s library. He’d be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him straight off. There’s a lot he could do, besides fighting. The Night’s Watch needs every man. Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead.”

Maester Aemon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment Jon was afraid that he had gone to sleep. Finally he said, “Maester Luwin taught you well, Jon Snow. Your mind is as deft as your blade, it would seem.”

“Does that mean …?”

“It means I shall think on what you have said,” the maester told him firmly. “And now, I believe I am ready to sleep. Chett, show our young brother to the door.”

(AGOT, Jon V)

The chapter is followed by AGOT, Tyrion VI, where Tyrion and Bronn rest on the high road after being kicked out of the Gates of the Moon, after he won his trial by combat:

They had taken shelter beneath a copse of aspens just off the high road. Tyrion was gathering dead-wood while their horses took water from a mountain stream. He stooped to pick up a splintered branch and examined it critically. “Will this do? I am not practiced at starting fires. Morrec did that for me.” 

The entire conversation between Jon, Aemon and Chett sets up Tyrion. A lordling, bad with manual labor, but smart and a reader. Yet we know he is no Samwell Tarly in his sensibilities, and the last sentence is dedicated to Chett.

Chett...

The only women Chett had ever known were the whores he’d bought in Mole’s Town. When he’d been younger, the village girls took one look at his face, with its boils and its wen, and turned away sickened. The worst was that slattern Bessa. She’d spread her legs for every boy in Hag’s Mire so he’d figured why not him too? He even spent a morning picking wildflowers when he heard she liked them, but she’d just laughed in his face and told him she’d crawl in a bed with his father’s leeches before she’d crawl in one with him. She stopped laughing when he put his knife in her. That was sweet, the look on her face, so he pulled the knife out and put it in her again. When they caught him down near Sevenstreams, old Lord Walder Frey hadn’t even bothered to come himself to do the judging. He’d sent one of his bastards, that Walder Rivers, and the next thing Chett had known he was walking to the Wall with that foul-smelling black devil Yoren. To pay for his one sweet moment, they took his whole life.

But now he meant to take it back, and Craster’s women too. That twisted old wildling has the right of it. If you want a woman to wife you take her, and none of this giving her flowers so that maybe she don’t notice your bloody boils. Chett didn’t mean to make that mistake again.

Like Tyrion, Chett is rejected by others for his appearance, has a violent father and a lot of resentment that comes out in the shape of murdering “slatterns”. He also mixes it up with the idea of marriage. Like Tyrion, the cold night reminds Chett of the girl in his past.

He could see Bessa’s face floating before him. It wasn’t the knife I wanted to put in you, he wanted to tell her. I picked you flowers, wild roses and tansy and goldencups, it took me all morning. His heart was thumping like a drum, so loud he feared it might wake the camp. Ice caked his beard all around his mouth. Where did that come from, with Bessa? Whenever he’d thought of her before, it had only been to remember the way she’d looked, dying. What was wrong with him?

Chett killed her in a rage, but the truth is layered and haunts him.

But back to Tyrion.

Tyrion VI emphasizes Tyrion’s cleverness as he converses with Bronn, explaining his strategy in the Vale for how to steal Bronn from Cat’s service and make use of his practical talents, and his strategy for their travels in the Mountains of the Moon. Tyrion talks, Bronn listens and agrees to serve him.

The point is, Tyrion is very observant and smart. Reader, trust Tyrion’s judgent and words, is the message. Then we get more personal.

As they light a fire and eat a goat, Tyrion remembers his goaler Mord who treated him cruelly in the sky cells.

(Mord, btw, translates to murder in many a germanic/Scandinvian language.)

“And yet you gave the turnkey a purse of gold,” Bronn said.

“A Lannister always pays his debts.”

Even Mord had scarcely believed it when Tyrion tossed him the leather purse. The gaoler’s eyes had gone big as boiled eggs as he yanked open the drawstring and beheld the glint of gold. “I kept the silver,” Tyrion had told him with a crooked smile, “but you were promised the gold, and there it is.” It was more than a man like Mord could hope to earn in a lifetime of abusing prisoners. “And remember what I said, this is only a taste. If you ever grow tired of Lady Arryn’s service, present yourself at Casterly Rock, and I’ll pay you the rest of what I owe you.” With golden dragons spilling out of both hands, Mord had fallen to his knees and promised that he would do just that.

The image of coins spilling from hands is picked up later.

Tyrion was hoping to lure in the mountain clans, but they take their time showing up, so he tries to be even more conspicuous.

Tyrion chuckled. “Then we ought to sing and send them fleeing in terror.” He began to whistle a tune.

He chooses the “terrible” tune himself. It leads straight to his memory:

“Myrish. ‘The Seasons of My Love.’ Sweet and sad, if you understand the words. The first girl I ever bedded used to sing it, and I’ve never been able to put it out of my head.” Tyrion gazed up at the sky. It was a clear cold night and the stars shone down upon the mountains as bright and merciless as truth. “I met her on a night like this,” he heard himself saying. “Jaime and I were riding back from Lannisport when we heard a scream, and she came running out into the road with two men dogging her heels, shouting threats.

Myrish, as in the Myrish lens. The object Lysa sends Catelyn, which has a false bottom hiding the real message in a secret language, a message of murder and conspiracy. A secret language, a foreign language, like Mord.

"A lens is an instrument to help us see."     (AGOT, Catelyn II)

Bright and merciless as truth.

My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. Lowborn, half-starved, unwashed … yet lovely. They’d torn the rags she was wearing half off her back, so I wrapped her in my cloak while Jaime chased the men into the woods. By the time he came trotting back, I’d gotten a name out of her, and a story. She was a crofter’s child, orphaned when her father died of fever, on her way to … well, nowhere, really.

Where Tysha went will become a theme. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir examines that beautifully here.

But even right here, the tone is ominous, and GRRM goes out of his way to emphasize it with the ellipses.

We get the story of Jaime chasing after the outlaws and Tyrion and Tysha falling into bed at an inn after drinking, eating and talking, and the story of their marriage, and its end.

Tyrion was surprised at how desolate it made him feel to say it, even after all these years. Perhaps he was just tired. “That was the end of my marriage.” He sat up and stared at the dying fire, blinking at the light.

“He sent the girl away?”

“He did better than that,” Tyrion said. “First he made my brother tell me the truth. The girl was a whore, you see. Jaime arranged the whole affair, the road, the outlaws, all of it. He thought it was time I had a woman. He paid double for a maiden, knowing it would be my first time.

NOTHING about this makes sense, which is ridiculous when you consider we were just hammered over the head with how smart Tyrion is supposed to be.

Since when is Jaime prone to setting up complex schemes? Why would feel the need to push Tyrion to have sex at thirteen, and why would be ever do it this way? Why would be hire him a virgin for his first time? We don’t question it because GRRM has told us not to question the smartiepants. But as we later learn, that was all. not. true. So maybe other things aren’t true, either.

“After Jaime had made his confession, to drive home the lesson, Lord Tywin brought my wife in and gave her to his guards. They paid her fair enough. A silver for each man, how many whores command that high a price? He sat me down in the corner of the barracks and bade me watch, and at the end she had so many silvers the coins were slipping through her fingers and rolling on the floor, she …” The smoke was stinging his eyes. Tyrion cleared his throat and turned away from the fire, to gaze out into darkness. “Lord Tywin had me go last,” he said in a quiet voice. “And he gave me a gold coin to pay her, because I was a Lannister, and worth more.”

The parallels to his memory of Mord are striking. Silver and gold, coins spilling from hands, a “price” beyond expectation... and a promise of something very sinister at the next meeting.

After a time he heard the noise again, the rasp of steel on stone as Bronn sharpened his sword. “Thirteen or thirty or three, I would have killed the man who did that to me.”

1) Nice how Bronn makes it about Tyrion’s pain. Tysha’s pain does not exist to them. And so the reader is also drawn away from it. Poor Tyrion.

2) Another reference to killing. It foreshadows Tyrion’s murder of Tywin over this very matter, of course, but at the same time...

Tyrion gestured impatiently with the bow. “Tysha. What did you do with her, after my little lesson?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Try harder. Did you have her killed?”

His father pursed his lips. “There was no reason for that, she’d learned her place … and had been well paid for her day’s work, I seem to recall. I suppose the steward sent her on her way. I never thought to inquire.”

“On her way where?”

“Wherever whores go.”

Tyrion’s finger clenched.  (ASOS, Tyrion XI)

I don’t think it can be emphasized enough that this happens right after he murders Shae. Shae the whore.

“Did you ever like it?” He cupped her cheek, remembering all the times he had done this before. All the times he’d slid his hands around her waist, squeezed her small firm breasts, stroked her short dark hair, touched her lips, her cheeks, her ears. All the times he had opened her with a finger to probe her secret sweetness and make her moan. “Did you ever like my touch?”

“More than anything,” she said, “my giant of Lannister.”

That was the worst thing you could have said, sweetling.

Tyrion slid a hand under his father’s chain, and twisted. The links tightened, digging into her neck. “For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm,” he said. He gave cold hands another twist as the warm ones beat away his tears.

And just before he asks him about Tysha, Tywin assures him he was meant to be sent to the Wall. Whether or not that’s a lie, we’re looking at another Chett parallel. Murdering a “slattern”, facing life at the Wall.

We close Tyrion’s memory of Tysha:

Tyrion swung around to face him. “You may get that chance one day.  Remember what I told you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” He yawned. “I think I will try and sleep. Wake me if we’re about to die.”

He rolled himself up in the shadowskin and shut his eyes. The ground was stony and cold, but after a time Tyrion Lannister did sleep. He dreamt of the sky cell. This time he was the gaoler, not the prisoner, big, with a strap in his hand, and he was hitting his father, driving him back, toward the abyss …

Like Chett, his thoughts return to the girl. He turns into the goaler, Mord, his rage comes through, his capability of great violence. In ASOS, his lashing out at Tywin is preceeded by directing his violence toward the “whore” who allegedly betrayed him. Which is preceeded by a truth about Tysha.

“Thank you?” Tyrion’s voice was choked. “He gave her to his guards. A barracks full of guards. He made me … watch.” Aye, and more than watch. I took her too … my wife …

“I never knew he would do that. You must believe me.”

“Oh, must I?” Tyrion snarled. “Why should I believe you about anything, ever? She was my wife!”

“Tyrion—”

He hit him. It was a slap, backhanded, but he put all his strength into it, all his fear, all his rage, all his pain. Jaime was squatting, unbalanced. The blow sent him tumbling backward to the floor. “I … I suppose I earned that.”

“Oh, you’ve earned more than that, Jaime. You and my sweet sister and our loving father, yes, I can’t begin to tell you what you’ve earned. But you’ll have it, that I swear to you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” Tyrion waddled away, almost stumbling over the turnkey again in his haste. Before he had gone a dozen yards, he bumped up against an iron gate that closed the passage. Oh, gods. It was all he could do not to scream.

(ASOS, Tyrion XI)

The turnkey here is interesting. Once again, Tysha’s memory is associated with a cell and the presence of a turnkey. In his anguished memory, Tyrion almost stumbles over him. The last turnkey was Mord.

So, just looking at Tysha’s first mention, there are so many ominous connections. Murder murder murder.

The chapter ends with Tyrion meeting and “hiring” the mountain clans. How? To avenge himself on Lysa Arryn, he promises them the entire Vale. Really driving home that “a Lannister pays his debts” is all about disproportionate retribution.

A few chapter later, to create some distance to this dark tale, Tyrion meets Shae and sets up to re-create his entire Tysha trauma. The two are intertwined, so why should their ends not be?

That’s fodder for a different post, though.

[comfort-questing]

for the collapse meme - how about hypothermia??

nobody really wanted to ford the river, not in a time like this. but you do what you have to, to make it back to the village before full dark; full dark, as if it weren't dark enough already under the lowering snow-laden roof of the winter sky. dark, with and the threat of a snowstorm as well. so we took the direct route, and not the long way for the bridge.

the ford went easily enough for the most part. but Shanna slipped, two stones before the far bank, and none of us really had the energy to think about it at the time: just a moment down one knee in the current, a spray of water going up in the light of Jon's lantern, scrambling for purchase in the shallows with her other foot as I yelped in tired alarm behind her. and then she was up again, and a moment later on solid ground once more, Tala reaching out to grab her hand and steady her.

no time to stop. just to go onward, a straggling dozen adventurers eager for shelter as the first snowflakes began to fall. Jon nearly missed the fork in the path and had us going south to the main road instead of town. after that we all kept track of the landmarks, to be sure. squinting through the snow on my eyelashes, praying we'd manage the trip before nightfall, I don't know if I even noticed Shanna's steps lagging - from in front to beside me, and then behind, her panting breaths blending with the rest of ours and the crunch of boots on frosty ground.

somewhere between the forked path and the cedar brake, I heard her voice, barely louder than the wind.

"I'm - so cold, please - can we - "

"we're all cold," I said tiredly because it seemed kind of silly to point it out. of course we were - and would be colder if we didn't get home soon. but then I heard Tala cry out, and I turned, just in time to see Shanna crumple forward to her knees on the snowy mud of the path.

there were ice crystals stiffening the wool of her cloak as I reached out to pull her upright. she had stopped shivering, but only stared somewhere beyond me into the dusk, eyes wide and staring in her graying face.

"please let me in," she said, very quietly, "don't lock the door."

maybe we should have stopped. maybe we should have tried to make camp then - I don't know, and I still wonder. but we were afraid of the night and the storm and of what might be the death of more than one of us, and maybe not even enough to help her. we stripped her wet cloak off and bundled her onto Jon's back, so she could share his.

"we're almost there," I was telling her. "we'll get the door open, I promise."

she didn't raise her head from Jon's shoulder, but I thought she was watching me as I walked beside him.

"keep her awake," said Ry. "don't let her sleep."

"we'll try," Jon said, and his voice was strained.

we stumbled into the village with the snow beginning to gather on the ground already, and gild our hoods and our cloak shoulders with white. Shanna had stopped answering my questions by then, and half-desperate, we flung ourselves into the public-house for shelter.

the rest of the night is a sort of haze to me. firelight, blankets, Shanna's hands limply pliable and icy cold in mine, her lips blue-gray as I spoon-fed her the hot drink the innkeeper made for us. listening to her shuddering breaths as she finally began to shiver again, holding her tightly, tracking the thready pulse in her throat until it strengthened.

we fell asleep like that, the whole lot of us in a heap by the hearth in the common room, and woke to a snowed-in village in the morning light and the realization of how close we'd come to disaster. and that we would have to dig up a healer somewhere to get medicine for Shanna's abrupt rattling cough, but that would be its own matter altogether.

[darling-i-read-it]

Viewpoints

Ramsay Bolton x reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: ramsay, i removed the relationship he had with sansa because yikes, murder, witchcraft 

Author’s Note: More Ramsay because tonight I am angry and need an outlet 

Summary: you and ramsay are the most powerful couple in seven kingdoms 

Genre: fluff? 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Fear had only risen since you and Ramsay married. There wasn’t any doubt that the rumors that the two of you together were worse than apart.

Ramsay had his own rumors that followed him as a shadow. They were bad, no doubt about that. He was ruthless and stupid and childish.

You however, may have been the scarier of the two. You were less reckless. You were cunning, calculated. Anyone who had ever been within a foot of you understood this and they knew where to step. 

Ramsay loved that about you. He made people cower but you made them fall to their knees when you passed. 

This was a stressor for the Queen. Margaery Tyrell was on the throne, tentatively. Cersei was gaining fast but she was smart. She knew how to hold Cersei under her finger, make her cower and beg and hopefully surrender. THat was the immediate threat. 

You and Ramsay, so far away, seemed to be a rising worry in her mind though. 

Tommen sat on his bed. Margaery walked around the room, pacing but not obviously. It looked like she was trying to do many things but her mind kept moving somewhere else. 

“What is it my queen?” Tommen had things on his mind too. She ignored this.

“Sansa Stark was meant to marry Ramsay Bolton and then she didn’t. They had the chance to unite the North but they did not because Ramsay was in love. And that could be a problem for us,” she said. She stopped moving, her hair falling perfectly down her shoulders. It looked like Tommen was not listening to her at all but he tried to make good conversation.

“We have powerful armies. We can overrule them when the time comes,” Tommen argued. She shook her head. 

“They will not come at us with armies. Ramsay may want us to but she will not let him. That’s what's worrying.” 

“What will they come at us with then?” 

“You haven’t heard the rumors? That she deals with black magic?” Margaery questioned. She shook her head. Tommen pursed his lips. 

“Witchcraft?” 

-

You moved across the room gracefully. The coldness of the North was not something you were used to. Sansa sat before a vanity and you moved back to her, a brush in your hand. You played with her red hair, brushing through it carefully as to not hurt her. 

She quivered under your touch but it was a light one. 

“You have no reason to be scared of me,” you whispered. She gulped, scared that you had sensed her fear. “I’m not going to hurt you. As long as you’re here the people of the North will listen to you. I’m unsure where the rest of the Starks currently are and I don’t exactly want to find them. You are safe.” 

She nodded, letting out a small breath. 

“I don’t imagine that you would need my help,” she whispered. You reminded her of Little Finger. She could never quite gauge where you were. 

“Ramsay insists.” 

All that Sansa was sure of was that you and Ramsay worked as a unit. 

The door opened and you turned around a bit. 

“Speak of the devil,” you whispered, a small smile on your face. Ramsay gestured for you to come to him. You did so and gave Sansa a glance of farewell. 

“Her brother wants to get her back,” he said. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh?” 

“Yes. It isn’t ideal.” Ramsay walked with you down the hall. “What were you telling her?” You shrugged.

“Nothing substantial. Don’t worry.” You looked over at him and his piercing blue eyes. He stared straight into you. “I’ll figure it out.”

“If he gets her back then he will bring an army.” You placed a hand on his chest. 

“I’ll figure it out Ramsay.”

“I hate it when you do that.” 

“Do what?”

“Don’t include me.” 

-

You walked to the window of your bedroom. It was snowing outside, slowly. The ground would likely be covered by the time you woke up the next morning. You covered your chest with your hand and turned to the bed where Ramsay lay. 

“The Queen is scared,” you said. 

“How do you know?” You gave him a look and he nodded, understanding. You walked up to the bed and crawled toward him, getting under the sheets. You looked out of the large balcony window from there. You could still see tufts of snow falling. 

  “Are you frightened?” you asked him, very quietly. 

“No,” he said harshly. You chuckled a bit and glanced up at him. 

“No need to act defense. It was a simple question.” You leaned into your fluffy pillows and smiled a bit. You rarely let your guard down. Only just before bed, only with him there. “I’m not scared either.” He nodded.

“Good. Fear is a weakness.”

“You think everything is a weakness.” He looked down at you and you met each other's eyes. You smiled up at him weakly and then looked out at the snow. “The snow is a weakness to those like the Queen. She doesn’t live within it like us, like Sansa. But to us it is a strength we can use to our advantage.” You raised your hand up to the coldness of the balcony and then it fell to your side. “Everything you think is a weakness could also be an advantage if you look at it correctly.” 

“This is why you’re the witch,” he grumbled. You nudged him and he fell from sitting up to laying down beside you. 

“Tomorrow we think about the Queen and Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. Tonight, we sleep,” you said drowsily. 

“You speak in riddles.”

“And you’re blunt.” 

He threw an arm over you and let out a sigh as he closed his eyes. A quiet goodnight unspoken over the snow.

[voiceless-terror]

(if you feel like it) what about “snowed in” or “comfort” with jontim for the tma december bingo? my jontim brainrot never stops and I’d love to see what you come up with (I’m sure it’d be amazing as always) thanks so much !

The JonTim brainrot is real and appreciated! I combined this prompt with one of @balanced-to-a-tea‘s, who asked for Secret Santa with the season one archives gang! Here there be 3.5k words of gifts, pining, and kisses of the Jon/Tim variety :)

“It’s a mess out there,” Tim reported, plopping down in his office chair and looking strangely cheerful, given the situation. “Looks like we’re stuck here for the time being.”

There were audible groans all around, though Jon’s was quieter than the others. If he were being honest, their current situation was his fault- he asked them to hang back at the end of the day and help him with some unreachable boxes (unreachable for him, that is). He was trying to get into the habit of checking the weather in the mornings, though he never managed to actually do it until he was too far from his flat to get an umbrella or a heavier coat. This resulted in a few sticky situations, including several occasions of arriving late, looking like a drowned rat. 

“And here I was going to tuck in for the night, have a glass of wine, blast the heat at unreasonable levels,” Sasha complained, doing a half-hearted twirl in her chair. “Terrible!”

“What if we lose power?” Martin fretted, still outfitted in his coat and scarf. “I heard there’s going to be high winds. High winds!” Jon’s guilt increased. Being stuck with his (likely angry) staff in the Archives was not a great start to his career as Head Archivist. And just when we were getting along again…

“I’m sorry,” he began, his hands fidgeting. “I shouldn’t have started this project so late, I didn’t realize the weather would get quite as nasty as it did…”

“Don’t worry about it, boss!” Tim grinned, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on his desk, an act Jon would usually scowl at him for. “Should’ve told you ‘bout the storm. You never check the weather reports.” Jon flushed; Tim knew him too well. “Besides, I can’t say I was expecting it to get this bad; London’s not known for its prodigious snowfall.”

“You don’t seem too put-out by it.” Martin eyed Tim suspiciously as he began to unwind his scarf. “You’re smiling.”

“Well, yeah!” Tim swirled around, eyeing them all with an unfettered glee. Jon wondered what he had in mind; there was never a dull moment when Tim had free time. He’d learned that the hard way. “There’s something so romantic about being snowed-in, don’t you agree, Jon?”

Jon did not agree; being trapped, even in a big building like the Institute, left him feeling anxious and restless. Sasha agreed, if her rolled eyes were anything to go by. Martin seemed to be considering it, though.

“I suppose there’s something poetic about it?” he mused, leaning back against the wall. “The snow falling, blanketing the ground in white…” All eyes turned to him and he blushed under the scrutiny.

“See! Martin’s got the spirit.” Tim clapped his hands and got to his feet. “We’ve got leftovers from lunch in the fridge. Between that and Martin’s stash of tea biscuits, we won’t go hungry. And there’s that weird frozen lasagna in the back of the freezer…”

“We don’t have an oven, Tim,” Jon pointed out. “And I’m fairly certain that’s been in there for more than a year.”

Tim continued, impervious to any criticism. “And if we have to stay the night, Jon’s got that cot he thinks we don’t know about-”

“Hey-!”

“-and we can raid all the break rooms for their gross cushions-”

“I am not sleeping here,” Sasha said, punctuating the statement with a slam of a hand on her desk. “The weather report says it's supposed to pass over soon. We’ll only be here for a few hours, tops.”

“Weather reports are wrong all the time, Sash! Think of the fun we could get up to.” Tim smiled and Jon’s heart stuttered without his permission, most likely due to the idea of what Tim considered ‘fun.’ With the way his eyes lit up, however, Jon couldn’t fight a small smile. “Ooh! We could do Secret Santa, like we used to do in Research. Remember?”

Jon did remember. He still kept some of the gifts he’d received, mostly small trinkets from Tim and Sasha that somehow managed to give him a small thrill of happiness whenever he saw them. Still, he didn’t know how they could do such a thing in the Archives, with nothing around that could constitute a gift.

“How’re we supposed to do that?” Martin asked, sharing Jon’s concern. “Statements and office supplies are the only things we have access to.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Tim replied, nudging Martin with his foot. “We’ll get creative! I’m sure with a little thought and effort, we can all find something suitable.” He’d already begun to scribble their names on a piece of paper. “C’mon, it’ll pass the time. Please?” Jon sighed, unable to argue when Tim used his most pathetic puppy-dog eyes. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes at Tim’s whoop of enthusiasm. “But don’t expect anything extravagant. I’m not feeling particularly creative.”

“I guess it could be a good distraction,” Sasha acquiesced, with Martin nodding tentatively. “How long do we get to find a gift? Or make one, I suppose.”

“An hour? Two? Then we can all meet back here and exchange!” Tim nodded, and without waiting for any agreement he crumpled the pieces of paper into a cup and stood up. “Martin, you first. No peeking!”

“I won’t,” he mumbled, reaching in with one hand with his head turned pointedly away. He pulled out a slip of paper and immediately turned red upon opening it. “Um, alright. Yeah.” Maybe he got Tim, Jon mused. 

Sasha picked next, her face giving nothing away. Tim held the cup out to Jon, waggling his eyebrows. He ignored this, reaching in to pick one of the remaining two slips of paper. Tim!! It read, with several smiley faces and hearts. He felt his own face heating up and shoved the slip into his pocket, staring at the floor.

“And last but certainly not least, me!” Tim took the last slip with a flourish, grinning at what he read. The four of them stared at each other for an awkward beat until Tim broke the silence with a shrill whistle.

“What are you waiting for? Clock’s a tickin’!”

Fuck.

________

It had been an hour and a half. As far as Jon knew, Tim and Sasha were waiting in the break room, steadily demolishing Martin’s stash of sweets, the man himself having locked himself in Document Storage and thereby eliminating one more place for Jon to scavenge for a gift (not that there was anything in there, but it was the principle of the thing). So now here he sat, moping in his office with nary an idea for what to give Tim.

Tim. He was glad they’d started talking again, albeit not with the same frequency as before. There was of course an adjustment period, that was to be expected- especially when someone younger and arguably less qualified than quite a few candidates suddenly became your boss. But Tim had always been there for him, tolerated his quirks, helped him through a breakdown or two. He stuck by his side when most people in the department couldn’t stand him. Perhaps, with some time, they could go back to being as close as they were. Or closer.

Jon tamped that thought down- it was ridiculous to even think about, now that he was his boss. Professional boundaries aside, what would Tim even see in him? It wasn’t his fault Jon read into every wink, every casual word of praise. A hug or a warm arm around his shoulder that he leaned into instead of turning away. Tim did that with everyone, Jon wasn’t special. He wasn’t Sasha, with her beautiful laugh and her razor-sharp wit. Hell, he’d probably pick Martin over him. Someone nicer, with less sharp edges. Someone who laughed as easily as he did.

Someone who wasn’t Jon.

He shook himself from these thoughts, attempting to concentrate on the task at hand. What did he have that Tim could possibly want? Not his rubber band ball, though he knew that Tim was jealous of its now astronomical proportions (he added to it when he was stressed, which he always was these days). Not the stale packet of crisps in the bottom of his drawer. He thought vaguely of getting a book he thought Tim would like from the library, but that was more of a loan. Maybe an article he found interesting? Tim always used to read the ones Jon forwarded him, and even had a thing or two to say at the end of them. But maybe he found them annoying. Maybe he just did that to shut Jon up. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Jon’s thoughts kept straying to the foyer of the institute, where festive decorations had been set up at the start of the month, most likely Rosie’s doing. There was a beautiful handmade wreath, filled with pinecones and red flowers and other seasonal flora. He remembered back in Research, when Tim would terrorize them all with stupid little pranks and games, his main target being Jon. Jon would always duck away, grumble and complain, and Tim didn’t take it personally. Maybe I’ll indulge him just this once.

Mind made up, he slipped out of his office.

________

Tim watched his three friends with undisguised amusement.

Martin was fidgeting in his seat, constantly crinkling the grocery bag he’d decorated to look more seasonal. Tim knew at once that he’d gotten Jon; he wouldn’t have turned that red for anyone else. Poor sod. Tim had Sasha, a gift he wouldn’t sweat over. She appreciated a good gag. He was fairly certain Sasha got Martin, judging by her neutral, unbothered expression.

Or maybe he just hoped she did. Because that would mean that Jon got Tim.

Not that it would mean anything. He was just interested in what Jon would pick out, that’s all. He could be surprisingly thoughtful, if past gifts were anything to go by. He still had the small box of fidget toys on his desk, where they got regular use.

He clapped his hands decisively, attempting to clear his mind of any more Jon-thoughts. “Well, then. As the emcee for this event, I’ll go first. Sasha, may I present to you the Tim Stoker Coupon Bonanza, valued at over one thousand dollars- but for you? Free!”

He revealed it with all the fanfare of a marriage proposal, bending down on one knee to hand over a binder of hastily drawn nonsense that Sasha would surely appreciate. She took it just as delicately, thumbing through the pages with a delightful smirk.

“One free coffee from the place around the corner?” She put a hand to her chest in faux- surprise. “Tim, you shouldn’t have!” Never mind that he already got her coffee every morning.

“I know, I know. I’m too generous, really.”

“One three hour lunch break. Don’t think Jon would like that.”

“He can come along. Marto too!”

“One date to the Jade Buffet, where we will split the check- Tim, the rest of these are more for you than they are-”

“Moving on!” He interrupted. “Sasha, why don’t you show us what you’ve got?” She ignored his  wink, shutting the book with an over-exaggerated sigh. She reached out for a small bag on her desk, which she handed over to Martin. He thanked her quietly, unwrapping a mug- Sasha’s favorite, with a cartoon of a dog that she’d hand-painted (Sharpie’d, would be more accurate) to look like one of those highland cows Martin was always going on about. The entire effect was monstrous, but Martin seemed touched. Tim was happy too, as this meant Jon must have drawn his name.

“Oh that’s- that’s so nice, thank you Sasha!” His smile was infectious, even Jon wasn’t immune to it (though he tried to hide it). 

“It’ll probably come off if you wash it, so I wouldn’t actually use it,” Sasha advised. “But it could make a nice pencil holder.”

“Oh! That’s handy-”

“Ahem!” Tim once again interrupted; he was eager to see what Martin had whipped up for Jon, considering he’d holed himself up for about two hours. “Martin, I believe it’s your turn?”

“Um, y-yeah.” He put the cup down with some reluctance, picking up the bag he’d decorated with snowflakes and trees and handing it over to Jon, who looked surprised that anyone had gotten him anything. It was an expression Tim was used to; Jon never expected kindness, even in circumstances when he would very clearly receive it. Silly man. 

As soon as Jon began to reach into the bag, Martin stumbled through an explanation. “You don’t need to keep it, n-not if you don’t want, but y-you’re always saying you’re cold and y’know, I have extras, so-”

Martin had given Jon one of his many scarves, this one a worn, dark green that was sure to look lovely with his skin tone. He spent two hours deciding on that? It was a nice gift, for sure. Jon held it in his hands like it was completely foreign to him, though Tim could see him running his fingers over the knit appreciatively, looking at it with wide eyes.

“B-But this is your scarf, Martin,” he said, once he found the words. “I can’t-”

“Well now it’s yours,” Martin replied, his voice steadying with resolve. “Anyway, I um- it’s got your name on it. Or your initials, at least.” He gave a nervous laugh, his face turning even redder if possible.

And sure enough, at the end of the scarf was a small, messy embroidered J.S., along with a crude attempt at a small cat face. The effort was adorable, and it sent a pang through Tim’s chest for several reasons he didn’t want to name.

“T-That’s- well, thank you, Martin.” Jon ran his fingers over the small ‘J’ as if it would disappear if he looked away. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” Jon placed it almost reverently back in the bag, giving Martin a rare, genuine smile, one that Tim wished he had put on his face. Stop that.

“Jon’s turn!” he said, mustering up his last bit of enthusiasm. “I for one have no idea who Jon got, so this is going to be a real surprise-”

“S-Shut up, Tim.” Jon muttered, reaching for something behind him. He hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled out a small sprig of what looked to be pine needles, because it couldn’t be what Tim thought it was, no sir, that wouldn’t make sense-

He watched as Jonathan Sims moved closer and with shaking hands and a beet-red face, moved up on his tippy-toes to hold a tiny sprig of mistletoe above their heads. And then, in what surely must have been a hallucination or a dream sequence, two lips met his in a tiny peck of a kiss that was over before Tim could truly register it. 

He stared unblinking as Jon sank back on his heels, his eyes still tightly shut from the kiss. Tim brought a hand up to his mouth, the warm tingle of slightly chapped lips on his still fresh in his mind. Jon began to stutter in the absolute silence of the room, stumbling backwards without looking up from his feet.

“I’m, um- I-I have to. S-Sorry! I’m going to... goodbye now.”

And with that Jonathan Sims fled the room, leaving three stupefied assistants in his wake. 

_________

“Knock Knock!”

Tim tried to keep his voice as light as possible. He didn’t think Jon could stand anything more than that right now.

He’d given him a half hour of solitude, enough for him to overcome whatever embarrassment he felt over the encounter. Martin was stewing in a corner, looking shell-shocked and mopey over the turn of events. Tim was just as shocked as he was. Little Jonathan Sims, grumpy researcher and now even grumpier Head Archivist, giving Tim a kiss? Under the mistletoe?

“Go get him,” Sasha smirked, kicking his chair. “Bring him some food. And maybe return the favor.”

So he took a plate of reheated Pad Thai and a bottle of rum he kept under his desk for special occasions, hoping to win Jon over. Let him know the kiss was much appreciated, and that perhaps he’d like another if Jon was so inclined.

The man jumped up from his desk, where he’d had his head pillowed in his arms and his chunkiest cardigan wrapped around him for warmth. It was getting colder, and Tim hadn’t checked outside recently, too distracted by current events. His face was still flushed red, and he wouldn’t meet Tim’s eyes. I’ll have to change that.

“Thought I’d come bearing gifts.” He waved the bottle of rum around for Jon to see as he walked into the room. “Of the food and drink variety. But I wouldn’t mind a repeat of what happened in the break room.” He threw in a wink for good measure- God, why couldn’t he ever be serious? He always fell back on jokes and teasing words.

“I’m-I’m sorry, Tim,” Jon groaned, reaching out for the rum and pouring a liberal amount into a mug that previously housed tea. He still avoided Tim’s eyes. “That was completely inappropriate, I-I just couldn’t think of-”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he placed the food down on Jon’s desk, ignoring the pain in his heart at the apology. So he didn’t mean it. He plopped down on Jon’s couch, trying to feign a lightness he didn’t feel as he drank straight from the bottle. “No harm, no foul. It was nice.” He shrugged. Jon moved from his desk to join him on the couch, looking so adorable and cozy that Tim had to restrain from taking him in his arms. He watched as Jon took two large mouthfuls of the rum, knocking it back like a champ. Jesus. And then he raised his eyes to his, meeting them with a wide-eyed hopefulness that made Tim’s heart stutter in his chest.

“So- so you didn’t mind?”

“Nope.” Tim took another sip of the rum, wondering where this was going. He wouldn’t…

“Then you-,” Jon gulped, seemingly gathering his courage. “You wouldn’t mind if we- that is, if I maybe did it again?”

Tim stared.

“I-I still have the mistletoe.”

Jon sat there, so earnest and vulnerable, his hands fidgeting with the drink in his lap. Tim remembered the first time he laid eyes on him, the taciturn young researcher with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. He imagined asking him on a date, getting to know the man under that prickly exterior. Making him laugh, getting that rare smile that Martin got today. But he didn’t seem interested and Tim never wanted to push it, too respectful of his boundaries.

But maybe he hadn’t imagined the way Jon leaned into his touch. How he laughed at Tim’s shitty jokes a bit longer than necessary. That the looks he got in the library weren’t ones of annoyance, but fondness. So he set the bottle down, took the drink out of Jon’s hands and replaced it with the warm grip of his own. His voice came out low, quiet and serious and utterly unlike him.

“I wouldn’t mind at all.” And he leaned in and kissed Jonathan Sims, just like he wanted to do all those years ago.

It was a sweet, lingering thing- the taste of rum on his lips, lips that parted so easily for Tim like he’d been waiting, wanting this for so long, maybe even as long as Tim had. And when they finally parted, Jon stared at him with those deep brown eyes and gave him the smile he’d been wishing for and it was just for him. He put that there.

“Was-was that okay?” he murmured, feeling nervous and open under Jon’s intense gaze. 

“Yes,” was the whispered response. He let out a small, charming laugh that Tim would always remember when he thought back to this night, the first night of many stolen kisses and secret smiles. “I-I liked that.”

“Well, good!” Tim could no longer contain the urge to have Jon in his arms and pulled him to his chest, appreciating the small squeak it earned him. “Because there’s more where that came from.” Jon leaned into his touch, as if trying to leech every bit of warmth from Tim that he could. It felt so utterly right to be here, on this uncomfortable couch with an armful of the man he’d been pining over for the last three years. Score, a giddy part of his mind yelled. They laid there in silence for a few minutes, reveling in the feeling of affection finally realized when Jon’s head perked up from his chest, a concerned look in his eyes.

“Do you think Rosie’s going to notice I nicked her mistletoe?”

Tim snickered. “Oh, absolutely. But I’ll take the fall. She’s not getting that back.”

Jon was always thoughtful with his gifts. And this was one he intended to keep.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201134

[magalidragon]

Birthday Signs | a Silent Shadows drabble

HAPPY BELATED NAME DAY TO @aenarsnow !!! Here is your gift I hope you like it! A family fluff fic that totally spoils Silent Shadows but oh well we all knew where that fic was going! 🤣 This will be set between the soon to be posted chapters 14 and 15.

The familiar, early morning strobe light flashed behind Jon's closed eyelids, which fluttered up, taking in the sight of the phone on his nightstand, flashing next to a glass of water, his watch, a book, and a very new addition to the random detritus that scattered from his pockets when he emptied them out on the worn wooden stand.

A baby monitor.

He smiled at it and reached for the device, lifting it up to his ear. It was a very expensive model, one that Robb had purchased for them at the baby shower, which vibrated at the level of sound coming from the nursery. It did not help as much during the night, when he could not feel the vibrations from the nightstand, but he was very attuned to the shifting movement of the mattress and when he felt Dany move at his side, he was up immediately.

This morning it was silent, as was she, hugging Shadow against her chest, the great black wolf fast asleep between them, like a strange wiggling body pillow. He ruffled Shadow's ears and got up, shuffling around Ghost, who popped up quickly. He knelt at his companion's side, nuzzling his nose and stroking along his side, shivering at the feeling of the raised scar underneath the regrown white fur.

It was near a year ago, but he could have lost him. He signed to his wolf, speaking, his throat muscles constricting and vocal cords vibrating, attuning him to his spoken words even if he could not hear them. "You can't leave me, not yet," he said, smiling down at him. He kissed Ghost's head, coming up to his feet and lightly touching the middle of the wolf's back, Ghost walking beside him through the house and to the room across the hallway.

It was still somewhat dark outside, sun creeping up above the horizon, the sky a mottled purple, blue, and black as the light fought the dark back to sleep. The trees were dusted with a fresh layer of snow, courtesy from the storm the evening before. It was one of his favorite times of the year, just after a snowfall. It was a twisted sense of awareness, knowing that when people stepped out into the powder, everything was muffled, all sound smothered out. It was his entire life and for some reason made him oddly satisfied knowing others could sense the same thing he did.

He didn't know what the day would hold-- that depended on whether Dany would try to surprise him or not-- which he hoped definitely not. He hated surprises. Really saw no reason in having anything of the sort. All he wanted was to have his day to himself, as usual. Once morning was done in the house, he would go to his wolves. He was eager to see if Rifle and his pack had welcomed the new wolf who showed up a couple weeks ago, edging nervously into the territory. The wolf was certainly not an alpha contender, but could support the pack with hunting. He suspected they'd be fine, after he'd sat with the wolf for a time and then released him into Rifle's area, thinking they'd go on alright.

After that, there'd be some paperwork no doubt, and he'd stop at Winterfell to inspect Summer's eye infection. Gods only knew how he got that one. Summer tended to just fall into mishaps, just like his owner.

Until then, he would be with his favorite person in the entire world. Save Dany.

Although for all the love he held for Dany, she did not hold a candle to the love he felt for the wiggling little body in the crib, gazing up at him with wide eyes when he leaned over, greeting her with a tickle on her tummy. He signed to her, wanting her to learn as soon as possible, even at the tender age of ten months. "Good morning," he signed, smiling down. He leaned in and lifted her up, chuckling.

The baby did not react to his chuckle, instead squealing-- he felt her chest constrict against his-- she beat her fists on his shoulder and took a handful of his t-shirt, shoving it into her mouth. He nuzzled her head, eyes closing briefly, swaying from side to side. She rarely cried, but when she did, he might not be able to hear it, but it broke his heart. He savored these moments when it was just them, before the rest of the day started.

He carried her over to the changing table, resting her on it gently, smiling as she babbled to him, her fingers moving up. He nodded along, whatever she was saying was very important, he was sure, and he removed the hearing aids from their charger. She whined, not liking it when they first went in, obviously the plastic uncomfortable after an entire night being without, but she soon got used to them. It broke his heart, to see the heavy plastic behind her delicate ear, the tube and wire leading into her ear canal, but once it was in, once he flicked that little switch behind it, her eyes lit up, an entire world shut off to her in the night now at her disposal.

It was something he'd never know, so he was grateful her deafness could be rectified, at least for a time, and she would know the joy of her parents' voices-- such as his was he thought darkly-- the barks and howls of Ghost and Shadow and everything else the world could offer her.

Aly waved her hands again and very carefully, he moved her fingers into the sign, the fingers folded and the thumb out to the side and dragged it from her temple, down to her chin. "Daddy," he said, hoping she could understand.

She waved her hand again and he did it a few more times. She was very young, but anything they could do, the doctors and specialists said, would help her. Babies learned languages by doing. WSL was just another language. Same as Common Tongue or Valyrian, which Dany used with her.

Their baby would be trilingual by the time she was in preschool, Jon thought with a chuckle, lifting her up from the table once both her hearing aids were in and on. She'd quieted, her dark brow eyes wide, searching. Alysanne had almost black hair, but the largest green eyes, which he really loved. They tended to show her reaction before her face to anything.

Just like the day they first had her fitted for them, the audiologist warning that it might take some time, but when they came on, when Dany first said her name, the little girl freezing and then smiling, laughing at the sound of her mother's voice for the first time, Jon almost died there from sheer joy. Such an unfamiliar feeling for him.

He signed for her. "It's my birthday." He was thirty-five. He'd been (officially) with Dany going on three years now. Married for two. Parents for four months. How things had changed from the time when he thought he was fine, living alone in his house with his wolves, content to never speak to another human being again. Even with Arya, sometimes he never opened his mouth, preferring sign over trying to speak.

It was his first birthday as a father, he thought, nuzzling Aly's thick dark hair, carrying her out of her room and to the stairs, Ghost trotting behind them. She wiggled her fingers at Ghost,squealing. He licked her foot, walking ahead of them to lead their entry to the kitchen, where he stopped hard, catching Dany.

She must have been preoccupied, because she didn't turn around, fussing with something on the counter. Balloons wafted up near the ceiling and she'd draped streamers around the kitchen cabinets. He smiled, glancing at Ghost, who chuffed, continuing ahead to nose Dany. It didn't necessarily matter, because at the sight of her mother's silver hair and Shadow, Aly let out a squeal, waving her hands for her.

Dany whirled around, laughing and rushing to him, eyes a little foggy from sleep. "Happy Birthday!" she signed, reaching up to kiss him and grinned. She fell back on her feet and took Aly, nuzzling her. "And good morning!"

"What's this?" he signed, walking up to see that she had coffee set out and doughnuts. He chuckled, noting the wolf bun she must have asked specially from Hot Pie's Bakery. He picked up one of the couple presents sitting beside the pastries and coffee, setting it down to sign. "YOu didn't need to get me anything."

"Yes I did," she signed, adept now at keeping Aly hoisted on her elbow while she used her free hands to sign. She grinned, speaking now, because Aly was wiggling in her arms. "It is your birthday Jon."

He shrugged; it was just a day. He kissed her again, because Dany should be kissed often, in his opinion, and he was happy to oblige her. While she prepared Aly's breakfast, he sipped his coffee and wondered what his presents were. He really didn't need anything. Most all he wanted was for the sanctuary. He finished some of his coffee and signed to her, when she caught his attention. "Taking Ghost and Shadow out."

She nodded, focusing on Aly in the moment. Jon signaled for Shadow to follow, which he did, jumping up and running ahead and outside, the second the door opened to the yard. He pulled on one of the heavy parkas near the door and shoved his bare feet into boots, trudging into the snow to wait for the wolves to finish whatever it was they needed to do. It gave him a few minutes to clear his mind, inhale the cold air, and be in his preferred element.

Not being able to hear, he had heightened senses otherwise. Arya joked he had a super power. It was what he told the deaf children who came to the sanctuary to sit with the wolves. They had a superpower, they could see and smell, they could sense better than anyone else with hearing. He closed his eyes, smelling the pine and fresh snow, the smoke from the chimney. Even the wet wolves, both of them bounding around together. He rummaged in his pocket for the laser pointer, flicking it in front of Shadow, the wolf instantly turning and running up to the house, signalled to come in.

As it was still a regular day, he planned to finish up coffee and breakfast, dress, and head into the sanctuary. There were things to do. He stomped off snow once inside, found Dany feeding Aly, cutting up little pieces of a croissant for her. Somehow Aly already had jam all over her face. He signed, laughing. "Someone is having fun."

"Too much fun," Dany signed back. Jon studied them both, marveling at how things had changed again. He caught Dany's eye and she smiled, shrugging. She signed, "What is it?"

"Nothing," he signed. He shrugged, easily signing something that came so difficult for him before he met and realized that there was more out there, Dany helped him see it. He folded his fingers together. "I love you."

Her face wrinkled into a smile, brow furrowed to keep from crying. She reached for him, when he went over to her and hugged his arm, wrapping around her shoulders and chest from behind, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I love you too," she mouthed, kissing his cheek.

Aly flung a piece of croissant at them, shouting. "Ah!"

"I love you," he signed to her, kissing her head. He waited a moment, lightly stroking her hair. This birthday was different, he felt that in his bones. Even when he'd come to an understanding regarding his feelings for Daenerys, struggling with his emotions and history and being a father, he didn't know until he held Aly in his arms. They could go through so many rounds of IVF, sitting in the doctor's office, crying in each other's arms with each negative pregnancy test, and exhausted mentally and physically. Their relationship suffered.

Then Aly came into their world. It didn't matter if the baby was from their blood, she needed them and she was their daughter. Just like Ned had been his father. He knew that it would be a struggle; Aly would have her own struggles with her deafness, as he did with his, but looking back on his initial thoughts-- he was mad. Aly would hear him-- she'd hear his laugh, his voice, and while it might not be like anyone else's, it was his and he was her father.

He kissed her again and went upstairs to change. Ghost came with him. HIs shadow. Just like Shadow was Aly's shadow. He couldn't help her from the same perspective that Ghost could, but she loved him and he helped her with what he could. Both of them being deaf, not always a great combination, ignoring everything but each other. Which could actually be pretty sweet.

When he finished dressing and came out of the bathroom, he was surprised to find Dany sitting in on eof the chairs by the fire, the embers glowing from the previous evening. They'd enjoyed themselves quite a bit last night, the fire merely providing ambiance-- they'd provided the heat. He sat down on the chair arm, kissing her head, signing. "What's wrong?"

"Open your gift."

"Where is Aly?"

"Over there." He glanced at the bed, seeing Aly caged in by Shadow, using him as a pillow while she played with one of her stuffed animals, ignoring them both. Dany poked him and handed him a small wrapped gift. "Open this please."

"I can open gifts later. I should get to the sanctuary."

She shook her head, chewing her bottom lip. "Please open this."

Jon didn't know what had her so nervous, or insistent, so he slipped into the chair, pulling her into his lap. Her legs slung over his knees, she watched him open the box. He thought maybe it was jewelry, which was weird because he only wore a watch and even then he often kept it in his pocket. He opened up the slim white box and pushed by tissue paper, staring, eyes widening in understanding.

It was a pregnancy test.

He was accustomed to those; he'd been at her side through four negative ones over the last couple years. Except this time, it wasn't negative. There was a very obvious plus sign. He turned to gaze down at her, silently questioning. She was already crying and nodded. "Yes," she said clearly. "I'm pregnant."

The only word he could croak out was: "How?"

She laughed, wiping quickly at her eyes and set the test down on the table next to them. Taking his hands, she pressed them under her sweater, to the swell he now felt in her lower abdomen, which he couldn't believe he didn't feel last night or notice before. So much for super senses. “The usual way," she laughed. She kept his hands on her warm belly and signed quickly. "Mel said it happens. Couples adopt and then get pregnant and there's no explanation. I was so scared something would happen that I waited. I am sorry, but I wanted to wait. I'm sixteen weeks."

That was four months. He knew that they weren't completely out of the woods, but the risk lessened now. He pressed his head to hers, removing his hands and cupping her face, bringing her to him for a long, slow kiss. His heart was so full, it threatened to strangle him. It was all silent; his heart racing in his head, his breath coming in deep gulps. More than once he wished he knew what she sounded like, wanted to hear her voice. He trusted it was as beautiful as her.

The sign worked too. It meant as much to him as the words in English would be.

They broke the kiss, Dany laughing again. "Happy birthday. Daddy."

He grinned. "Daddy," he said, the words hard for him to wrap his mind and his tongue around. It was foreign, the word not something he ever wanted to hear or say. He could no longer imagine a world where that was not a word in his vocabulary. It took a long way to get there; however, and he credited Dany for that. He signed for her, knowing hse understood. "Not without you."

The tears trickled down her face again. He kissed them away, holding her to him, and briefly thought to the first moment they met. That haughty look on her face, shouting at him, trying to touch Ghost-- who was just as amused at her as he was-- apologizing over herself. Then angry, for no apparent reason. He fucked with her on purpose then, because her reaction was so...different. He never intended to see her again.

And he did. Even trying as hard as he could to push her away, not get involved, there she was.

His shadow.

A shadow he could not hear, always at his side, in his way. Silent, silver shadow.

He could never be without her again, he thought, getting up long enough to get Aly, who was ripping at her stuffed animal. She looked up, when Dany said her name, and smiled. He kissed the shell of her ear, just beside the hard plastic aid. "You are going to have a brother or sister," he said to her. He didn't know if she understood him. It didn't matter, but she looked up and touched her fingers to his lips, smiling wide and began to babble.

Dany laughed again, tossing her hair over her shoulder, meeting his gaze again, pure love shining at him. She signed, fingers a blur. "Happy birthday my love, I hope you like your gift."

Not a gift, he thought, nodding and squeezing them both against him. Ghost and Shadow both flopped down together, black and white piles of fur. Jon closed his eyes and sighed, listening to his heart and feeling the other two under his hands. And maybe, just maybe, a third.

FIN