#how dare she says that she treat all of her children equal

[koko2unite]

[seancekitsch]

The Sword and the Quill: Chapter Two

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Reader

In the weeks leading up to little Daeron's departure to Oldtown, Queen Alicent finds herself trying to entertain the unmarried ladies of court. As one of her ladies in waiting, you agree to an anonymous penpal in one of the men at court, and end up spilling your heart to him. He is your perfect match, your equal. The only issue? The Queen's brother Gwayne Hightower will not stop teasing you as you try to uncover who responds to your letters.

My Darling Unfamiliar,

It does delight me to meet you this way, as often court can be all too serious and formal. The summer treats me well. I can tell you, without divulging too much, that the sun grants me her warmth daily, and the nights feel alive in their starlight. I am enjoying it, to say the least. However, I find the castle all too humid and stuffy despite its lofty peaks and open windows. Summers in my own home, though far, are much more favorable as far as comfort. 

I will try not to make it too easy for you to guess my identity, as I can tell you are as sharp as any blade and cunning too. Though I must agree, it is a thought that taunts me as well. I desire to know you immediately, to put a face to such lovely penmanship and words. I will be looking for your hand everywhere in the keep, I fear. In fact, I have already begun. By the end of this little experiment, you may even know me better than myself. 

I am a man of noble birth, and as you so desire, I have traveled a bit. Where would you wish to go first, my Unfamiliar? If I have been there, I can write to you of my time in that place, maybe even draw you a picture from memory. I appreciate that you wish to see the world for what it is, as most might not. The world is a dangerous and wild place, but are you ready to see it? 

I too enjoy the arts, as well as sport. Will you be at the upcoming tourney? If I am lucky, a boisterous young knight will not steal your favor. I will not say more, except that I have a wonderful tutor for the lute and I feel myself learning more as time goes on. I admit that I am only adequate at dancing, but if I had a tutor in the form of an adventurous woman, perhaps that could change. Might we hope for a feast soon, perhaps with the coming of the Princess’ babe? Maybe without knowing, we will speak to one another. If we are lucky, we may even share a dance. I will even promise not to step on your feet.

I am certain our letters will become tomes themselves, as I find myself already getting along with you. Even from one letter, I find you a breath of fresh air in a stuffy keep. 

I await your next letter eagerly,

Your Unfamiliar

You could kiss Alicent, you really could. How had you not known that there was such a man within these walls? Well truthfully, that was easy to miss with the way that you stick by the young queen and chase her children around when they’re playing. There are, however, only so many men it could be. Only a few men remain unmarried at court, and only so many do you think are capable of writing this way. They must be well educated, and not war-minded. This leads you to only four names.

“Lord Rowan, Lord Beesbury, Lord Darklyn, Ser Loras Florent, I don’t know,” you sigh as you sit back into the plush settee in Alicent’s apartments. Young Aegon throw’s down playing cards towards his sister Helaena, much to his mother’s dismay. Luckily though, neither child pays attention to your conversation.

“You’ve forgotten the Lannister Twins and my brother,” She offers, looking towards the list in the little book you’ve brought with you. You’ve started two lists. One of possible identities, one of the information you’ve learned about your unfamiliar. It’s a funny name you’ve come up with, you think. That someone will be so unfamiliar to you in person but so familiar on parchment. You did not dare tell Alicent of this, however. It feels that if you do, she will find something to admonish in it; or worse, speaking of it will mean that some of the magic will be gone. You were serious when you wrote the first letter, thinking that this person may end up knowing you even better than she does. She is your friend, but you do not for a moment forget that she is the most powerful woman in the realm.

You frown, forehead creasing into the pout.

“Do you really think the Lannisters are read enough to write like this? Do you think Jason plays the lute?” you don’t hide the humor in your tone, “Or Tyland being well traveled?”

Surprisingly, Alicent lets a chuckle escape her lips at your words.

“Suppose not,” she agrees, tearing her eyes from your list.

“But my brother still stands,” she punctuates her statement by tapping a finger on the list. Her nails are red, bitten and bloody in the cuticles. You grab her hand in yours, your thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

“Don’t you see, Alicent? Your idea is working,” you reassure her, and drop her hand to begrudgingly scrawl her brothers name onto the list.

The queen only offers you a weak smile, still so unsure of herself. You wish that she would just come into her power, that she would recognize her gentle strength. You suppose that this is unfortunately because she was raised here, as this castle could break anyone’s spirit. You wonder how the princess has lasted this long with her sunny disposition, but even that is starting to wane.

“Have you shown anyone your letter?” she asks, avoiding your praise.

“Only Lady Tarly, as she asked to compare letters.”

“And what of hers?”

“He called her ‘his hopeful betrothed’ and said he wished to know her waist size,” you scoff, infinitely pleased that he is not your partner in this scheme.

“I am only glad that man was not your letter receiver,” Alicent admits, “I think you would have eaten him.”

You laugh heartily. Alicent is rarely like this.

“As if his meat isn’t already spoiled. He would not be worth the roast or the wine uncorked for it.”

It’s then that Helaena speaks up, placing a card down on the rug between herself and her brother.

“The biggest smile will come from teeth stained by wine made from unfamiliar grapes.”

A shiver runs down your spine, as it often does when Helaena speaks. She seems to have riddles that only she understands, but her word choice cannot be coincidence.

“Princess, what do you mean?” you ask, and she only shrugs her shoulders and does not look towards you. She is focused instead on making patterns out of the cards before her, ruining Aegon’s game while he struggles to understand and add to the pattern she makes. She pushes his cards out of the way without explanation.

Later in the day, you find yourself heading towards the library, parchment portfolio and the letter tucked into a bag around your shoulder. You had tried desperately to write in the comfort of your rooms, but each time you went to put quill to parchment nothing came to you. You reread the letter from your unfamiliar nearly twenty times, wanting to say everything on your mind, yet none of it sounding right on paper. You had determined that it was a change of scenery that you needed to clear your mind.

Pushing open the large doors, you take in the familiar scent of the old books, the light of the windows streaming in on their spines. This is where you go to escape, to pour over texts and write notes and copy pictures from books about the old kingdoms and the far off reaches of the realm. And so far, it is only yours. Aemond will scurry in wither a maester from time to time, but mostly you have the vast collection to yourself. All of the books Viserys and Alicent read are delivered to them.

There is a table towards the back of the study, behind all of the shelves and next to a large window that you typically like to set yourself down at; you hide even within the hiding spot. As if compelled, your feet take you there immediately, only when you go to place your bag down, there is already a stack of books and someone else’s parchment there.

“Hello?” you call out, expecting a maester or even one of the servants that picks out Visery’s books. You do not expect a cropping of auburn hair to peek out from behind one of the rows of books.

“Ah, the outspoken pretty one,” Gwayne says, bowing slightly as he reveals himself to you. Already, you feel your blood boiling.

“Ah, the arrogant one,” you match his tone, sarcasm dripping, “I didn’t know you could read.”

“I must have you know I’m skilled at many things,” he replies.

You stand at an impasse, both awkwardly in the alcove at the back of the room at opposite sides of the table.

“What are you doing in my library?” the words come out without thinking.

“Oh, this is yours? I apologize, my lady, I did not know you owned the kingdoms books!”

“That is not— that’s not what I meant. This is where I go. Alone. When I must think or I must write.”

Any jibe to come from his mouth doesn’t land, instead:

“And I’ve taken your writing desk.”

“Yes!” you throw your hands up, exasperated by this back and forth with him.

He seems to ponder the situation, drawn out as his face scrunches in mock thinking.

“Tell you what, you can be of use to me.”

“I would rather be dismissed from court.”

Gwayne rolls his eyes, and you can tell whatever patience he has is wearing thin. That makes two of you.

“Must you always be this vexing? I need help finding a book. I will trade this spot for the book.”

Oh. Well why did he not just say that?

“Fine,” you sigh, but not before placing your bag down onto the chair to already stake your claim.

He leads you back towards the front of the library, where some of the tallest shelves held built in ladders and a large fireplace sat unused until the winter months.

“What subject entices you, Ser?” you ask, mock interest steeped into each word. You turn your back to him, gazing up at the shelf behind you. It contains books on the histories of all the great houses, and all of their vassals. You can see the burgundy and gold of your family’s history sitting far enough away that you’d need the ladder to reach it.

“Courtly Love,” he responds, his voice betraying hesitance. You spin back around towards him.

“And does a knight such as yourself not already know the rules of Courtly Love? Is that the cause of your irksome disposition?” you balk at him. Truly, you are only half joking. As a knight and highborn man, this is something he should know front to back.

Gwayne grimaces, his eyes downcast.

“Forget it. I will find it myself. Enjoy your writing desk,” he tells you, and starts to move away. For some reason, a pit begins to form in your stomach.

“Wait! I apologize, Ser Gwayne,” you say it, and you mean it, “I know where we can find a book that may help.”

“Lead the way.”

You find yourself then looking back as you urge him through the labyrinth of books, a glance over your shoulder here and there to make sure he is keeping up. ‘Just this way’ and ‘almost there’s peppering the experience; to which he sighs, but it’s not as exasperated as before. He seems almost amused at your knowledge of the vast collection around you.

You huff, almost out of breath as you stop before a certain shelf. Gwayne, distracted, accidentally runs into your back, pushing you to brace yourself on the ladder. His hands find purchase on your waist, where your satiny bodice meets your skirt, the sound of swishing fabric and clinking armor echoing.

“Ser Gwayne! Act like the gentleman you claim to be,” you chastise him, but the genuine anger of your bite from earlier is gone. What game is this that he’s playing? He removes his hands from you, steadying you both.

“Lady Y/N, the way you speak to me is unbecoming of your birth,” he retorts, his edge also gone. Are you joking with him right now? Is this not animosity?

“Do you still want this book?”

“Desperately.”

“I thought so,” you confirm, narrowing your eyes at him.

You grab the rungs of the ladder easily, this climb normal and easy to you. It is at least weekly you grab books from the tops of ladders, and at least monthly you help Alicent pick out books for her children though you suspect only one of them reads them all.

“It is here,” you call down to him, gesturing at the shelf nearest where the wall turns off to a balcony of sorts, a separate study. You grasp the book, pulling it gently from the other dust covered tomes and climb back down. 

“I did not take you for a climber,” Gwayne remarks, watching you carefully the entire time as if you might fall. You do not; you are good at this by now. 

“And again, I did not take you for a reader,” you retort, hopping down the last rung and returning to the floor on his level. 

“I appreciate this, and I’m sure my sister will be glad to hear that we did not kill each other.”

The corners of your lips fight to turn upwards, and you steel yourself against smiling. 

“What do you need this for?” you ask as you hand over the book, watching him press his lips together and blow excess dust off of the cover.

“I fear that you will be merciless if I tell you, but you’ve been helpful today.”

Right, the urge to smile dies as he throws that your way. 

“It’s about those letters my sweet sister has us writing. I find myself wanting to brush up on the practices of Courtly Love if my writer will have me.”

Your eyes widen, understanding what he’s saying. Gwayne Hightower is potentially looking for a wife. Maybe that will suit him, you think, maybe matrimony will quiet the boisterous personality and bold flirtatious streak within him that frustrates you about him. Maybe a wife will make sure Daeron does not grow up to be a spitting image of his uncle. 

“Well I do hope she understands the challenge ahead of her.”

His eyes narrow, taking the barb in stride. 

“And you? What are you here for, my lady?”

Your shoulders sag, the magic of an almost nice moment with him already gone. 

“If you must know, I am here to write my own response letter to my writer. Sometimes my quill seems to take a mind of its own in this room, and I can get the words on the page easier.”

“Is this where you normally go?��

“I have one other place, but I do hope you never find it.” 

And you do mean that, for multiple reasons. You do not want him knowing your location like this, nor do you want him or anyone discovering that you know about Maegor’s tunnels, though all they would have to do is find the same book you did to be able to discover the tunnels for yourself. Based on his inexperience in the library, however, you feel that secret will be safe. 

“Not to worry, I won’t go looking,” He assures as he holds up the book to you again, as a silent thank you before he turns to walk back towards the front of the library. As he turns, he mumbles just barely loud enough for you to hear, “I fear what might happen to me if I do.”

He leaves you again after giving the last word, though this time it does not leave the same bitter taste within your mouth. You sigh deeply, and decide to head back to your writing desk to finally sit down and pen this letter. 

You take out the parchment, your little pot of specifically blue ink, your quill, then finally you sit; this chair is old, and specifically needs to be reupholstered and stuffed, as now your bottom has created a noticeable dent within the failing down within it. However, you hesitate to notify any of the castle staff about this, as that could spell the end to the privacy of this location for you. 

You try to clear your mind, thinking of only your Unfamiliar. You read the letter again, and again; thinking of all the things you wanted to say, the urge to be an open book and practically reveal yourself to him almost too tempting, but you need to be clever. 

So you dip your quill in the ink, and begin. 

My Traveled Unfamiliar,

It is quite coy, the way you evade giving yourself away. I fear, for your sake, that it will be much harder to hide from me as you reveal more of yourself in these letters. If I may be so bold, I feel that I am glad and surprised that a man such as you is not betrothed, and that we may meet at all. How terrible would it be if an impending marriage would stop us from becoming friends? I feel I need more friends in this castle, and despite not knowing who you are, I feel a certain kinship. I agree with you that this place is far too humid, it makes my hair frizz and my temper fray. I find myself, despite a promise not to, trying to narrow down the list of eligible men that you could be. I will be comparing every answer of yours to my knowledge of these men, so your identity will not remain a secret for long. I apologize if that seems forward, but I have never been one to let a mystery sit. 

Have you ever been to Dorne? Or Lys? I have heard many a wild tale and adventure from their lands, and one day I’d like to see them for myself. Maybe one day, I will be traveled enough to write to you of where I have been. Or even closer, have you ever been to Oldtown? The Queen has mentioned its beauty before, I would love to know more.

You pause your writing, thinking for a moment about that question. You ask partially for yourself, partially for little Daeron. Of course Alicent says all good about Oldtown, but she is from there. Maybe, if there is some kind of flaw there, maybe you can keep little Daeron as your shadow for a little longer. Perhaps this will also prevent your quill mate from knowing who you are. Everyone here has spoken to the queen, and you did not reveal you know her well. 

I must disappoint you though, as I do not care much for tourneys. I find the boastfulness of the men distasteful. Though this time, perhaps it will not be so vexing. This tourney, I will be scanning the crowds in hope that I will find you. I have this hope that when our eyes meet I will just know that it is you. That there is something that I will recognize right away in you. Perhaps after this tourney, if I find you, I can persuade you to play me a song on your lute after the games conclude. 

I would very much like us to share a dance at the next feast, though you must be warned that I will dance circles around you. You will not be able to step on my feet because you will not keep up with them! 

I am very glad to have met you, even though I have not met you. Your letter has brightened my disposition within this castle, and I appreciate you. I hope we will write novels to one another. 

Hoping for a quick response,

Your Unfamiliar. 

You look over the letter, realizing that maybe it’s very forward, but the way that whoever on the other side wrote to you tells you that it won’t matter. You fan the parchment in the air, the corners of it shaking and making noise. Gwayne, from across the library, snaps his head up to look at you. But instead of any sneer, he simply just smiles at you and nods. He is already about halfway through the book you recommended, a parchment next to him and notes clearly taken from the content of the book. You pity whatever young woman he is trying to impress, you think. 

When the ink on your parchment is dry, you place it carefully into your portfolio, and pack up to leave so you can seal it in your room. 

You walk across the library, bag slung and rusting against the material of your skirts. Gwayne’s attention falls upon you again. 

“Thank you,” he calls to you, that soft smile on his face again. You only nod in response, an odd feeling settling in your chest as you put more distance between yourself and Gwayne Hightower. 

[chloe-skywalker]

What Does She Know? - Aegon II Targaryen

Aegon II x Fem!Reader

Warnings: G.O.T

Word count: 943

Summary: Alicent may love to put her children down, but Y/n won’t stand for it to affect her betrothed anymore.

Authors Note: I really do think if he had someone who really loved and cared about him he’d be SO different! Same for Aemond.

Masterlist

House Of The Dragon Masterlist

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“Why do you behave like this?” Alicent scoffed in disgust at her son. She was angered and annoyed at Aegon’s behaviors, no matter what it may be.

“Behave like what?” Aegon questioned with squinted eyes. He had completely closed in on himself, expecting the usual if not new degrading comments she always told him. Sure he was use to it, it's been happening all his life but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“A monster. A little boy desperate for attention that believes since he’s a prince he can do whatever he wants without any consequences.” Alicent sneered at her son. She despised her and Viserys' children. They all seemed to have the confidence and arrogance of the Targaryens. Nothing in them reminded her of the Hightowers.

Aegon did not answer her after that. He just looked down trying not to let his emotions show in her presence. Aegon was done with showing weakness in front of her.

“Pathetic.” She spat before turning around and leaving Aegon’s chambers she had practically barged into.

A few moments later, after hearing the door slam Y/n peeked her head out of the hidden passageway she had rushed to when they heard Alicent outside his door. “Aegon?”

When she didn’t get a reply Y/n came out and walked towards where Aegon was seated on the end of his bed. She had heard everything the so called Queen had said to Aegon and Y/n was fuming on the inside. How dare she treat and say things like that to him. Her own son and a prince.

“She’s right, you know. I’m a monster.” Aegon mumbled looking down to his lap feeling immensely insecure since his mothers rant.

Y/n immediately shook her head, not agreeing with his statement at all. “No you are not. You are not a monster.”

“That's not what my mother says.” He spoke in a whisper.

“And what does she know? Rhaenyra was her best friend and look how she treats her? Look how she treats you and your siblings? She doesn’t know anything. Definitely nothing good or correct.” Y/n exclaimed lifting his chin to look at her as she talked, but Y/n knew it was because he was listening but the negative thoughts were still in his mind.

“I don’t understand why she take it out on us? On me?” He questioned out loud not to anyone in particular.

Since their betrothal Y/n had seen the toxic environment in King's Landing, in the castle. Between the Hightowers and the Targaryens. Including between Alicent and her own children.

“Because she’s upset that she had to marry your father. But you know what, she should grow up and act like a lady. Like a queen. That’s the way life is for a woman. Especially a woman born with any type of title. We don’t get to choose who we marry, or how many kids we have. Nothing. You just are forced to grin and bare it but the least she could do is protect and care for her children. Be supportive to her so-called friend that she had to marry the father of.” Y/n ranted but she had a point. To everything she said, it was all very true. Aegon listened intently to what Y/n had said and it pained him. In the short time they had known each other Aegon had really grown to love the woman in front of him. And to hear how she as a woman had no say in anything, that really hurt him to think that might be how she thinks their relationship is going to be once they marry. Aegon reached out to hold her hands.

“Is that how you feel with me? With our arranged marriage? That you have no choice and that all you’ll be good for is having my children?” Aegon asked question after question. He truly hoped he could make her feel like his equal. “Cause that's not how I want our relationship to be. I want to be good enough for you. That you want me even if we are already arranged and have no real say. I want us to fall in love with one another and not spite each other. I don’t want to force you to have a ton of heirs just so we can please the court and the people. I don’t want to please anyone other than you.”

Y/n was stunned by his words, not having thought he was worrying about such things.

Y/n squeezed his hands and then let one go and reached up to cup the nape of his neck, playing with his hair. Looking into his eyes when she spoke. “Aegon. You have been an exception to what I said. You have treated me very kindly since we’ve gotten to know one another and I greatly appreciate that you seek out my advice. That you care about my opinion on things, that you don’t want to force me into anything or let anyone hurt me. That you actually care about me and I’m not just some slave your meant to fake love and breed with. I want to please you as well Aegon. But the difference is for us it’s because we love each other, truly love each other. That we want to please each other. Not out of duty.”

Aegon shook his head, feeling a weight lifted off his chest. “It will never be out of duty.”

Aegon pulled Y/n onto his lap into a kiss he hoped betrayed the love he felt for her and appreciation for her believing in him.

Taglist: @gruffle1 @padawancat97 @misspendragonsworld

@starkleila

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

i'm just gonna say it. hordak was more redeemable than catra.

no, i haven't forgotten that he was a tyrannical warlord who conquered and destroyed like half of etheria. i'm not saying any of it was justified or that he deserves to get off scot-free.

i just think that hordak had more moments of humanity. we know what he was but there were less instances of hordak being straight-up sadistic on screen. there were actually no instances of hordak attacking anyone, except for that one time in s4 when he attacked catra (which she 100% deserved).

whereas he did have moments of genuine kindness and compassion. he took adora in, when he had the choice to abandon her and leave her to her death. granted, he raised her as a child soldier in the horde, but she was alive thanks to him, nonetheless.

he takes care of imp as he would take care of a child. even when he gets angry, he rarely intentionally hurts people like catra did. the most he did was scream at them. which is not good either, mind you, but it's something that he could work on. it wasn't cruel and destructive like catra's temper.

he also treated entrapta with great care and respect. after a moment of fury, he quiets down and lets entrapta help him. when entrapta mentions in an offhand manner that she was also a defect (or something along that line, i forget), hordak was first concerned and then rightfully furious at whoever dared to demean her like that.

he needed a little push from imp but he expressed his gratitude towards entrapta and treated her as an equal from then on. he even risked his own physical health to protect entrapta. when catra sent entrapta to beast island and double trouble told him about it later on, hordak was ready to murder catra for daring to hurt the one person who understood and loved him.

later in s5, we see what exactly hordak went through at the hands of his creator. although like every other character, his trauma was pushed aside for catra's, you could still see how hard he had it. horde prime was worse than shadow weaver, when it came to abuse. and despite all that, hordak was still able to show kindness to a few people in his life.

of course, that doesn't erase everything he did to the people of etheria. it doesn't erase the toxic environment he created for the children in the horde. but i feel like a villain with some moments of compassion is a lot more promising than a villain who relentlessly hurts and tortures people, not showing even an ounce of regret.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

She Hates Yellow ~ Sandor Clegane x Stark!Reader

What a festive day this was - Most of the Stark children thought, dressing in their best clothes, and the girls having their hair done all pretty. Their parents were nervous for what was to come, and though few knew the truth behind the King and the whole retinue, including the Royal Family coming all the way up North, via the King's Road, Y/N was more than aware. Catelyn Stark found it atrocious - Entrusting Y/N, their oldest child, with such vital secrets... Who knew what could happen?

However, Ned was more lax in his parenting choices, and with his first child especially, his beloved little girl, he personally saw to her training and knew they were so much alike in their thinking and their high justice values. He was happy that he didn't take after him in looks, however - Her hair was long and beautiful, a striking scarlet shade of red that outshined both Cat and he'd even dare say Sansa as well, whose hair shone like copper in the light. Y/N's was unique, a dark red that almost looked like the blood moon on a crimson night.

He valued how silent she was, but when she spoke, only wisdom was heard. Though she did not care for the obvious lady mannerisms, she insisted that she picks about every skill that she could learn, saying that it may come of use, in some way. Ned sometimes wondered if he's so biased because she is his firstborn, or because she was special. For him, she was. For Catelyn, Bran was the favourite child, without a doubt. He felt awful, admitting to having a favourite child, but her and Arya reminded him so much of Lyanna that he couldn't help but cherish them so deeply and indulge in whatever passions they had.

Perhaps, this overprotective love comes for guilt - His little girl had married a Lord, only to immediately take her away from there, as soon as he found out how awfully he treated her. He did not believe in divorce - It was great shame - But also would not stand for having his child mistreated by some stranger.

A parent's greatest joy was the child's happiness - And a father feels most fulfilled when his son becomes a respectable and strong man, and his daughter finds safe haven in the arms of her husband and warmth in the harth of her new family.

When the retinue arrived, Y/N stood tall and proud to her father's side, keeping her noble and regal aura - He couldn't tell where he got this from, but she's always had an inapproachable, intimidating expression on her face, so it was no surprise that she kept most to herself - However, he, of all people, knew how kind and golden her heart was, and how she would do anything to keep her family safe and happy. Evidence on how she was always the peace maker between the siblings, mainly Arya and Sansa, and would take care of all of them equally well.

"Who is that one, daddy?" Lord Stark heard Y/N asking, nodding her head towards the one with the dog-like helmet.  "Looks like Ser Sandor Clegane. He is known as The Hound. He was assigned as Prince Joffrey's sworn shield. They say he is amongst the most powerful knights, although, I believe he didn't take his vows." her father explained to her. "That means the prince is lucky. A man who loves dogs is a man who is trustworthy... But why would anyone choose yellow as their House's flag? Awful." the young lady jest, and upon looking up, she noticed her father trying not to smile. "Thank you." he knew that his daughter had made a joke in poor taste, hoping to ease his nerves.

The King dismounted his horse and hastily marched their way - He looked Ned up and down and greeted him with an insult. The Stark Lord retaliated not with his words, but with his looks alone, before the two old best friends shared an embrace. He looked over each of the children and he complimented them for their strength, their beauty, their potential and what not. Robert Baratheon looked down at the easily confident look on Y/N's face and he let out an amused exhale. "This one, Ned - She has the potential to be a good Queen. I wonder, however, why is it that you said she was like Lyanna, when she looks like a Tully?" though he father was ready to speak, she cut him off before even a word could be uttered.

"Though I have the appearance of a Tully, and the love and loyalty for mine family to match any trout, my justice sense and mine words are true. I was born on a horse's back and have the wolf's blood surging through my veins. Apart from my father, you shall never meet a more just and fair Stark than me." her eyes never left the King's, yet her little speech seemed to earn a hard laughter, and she felt her shoulder being patted. "Aye, I get it, alright. Ned, this one is more like yourself than you are!" though after this supposedly joyful event, the King asked his old friend to take him to the crypt, no doubt to visit Lyanna's grave. With this, Catelyn had to entertain the Queen, and it fell to Y/N to take care of the children. Of course, the boys wanted to have a sparring match.

"Are you not exhausted, Your Grace?" Y/N looked over at Joffrey and his little brother, Tommen. "Of course not. If it is sparring, I can defeat any opponent, at any given time." the Prince stole a charming look at young Sansa, who smiled and looked down bashfully. Y/N wanted to rip his sleazy head right off, with her own two hands. "Very well." the girl nodded and went to the Sers of Winterfell to prepare the training grounds.

With Tommen being easily defeated by Bran, who sent the boy toppling over and struggling to get up, like a tortoise on its shell, Robb was able to defeat the elder Prince, who got angry and suggested using real swords and fight like knights. The one behind him, The Hound, whose helmet was now down, was perfectly alright with such an idea, wanting not only to abide to his Prince's wish, but to further anger the Young Wolf. Of course, the Sers of Winterfell knew better than to accidentally harm the Heir to the Throne and refused to allow Robb to fight with a real sword. The poor Young Wolf was so angry after being humiliated by the laughing blond Prince, that it could have almost been hilarious.

"My younger brother, Robb, is a strong young man, and the possibility of accidentally laying harm upon the Prince would lead to endless consequences to our House. However, if Your Grace would so desire, I believe we can arrive to a compromise. As your Dog so rightfully said -" the girl stole a piercing look to the disfigured towering man before the much smaller lad. "Wars are not won with sparring swords. Thankfully, we are not a war, and hopefully, our Houses will never have to maliciously fight one another. Thus, my compromise is - The next match shalt be fought with real swords, however, your next opponent, shall be me. That way, even if there is accidental harm, it will not have as much strength as if Robb were to swing his sword." but the young Lion's eyes bulged, perplex at the woman before him - What could this wench know about sword fight anyway? She looked attractive, yes, as was more a woman than Sansa, who was his own age - But that did not mean he would not harm her, even intentionally. Alas that would not be gallant of him, and his mother might scold him. What to do, what to do. "You could not possibly be afraid of a maiden's weak grip on a sword, would you, Your Grace?" she could see the Hound struggling to keep his mouth from forming an amused snarl, making him look even uglier.

"Of course I am not afraid - Only of harming a beautiful lady's skin, perchance. Very well, I suppose such a training could suffice, if you so insist. However, a lord stays true to his convictions and every fight is real - I will not be able to allow myself to go easy on you, even with you being a woman." the Hound offered him his sword, which he gripped with pride.

"I appreciate your convictions, Your Grace. I already feel safer, knowing that someone so fair and just would one day be the ruler of the Realms. Take thy stance, Your Grace." with the same stoic expression on her face, the woman garbed in that beautiful yet elegant with its own simplicity light blue dress moved aside her fur coat and revealed her longsword that reached her chest, if placed onto the ground. The handle was shining gold, and it had a large ruby embellished on it, and on top, a perfect mix of metals that made it look like fire. A Valyrian Steel sword like no other - The only sword forged specifically for a woman - Strong and slender. Gifted to her by her Uncle Benjen, who found it beyond The Wall - It was Dark Sister.

Y/N found it easy to parry off the Prince's blows, and even easier to find the edge of the blade to his neck, thus ending their match and earning the honour for House Stark - Though, she also earned enough scolding and blaming from the Young Lion - But it did not matter. This madness was stopped by their fathers who, once they left the crypt, went to check on their unruly children. "What happened here?" the King asked, seeing the sour look on his eldest child's face, and the non-chalant way in which Y/N cleaned her sword and sheathed it back to her hip.

"His Grace wanted to show his prowess - prove how much he's learnt in his swordsmanship journey. I was too afraid of allowing two young and promising young warriors fight each other with real swords, thus, I was to be the mediator and fight him. A young Prince must learn proper fighting techniques, but we must also focus on proper safety precautious." the young maiden spoke, bowing to the King as she spoke - Somehow, the way she did not mention any winner, pleased the Young Lion, who agreed with her - And escaped from a scolding as well.

"Harsh as steel, cold as ice. You Starks are something else. Let us go, the feast is underway." all children seemed to have forgotten any animosity, and they hurried behind their fathers like little ducklings - Everyone was ready for the feast.

Sitting at the table with the royal children, Y/N dearly wanted to escape - It was so loud and obnoxious, everyone was being so overly annoying, and she dearly wanted to know - How in the world could people tolerate children? Heavens forbid, she did not want to see any children, she truly hated them. Her family was enough to deal with, she needn't anything more than that.

With the lemon cake fiasco, Catelyn had Y/N put both Sansa and Arya to sleep, and Jeyne Poole followed her best friend - with the Lannister maid putting Myrcella to bed as well, she was now the only girl at the table - And heavens forbid, it was dreadful with so many battling egos with unbased ground.  

She rose from the table and went outside, to take a breath of fresh air - But the people outside were far merrier and louder than the ones inside, so she went even farther away, into the Godswood, followed by her red wolf, Meleys. Somehow, even though she never believed in Gods, she always felt more at peace in the warmth of the white and red, old forest.

But that peace did not last forever, as Meleys started snarling, consequence of a stranger approaching. With a lethargic laziness, Y/N turned her head to look at the newcomer, and she saw The Hound, towering over her like a mountain troll over a dwarf. "Surely, you are not here to pray." she offered a mock smirk.

"Only fools pray." he barked harshly. "I have been tasked with bringing you back to your room." "By whom?" the maiden raised her eyebrow in curiosity. "My parents stopped looking for me when they realised how often I went to find my peace in the forest."

"Unfortunately for you, missy, your mother wants you to pacify your siblings." this time, it was him making fun of the obvious distress voiced by an almost exasperated groan.

"Can they not just sleep away their disagreements?" she asked, not bothering to get up from the snow on the ground, and even throwing a dismissive hand in the air, to signify the insignificance of their battling childishness.

"Sometimes siblings are more of a bother than its worth, little fox." the man's nickname seemed to pique her interest.

"You would know all about siblings, would you not?" she asked, only to raise to her feet. "And what about me, except for my stature whilst standing next to you, reminds you of a little fox?" the girl asked, pacifying her wolf into calming down.

"Your silver tongue. Do you lie as well as you sweet talk?" the man barked an ugly laugh.

"I am proficient in neither - In fact, I do not like politicians. Mind you, if I was good, I would have been able to say that your Flag looks beautiful - And look convincing. However, as you can see, highlighted better by the moonlight - I cannot." she retorted easily to the man's words.

"A wolf hates dogs? Is it because they are supposed to be tame?" but the girl smirked at him wickedly.

"Yellow is the worst colour known to mankind." her reply made the man look down at her, bewildered by the response.

"The... Colour?" the man grumbled lowly, watching her nod silently. "That is the stupidest argument I ever heard."

"But it did amuse you, and it proved my point. Correct?" the girl's voice seemed triumphant, it was almost endearing, the man thought.

"You are one nasty little fox. And you should know - Nasty little foxes don't last long in King's Landing if they keep that attitude. They will get their tongue cut and their fur made into a damn fine pelt." the man's threat was a warning as well. 

"I can accept that, only if you are the one warming yourself with my very fluffy, warm and perfume-embedded fur. Alas, I can imagine you'd miss this vixen tongue you claim that I have." she shrugged simply. Sandor was taken with her deeply. He wanted to hear more of a snark - Or, perhaps, even better - He should arrange a battle of wits between her and The Imp. That, along with some good ale, should prove to be a fine evening. Great, now he wanted to get rid of that little princeling and go back to being shit-faced drunk in some tavern.

"Don't say those words to those fancy shit lords, little fox. They won't know the difference between jest and truth." the man warned once again, as he heard the girl's playful hum.

"I save it only for the more interesting ones." would it be frowned upon, grabbing her and having her against the tree, right then and there? "Would you count yourself as one... Ser?"

"You'd be wrong to call me any of that stupid shit." the man's growl was akin to a dog's snarling.

"Woof." she let out an empty laugh, taunting him, before hurrying and walking ahead. She dictated when the conversation is over, and for now, it was.

Though they did not interact again, for the few remaining days in Winterfell, they had to see each other daily on the road. The Hound, busy as he was, could always feel the teasing gaze on the back of his head - Yet if he turned, he wouldn't even catch the glimpse of her. When he did find her, however, she was engaged in what looked like rather amusing conversations with none other than the notorious Imp, who made the girl laugh - Girl, who, in turn, made him guffaw even harder. How? He could not tell. Smart people conversations, maybe. He cared for none of those. It's not like he cared, after all. No matter how intriguing or tempting having even a night spent with Lady Y/N, he knew it could never be. She was the Lady of Winterfell, a noble Stark, and she was probably betrothed to begin with. She was old enough for stupid shit like that.

Even so, none of those trivialities could stop him from recalling the alluring conversations shared. Laconic as she was, the sweet-poisoned way in which she spoke - No wonder she could charm even the Imp, who was renowned for his orator skills. He may be a drunk whore just like him, but what he lacked in warrior skills, he had smarts - It was the only perk he had.

The only thing he could do, at least, was to silently watch over her and offer her the protection she may or may not need - After all, who else but he knew best how atrocious the Lannisters truly were? Who else, but him, could know first hand the sadism that Prince Joffrey hid behind that Prince Charming facade which he put on because of his mother. He wasn't the Fair Knight from the sweet stories little maidens always fawned over. He was a monster. And once these wolf pups find out the truth, they may already be the lions' next meal.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder - Old as she may be compared to her siblings, was she also a victim to those love stories? Was she also hopelessly fawning over the Gallant knight Florian and jealously wishing to be in Jonquil's place? Was she also dreaming for miracles, like her little sister Sansa, who was walking willingly into the Lion's den, like a stupid little love sick doe.

And so it happened, when The Hound was dismissed, so that the Crown Prince could have a walk with his young maiden Lady Sansa, whilst Arya called her friend Mycah, the Butcher's boy, with whom she was sparring and playing around with wooden swords; their elder sister Y/N was supervising them from afar, but she was not alone, for the Imp was sitting by her side, a cup of wine in his hand.

The two were engaged in quite the conversation, counting the most interesting rumours about Old Valyria and what caused its doom - Meleys was sitting peacefully next to Tyrion, allowing him to pet her head, content that she could see her owner well, and protect her if needed. "I could never imagine that I would ever, in this life, have the privilege of seeing a direwolf, let alone pet one so docile. Might I say, even the stories don't do them justice. Though I have been able to admire yours the most, all the others were just as beautiful." the Dwarf spoke, looking down at the pup who flicked her ears lazily.

"Count your blessings, Lord Tyrion. Meleys is, after all, the most beautiful of them all. But don't tell Sansa I said that, she would get upset." the girl chuckled lightly, extending her hand to scratch her lovely companion under her chin. 

"May I ask why did you choose that name for her?" the man asked. "Heard by a capricious Lord, they might accuse you of treason."

"I know." she nodded solemnly. "But Meleys was known as the Red Queen. She was, in her prime, the fastest dragon during the Dance of the Dragons, and in light, she shone bright scarlet and coppery. What other name could honour my sweet pup's beauty... As well as mine own?" the girl smirked cunningly. "Besides... Lady Rhaenys Targaryen was known as the Queen who never was - Yet she still maintained her regal grace and wisdom about her. She did not need a title to define her greatness, just as I, as well, do not need any status, wealth, nor fame to define mine worth." Y/N continued to explain. "Moreover... Arya named her wolf Nymeria - I don't need to explain why she chose such a name, do I?" she hid her amusement by sipping more wine.

"I see - I should have known. My Lady, you are rather inspired. I wish more people thought like you - Alas, people's worth is merely defined by beauty, wealth, fame and status alone. Good people are trampled over and used to their last drop." the man sighed, daring, for even one second, to dream of a better life, when his nickname wouldn't be 'The Imp' alone.

"Then you better surround yourself with worthy, trusted people, My Lord. Everyone else is a liar. Most often, even our own selves." though, as soon as she uttered that, Arya's desperate shriek made the three jolt up and run that-a-way. 

"Arya, what happened?!" Y/N asked, her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to kill whoever dared touch her sweet sister. Instead, they saw a worried Sansa in the back, and Joffrey, with his sword out, cutting the cheek of poor Mycah. 

"Nephew, what is the meaning of this?" Tyrion asked - But he earned no reply, for Arya, due to her impulsivity and fear of having her friend tortured even more, took the stick she was sparring with and hit the Prince, allowing the Butcher's boy to run away. In his angry frenzy, the blond lion started swinging his sword around aimlessly, cursing the young girl and chasing her around, until Arya tripped and fell on the ground. "JOFFREY, STOP!" Tyrion yelled at the Prince, who pointed his sword to the girl's neck. 

"I WILL GUT YOU LIKE A FISH - CUNT!" seeing how blinded the Prince was, Y/N was ready to tackle Joffrey to the ground, only to have Nymeria leap from behind a bush and she bit his sword hand, making him fall to the ground, dropping the weapon.

"What a mess." Y/N cursed under her breath, as Meleys started growling at Nymeria, who was shorter than her, and she lead her away. Arya quickly swooped up Joffrey's sword and she pointed it at the frightened, bleeding Prince grovelling on the ground pathetically.

"No - Please, no-- Please, don't." the two-faced Prince begged. The young Stark looked at her elder sister, who nodded solemnly at her - Thus, she threw the sword in the river and ran away with her wolf.

"O, Lord Tyrion, I smell a lot of trouble to come." Lady Y/N muttered, looking with horror at the humiliated Prince. Sansa crouched desperately to his side, attempting to comfort and emphatise with him.

"O, my prince, my poor prince - Look what they've done to you. I'll go back to the inn and bring help." but as she reached her hand out to caress his cheek, the boy snarled at the fair maiden. "Don't touch me."

"I very much agree, My Lady." the Lord sighed as he went to his nephew and dragged him up, before taking him back to the camp.

The Stark children were thus brought, along with their father, in front of the King, who was sat on a throne, and the Queen was glaring them up, next to her very much offended son, with the bandaged wrist. Robert Baratheon had a stern look on his face, as he assessed all three of Ned's offsprings, before sharing a short look with his oldest best friend. His first mistake was to ask Sansa to speak, as she was there, having a stroll with Joffrey.

Alas, the two young girls started physically fighting, which made Y/N yell at them sternly to stop. "ENOUGH!" what Ned often couldn't do, Y/N could. Ned could never hit his children - It hurt him too much to even scold them, let alone hit them. But Y/N was their sister. Y/N was stern, and she knew just how harsh she had to be, to make a statement. Y/N roughly grabbed the shoulders of the two girls, pulling them apart, before slapping their cheeks. "You do not quarrel like children before the king. Now stay quiet unless you are spoken to." Sansa knew Y/N better than Arya, she thought, seeing that she was older and spent more time with her. That is why, Sansa knew very well, that she could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times Y/N truly got angry enough and had to brutally separate two siblings after a fight. Unfortunately, it was usually between herself and Arya - She never seemed to have such a problem with the boys... Unless Theon did something remarkably stupid.

"Your Grace, I and my father deeply apologise for their unseeming behaviour. As their elder sister, and the one tasked with watching over them, please, punish me however you see fit." the Stark girl knelt before the King humbly. She knew very well that, not only Robert Baratheon favoured her for allegedly reminding him of his late beloved Lyanna, thus, she hoped she could try and manipulate him into seeing the truth behind the lies. That... And she had Tyrion's alibi, and hopefully, it would work in her favour.

"She's as wild as that animal of hers, she needs to be punished." Cersei glared at young Arya - But the King raised his tone at her, reproaching the Queen.

"What would you have me do, whip her through the streets?!" he sneered at her. "Damn it. Children FIGHT! It's over." the man rolled his eyes, annoyed by having to pacify such a ridiculous situation. Being King was a drag, and being a father was equally terrible.

"Joffrey will bare those scars for the rest of his life." Cersei glared at her husband.

"You let that little girl disarm you?" the King looked with disappointment at his son. In the back, his younger brother, Renly, was laughing his heart out, mocking the Prince for his incompetence. "Take him out of here." the King waved his hand dismissively. "You. Tell me what happened. Get up." with a not so harsh voice, the King motioned for Y/N to get up and speak.

"Although we do not know the entire story, Your Grace, I and Lord Tyrion were there to watch over Arya and her friend, the Butcher's boy, who were sparring with wooden sticks by the river." the girl began her story.

"Lord Tyrion, ey? Then he is also a witness for this mess?" the King asked, having the Imp walk over.

"Yes, Your Grace." the little man nodded. "I and Lady Y/N were engaged into a deep conversation, a little away from the two little ones playing, before we heard Lady Arya screaming. Once we arrived, we saw Prince Joffrey cutting the Butcher's boy with his sword. Lady Arya used her stick to hit the Prince, allowing the boy to escape, but Joffrey started swinging at her. When his sword was pointing at her, her wolf went to attack the Prince, and disarmed him. The way I see it, the wolf merely acted in any way a dog does - Defending its owner." the look of hatred and scorn on the Queen's face was enough to show how displeased she was with the unwanted testimony.

"So you really let a young girl disarm you. With a wooden stick. Enough. I don't want to hear any more of this. Ned, you discipline your child, and I will do the same with mine." the King got up from his throne, as if to end the conversation.

"What about the direwolf?" Cersei snarled awfully through her teeth. "What of the beast that savaged your son?"

"We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace." one of the knights spoke.

"So be it." the King wanted to let the matter go away and drink his problems away.

"You have two other wolves." Cersei spoke, wanting revenge.

Hearing such vengeful malevolence, Y/N threw herself at Robert Baratheon's feet at once. "Your Grace, I beg of you, do not kill our wolves. They have been as close to us, as our own siblings, since we rescued them, as pups. If it is the act of self-defense the matter, then, by all means, I am willing to have mine own wolf savage me the same as Nymeria did to Prince Joffrey. And if the Queen, Her Grace, wants to see no more wolf, then I will chase them away - We are still close to Winterfell. They can find their way home, to their kin. We were wrong to bring our companions with us - A direwolf's home is the North - It's the forest - Not a highly populated city. I beg of you, your Grace. Have mercy on us, for we love them as much as we love each other." Y/N knelt desperately before the King, pleading and bowing all the way to the ground. She could not imagine ever forgiving herself, or anyone else, should Meleys, Lady or Nymeria be killed. For her family, she would even humiliate herself to such degree.

"Y/N, raise up and look at me - " the King helped the young lady up, speaking in a softer voice. Though she did not have the features of Lyanna Stark, her deep devotion for her family and courage to stand up not on her behalf, but for her kin - She truly was her Aunt's niece. "You are a lady. It is one for a man to have scars, and another for an unmarried lady. You are aware of the implications, aren't you?" he tried to scare her off, but her gleaming eyes and the ambition, passion and love in her beautiful orbs melted his last remaining resolve.

"I will order my wolf to even rip my arm off, if it would please Her Grace and atone for our misbehaving - As long as the wolves live. I cannot imagine our soul kin dying, nor do I wish for my sweet, young sisters to encounter such grief at an early age." the King groaned loudly and shook his head. Watching the tears of conviction and bravery well up in those crystal eyes of hers, innocent and pure, only drew flashbacks of Lyanna before his vision. He was done with all this. He needed those bloody drinks, and he needed his best friend urgently.

"Fine, fine. Chase off the wolves. I don't want to see them anymore." the King put his hand on Ned's shoulder and dragged him away from the tent - It was already late evening, and he was getting tired of being a King. 

"Sister, won't you let Lady Stark go already? It was no one's fault that the accident happened." Tyrion tried to pacify his sister, but it only made things worse.

"I don't need any words from your filthy liar tongue, Tyrion." her eyes almost bulged with hatred. "I will have someone punished for what happened to my son!" her voice boomed loudly - But another entered the tent. It was The Hound.

"The butcher's boy has been caught and killed, Your Grace." he spoke, but it did not please the Queen.

"Then, if it will offer any consolation for Her Grace, I will do as I have promised." Sandor was confused as to what the young lady was saying, or why she went on the ground, waiting obediently, as if she was lowering her collar to accept beheading.

"Clegane - Bring the red wolf over. Keep a tight hold on it. We don't want more accidents, do we?" the sneer she spit made the Hound simply conform to her words, albeit, not without his gaze lingering onto the red head who knelt with a stone face.

"Y/N, what are you doing? Are you insane? You are a lady! What will your Lord husband say when he sees those scars?!" Sansa cried out, sobbing, with Arya holding onto her.

"Luckily, I have no Lord husband, and even if I did, he should live with the idea that a Prince is not to be brought to harm by any means, under no circumstance - Those who do must face the consequences of their own actions." both Sansa's and Arya's blood froze in their veins - Those words weren't only to please the Queen, but to warn them. Y/N's eyes were fixated on them, and they held no emotion. Both girls would have preferred to get a beating or a scolding - But this... This was excruciatingly painful.

Clegane brought the large red wolf - And thankfully, most people ran from the tent. "Meleys, issa jorrāelagon." Tyrion realised it was High Valyrian she was speaking with. Most noble children were taught that language when they were children, albeit, few actually want to bother with it. No wonder the one naming her wolf over a creature that only responds to Valyrian-spoken orders would fluently speak the language of old. "Māzigon kesīr." the wolf tugged at the leash and went to sit besides her owner. Looking at the two, he realised how much they looked alike. Same hair, same eyes - And the invisible bond between those two was so evident, that it almost made his little heart break.

Sandor looked down as he felt a small, gentle hand over his - And he allowed the leash into her hand. Y/N's other arm was extended. Unlike the Imp, the Hound couldn't understand her broken words - yet the emotion behind them was enough. "Angogon." but the wolf looked at her owner and whimpered. "Meleys. Angogon." Tyrion knew that the girl was ordering her beloved wolf to bite her, and the animal was confused and afraid - How could she hurt the person she loved the most? The one she's supposed to protect?

Y/N sighed. "Arya, come over." Arya knew Y/N's secret - Y/N was a warg. In fact, she claimed all the siblings were wargs, and she tried to teach and help them actively bond with their wolves, yet it did not work as well as expected. Still, Arya went behind Y/N and held her shoulders, in case she lost composure and her body fell to the side. It only happened twice, but better safe than sorry. Y/N looked down, her hair covering her face - And now, she could see her own self, through her wolf's very eyes.

The graveyard silence of the tent was broken by the snarling sound of the wolf biting her owner's arm, chewing at it - Her snout was bloody, as well the arm and the ground. Blood stained the sleeve of the ripped dress. The wound would have hurt much worse if Y/N wasn't warged, but she stepped back and then sat down, as the wolf, before she went back into her own consciousness. She bit her lip hard, now feeling the full searing agony electrocuting her entire arm. She felt the iron on her tongue, but did not as much as whimper - Yet she could feel wetness wash her cheeks. Her body was reacting on its own to the agonizing pain afflicting her arm. "Avy jorrāelan, Meleys. Avy jorrāelan. Ao issi nykeā sȳz hāedar." Tyrion looked down, unable to see Y/N patting and praising her remorseful wolf, confused as she was - He could not bare to see the blood falling even still on the ground - The sweet declarations of love towards her companion were bittersweet enough as they were. Sometimes - In fact, very often - He truly hated how merciless his family was. 

"Dismissed." Cersei growled, dragging her son out of the tent. 

"You may raise, Lady Y/N." the girl nodded simply, trying to mask the trembling of her figure as she stood up. She must not have been aware at first, but from the anguish her body felt after the gnawing, the leash had fallen from her grasp. Were it not for Clegane holding tightly onto it, who knows what a worried wolf would have done to protect her master.

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion." her voice was soft and barely audible, and her arm was trembling, yet she wasn't clutching on it. Instead, her good hand went to take ahold of the leash - But Clegane wasn't letting go. He was looking down at the little fox, unsure of what to do. He wasn't there to know the fate of the wolves, yet he desperately wanted to just let her go. Was this her own doing, or did the Queen order it? A normal lady would despair at having the tiniest flaw on her body, let alone her whole forearm mutilated in such a way. That won't perfectly heal, no matter what revolutionary, miracle medicine the Maesters give her. Lady Y/N looked absolutely pitiful, Sandor thought; she looked so small and broken, so vulnerable and afraid... This little fox cub was going to end up as food if she continues to offer up her fur to save her siblings - And dear as she may be for him, there is little a stupid guard dog can do to protect a fox kit from a whole pack of rabid, starving lions.

"You may release her." he did not let go, even feeling that small hand over his, trying to dig the leather leash from his strong grip. Somehow, even without seeing her face, covered by the curtain of carmine velvet hair, he could feel the rising rage bubbling in her heart. "LET HER GO, MUTT!" her head snapped up, and she snatched the leash, stepping away from him - The hard glare on her face shocked Clegane. From the mischievous little vixen, to a broken, bitter noble lady. Blood for blood, a wound for a wound. She protected her siblings in her detriment, but to what extent can her life stretch out and save everyone? He dearly hoped he wouldn't find out the answer - Those tears were enough to make him forget how to speak or even think straight. He hadn't realised how awful he felt, watching the broken porcelain doll before him - Nor how protective he suddenly felt over her.

"Let her go, Clegane. The wolves are her responsibility now." Sandor needn't be told twice, as he watched the girl get out of the tent. He stared down at the Imp, and marched out as well. From the corner of his eye, he saw, in the distance, the three Stark sisters and their father, surrounded by the three wolves. They looked like a proper family. Pity it had to be broken.

In life, there are only two types of families - Those who are dysfunctional to the core from the very beginning, his own life being the best example - And those perfect, loving families, much like the Starks, who end up torn apart by the ruthless cruelty of the former category. Bitter as he may be, Sandor Clegane wished not to harm any of those innocent fools, especially these little ladies who have been so perfectly safe from any worry and danger, and think life to be truly beautiful and worth living. Somehow, his heart was alit with a burning need of protecting their innocence - The innocence taken away from himself and his sister, the hope that was robbed from him all these years ago - All because of his own brother.

Far into the forest, Y/N, with a heavy heart and a pained arm, warged into her wolf again, and lead her two wolf sisters away from there. Better away than dead. Hopefully, they will find a pack to lead, or go back home. Either way, it was fine. But Y/N was done with her sisters for a while. Though she could not condemn them - Joffrey was a jerk, and his mother, even more so - Things were going to be trouble. "Daddy - Is there no way to return back to Winterfell?" Y/N asked, almost as if she was resigned with her imminent death.

"No, my dear... Unfortunately... No." Ned sighed and hugged his eldest daughter, kissing the top of her head. Neither of them imagined it would be one of their last tender father-daughter moments. "Let's get that wound looked after." but she stepped away.

"I'll wrap it myself. Please take care of these two. They need you more." Ned watched Y/N turn and walk away, before turning his sight to his youngest daughters, still shaken up. Not only was she afraid for them, due to their childish outbursts and lack of understanding of proper high court etiquette and political manners - He was even more afraid that Y/N would end up taking all the blame on herself, to protect her two foolish sisters. She changed so much after that marriage... She became so self-sacrificing that it pained him, as a father, for indirectly causing this shift; From an impishly playful and haughty little lady, to the wise woman with the bitter and nostalgic smile of an old crone weathered by countless winters.

Y/N went back to the river, away from the nosy people. The river was part of her inner peace, after all. Half a Tully of Riverrun, on the side of her mother, she always felt comfort in the sound of the rapid water breaking over the stones. When she wasn't seeking the calm of the Godswood, she would listen to the lullaby of the rivers running wild.

Oh, how she missed her mother - Her heart ached, looking towards the clean water, lost in thought. How they would go by the river and play barefoot in the water, or make flower crowns for the family together; How they would embroider pretty dresses, or recite old poems that Cat was taught by her own mother, and even her grandmother. She would tell her stories about her little misadventures and mischief with her sister, Lysa, who was now the Lady of the Eyrie, a castle high up into the mountains that made you feel as if you were floating up onto the fluffy clouds. And on the rarest occasions, Y/N would listen, with the widest grin on her face, about her romantic moments with her father. He may be a little clumsy when it comes to love and the hearts of women, but he was always gallant and attentive with her mother; They truly loved each other. Y/N didn't need the ballads and stories of beautiful maidens and brave knights falling in love flawlessly, at first sight - She wanted a caring and tender love story like that of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully; Flawed as it may be, at least it was real. She needn't the most charming or gallant man, nor a poet or a scribe - But a man who would protect her and treat her with such care, as if she was a frail little snowdrop amidst the snow.

Her reverie day-dreaming was broken, as the loud clanking of heavy armor approached her. Though it was now dark outside, as the night he found her in the Woods in Winterfell, the Hound's towering form appeared in front of her. "Hello, dog. Are you here to seek the apology that you rightfully deserve? Or, mayhaps either of the offended Graces wanted more revenge on the, to quote, 'stupid cunt', who humiliated the little, defenseless princeling?" that sharp bitterness would have been amusing, were it not for the implication. However, Sandor remained silent for a while. He went on one knee and took the girl's injured arm - Carefully as a crystal doll, and he washed it away, before wrapping it up. His touch was gentle as no one would expect, but the wound still burnt in agony, causing the maiden to instinctively attempt to remove her arm from the on-going pain with a soft whimper.

He did not apologise for causing her pain, but she needn't an apology for it anyway. Instead, it was her who apologised. "I hate you for killing an innocent boy." she said, out of the blue. "But a dog is a dog. Fiercely loyal until the very end. It was not for you to disobey." she continued. "Forgive me for insulting you. You did not deserve an insult - Lest of all, for doing your job." the man stared her in the eye, conflicted at what to say. Then, he saw the stray tear, possibly escaped because of the wound, and he took a rag from his pocket, wiping it away as gently as he could.

"No need to apologise to me, girl." he grumbled lowly. "You more than paid for whatever happened." she said nothing - But the way she looked at him was amusing - She wanted to strike him down where he stood. "I know what you're thinking. Don't. Say one wrong word and you might get your head put on a spike."

"Of course. I cannot trust a dog which is not loyal to me. Nor can I trust a wolf that is greener than me. And you wonder why I dislike speaking." the maiden scoffed, removing her arm from his hold once he finished wrapping it up. "Thank you - Ser." she emphasised the last word, knowing it would irritate him.

"I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows." the man spit on the ground.

"I know. That's why I taunted you." she retorted easily. "If you don't accept my apology, then that's fine. You hold 'Dog' as a compliment, rather than an insult. Smart. The connotation, however - Differs on who it is that calls you that. It might serve as a term of endearment for some."

"I like dogs better than knights... A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And the hound will look you straight in the face." perhaps it was a way of intimidating the girl, but Sandor leaned closer to the younger girl, his eyes dead set on her.

But she did not back down - Instead, she leaned forward, and she smirked like an enticing vixen. She was so close to his face - So close that he could feel her breath on his face; And those plump lips of hers, soft and beautiful, were tempting him so bad. "Before or after I'm dead?" Sandor wanted to reach his hands out and grab her face, smashing his lips against her own - Pink and wet, like a rose petal bathing in the morning dew. It was almost like she was begging him to kiss her.

"You have a death wish, little fox?" the man growled lowly, almost resembling a dog.

"No more than you do."

Their stay in King's Landing, albeit luxurious, and with enough maids to care for them, was awful. No matter what, the only reason they were still fine, was because their father was still alive, and with the uncanny influence as the Hand of the King. She could not imagine how stressed he was feeling every day he woke up and realised the corruption and injustice crawling through every corner of this God forsaken place.

Though she couldn't spend time with Clegane, being the Prince's sworn shield and constantly by his side - Tyrion was another story altogether. The witty little imp was great to spend the time with, so at least, whenever she was drinking and laughing with him, she felt as close to the word 'safe' as she could possibly feel in the capital city of Westeros. But Tyrion's word meant nothing, in front of the Queen or the Prince, so from how much could he protect her, before she gets her head on a spike, as the dog said?

The very first great festivity to be held in King's Landing was Joffrey's Name's Day Tourney - Many knights from all over Westeros have gathered forth, joining the jousting competition. Though from Winterfell, no knight was able to get too far down the brackets, they still fought valiantly, and were praised. Ser Loras Tyrell, Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Gregor Clegane, Sandor's very own elder brother, went farthest into the competition. The charming lion even defeated Barristan the Bold, as their father called him - What a great and true knight the old one is!

Alas, during the semi-finals, Ser Loras was to fight The Mountain. The Knight of the Flowers went to gift Sansa a rose before doing a pretty courtesy in front of the King, who allowed the beginning of the match. Loras was riding a white, pristine clean, beautiful mare, and he was dressed in shining silver-like armor, making his radiating, prince-like handsomeness even more highlighted. Sansa's face was as red as the rose she was gifted, looking at the dashing young boy, old as Robb and Jon. On the other end of the court, dressed in all black, on a black stallion, The Mountain, towering over all, was fixing that ugly, yellow shield, with a single black dog painted on it.

It was a scary match, Y/N though, gripping instinctively the hilt of Dark Sister - It was a bad habit she had to break, whenever she was nervous. She was a lady, and she couldn't go around with a sword so leisurely anymore - Not in King's Landing. This was, at least, an exception, especially as she hid it with her cloak so well. At a tourney, everyone had a weapon! "Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him." Sansa, afraid for the beautiful boy, clinged to both her father's and her sister's arms, her gaze fixed on the knight. A bit more, and she might have been forgetting how to breathe. "He's going to die!"

"Ser Loras rides well." Ned reassured his sweet girl.

"Daddy, if you were there, you could have defeated them all." Y/N grinned childishly at her two family members. Unfortunately, neither of them were paying attention.

As the trumpet sang, the two knight galloped towards one another - And to everyone's erupting glee, the feared Mountain toppled over from his horse, down on the ground, bringing down the fragile wooden fence with him. Y/N jolted to her feet - She smelt trouble - She looked back, and saw the Hound. He felt her gaze, and looked straight back. Though perfectly stoic, Y/N could almost feel even his nervousness. Sandor might be a dog, but Gregor as a whole damn mountain - Bigger, stronger, and far scarier. The man could see the anxiety surging through her veins - Was she afraid for the charming knight? Did she fall in love with him and his beauty, like all the other maidens watching? Still - Her gorgeous eyes were pooling with terror.

In an instant, she looked back at the court. "Daddy, the Mountain is going to kill Loras Tyrell." she found herself uttering in an eerie tone. Gregor picked up his sword and beheaded his own poor horse, while Loras was doing courtesies. It wasn't surprising for his brother, but the action startled even the otherwise level-headed Y/N, the dog noted. Everyone gasped, watching the huge man strike the knight from his horse, and even try to slash him, while he was on the ground - Luckily, he blocked it with a shield. That was no knight behaviour, and definitely not something to show during a sacred festivity.

Y/N felt her heart beating fast - On the ground, she did not see Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, the sweet, dashing boy from Highgarden; Not anymore. She saw Robb Stark, the young wolf. She saw Jon Snow, her shy brother. Her family. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" the foolish, reckless, absolutely idiotic girl jumped the protective fence from the stands and used Dark Sister to block a well-aimed blow to the boy's face. Clegane thought the girl had a death wish - Was she fucked in the head, to go against the bloody Mountain? Was she that desperately in love with that young boy that she'd give away her life, for his own? Regardless of the reason, even he couldn't help but worry for the foolish lady.

Her arms were trembling, and she couldn't hold her own against this outlandish brute strength, but at least she was happy to have spared the boy - Temporarily, at least. "YOU ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF THE KING AND PRINCE JOFFREY - STOP THIS UNSIGHTLY BEHAVIOUR AT ONCE!" but the Mountain did not listen. He was deaf and blind to anything but his rage. "Loras, get up, now!" she spoke, stepping back and parrying one more of his blows. Y/N was sure her arms would fall off, and were it not for her sword being forged from Valyrian steel, she could have sworn it would break from his brute strength, and the barely healed wound on her forearm would spill over with blood and flesh and bits of bone all over the ground.

The third strike was the last, and she was on her back - For a split moment, she remembered how Bran defeated Tommen and sent him to the ground, struggling like a turtle on its shell. Seeing the man raise his longsword to strike somewhere between herself and Loras, she heard the boy call to her. "Duck!" and the two rolled away from the blow. 

Stupid girl, going out of her way to fight death himself. What the hell is in that empty head of hers? She goes out of her way to seduce him, and now, she's shielding another. Y/N and Loras looked like two children, dirty and playing in the sand, only to get bullied by the awful Mountain. Screw him and his stupid brain, and his stupid eroded heart and his stupid fucking morals. "LEAVE THEM BE!" a familiar, rough voice called out, and another man, wearing black, leapt from the stands to parry another swing from the Mountain. Sandor Clegane was shielding Lady Stark, who was on the ground. She looked up at his grand form, struggling to push his gargantuan brother away from the two idiots. Y/N and Loras dragged each other up quickly, scurried next to one another, defending themselves behind his shield and her sword, yet also watching the immaculate fight between the two brothers.

Whilst the Tyrell knight wanted to one day have the Hound's otherwordly sword skill; Y/N felt her heart go crazy with mad love. That man had no reason to go out of his way and face the worst man known to Westeros, and coincidently, his own worst fear - Yet, there he was, protecting her, and fighting off his mad brother. Y/N was striken dizzy with such an intense adoration for Sandor Clegane, like she's never thought possible.

Stupid Joffrey and everyone else only watched the altercation unfold - Were they all dumb? Were they perhaps too stunned by the dance of death? Or were they screaming, yet their shrieks were deaf to those in the ring? "STOP THIS MADNESS, IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" that, however, everyone heard, as Robert Baratheon rose from his throne and his voice roared and thundered throughout the place. The hound kneeled to bend his knee to the King while simultaneously dodging a fatal blow from his brother.

Y/N's hand was desperately clutching on her chest, trying to stop her beating heart from escaping her chest, while her other hand was shaking terribly, clasped around the hilt of her sword. The stupid Stark girl stole a glance at her father - He almost had collapsed from worry, but at least was now relieved she was unharmed. She will explain to him later, the reason for her absolute foolishness. Sansa, too, felt at ease, seeing no one die - Though the shock from the horse's brutal death still weighed heavy on her. She saw Gregor throw away his sword in disgust, and walk away. What a disgusting, unsightly creature. However, Sandor Clegane was his complete opposite. He was faithfully kneeling on one knee, his hands on the hilt of the sword impaled into the ground, and head was down, in respect and loyalty for his King. Y/N had never thought she would ever see someone like him in such a light - However, her heart beat faster, seeing him so humble. He was the only one who got out of his way to protect Loras, a literal child, against his own brother, the most feared Knight of Westeros.

Sandor Clegane was one of the only men that Y/N would call a true Knight.

Looking up, The Hound saw that he could rise - And so he did, yet his head was still hung. Though both young ones still in the ring had trembling legs like flowers in the spring breeze, they made their way towards the Knight who saved them. "I owe my life to you, Ser. And you, My Lady - Thank you to the both of you." though Y/N was too absorbed by shock to speak, Sandor simply spat in bitterness. He truly hated all this unnecessary attention brought to him. "I'm no Ser." Loras grabbed the Hound's hand and brought it up on the sky, declaring him the winner. Y/N smiled, and began clapping - The rest followed. The man, however, was glaring deeply at everyone. 

"Just accept the appreciation, dog." Sandor looked down at the girl, and he wanted to snark her - But that smile. That smile stopped him. It was sweet, and her eyes were sparkling. For a few seconds, he felt as though that dreamy and pure adoration was addressed to him. He loved that thought, be it real or not.

He hated seeing her afraid, like when her life was threatened by his own brother, and he hated seeing her angry, like during the Joffrey incident. He hated seeing her wounded, as with the wound on her arm, and he hated seeing her crying, having seen her cheeks wet with tears.

The dog loved, however, those witty one liners of hers, and the cunning philosophies she spoke of. He loved hearing her conversations with the Imp, although he got jealous, because they were always so clever and tricky. He loved seeing that smirk of hers, as she taunted or mocked him. And he adored that love she held for her family and how she nurtured them all with all her heart.

However, what Sandor Clegane loved, more than anything, was that genuine, innocent smile that. It was all for him. His dear little fox.

But now came the bad part of being the 'hero' as those foolish maidens would call him now. He had to participate in the farce of a tourney. 

Watching the girl take back her seat next to her sister and father, and them hugging her tightly - She seemed to have a guilty expression on her face - But they forgave her for making them worry. That was family. Loving and forgiving each other. Not what his brother did. Killing their father. Killing their sister. Melting half of his face in the brazier. 

Monster.

Sandor's first joust was against the King's own brother, Renly Baratheon, whom he easily defeated, and next, he had to fight the Queen's brother, Jaime Lannister for the semi-finals. A man came over to him with a basket full of flowers. He cursed him off, but the man insisted that he HAD to gift a woman the flower. If he wasn't so done with life, he would have shoved that rose down his nose, watching him bleed to death. But out of respect and loyalty for the King, he kept himself in check, begrudgingly snatching that stupid flower. It was blood red, but thorny. Sandor climbed on his dear horse, Stranger, and all the way to the stands, he absent-mindedly removed the thorns from its stem until he got in front of the beautiful Stark girl with red hair. He extended his hand over, but did not directly face her - Only from the corner of his eye, to get a feel of her feelings regarding his weird gesture. "Here, little fox. Tradition - Or whatever horse-shit some fool spat."

He felt the flower being slowly taken away from his hand, yet he did not, at first, see the demure, bashful expression on her face, nor that sweet blush. For what felt like an eternity, but were merely a few seconds, the girl did not speak - Thousands of fitting replies were running through her head. All of them, appropriate for any other person.

But Sandor Clegane was not just any other person. "Woof." the girl was struggling not to grin from ear to ear, amused beyond belief by her own sick sense of humour. The man, however, snapped his head at her and glared hard - Though his heart melted, watching that joyous innocence - And it was addressed his way. He barked, rough and raspy, before going to his end of the ring.

"Not exactly a prince charming..." Sansa looked skeptical, and slightly disgusted. She wished only the best for her sister - And the Hound was not the handsome knight she wanted Y/N to fall in love with. Clearly, in no way, that monster of a man could be gentle and caring with a noble lady, lest of all, Y/N - Right?

"He may not look as handsome as Loras, Sansa - But his heart is in the right place. More or less." the girl chuckled, watching the dog miraculously taking down the Lannister Lion. "I would choose him, over all knights across Westeros, and beyond." Sansa couldn't comprehend the weirdness of her statement; Perhaps she was still shaken up after all the insane things she did in the jousting court.

The final, however, did not take place, as Loras Tyrell yielded before the match could begin - He did not want to fight the man who saved his life - Thus, Sandor Clegane had won the Jousting Tourney held on the Name's Day of Prince Joffrey. The feast at night was what everyone was truly waiting for - But Arya refused to participate, and Sansa and Jeyne were hovering over the lemon cakes and gossiping about the pretty knights. Y/N had no babysitter job, so she went looking for Sandor. Half of her expected him to be drinking his victory away at the feast - The other, to stay by Joffrey's side. None were true. She found the man drinking all by himself, at the end of the feast, having growled and snarled away any drinking companion. 

Smirking to herself, Y/N nonchalantly stepped to the very end of the feast, and she stood in front of him. She hoped she would be towering over him, while he was sitting, the same way he always shades her with his height. Alas - He was far too tall, either way. "You have fought valiantly today, good Ser." the man growled in annoyance. 

"Must I bite you, to make you stop calling me that?" he seemed genuinely disgusted by the idea of being called a knight.

"O, my, Ser~. Court me first, before you speak of such indecent implications." the man snapped his head up, and looked straight into her beautiful eyes. His beard was wet from all the ale he spilled on himself while drinking his sorrows away.

"That is a very dangerous thing to say to a drunk man, little fox." the man warned, only to see the enigmatic grin on her face.

"I am saying it to you - Not to any drunk man." she giggled, a nasty impish grin on her face, watching him get riled up so easily. "Ever since I left the North, my sense of self-preservation has been completely depraved. Mayhaps I am in need of a loyal hound to protect me, when I cannot." he took a sharp inhale.

"You intentionally got yourself in front of my brother's sword. I'd say 'depraved' is too light a word. Nonexistent is a better fit." the girl looked away, a guilty smile on her face, before she sighed.

"Loras is the same age as Robb and Jon. I did not see Loras there. I saw Robb. I saw Jon." Sandor's heart dropped. The little fox wasn't in love with Loras - She was so madly protective over her younger brothers, that she ended up shielding another female's cubs. He thought all women were the same - Damsels in distress, afraid, frail and so on. But he was wrong. The little fox may be all that, but she's also fierce and with such a strong love for her family, that she would do anything. Now he felt guilty for thinking ill of her.

"I'm not saying what I did was not stupid. It was. If it were not for you, both myself and Loras would have died out there." she admitted, and the man was soberly attentive. "But my siblings are too innocent. They are still children. They did not see how awful the world can be. I want to protect them and that innocence of theirs, for as long as I can. I want to see them happy." she explained, taking out the rose and twirling it around her fingers. "Don't think me altruistic - I am doing it for myself. I live vicariously through them. My happiness comes from their happiness." she smiled bitterly, further confusing the dog. "You can call me all synonyms existent for the word - Stupid - And I will accept them. But that erases naught how strongly I feel about protecting my kin... And..." she bruskly turned in front of the man, and extended the flower intimately towards him. "That even though you cast away the title, you are one of the very few people, in a sea of knights, who deserves that title. And, whether it means anything to you or not, you have earned by deep respect and appreciation." the man was speechless for a while, but then he slapped away her hand. 

"What do you think a knight is for, girl? You think it's all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate? Knights are for killing." the man snarled at her, a look of self-hatred on his face. Drinking always made him even more of a bitter and eroded man than he already was.

"I think black suits you rather well - Although, I would want to see you in shining silver, or elegant gold." she did not let go of the rose. "Knights are for killing, yes, but today, the knight before me used his power to protect me."

"There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different. Today, you should have died. You just got lucky. Same as that other lad. Woman, child, elderly or man - None of these matter, in the eyes of a killer." he reprimanded the girl harshly, yet she only seemed to smile at him - That smile was defiant of his words.

"I don't believe in Gods, nor altruism. I believe not in humanity, nor the genuine good of mankind. I have seen many, I have faced even more, yet there are far worse things out there, of which I would be terrified to witness." she spoke softly, stepping close towards him. "Yet when I saw you there, in front of me - Protecting me against that monster of a man..." her voice was much softer. "I felt safe."

Sandor, with his inebriated mind, was so, so close to just grabbing the girl and smashing his lips to hers - He wanted her so bad. He needed her, more than he needed air to breathe in his lungs. He did, however, grab her arm and brought her to sit on his knee - Yet he only damaged himself and his psyche further, as the imagery of the beautiful girl being flushed against his chest, was doing things to him. He really needed to go to a tavern and fuck some whores, and soon. "Are you done?"

"I want to give you the rose back." the man was confused. Surely, favour can't be returned. Was this her way of rejecting him? Of telling him that, even if she did love him, her noble status prohibited her from being with him? "Red doesn't look good on me, and roses are for fair maidens." her smile disappeared, and a solemn, nostalgic look took over. She looked devastated and anguished, in spite of the facade she tried to keep together.

"You are one." he saw her shake her head, smiling bitterly. 

"I am not." her reply was cold cut like a blade in winter - Though whose heart ached more, was uncertain. "Red roses are for fair maidens, destined to fall in love with a strong knight that will protect her." she said, getting up from his leg, placing the flower gently on the table in front of him. "You are one. But I am not. Love is not something that I am deserving of." he could not understand what she was saying. It was only gibberish and the ramblings of a silly girl. Still, she turned her back to him. "Good night, Sweet Sandor. I truly wish you all the best in the world. You are a fine man. Better than most." her silhouette was trembling softly. "You are the Knight that my young self dreamt of all her life." her voice held a melancholic vibrato; and she walked away, leaving the Hound all alone, as he's always been.

He wanted to think and understand what the hell had that all been about, yet no matter how much he tried to think, he failed at finding an answer. He never prided himself with being overly intelligent, perhaps that was the reason why he couldn't comprehend. He wasn't up to her mental capacity, like The Imp was, nor was he anywhere as wealthy or high in status. Or, even better - He was not as pretty as the Knight of the Flowers - After all, he was ugly, and disfigured. Not that she ever had any problem looking at him - Her gaze never shied away from him, and with that sweet smile from before, he even had... Hope, mayhaps. 

But it had all been for naught.

In his heart, however, he was unable to sever the bond he had between himself and the sweet girl whom he had lost forever.

She did not avoid him though, despite that smile never making its way to her face. She was deathly worried, every second of her existence. Sandor was as ruthless a beast as never before, and he cared little for anyone standing in his way, including her father's own men, whom he helped slaughter. Things were getting rougher. Eddard Stark was imprisoned, and the Stark girls were in grave danger. He worried for them, without realising. But what could he do, when King Baratheon is dead and Ned Stark, the single remaining man who wished for true justice, was sent to the gallows, forced to admit to a lie he never committed, in front of the whole city.

Up on the pedestal, he looked down at the dirty crowd. Beggars and whores and disgusting fleas. Next to him, he could see Sansa, all prettied up, and almost proud of the deal she had made with the Queen next to her. Y/N, however, was keeping King Joffrey deep under her gaze. Glaring at him. It looked as though she was suspecting something ill to be happening. Ilyn Payne was there too. And Littlefinger, and Maester Pycelle, and a few Golden Cloaks. He wanted to reach his hands out, put them on the girl's shoulders and keep her steady - He was afraid she might lash out and get herself killed somehow. The father looked at his two girls, before hanging his head and daring to confess whatever that was to confess. 

Joffrey spoke about Sansa begging him to send him to The Wall - And Cersei too. The Hound found out this way that Y/N, too, pleaded mercy for her father - It was no wonder, he thought. What other deal could you make with a mad child like Joffrey? Alas, their judgement and feelings were subject to mockery. "Ser Ilyn - Bring me his head!" as soon as the King ordered, Sandor's arms grabbed Y/N's body, immobilising her before she could throw herself out there, to die with her father. "LET ME GO, YOU STUPID DOG!" her insults were desperate, but the words did not hurt him. Her pain did. It stuck the blade deep in his heart, and then twisted it around hard. "DADDY! DADDY, NO! STOP -- DON'T DO IT! DON'T KILL HIM! DADDY!" she was not the cunning and enigmatic little fox that was perfectly calm, collected and calculated. That was a little girl, crying for her father. She was a child in his arms, wriggling and struggling to slip from his grasp, but no matter how close she was to getting out, he grabbed her again and brought her to his chest. 

"Don't look, Y/N. Don't look." but she was far too desperate, and when the the longsword was brought down, in one swing, Eddard Stark's head rolled to the ground. Y/N stopped moving - Perhaps, she even stopped breathing - And she fell lax, only the Hound's arms holding him. "No." she was heard by no one, except the dog, who held her tightly. "Y/N - Y/N, look at me." he tried to turn her around, his hands on her face - But his heart stopped, seeing her face, sheer agony and hopelessness in her dead eyes, and her face drenched with tears. One arm was securely holding her body up, wrapped around her waist, for she held no more strength for once; And the other hand was gently holding the back of her head, his fingers through that shiny scarlet hair of hers - As scarlet as the blood of her father, running in thin ribbons down the pedestal.

"He's dead, Sandor. He's dead. What's the point anymore?" he was at a loss of words. How was he to comfort a girl, after she just watched her beloved father get killed, in front of the whole King's Landing - All because of the capricious nature of the boy king?

"He died, for you and your sisters to live. That's the point. Live. For his sake. For the little bird's sake. She needs you." the quivering of her lip and the way she tried to bite down roughly on it did not stop her body from shaking from the sobs. She knew, better than anyone, the torture she was going to face in the many, many days to come. 

"Everyone needs me, Sandor, and they have me - But who do I have?" her question was so desperately heart breaking, that despite his better knowledge, he found himself blurting an answer he never thought would come out of his filthy mouth. A statement that only made the little fox start sobbing openly, burying herself in his chest, relishing in the feeling of his arms around her broken body.

"You have me."

The lions were ready to rip apart the young wolf pups, and the dog held no real power to protect either of them. At least, Sandor thought, Y/N might feel better, knowing that the youngest one had escaped. Maybe, only. The blatant mocking and disrespect could simply be ignored, The Hound thought. Even if Joffrey made fun of Eddark Stark in front of the girls. They looked dead, but at the same time, vengeful. He was afraid either of them might act up stupidly.

One day, he accompanied the King on the bridge, where he wanted to admire the heads propped on lances, serving as a grim reminder for all traitors. He taunted Sansa - And what a fool the little bird was, she wanted to push the bratty King off the bridge, to his death. While very satisfying, Y/N would go insane, if she were to witness her own sister's death as well. Perhaps he had called the sisters separately to mock their father, reveling in their raw emotions? Was humiliating them and bringing them such pain, his pleasure? Definitely.

Thus, there she stood, tall and proud, as if nothing bad had ever happened to her in her life. She had easily masked over her pain. Now, he wondered - His mind flew to that night, after the Tourney - What awful things could she have experienced, that she claimed to not be deserving of love? More, to be able to hide away her true feelings so well? 

He watched Y/N looking up at her father's head - It almost looked alive, she thought. Sleeping. She didn't need Meryn Trant to force her to look at him. She was content on her own. No matter how much he was taunting her, she did not speak. Even if she did spare him a glance, it was defiant, and deep. Piercing, like a hawk staring at its prey. When he smiled, she knew he was mocking her. “Your brother is a traitor too, you know. Just like your father. And so are you and your sister.” he turned Septa Mordane’s head around. “I remember your brother from Winterfell. My dog called him the lord of the wooden sword. Didn’t you, dog? Made fun of how he needed a girl to protect him.”

"Did I?" the Hound replied. "I don't recall." Y/N refused to even spare him a glance. In fact, she did not react at all. She remained unmoved as a statue. His words came back to literally bite him - And hard.

It angered the King that she wasn't afraid of him. How dare she? A stupid little cunt, defying him? Outrageous! "Ser Trant, teach this traitorous wench what happens when she defies my orders." without any hesitation, Meryn Trant stepped almost perfectly between her and Sandor, and with those metal gauntlets, he struck her - Once, and then twice. She did not let out a single whimper, nor sound. A single, thin river of blood went down her chin, from her busted lip. "Still don't want to speak to me? Go on. Ser Trant, continue until she apologises for defying me." Sandor was disgusted with the white cloak before him, who dared call himself a 'Knight', using all his force into slapping a woman. Though, he shouldn't be one to judge - A member of the famed Kingsguard, was watching an innocent person getting beaten up, and he did not stop it. A real dog would never watch the person he is loyal to, getting hurt, and act naught. 

He watched Y/N lose balance from the force behind one of the blows, and she fell to the ground, a single gasp of surprise being heard. Seeing Trant ready to strike her head again, he rushed to grab his hand. "She spoke. You're getting His Grace's schedule behind." Meryn snatched away the hand from the Hound's, and went to sit next to the King.

"Huh. I suppose you're right, dog. I was enjoying myself so much, watching a traitor cunt getting the treatment she deserves, that I have forgotten the course of time." the King marched past her, only to stop. "Ah, before I forget - Mother says that we have to marry you off soon. I'll think of someone really nice for you. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. I was thinking that you might be missing home - Perchance, the bastard son of Lord Bolton would make a good match. Betray your brother even. Or... Some stinky, homeless old man from the sewers of Fleas Bottom would be far more fitting?" the King laughed tauntingly, marching towards the Throne room, with Meryn Trant behind him.

Sandor watched the girl get up, and gaze fondly at the high drop - Pondering, for a small amount of time, the pros and cons of throwing herself and ending things already. The man took out a rag from his pocket and reached out to dab away the blood welling from the various shallow cuts made on her face - But it was slapped away, and she stepped back. "So much for protecting me." she muttered monotonously, walking past him, no doubt back to her room, where she had locked herself into.

He wanted to go over to her room, but she never answered the knocks. He wanted to grab her face again and make her look at him - To tell her - How in the world could he go against the King's word? It would get them both killed - It won't help anyone. He can protect her from anyone, but her greatest enemy - The Lion. Not even the new Hand of the King, Tyrion, who was her friend, could save her. The one time he had barged into her chambers, he had seen her drinking with the Imp, and upon questioning, he simply came up with a petty excuse, and left.

Why did she want to speak to the Imp, and not to him? Did she truly hate him so? 

Unbeknownst to him, he wasn't the only one drinking her sorrows away - Like most people in King's Landing, Y/N, also, fell pray to the vice brought upon by Tyrion and his sweet wine from Highgarden. She knew she was wrong, lashing out at Sandor for not protecting her, and even more wrong for not apologising. She was hurt then, and continued to get even worse - Yet that wasn't even a proper excuse. Some day, she will bribe the dog into her chambers, with the smell of luxury alcohol, and a much needed apology.

Days later, he stood next to the throne, protecting the King. An audience around. Something was going to happen. To his dread, there she was again, walking slow, and with her head up. The make up on her face made wonders in covering the fresh, healing wounds on her face, yet her beauty still looked busted. She was made to kneel on the ground and look up at the King, who held a crossbow at ready, aimed at her. He could only look down at her. He could see there was no fight in her eyes. She looked absolutely dead. Void. One of the King's relatives began to tell her of the crimes her brother seemingly committed - Obviously, all of them exaggerated beyond belief. "Killing you would send your brother a message. He could not protect the one that protected him. I am to marry Sansa, you know? But you? You have no value to me." the King was smirking and having so much fun. "But my mother insists on keeping you and marrying you off to someone. Get up." but before the King put the crossbow away, much to everyone's shock, he fired it at the lady.

Sandor himself, as well as everyone present, flinched in shock at the unexpected occurrence - While the ladies screeched or gasped, and the guards all oh'ed, the Hound found himself unable to breathe. The crossbow arrow had precisely fired past Y/N's ear, so very close to grazing her temple, and it bounced a few feet behind her, on the ground. Few war-hardened could stand still after getting so close to death; Y/N herself, though fighting her shaking body, her shallow breaths, the picked up heartbeat and her trembling lip. She was doing a wonderful job, getting over her terror.

Sandor could almost feel himself sighing in relief - Only internally, of course. He was so happy she was alive after that bullshit. She deserved better than all this shit happening to her. "Are you not going to thank me for sparing you? I did not have the same mercy with your father." she said nothing. "If you insist on being a mute, perhaps I might as well cut your tongue off. You have no use for it, anyway." his hand was up, and was ready to give the order - She had finally spoken. 

"I am undeserving of your mercy, Your Grace. I have nothing to thank, nor be regretful of. The one who deserved your mercy was my father. As you so brilliantly spoketh, I have no value in this greater political game. Whatever it is that you have in plan for me, I will simply accept and not object." the King was ready to take offense - But the ending made him smirk.

"You are saying you're ready to accept any man to be your husband, yes?" the girl did not speak. "If you're so eager to serve - Then serve my dog!" the King's laugh echoed through the place. 

"But... Your Grace... The Hound is a white cloak. He swore an oath." one man warned the King, but he dismissed him.

"I don't care about oaths. My dog has been serving me loyally for years, hasn't he? Doesn't he deserve to be satisfied by a pretty noble lady? Whenever he wants, however he wants - Without needing to stoop so low and crawl in some common tavern whore's bed?" no one could speak a word - Everything the King was saying was madness - A kind of madness that should never be spoken in the holy throne room. "You know, Y/N... Ser Sandor Clegane here is renowned throughout the Realm for how ruthless he is. I am sure you'll serve as a good chewing toy for him. At least, until he's lost interest in you. All dogs gets bored of their broken toys, sooner or later." neither of the two involved could speak. 

For one, Y/N felt her mind spin indefinitely. Marriage? Again? She had hoped to escape this fate - Alas, with the Lannisters on her back, she had no way of running away. She did not mind - It was Sandor. Though he could not protect her, at least she knew, he had a good heart... Even if it was hidden, buried very, very deep inside that guarded chest of his. 

The Hound, however, was nervous - He did not feel often this emotion, but he truly did now. Not only would he have to marry the woman he had grown so fond with - But he would put her in even more danger, because of it. Not that he had any say in it, for the matter. At least it wasn't some old and sleazy old shit lord who would beat her up or what not. With him, at least she was safe. She was not going to see him.

"Thank you for your blessing, Your Grace." Sandor suddenly heard the little fox speak - A voice soft and forced, and she gave a short courtesy bow.

"Now that we've got that settled - I was wondering - Perhaps The Hound should be the one to make a statement. First off, he should discipline his future Lady Wife into not defying her King so much. Secondly, we need to make a point - To her traitorous brother." and here came the trouble that Sandor feared. "Go on, dog. Don't make me say it twice." but Sandor felt reticent - His own legs were refusing to move - How could he actively harm the person he was supposed to protect. "You'll regret it, dog. Ser Trant - You do it. But leave her face - She has to be pretty for the wedding day... And the bedding ceremony." she wanted to take out a dagger and carve her own heart out, just hearing such a thing.

Meryn Trant, unlike Clegane, did not hesitate. He marched, once again, in front of the girl, and with a tightly clenched fist, he punched the girl's gut, cutting out the air from her lungs. As she instinctively stepped back, he took out his sword and used it to hit the girl's leg, making her stumble. Sheathing it back, the knight roughly brought her up, before landing another hit - And another, and another. All of them with such intensity that Y/N lost count. "ENOUGH." Y/N heard the Hound rasp. The sound of metal clinking was approaching.

"Ah, finally ready to join the show? Hit her until I've grown bored." the King was laid back on the throne. For once, Sandor wanted to rip his head off - Looking down at the small, frail girl that he wanted to hold in his arms and protect. She looked even smaller than before, and even more vulnerable.

"Forgive me, Y/N." the girl knew that he chose to do it himself, rather than have that hateful man use all his strength to cause her harm - Alas, she wasn't sure whether the Hound knew or not, the passive strength which he possessed.

"Get it over with." she muttered - And though she was not prepared for the blow, the strikes from the man were just as painful as the ones from that awful man before. She wanted to cry from the pain, but she couldn't give anyone the satisfaction. Soon, she lost count of all the hits that were going to paint her body in all sorts of colours - But some time soon, at least - It will all be over. 

"Ser Meryn - I think Lady Y/N is overdressed. Don't you want to make a pretty gift for your fellow white cloak, and unburden his future lady wife for him?" Sandor wanted to bash his skull against the nearest wall, watching the sadistic grin of Trant as he got behind his Y/N and ripped the whole back of her dress for the audience to see - In front, the fabric was toppling over, and she could only hold it with her hands, so it would not expose the corset and her skin. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't even look at the girl. Her soft whimper of fear and shame drove him crazy. How much more before someone finally stopped this? "Come on, dog! I have given you a gift - It is unwrapped, all for you to claim! Go ahead, it's all yours!" Sandor, for the first time in his life, was praying - Praying that someone would finally step in and put a stopper to this idiocy.

The saving grace did come - Clegane never expected to be grateful to the Imp - Alas, it was him to whom he should light a thankful candle at the Sept later on. "WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?!" his powerful voice boomed, as he stomped all the way to Y/N. "Clegane. Trant. What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?!" the dwarf glared at the two white cloaks. 

"The kind who serves his King - Imp!" Meryn spat at the Hand of the King. Sandor did no utter a single word. 

"Easy, now. We don't want to get blood all over that pretty cloak." the man accompanying Tyrion mocked the ser.

"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with!" at once, Sandor ripped that stupid white cloak and carefully wrapped it all around her form, holding her close to his chest. He never wanted to let go of her. She was forever trapped in his arms.

"She is your soon-to-be sister-in-law. Have you no regard to her honour?!" Tyrion reprimanded his nephew. 

"I was punishing her! Besides - She's The Hound's future wife! He can do whatever he wants with her!" Sandor refused to listen to any of the witty threats that the Imp threw to the King - Even the quarrel about the marriage. He only realised that he existed again, once he went to their side. Y/N turned her head slightly, and nodded. "Thank you, Tyrion." it was small and sincere, and only for the two men to hear. The Lannister nodded back, appalled by the situation.

"I apologise for my nephew's behaviour. Clegane, escort Lady Y/N back to her room." though Y/N turned around to walk on her own, Sandor picked her up with ease - She looked like a child, wrapped like a cocoon in her own blankets. It would have been a romantic scene, were it not for what happened a little ago. 

The walk to her room was silent as a lake. None spoke a single word. He placed her gently on her bed, and with one last look, he turned to leave. "Are you leaving already?" the man stopped in his tracks, yet did not turn. "It wasn't as bad as when he did it. Thank you." somehow, that pissed the man off more - He wasn't angry at her, but at himself.

"Why the hell are you thanking me for beating you up?" his voice was more like a dog's growl. Angry. Not only that he was forced to lay his hand of his woman, but also because she was thanking him for being gentle. Fucking outrageous.

"A small price to pay for being on the wrong side of a war. I cannot ask you to compromise your life, for a failed attempt at protecting me." her humble understanding sent him into a rage. "And... I hadn't had the chance to apologise for lashing at you back then. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I did - And for that, I am truly sorry. I deserved what happened today."

"If you want death, go throw yourself off the bridge. I won't stop you. But don't bullshit me with that selfless act - It doesn't impress me." she didn't even flinch from his risen tone.

"Joffrey said our wedding is next week. Are you going to wear festive clothing?" she gave a weak smile.

"I did not hit you in the head - Why are you babbling?" he asked, watching the girl fumble with the cloak.

"I am fine with anything. As long as it is you. I meant what I said that night. I suppose even my fears and insecurities, I must face and accept." she spoke softly. "You have secrets, as well as I - Yet neither of them were spoken. I... Am willing to... If so are you." she must be referring to their past, Sandor realised. He pondered over - He couldn't stay much for the day - He still had that little cunt to serve. The wedding night could, however, serve as a perfect pretext for drunk story telling.

"Fine. But I bring the drinks. I don't drink sweet mead for women." he grumbled, ready to exit the room. "Don't leave the room without me." and he left. 

A week went by past, and Sandor found himself, disgusted, in the middle of the Sept. Sandor Clegane was getting married. What a fucking sick joke. He looked down, from the stairs of the Sept, at the ridiculous crowd. And there she stood, led by the King - His beautiful wife. She was dressed in a beautiful dress of pure gold - She looked like the Sun - Or like the fire itself, with her long hair, going down her shoulders in crimson waves.

But she didn't smile. Not even the littlest bit. Even when looking up into his own, dark eyes, Sandor could only see sorrow and pity.

She had the grey Stark cape. The Septon spoke whatever gibberish these old people of so called faith did, before he heard that he may cloak the bride and 'Bring her under his protection'. Bullshit. If he could, he would fight the whole realm - Yet he cannot. That means he cannot properly protect her.

Y/N turned her back to him took her hair away from her back, making it easier for him to fumble with the Stark cape... And put the Clegane one. It fit better - Yellow, Gold, same thing.

Nah, it wasn't - Not even he could say that the cheap yellow of Clegane could outshine the gorgeous gold of her dress. Long, and with long sleeves that covered her arms, yet her hands were covered in jewellery - As well as her neck, ears and hair. She was a jewel herself.

But she hated yellow.

Still, he was forced to put that cloak over her shoulders - It was so large over her form. Yellow did not make her happy.

At last, the septon continued the ceremony, and it ended even sooner. With the cloak thus removed permanently, the two went to the feast that was to last until well into the evening. They sat at the main table, only the two of them - But she did not eat. He couldn't either. Instead, he downed drink after drink, while she sat there, unmoving. He could see the look of sorry on the Imp's face - As if he was apologising to her for allowing things to get so bad, so easily. Her little sister was hiding in some corner, afraid for her own fate. She had never been to a wedding, had no idea what could happen. She was far too little to properly attend her sister's wedding, so she does not know its horrors, nor of the shameful bedding ceremony.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the growing desperation inside his bride's heart. Finally, she reached for the sweetest summerwine, and she drank it faster than even he. Was she willingly getting drunk, to escape the humiliation? Smart move. Painful, but smart.

The longer they stood there, the more he could see Y/N checking the time of day. The more it got darker outside, the more fidgety she would get. "What are you so afraid of?" he turned his head to her - She seemed genuinely shocked to hear that question.

"Do you have any idea how absolutely humiliating that... That THING is, for a woman?" she was perplex, but Sandor was clueless. "You... You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" now, the shock was greater.

"If you'd stop speaking so damn cryptic, I might know, little fox." he downed another ale, clearly left in the dark to her fears.

"The... The be-..." he never heard her stutter, nor was she afraid when she was being beaten or threatened. Now, she was horrified.

"THE BEDDING CEREMONY!" Joffrey's voice greatly overshowed her own - Sandor heard the girl curse and freeze, for the first time since they've known themselves. The same word, repeatedly. She glanced down, almost as if she wanted to hide forever under the table.

Clegane, too, cursed himself - How could he forget that fucking stupid tradition, of all things? He just wanted to get this stupid fucking wedding over with, and keep Y/N forever in her fox cage, away from harm. "No ceremony." came the growl of the Hound, watching Y/N get dragged away by the King. She was petrified.

"We must respect traditions, dog." Joffrey laughed merrily. "Come, everyone! Unburden her, pick her up, and carry her to her wedding bed! Get rid of her gown - She won't be needing it any longer!" Clegane watched as his bride snatched her hand away from the King's, and hugged herself. She looked left and right, for predators. She wasn't a little fox anymore. She was a scared little fawn, begging for help.

"The groom said he doesn't want to partake in the ceremony. Let him have it." Tyrion spoke up, but the King's word is law.

"The dog is loyal to me, uncle. If I tell him to fuck his bride right here, he will do so without question. Don't make me order him so. Or maybe I should?" the little Imp tried to intervene again, but the King pushed him aside. "Ladies - Attend to my dog. They say he's well-gifted down there." the King laughed harder, watching the women giggle and surround the Hound, only for him to aggressively growl at them and scare them away.

"There will be no bedding ceremony, Your Grace." Sandor's voice was more clear now - The King did not have it. Though Joffrey feared his dog to a certain degree, he knew he couldn't go against his direct order.

"There WILL be, if I say so." with a simple exchange of looks, Sandor understood the gravity of the situation. He arose from his seat, aggravated, as soon as he saw some of the men praying on Y/N, and even daring to ruin that dress from her body. Thankfully, she wasn't uncovered, or he'd have stomped them alive. Instead, he swatted them away like flies, and he picked the girl up, stepping in front of the King.

"No. Ceremony." the dog's snarl sent a shiver down the King's spine, watching his personal guard carry his wife away from the venue, and back to her own room. Once again, no word spoken - Though her trembling was shaking his arms, and she was visibly distraught by what had happened. 

Perfectly mimicking what happened a week prior, Y/N was placed on the bed, and Sandor remained on his feet. "Go ahead, change in your sleeping clothes. I'm leaving." the man spoke, ready to turn around and exit - Only to get his arm grabbed, and pulled back. 

"Don't go." she said. "Stay. Please." she spoke in that sweet voice of hers, as she guided him on the bed. Kneeling behind him, her slender arms wrapped around him, and her forehead rested between his shoulder blades. "I'm afraid."

"No one would dare hurt you, now that you're under my protection." not even he did truly believe those words.

"Then... You want to leave?" she sounded so broken and meek, as if it wasn't her.

"A little ago, you were afraid of the ceremony. You want me to fuck you now?" her fingers gripped his clothing tighter. "I won't bother you. I'm going to the tavern. Drink and fuck the night away or something."

"Already going to other women?" she muttered lowly.

"I ask again - Do you want me to fuck you?" he was met with silence. "That's right. You don't." he spat bitterly. "No woman in her right mind would want to fuck a disfigured, ugly monster of a man like me, without being paid well - Let alone marry one."

"That's not true." she retorted, offended. "That's not the truth at all."

"Then what is the truth? If you want to deprive me of getting my dick sucked, then at least give me a good reason." the girl thought a bit, before she spoke. Though she didn't appreciate the vulgar tone, even she couldn't deny how her heart yearned for him strongly.

"Reputation might matter little to you - But it could be my death. What do you think is worse - Knowing that the King's dog had his way with the Stark heiress, who was his wife - Or that he left her on their wedding night, to sleep with common women in a cheap tavern." she had a point - Sort of. 

"You're right. I don't care about a reputation, and neither should you." she was silent again, for a longer time. "If you don't have a real reason, I'm leaving." he was ready to get up, but her hold on him was far greater. 

"I don't want you to spend the night with anyone else but me." his breath was cut off from that bold statement. "I... I've been wishing to say this to you, since that time you bandaged my wound by the river. I've been falling in love with you progressively ever since." her voice sounded ragged and ashamed - Humiliated to admit she was in love. "You are the only man I ever loved." were it not for his keen hearing, he wouldn't have heard her last whispering.

"How many times must I tell you not to say such words to a drunk man? Do you have any idea the power you hold, looking like that - Your dress is half ripped off, and you think you're safe with me?" in an instant, Y/N found herself laying on her back, her wrists pinned to the bed, and his hair tickling her face. But the man saw clear anxiety gleaming into her fearful eyes, and tried to rip himself off from her - She stopped him. "I thought I didn't scare you. You can't even look me in the face anymore. Next time you lie to me, at least make it more credible."

"I was married once." she blurted out - Sandor frowned his brows, inching backward. "I was. I was -- I was married once. A while ago." Clegane looked at her, and saw a broken woman, hurt countless times. "Maybe it sounds petty - It's no different than things that many other women go through. I went through this humiliating... Thing once. It wasn't fun. It wasn't... Anything good. None of it was." she spoke, slowly pushing herself in a sitting position, and although she looked at Sandor, she looked... Timid. "I didn't last long. I wanted to divorce. I was not allowed to. I killed him." the coldness with which she spoke made the hurt even more transparent. "Only dad knew the truth. I never told anyone else. It was a burden on him - But he did it for me. He felt responsible. Poor man." she muttered softly. "I meant it when I said you were a good man, Sandor. I feel... Lucky, even - To say that, out of all the possible men in Westeros, it is you, that I married. I was really, really lucky. Joffrey does not know the man you are." though she lacked coherency, her words were hitting his weak spot. "I never felt safe since then. I wanted to just rot away, alone, in the safety of my home, surrounded by my family. I would become an old crone that teaches young girls how to embroider. It was fine." she said, making a small pause. "But with you... I was..." the last word, the man grunted himself. 

"Safe." she nodded.

"I never felt safe with a man that wasn't my family." her confession made Sandor's mind and heart go crazy.

Sandor got off the bed. "I'll go get booze." the girl stopped him. To his surprise, the girl hopped off the bed and he comically saw her struggling to move a large shelf - Behind it, a whole alcohol cabinet was revealed. 

"You have free access to my secret alcohol stash. Only the best ale and wine. Courtesy of Tyrion Lannister." met with a sheepish smile, Sandor barked a laugh, and took away all the bottles and put them around the night stands. Easily moving the shelf back in its place, he motioned for the girl to get dressed and get back in bed.

But seeing Y/N dressed in an almost sheer-white nightgown proved another challenge for the Hound. Her body looked perfect, her silhouette, though barely visible, was highlighted into the dim light of the candle, as she sat there, leisurely, with a golden goblet into her hand, sipping whatever sweet summer wine she had from Highgarden. Mostly, she told him about good memories she had of her family, with her parents, her brothers, her wolves. She looked genuinely happy. Sandor wanted to make her happy for her entire life. Somehow, he had to get her out of here. There was no way a flower of the North was going to survive the scorching heat and the deathly stink of the South. She would wilt.

Unexpectedly, Sandor spoke laso. "I was a mere child. I loved knights - Foolishly deluded myself, just like your little bird of a sister did. A wood carver came by our house. Gave my brother a toy knight - It had joints and it could move, thanks to the strings. I wanted that toy - Gregor didn't care of it. But he did not want to share. Instead, he grabbed my head and he pressed me to the fire like I was a nice juicy mutton chop." Y/N's eyes were wide and her jaw agape. "He killed our sister. Then, our father. All the inheritance was to fall into his hands. I run away and swore servitude to the Lannisters the very same day. I was just a squire back then - But at least I realised that all oaths are just that - Horseshit." was it the first time that Sandor ever told his past to anyone? He wasn't sure, not did he care.

"I hope your child self feels some comfort, knowing that your present self became the most honorable knight there is." the man scoffed, with bitter annoyance. 

"Your pretty words won't help me, little fox." he spoke. "I want to fuck you more than a little ago, all the same. Just because I can control myself, doesn't mean my thoughts aren't lingering." she wasn't threatened - Instead, she chuckled.

"It would be rather awkward if mine own husband thought little of me." she admitted, a half-amused smile on her face. "Besides - It is our actions that define us, not our words. With the amount of swearing you do, you could be champion - Alas, your heart is real. And I can feel it being genuine to me all the same." Y/N felt his hands on either side of her legs, and they were trailing up her soft skin, until they reached her thighs - Sandor was well between her legs, fully clothed, while Y/N could only blush - She then felt herself being pulled towards him, her head resting comfortably on the pillow.

"I know things that those fancy, pretty lord don't even dream of doing to their ladies. So shameful that even a whore would blush like a maiden. I can make you mewl mine name through the night, and people through the realm would wonder what happened." the Hound rasped from above, his face so dangerously close to hers, drinking in the dazed look she had, all flushed from the dirty words he spoke. "So stop tempting me with that pretty mouth of yours, or I will do so many sinful things to you that the Sept will explode - And I will not regret any little thing." and he said all that, kneeling comfortably between her legs, prowling over her petite body. She's never felt her heart beating so fast, in anticipation. Maybe it was her inebriated brain, or just him - She wanted him more than she needed water to drink - But she couldn't possibly voice something so embarrassing.

Instead, before she could even react, he felt the man's hands going up her body, until they reached her upper back - And he lay his head on her chest. And he started snoring softly.

Y/N was completely bewildered, tried calling out his name - He was fast asleep. "Seven Hells." the girl muttered under her breath. "Sandor, I'm cold. At least put the blanket over." no response. "You're kinda heavy." still, his weight on her body, as well as his arms wrapped around her gave her comfort and a sense of safety. "I'm still cold thought." he definitely was in a very deep sleep. "Damn it."

No matter how much she wished for for sleep - She couldn't. The heavy form of her husband was weighting on her, the pressure, uncomfortable. She could only look out of the window, in search for the moon, hoping it would move already. To pass the time, she warged, linking her mind to her darling Meleys's. She saw her as the protector of the pack - The leader seemed to be Nymeria. Lady was seeking comfort from Meleys, always glued to her side. The sweet sister wolves were protecting one another, as they should have. Y/N was content with that knowledge, although, she would have hoped they were back in Winterfell, or maybe even aiding Robb with his war. Grey Wind was always the leader, back home. She wondered now how Summer and Shaggydog were doing, protective over their sweet boys, just like their loving lady mother. Alas, Ghost was up there, at the Wall, with Jon - Will she ever see her brother again? She dearly hoped she would. Jon was always so nice - A true brother to his siblings. Robb saw him as a true brother, and Arya, especially, was so fond of him. Bastard or not, he was still their brother - And she was protective of her kin.

Y/N was forcefully awoken from her dream-like state, and going back into her own consciousness, she was met with the kind yet dazed dark eyes of The Hound. He looked down at her - And then even further down - Before meeting her face again. "Slept well, Lord husband?" the vixen teased him.

"Best sleep of my life." he muttered, rolling on the side of the bed. Y/N felt now, again, the sweet feeling of breathing.

"At least one of us slept." she chuckled weakly. "You're damn heavy." she explained, once he frowned, questioning. "And you didn't give me the blanket."

"I'm warm enough for the both of us." he muttered begrudgingly.

"It wasn't all bad though." she hummed, sitting up on the bed. "I at least had good company and no fear creeping on me. That beats the cold by far - Not to mention - I had enough time to see what Meleys was doing." Y/N grinned down at the man.

"You were dreaming, yet you say you did not sleep. You're so full of shit." but the girl's mischievous smirk begged to differ.

"You simply are unaware of the magic that a child of the North possesses, so no need to call me a hypocrite." she retorted hastily.

"Whatever, girl. I have duties to attend to. Go on, playing with your pups in your dreams." the man gruffed, raising from the bed. He didn't bother even looking in the mirror to fix his disheveled look. He would have to return to his room and dorn the white cloak either way.

Before he left - The door wide open - He heard her speak. "Some day, I shall hold you to your promise." Sandor looked back, unaware of the promise of a drunk man - Yet that cheeky grin spoke a thousand words.

"You're as much of a fairy as I am, little fox." the man barked in amusement, closing the door behind him. She liked keeping him on the edge, it seemed. What a lass. Flashbacks of last night came forth - Y/N, all beautiful, in that dress of hers, hair done and make up pretty - Yet looking like an alluring mess with her outfit ripped as she lay down on the bed, below him. That look in her eyes - The innocent yet wanting look of an unaware lady with great promises from her lord - And those fingers gripping into his clothes. The feeling of her body flushed against him -

Sandor truly needed to find a way to release this tension on his body, otherwise, she'll drive him crazy and completely unable to even remember his name. He always wore gloves - But that night, he did not. He could feel that skin of hers. He never lay with a noble lady - Were all of them like this? Not even Littlefinger's whores were like this, and they were luxury whores. Those slender legs, that tiny waist, her feather weight - How easy it was for him to simply hoist her up with a single hand and do so many things to her. He recalled all the shameful things that he threatened her with - 

He didn't want to stop at simple, innocent touches. He wanted to hide his head under that sheer nightgown of hers and hold tightly onto her hips. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and kiss her thighs - And further up, when he's pleasured her once, as he's heard that sweet melody of hers, he will tower over her, unburdening her of the dress, and he will tease her like she's done to him, one hand caressing her face dearly, making her look up at him as his fingers become all wet in her heat - And then --

Sandor stopped and bashed his head against the wall, growling at himself for the far too long moment of weakness - And he hurried to his chambers to change into his armor, to guard that bratty King - But how could his head be focused on standing still and at ready next to the King, when his mind is caught in that wretched imagery of his lady wife?

Days passed and so did night, and though days have been not as cruel for Y/N Stark, yet Sansa was still the subject of her future lord husband's cruelty. Being the betrothed of a bratty king couldn't be easy - Sandor saw the worry in his wife's eyes, and that very concern dripped with every word she spoke to him in private. There was nothing he could do for the little bird that sang like one of those birdies from the Summer Isles. His dear little vixen wasn't tamed - Nor did he want her to be - But he also didn't want to see the king wearing fox fur any time soon. He couldn't protect everyone at once - Heavens knew, he was just a stupid dog, bound by his duty to the Lannisters, yet soul bound to the Stark girl he was married to. A fine privilege that no other man could ever even dream of - Let alone, a member of the kingsguard.

In all ways possible, he was pissing on every vow and oath existent to mankind. And he was loving it. 

Sandor was very fine with checking each evening on the girl in her own room, as seeing her reading or embroidering - Or whatever it was that noble women liked to do - As long as she wasn't in the direct way of harm, he was content. She wasn't going out much, unless it was to escort her sister through the gardens - Though even those stank like shit, because of all the waste from Fleas Bottom. Really, that place had to be destroyed and all the people killed. They were nothing but trouble.

There came new reason for worry though, as Sandor found out about the farewell 'party' of Princess Myrcella - The royal family, as well as the Stark girls, as well as the Stokeworths and some others were to see the little girl on her way to the docks, where she would depart for Dorne, soon to be wed to the Martell heir. Going on horseback, through, it was imminent death, and no amount of golden cloaks or white cloaks could flawlessly save the entire retinue - Clegane thought to himself. He was glued to the King - He knew something would definitely happen, should he allow any of the other incompetent idiots who call themselves the 'Knights of the Kingsguard' were left unsupervised. The Queen was flanked by three knights - The same as Joffrey. The Imp had just one white cloak, along with his sworn sellsword or whatever that frail man was - He often saw him in the tavern, drinking and whoring. Y/N and Sansa, however, barely had any real protection - They had two other women with them. He knew one of them was a Stokeworth - The other, he did not know, nor care. His eyes were glued to his little fox and that striking, vibrant green dress that brought out her eyes so well. Sansa was wearing a powder pink, soft and feminine, fit for a fair maiden. A little bird, ready to sing her song. But the other two had similar hairstyles and clothes. Y/N didn't. Y/N kept most of her hair flowing, aside from two braids with flowers - As if she was some flower spirit.

The way to the docks went relatively well, and Myrcella was sent off to Dorne. The way back, however, was not as safe. People were hostile - Aggressive. Angry. They were shouting various things - Their frustrations. Hunger, especially. They kept chanting usurper names, from Stannis to the Young Wolf, Robb Stark, or even Renly Baratheon's name. No surprise, as soon as Y/N heard Robb's name, her attention snapped to the people perched on the walls. Skeleton people, skin and bones, desperate and in need of taking care of.

The first to react was Tyrion, who had Prince Tommen quickly taken away from the retinue. Y/N grabbed Sansa's hand and held it tightly, her other hand checking the simple dagger in her sleeve. She was not allowed her sword, so it was the next best thing. She feared now that she might be needing it. 

The riot was started by some woman who went before the King and showed him her dead baby. Sansa gently told Joffrey that she might appease the crowd if he were to give her some money. He was greedy, and barely spared a silver stag - Yet even that coin, he threw in the crowd, for the people to fight over it. Anarchy started as someone retaliated to this mocking by throwing literal shit, hitting Joffrey right in the face. Tyrion shouted at the knights to take the Queen away as fast as possible, while the Hound and the other members of the Kingsguard were focusing on protecting and dragging the King back to the Keep. This left the four women completely unprotected during this madness and forced to witness the High Septon being dragged by the people and ripped apart, limb from limb - Only to completely cannibalize him. 

Y/N grabbed Sansa, who was being clinged onto by the other two women, and tried to make way between the many so-called knights, trying to reach the keep. The road was blocked by tens upon tens of filthy men who tried to grab them, and they spewed vulgar words. The eldest Stark lady cursed under her breath and used her dagger, impaling the eye of one who dared touch her little sister, and kicking him away, she ran away with the girls in the other direction, where Cersei was being taken. She couldn't even pinpoint where her Dwarf friend and ally was - She was simply lost, in an ocean of enemies. 

By the time they got away, only three remained. Their way forth was blocked by two men, so Y/N backed to her right - The only open way. Only Sansa and Lollys remained by her side. But they were met with misfortune, as the cramped alleyway was a dead end that led into some kind of closed stable, with hay to on the ground and what not. It wouldn't last long. She knew that. "Lollys - Go back the way we came, but turn right. The path that the Queen and her knights took is clear by now." Y/N told the Stokeworth lady, dreading her awful deception. Lollys was a known halfwit, unmarried, a maiden still at three and twenty. She wasn't the most attractive woman in the world - But she did not care. Y/N would even stoop so low, if it meant keeping herself and Sansa safe. The lady, worried, nodded vigorously and ran as she was instructed. Little after she turned towards the path Cersei took, Lollys's scream was heard. Both Stark girls shuddered. 

"Why did you do that?!" Sansa grabbed her elder sister, who slapped her hand over her mouth and pulled her flush against the wall.

"Lollys is not my sister. You are. Not keep quiet." Y/N whispered in her ear. She was even afraid of breathing, in fear of alerting the wild men outside. Their safety didn't last long, for one man found its way in this stable. Y/N killed him with ease and pulled his body away from the corridor. Another and another came - But she could defeat them with ease, as they were all defenseless. Though she ordered Sansa to pick up any kind of weapon, she was cowered in a corner. Gods knew, there were plenty of wooden bats even, with which she could defend herself against a single man. She was too far gone. Y/N thought, by now, she'd have gotten used to this hell and would learn to fight back by herself, and preserve her life. She did not.

But she will need to, unless she wants a dozen men to fuck her to death. "SANSA, GET A WEAPON!" Y/N yelled to her sister, seeing more and more men intrude the stables, in packs of two or three - Though she struggled, she killed them. "SANSA! WAKE UP! I NEED YOU!" Y/N kept yelling at her sister, realising how she was struggling to keep the predators away from them.

"I CAN'T! I CAN'T! I'M SCARED!" she was sobbing and shaking in the corner. "WHERE IS THE HOUND?! WHERE IS THE IMP?! WHERE IS EVERYONE WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO PROTECT US?!" she kept on babbling around.

"To hell with everyone - We have only ourselves now, damn it! Get up and fight!" Y/N's words only earned more deep sobs and whimpers - Followed by a shriek.

"STOP! I WILL KILL HER! DROP YOUR WEAPON OR I BASH HER PRETTY SKULL OPEN BEFORE I FUCK YOU BOTH!" one burlier man got ahold of a bat and threatened Sansa. Y/N only looked in horror at her little sister, threatened with death, crying and apologising over and over again. Y/N felt the dagger fall from her grasp, before she was struck hard and thrown to the ground - Not on the hay, but on the cobbled floor. She kicked around and tried to punch, even dragged herself towards the hay, trying to reach the kicked dagger, but also afraid of that one hurting Sansa - But he had his boot over her only weapon - And he threw Sansa to the side, reaching to the Lady on the ground. His hand buried deep into her flame hair, pulled on it hard and rolled the girl over on her back. The flowers were long since destroyed, and the searing burn from her scalp was blinding her.

She felt her hands being stomped on, so she would stop struggling so much, while the other five surrounded her. Two were fully naked, one only shirtless, while the other were beginning to undress. She tried to kick away the one who kept trying to get between her legs, but the naked ones grabbed away at her ankles and knees and pulled them away. For skeletal people, they were awfully strong. "SANDOR! SANDOR!" Y/N didn't realise she was crying her husband's name, still squirming around, hoping to escape, but Sansa felt her heart stabbed. Her strong, ferocious elder sister was resumed to a scared girl, just like she was - And she was calling for help from the ugly beast. 

"Don't even think, girl." the one who was sitting on Y/N's hands took out his cock and glared at Sansa, a perverted smirk on her face. "You're next." is this what they deserved for using Lollys as a bait?

Hard, rushed steps made their way through the endless stable-like corridor - The knight saw the glimpse of expensive shoes worn by a woman with pale skin like snow and legs flawlessly sculped. An ugly sucker was on his knees, between her skirts, while another either trying to choke her or keep her quite, covering her mouth with those disgusting ones. He saw Sansa Stark, trembling in the corner - Her blue eyes like the sky were wet like rain - They noticed him, but didn't dare speak a word. They were pleading to him to save the one on the ground.

Sandor Clegane felt a rage like never before - His longsword impaled the churl who dared sit in a place no man should ever stay around his lady wife - All the way to its hilt. If he wanted to impale something, now, he felt what it was like to get impaled back. Sandor cut that fucker in two - Then four, and more parts, all the viscera on the ground, unrecognizable. Pure anger was fueling him as he easily disposed of the other shits surrounding her - And with the bigger one finally stepping away from her hands, she was able to crawl and hide in a corner, holding her hands to her chest. They hurt so much, and the feeling of the crawling hands on her skin - They were haunting her and she wanted to flay herself from disgust. Those hands weren't Sandor's. Those men weren't Sandor. This wasn't their room either. 

Her mind was still swimming with incoherent thoughts - Only to squeak and try to hide even further inside the cold stone corner of the corridor upon feeling another touch. "It's over, Y/N. You're safe now. I'm here." Sansa was in deep shock - She had never heard the Hound ever having such a gentle, velvety voice, nor did she imagine a man who looked so sloppy, clumsy and rough, being so careful with someone, especially her sister, whom, she thought, married unwillingly. What about all those rumours of abuse? Had Y/N truly spoken the truth to her before?

Noticing her uneven breathing, Sandor took off his gloves. "I'm here, my little fox. You can open your eyes. There's no more threat now." he cupped her face gingerly, and made her look at him - She looked so broken, so afraid. It was different from the time Eddark Stark died. He wanted to hold her cradled to his chest and rock her, kiss her hair and tell her it's all going to be alright. She's safe with him. She's always safe with him. She looked so weak, so vulnerable, so frail. So very afraid. He knew what happened to her. That night of their wedding when they confessed their woes, it was the only time they truly allowed themselves to open their hearts to another. True and sincere. "Can you see me, little fox?" though she took a while, she nodded slightly. "Do you know who I am?"  once again, she nodded. "Do you trust me?" she looked at him long, and his dark eyes twitched with every tears that escaped her eye. He thought that her unresponsiveness meant a negative answer. Instead, he was shocked to see the girl crawl into his arms and nestle herself into his plated chest. 

"I called for you." her shaky breath was heart shattering. "And you came." she whimpered. "You are here." she repeated, again and again. "I was so scared, Sandor. So scared." his arms were holding her protectively to his body, caressing and untangling her beautiful hair, kissing it now and again.

"I know, little fox. I know." the monster of a man was so loving and kind to her sister, Sansa thought - The most unlikely man, who pissed on all knights - Was a paradox. The most knightly man in the world. Also, the most gentle. "I will always keep you safe." the man held her that-a-way until he could feel her trembling going down.

"Sandor. I have sinned." she spoke meekly. Those words spooked the man greatly.

"Had any of those fuckers touched you? Did they hurt you?" he asked, fearing the worst - Thankfully, she shook her head. He had gotten there in time. "Then whatever you did, it doesn't matter. You're safe now. We're going back to your room and we're not leaving until you've calmed." he reassured her.

"I lied to Lollys. Made her run away. I used her as bait. I fear for her, yet had no remorse, using her to save Sansa and myself." he had seen that one - Walking dazed, naked through the streets, covered with a variety of... Things.

"She's alive." he grunted, evading any implication. "Anything else doesn't matter now. Let's get you two back to the castle." but her soft whimper proved she was still afraid of the outside word. 

"Can you carry Sansa?" the girl asked, struggling to get up.

"No." the man rasped harshly, confusing his wife. "The little bird is not my lady wife. The little bird has wings. She will be fine by my side. The riot has subsided significantly." Sandor's strong arms scooped Y/N into his arms.

"How come we always end up like this?" the girl asked, her arms gingerly wrapped around his neck, her head hiding in the crook of his neck.

"Because I can." he said. "And because I especially like carrying my pretty little fox to bed." though said in a jesting manner, he looked down, and noticed her bashful expression. He wasn't a dashing, charming man - Never was - But whatever he was doing, he must be doing right. Or maybe her brain was simply broken. Who knew. "You have got to stop letting other men ruin your clothes." he pointed out playfully. "The only man allowed to rip your dress off is me."

"If you do that every time you want me, I won't be able to keep up... And seam more clothes. What ever will I do?" slowly, she was finding her voice again - She was safe. The safest she's ever been.

"Sleep all day like the spoiled little vixen that you are and wear those sheer gowns with which you tease me with."

The way back to the keep was surprisingly short - Or maybe it felt that way, being carried effortlessly by the giant man. By the time they arrived, Tyrion looked at the two Stark sisters with eyes and mouth wide open. "Take the little bird back to her cage. She's bleeding - See to her cut." The Hound instructed the Lannister imp, watching Sansa being taken away by her maids. 

"Lady Y/N, are you alright?" Tyrion's voice, albeit filled with concern, was sympathetic and soft. He knew his friend as she always was - Defiant, strong, valiant and cunning. The way she was cuddled up in Clegane's arms, so small, so defenseless, powerless - It broke the dwarf's heart.

"She's fine. No harm done. Tell the King I'm off duty today." with a shared nod of their head, Clegane turned around.

"Good job, Clegane." though the Hound let out some grunt as a response, he leapt up the stairs to get into the castle, and back into her room. Her safe haven. The only place she could relatively feel safe - And since their wedding, the chamber he visited the most. 

The comfortable bed, the pillows, the blankets - They all felt like a fluffy cloud, keeping her away from any trouble from outside of these four walls keeping her safe. Sometimes, she wishes she would never leave this room, and just have Sandor hold her in his arms forever.

But then she misses her home and finds herself going through the flower garden or Godswood. It was the best thing she could do, in lack of her real home.

Like before, Y/N dressed in her sleeping wear while Sandor took off his armor. Suddenly, he felt so much better with all that weight off him. He was so used to all the knight stuff that he didn't notice the emotional and mental burden pressed on him with each piece of protective metal on him.

The gloves and chest piece especially, were his favourite parts to remove. He could feel Y/N as he touched her, and more, he could pull her against his broad chest where she so loved to nestle herself and fall asleep. She looked like a tiny little fox pup compared to him. It was very amusing. "Sandor - Will you please stay the night again? Stay with me? Forever?" the girl asked in a small voice.

"If you want me to, I will." he grunted, holding her tighter.

"I do." she spoke back. 

It was barely the next day that Y/N found out the tragic fate of Lollys, impregnated by half a hundred men - Not only did Y/N felt her vision blurry and mind go hazy, Sandor was sick to his stomach as well - He didn't care for the Stokeworth halfwit - It would be stupid to weep for every tragic soul in Westeros - But the mere thought that, should he not have been there, the same could have happened to his little lady, it made him want to castrate every man who dared look her way. He can't handle the simple idea of any harm coming her way - She's suffered enough, hasn't she? Now she was safe, and he will continue to keep her that a way. She had a bad marriage - He knew the truth. He knew she was the one who poisoned her late lord husband - He did not care. He was going to show her there was no need to fear, that he was no way the awful beast that the fucker was. He was just a dog - Stupidly loyal and aggressively overprotective. 

He had seen her bruised body, after Joffrey ordered not only him, but others to beat her, not on a single occasion - He felt guilty and ashamed - How could fate be so cruel, to force him to lay his hand on his own lady wife? The king was a cunt, but he was powerless before him and his stupid family. He kissed every inch of unnaturally coloured skin - Blue, black, yellow, and every other colour that a bruise can get. And only he knew how much she hated yellow. 

It was in this room that he first danced, in the dim light from the candles, as Y/N hummed a pretty song from the North and she embraced him, swaying with him, the way she her her mum and dad dance one night, on the anniversary of their wedding - They thought they were sneaky, outside, at night. They weren't - Not to her, at least. 

It was in that room that the girl first kissed him, and she caressed his burnt, ugly face, planting lots of little kisses all over - He felt like his soul was departing from his body from the heavenly way he was feeling. It was also, in this room, that he first saw her naked, in his arms - The suffocating feeling of love and passion that was overflowing from his body, watching her melt, and every sweet noise that escaped those lovely lips, were taking him to the edge. It was then that he realised that none of his previous addictions were able to get his mental stability back - They were all distractions from the miserable life he was feeling. He needed no alcohol to drown down his sorrows, no depraved whores that would do the most shameless things to him, nor did he need to waste his money away on baseless gambling. He needed only her love - So, so  desperately, as without it, he would die.

It was here that he first had a woman urge him to relax with his head on her lap, as she read to him whatever story book she found around - Albeit, not without various pragmatic comments about its content - All which made her laugh. That night, he remembers he was so comfortable, at ease. He felt inner peace, which he's never felt before - And he fell asleep, with Y/N's hand stroking his hair and caressing his face. He genuinely forgot how ugly and disfigured he was, whenever she was around - It was like she was not seeing the hideousness that he was seeing.

And here it was that he could drink wine or ale without feeling the need to get drunk to death, all so he could watch the graceful way in which she embroidered or fixed his ripped clothes - Yet she never touched the ripped Clegane cape, yellow and black. She told him that she would use it as fuel for the fire kindling in the fireplace. Her long, slender fingers could create such small and meticulous thing - While all he could do was destroy everything that stood in his way, with those huge, calloused, rough hands of his.

And wood carving. That, he could do. It involved a sharp blade - He was good with those. Hence why, he had gifted her a statuette of Meleys, her red wolf, whom she missed so dearly - And then, it was, that she told him the secret of the Stark children and their warg abilities. 

Finally, it was here that Sandor finally started longing for a place of their own - Small and cozy, away from the chaos and threats of King's Landing - He was willing to return with Y/N back to her home in Winterfell if she would have him, but anywhere was fine. He would build the house himself, and every piece of furniture - Would make the house impeccable and warm, and fit for the most special woman in the world - This change only happened once he heard her yearning for home one night, saying how she wished the two were back there, where it all began. Back when things were still safe and harmless. 

He had all the time in the world to think of that - As a Knight of the Kingsguard, as a white cloak and the King's personal sworn shield, he was forced to serve for life. All the same, he was not supposed to marry either - Not that he ever thought he would - Yet here he was, a married man, and very much content and happy with this intertwined fate.

This messed up peace was disrupted when King's Landing fell under attack from the enemy, Stannis Baratheon himself. It was late into the night, and all the noble women were sitting in the same room as the Queen - Who was drinking wine and masking her worry. Y/N forgot any animosity for Cersei Lannister, and asked to drink with her - Though surprised, the Queen accepted, and even poured some of the sweet wine into her cup. Sansa was pacing worriedly around the room - Her sister only bothered to throw a comment or two her way, but she already knew they were pointless. It was either death or living, yet everything went down to the army's prowess and their strategies.

The Hound had told her before, the castle was being kept safe by a bunch of cunts. Old veterans, new recruits, squires, and whatever cloaks they could find - Every competent knight was fighting in the Riverlands, with Tywin Lannister. It was the perfect strategy, Stannis attacking them from the Blackwater Bay - But Tyrion told her of his witty strategy involving wildfire. 

Of course, after a few too many cups of wine, Y/N became restless and gripped the sword she kept for protection. Dark Sister never failed to keep her safe in every situation. She went outside - And from the distance and that height, she could see the ships approaching swiftly - Only for a huge explosion of green flames to erupt throughout the black sea. "O, Sandor..." the imagery could have even be called artistic and beautiful, in its own tragedy and death - Yet Y/N's mind was only on Sandor, and how terrified he must of all that fire. Her sweet Sandor. 

The fire was everywhere, ranging from every shade of vibrant green, to strong yellow. Oh, how she hated that awful yellow. She really needed to find Sandor - And fast - Before he loses his mind because of all this madness. "Y/N, what in Seven Hells are you doing here?!" she heard Tyrion's voice, stopping his commanding for a second, his eyes bulking in bewilderment at seeing her, with her sword in her hand. 

"I have to find Sandor. Do you see that fire? He's going to lose his mind. If you want The Hound to keep on fighting, Sandor Clegane must be snapped out of his traumatic fear." she explained, standing tall and scanning for the man.

"I understand - I will look for him - But please, for goodness's sake, go back to safety! Only the Gods know, if anything happens to you, Clegane would get over his fear of fire and actually burn the whole King's Landing to the ground!" the dwarf tried to warn her. The King was there too, satisfied after the wildfire explosion, but incredibly terrified of war.

"I don't see the problem." the girl muttered, simply uncaring of any repercussion she might face. "Ah - There he is." the girl pushed the two out of her way and jumped off the stairs, sprinting and killing the enemies that approached her dog. "Sandor! Sandor, snap out of it! You're fine! You're safe with me - Sandor, everything will be alright!" the girl yelled at him, hoping to be heard through the ocean of screams. "Sandor, look at me! My love -- Look at me!" with her free hand, she brought his head down so she could touch her forehead to his own, bringing him some peace before she pulled him into a deep kiss. "It's me. It's your little fox. Snap out of it, my love. Wake up." she pleaded and pleaded - And a kiss was his only reply. 

"I need a drink." he muttered, clearly shaken.

The Hound grabbed her wrist and brought her to safety, close to the gates of the castle where Tyrion was. He can't believe that he began this war, threatening the army that he would fuck their dead bodies if they die with a clean sword - Yet here he was, losing his mind over fire. Pathetic. Just like the water the page offered him. He threw the deerskin back at him, before downing the wine in one go. 

"Can I get you some iced milk - And a bowl of raspberries too?" the dwarf asked, appalled by their greatest fighter being so vulnerable - He was seeing their defeat before his eyes.

"Eat shit, dwarf." Clegane snarled ugly at him.

"You're on the wrong side of the wall!" Tyrion reprimanded him harshly.

"I lost half my men." Sandor spoke. "The Blackwater's on fire..." his voice was shaking from fright and shock, memories of his own burning marks flashing painfully. 

"Dog! I command you to go out there and FIGHT!" Joffrey shouted at his own protector.

"Leave him be!" Y/N shouted back at the offended King. "Can't you see he's traumatised?! What good would throwing him back out there do for you, if he'll only die? Who will protect you as good as him? There's no one out there who would devout his own life like that for you!" the girl reprimanded the boy, as if she was scolding her own brothers - Bad move, Tyrion thought, not only as she had no right to scold the King, but also, because they truly needed Clegane to fight.

"I'll have you killed, you stupid bitch. You ruined my dog! You tamed my vicious, rabid dog! I'll put your head on a spike, right next to your traitor father, when this battle is won!" Joffrey yelled back at her, almost frothing at the mouth.

"You're Kingsguard, Clegane! We must beat them back, unless they're going to take the city. Your King's city." Tyrion spoke pointed to him.

"Fuck the Kingsguard." this comment took aback the Lannister and the Baratheon King. "Fuck the city." he continued, before his eyes glared at Joffrey. "Fuck the King." throwing away the empty deerskin, he threw his arm around his girl and took her away from there.

"That was incredibly brave of you. And such a turn on. Did you see Joffrey's face?" the girl's giggled did nothing for the man.

"Fuck that bratty cunt's face. We're leaving the city." the girl stopped dead in her track. "You heard me. Let's get your sister and let's go." 

"You... Know the implications, don't you?" she asked, knowing how, should he be found and caught, he would face execution.

"Die here in the fire, die here from being a dumb idiot, or die somewhere out there - Dying is dying, the reason matters little." there was truth in his words. "We are going North." he heart leapt, and Y/N immediately flushed with life and she was now the one dragging him away, to Sansa's room.

"Sansa!" Y/N called out, unwillingly frightening her, almost dropping her doll. "We are leaving the city."  she spoke in a rush.

"What?" her sister gasped, her gaze going between the two. "Y/N, you must have drunk too much with the Queen. We can't leave - That's... That's treason. We can't." but the elder Stark girl rolled her eyes.

"You are not speaking courtesies to the Queen, Sansa. You are speaking to your sister. Fuck any courtesy you know. The city will fall. Let's go back home." Y/N tried to persuade her, but even her words didn't reach her.

"I'm not coming." her words felt like a guillotine blade - Sharp and just. "Please don't try to convince me. You two are married - Even if you didn't want to, you would still follow your lord husband. But I'm not going. I have to stay here." she felt a sharp slap on her face.

"Are you out of your mind?! If the city falls, there's no way knowing what Stannis might do to you! And if the city does not fall - Joffrey and Cersei will continue to torture you. You want that? To become the most tragic Queen in history? To have that diabolical brat abuse you with every chance he gets?!" she yelled desperately at her sister, who turned away, clutching her cheek.

"Just leave! Leave, or I will tell the Queen of your plot!" Sansa's voice was wavery - No doubt, she was crying. "We are not like each other. I- I was never like you. Arya was. Arya would have picked up a weapon when you were attacked, and she would have protected you, while I just stood there and cried. Arya would have ran away with you, just like she did when dad died. Arya would have been as defiant and reckless as you. But I'm not like you. This is who I am. This is my path, and I'm willing to go down, being who I am." her words were melodramatic and absolutely tragic.

"Sansa - The Others take me - If you do not come, I will hit you over the head, make you faint, and drag you out of this hell myself. So just come willingly already. Fuck the Lannisters and fuck this forsaken place. This is not where we belong. Our place is up in the North. It always has and it will always be so. Come on." Sansa did not budge.

"I will hate you forever if you do that. I will even kill myself. Leave me out of your plot, and I will pretend I had no idea you left. Now go!" the young Stark's conviction put her sister's at a loss. What was she supposed to do? She wasn't going to remain here - But if she left, only Tyrion remained to protect her, and there was only so much he could do.

"You're making a grave mistake, little song bird." Sandor warned the girl.

"So are you. Keep her safe out there. Now leave." it was with heavy feet that Y/N left her sister's room, and both the Stark girls felt shattered, being torn apart from each other. Sandor took Y/N to the stables, from where he retrieved his beautiful black horse, Stranger, and another one for the girl.

"I'm proud of you, Sandor." the girl spoke, her hand reaching out to cup his face. "You were very brave today. I'm happy that you're no longer tied to some child who does not appreciate you." the man scoffed in self-deprecation.

"I don't need to hear any of that. I just need to get as far away from that fire as possible." he muttered, leaning into her loving touch.

"Sandor. I love you." her voice was sweet, but her kiss was sweeter. He did not say a single word, yet he almost felt guilty for not doing so. "You don't have to tell me anything. Your actions speak far louder than any words existent." he barked a dry laugh.

"You and that cunning, silver tongue of yours. You're lucky I didn't cut it yet." he helped her up, before the two ran the hell out of there, towards the North. The whole night they were tireless and galloped away through the forests, avoiding the King's Road, in case anyone might want to follow their traces.

Her closest relatives were either to the far left, in the Westerlands, where Robb was fighting, or up and to the right, in the Eyrie, where her aunt would be waiting. From the two options, neither were great - But she wanted to see the heir of Winterfell. Thankfully, the Young Wolf was winning his fights and keeping Jaime Lannister as the perfect captive. And once they arrive at his camp, she can finally call Meleys, Lady and Nymeria back to her. It was perfect.

Sandor and Y/N stopped riding, once they spotted an inn. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." Y/N spoke, getting off the horse. "That is what dad always told us. Yet now, look at us. All of us. We are spread all over Westeros. We should have never left Winterfell." she sneered, still angry for leaving her sister behind.

"You've got a dog protecting you. The rest of the pack can be gathered. As long as we're far away from that shit city, we can do whatever the hell we want." the girl hummed in agreement. The two propped the horses outside and went to warm themselves and get something warm to eat. 

"We've got a long way ahead of us. Are you ready, dear?" he let out a grunt, eating away on that chicken leg. A man sat on the bench opposite of them - A dashing smirk, and a flower in his hand - He extended his hand between the two travelling companions, who were more confused than anything.

"O, what a sight to behold! Your beauty exceeds any flower that I hath seen!" the young lad spoke, and Sandor looked at Y/N - Her hand was covering her mouth as she tried not to laugh.

"You want to such my dick, is that it?" Clegane asked the young one.

"Dick?" he repeated the unknown word. "Cock." the dog clarified.

"Ohhhh." the young one let out a dumb exhale of realisation. "Dick. Yeah, I like it." he nodded, understanding, and liking the sound of the word.

"I bet you do." Y/N couldn't hide her giggles anymore. The poor boy thought he was the one amusing her.

"My fair maiden, please accept this token of courtship - You are, by far, the most beautiful lady that I have ever seen." though the girl's smile was wry, she had no idea how to respond. Instead, Sandor's large hand grabbed the flower and destroyed it in his fist, before glaring harshly enough as to scare away the poor lad.

"She HATES yellow." Sandor smirked, remembering the moment he threw away his house's cloak, permanently renouncing it and any titles that were associated with his Clegane name, along with his hound helmet. From then on, he was not Ser Clegane, nor The Hound, or the King's sworn shield, a member of the Kingsguard, or some stupid cloak.

He was just Sandor, a dog taking care of his lovely little fox and whatever wolf pup she decided to take care of. 

And only Sandor knew how much he loved red.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

I don't understand how anyone can like the Greens in the series. I like them in the books because they are good villains, specifically Alicent. I would have given anything to see her come to life on screen rather than the pathetic thing we were treated to. That doesn't help with the fact that apparently Ryan Condal has finally confirmed he's team Greens... I'll never understand this guy. How could he read the book and say that no, the Greens were justified in any way ?! Also, the guts you have to have, even within this fandom, to openly say you support the group of misogynistic and blood purist usurpers... In the sense of saying that they are completely right or that Blacks are just as horrible! But in what universe ?! Ryan Condal would also have said that we would probably change preferred camps in season 2... Man, you can still dream, even with your stupid supporting documents for TG everyone still prefers the Blacks team. It's distressing that the director of the series himself doesn't understand anything he's adapting and that so many people are going in this direction. The number of idiots who tried to explain to me that both teams were equally horrible, that the Greens can't be pure villains because GRRM only writes complex characters, it's obvious. Like GRRM has never written a pure villain ? Are you sure you've read the books he wrote ? No but I swear that since the release of the series, asoiaf fans are worse than before in their unjustified hatred of the Targaryens... These people think they are moral by wanting to put the two teams on the same level or by saying that the Blacks are worse. That revolts me.

Essentially what neutrals think ;

“Yes, it’s not good what the Greens did, but the Blacks are no better seen as they dared to fight back for their rights.”

Like... What dimension did I land in ?!

Just last time, I received comments from someone supposedly accepting that the Greens were worse, but trying to explain to me that Daemon groomed Rhaenyra (which is false book or series), that the murder of 'a Greens child is unjustified (while the Greens shed blood first and we are in a feudal context) that Lucerys taking Aemond's eye is unjustified (Wtf ?!) ah and the best thing was to me say at face value that Daemon was not a gray character and that he was like Aegon IV... (Again... WTF ?!)

https://www.tumblr.com/darklinaforever/701570671006875648/i-hate-when-people-say-greens-and-blacks-are-on

(Afterwards I wasn't gentle in my answers either, but I'm fed up with this type of people)

I personally never liked the greens in the book. To me, they were always the villains. Always. I never viewed Daemon and Rhaenyra as pure innocent angels, don’t get me wrong. I recognize the few mistakes Rhaenyra makes in the book, as well as Daemon’s many, many faults.

For instance, yes, Rhaenyra should not have had Vaemond murdered (even though what he spoke was treasonous and threatened her position as well as the lives of her children). She should not have gone so far with the taxes during her reign (even though she was left with no choice).

However, in this story, despite all their faults, I always felt Rhaenyra and Daemon were perfectly justified. Because their good qualities kind of eclipse the bad stuff. The Blacks are the anti-heroes of the story. They have done some questionable things, but all of them have been justified/done with good reason and good purpose.

The Greens are a whole different story. Everything they have done (mainly Alicent and Otto), they have done out of jealousy and pure greed (hence why they were given the color “green” - the color of greed and envy). 95 % of the war crimes are done by the Greens. Literally the only thing the Blacks are to be held accountable for is B&C. Other than that, every crime was courtesy of the Greens.

To me, the Greens have always been split between those who are anti-villains (Aegon, Helaena, Daeron), and those who are pure villains (Alicent, Otto, Aemond).

For the anti-villains: The one time Aegon presents some goodness is when he has reservations about usurping his half-sister. Other than that, he is pure evil; Helaena can’t be considered a pure innocent soul either. She has good qualities, but she is extremely underdeveloped as a character in the book and we don’t know her thoughts, her motives. She didn’t protest the usurpation and accepted the position of queen consort easily; Daeron is somehow given a free pass by certain people because he is “the daring”, and while that’s true, these people forget how he burned a whole village of innocent people alive.

For the pure villains, not much need be said. Alicent and Otto are a bunch of opportunistic hypocrites and vicious upstarts. I haven’t sensed any bit of goodness in them. Aemond is a psycho with zero redeeming qualities.

Now, in the show, I don’t feel as if the Greens are portrayed better than they have been in the book. I feel like the show writers (mainly Ryan Condal) are trying to come up with lame excuses for them, and it’s just not working. The great majority of the viewers still hate Alicent as much as they did in the book, regardless how many times she presents those “doe eyes”, and the great majority still believe the Greens are in the wrong.

In the show, when it comes to the Greens, there’s always some sort of “reason”, some sort of “accident”. Alicent didn’t mean to shoot her mouth off and convince Larys to murder the current hand, Lyonel Strong, so that her father could return as Hand (even though that is exactly what she wanted). Aemond didn’t mean to let Vhagar know that he wants Lucerys dead (even though his pursuing and direct attack showed his intentions to murder the boy). Crispin somehow didn’t mean to crush Beesbury’s skull in that ball, even though he acted aggressively towards the man for simply speaking the truth and nothing but the truth at that treasonous Council meeting.

These excuses the show writers make for the greens make no sense whatsoever. They should have stuck with the actual canon portrayal, because it’s just ridiculous at this point.

So what if the two sides are not evenly matched?

They’re not supposed to!

GRRM doesn’t write purely good vs bad in his universe, that is true. He loves the complexity of the characters and the stories. However, that does not mean that he intended for the Blacks and the Greens to be evenly matched in this story.

He himself admitted that he wrote the book more in the Blacks’ favor because that’s how he felt (ironic, considering that Fire and Blood is told from the point of view of green supporters). It’s his story. I have seen people accuse him of being biased, always in favor of the Blacks.

Yes, he clearly wrote the Blacks as the protagonists, with better developed characters, with the best allies, the most heroic/epic deaths, most dragons, most Houses supporting them.

I mean, the Starks are TB, while the Lannisters are TG. That alone should give you a clue as to which side you’re supposed to be rooting for.

Clearly GRRM is Team Black, but who says he can’t be? Who says that the sides have to be evenly matched? It’s his story! If he says the Blacks are right, the Blacks are right.

TG stans are just in denial at this point.

[dirtytransmasc]

mild rant, cause hotd TikTok is insufferable.

so I saw an edit, with the scene of Viserys on his death bed, calling Rhaenyra his only child...

these were some of the comments...

how dense do people have to be to say this shit, as if the abuse/neglect Aegon, Helaena, Aemond (and Dearon) faced, is the reason they are the way that they are????

aegon turned to his cups so young because he had to face the fact that his father didn't love him, his mother had... complicated feelings towards him (he was her first, born of marital rape that destroyed her life and childhood, and she loved him no doubt, but part of her hated what he represented in her life. all of which is Viserys and Otto's fault). not to mention the abuse he faced from Viserys and Otto (focus on Otto, cause he did what he wanted, since Viserys wasn't around enough to thoroughly abuse his son himself and wouldn't punish Otto for doing so). his drinking and need to self destruct to escape a life he doesn't want, turned him into the destructive, drunken bastard he is.

aemond was permanently maimed, an injury that very well could have killed him or hindered him greatly in life, and was ignored by his father, who then supported such an obvious lie instead of protecting his own son (aka, treating the greens and the blacks as equals and not playing favorites, they're aren't asking for miracles they asking for bare minimum). he suffered so greatly and his father couldn't give less of a shit. so on top of everything else, he had this anger boiling in his chest for years and years, stoked by his father's willing negligence. not to mention the fear it cause his mother (who was being manipulated by Otto) that Rhaenyra truly was a threat to his livelihood, which only targeted his anger.

Helaena, on a direct/surface level, was the best off, in terms of her father, but the ripple effect he caused on her life and those around her caused her to be married to her brother, who she didn't love, who didn't live her, and brought her suffering to some degree. it was the war Viserys practically created (tell me he didn't, I dare you) that sent her to madness (amongst other things *ahem* blood and cheese).

like, this man destroyed his children, directly or not, everything he did broke them down and apart, until he died, leaving them with a war that would end them all. his actions made them (Aegon and Aemond) into the people they were, but of course, that doesn't matter, apparently.

[aotopmha]

What are your thoughts on the whole Mikasa's new family thing? As a normal person with some romantic experience, I think it makes sense for her to have a family and not be stuck single on a dead guy for life. As an AoT fan who can basically not separate her from her 'Eren' rhetoric, it feels like a twist... or dare I say, betrayal? I wish we had a bit more padding to the ending, because it seems these things were wrapped up very quickly, and besides the literal deaths, I feel like my girl Historia and Levi got such bitter endings...

This is quite a few questions so I'm answering them in a list:

1) I really like Mikasa moving on because from the framing of her final moments in the story and the passing time in the extra pages and credits, I feel like she had a mourning period and then was able to move on and start a new family, something she always wanted. And I think earning that ending is at least some (and an appropriate one) reward after what she went through.

2) She has always loved Eren, but she has also punched him in the face when she thought he was doing stupid shit and being hot-headed. She threw him in chapter 1, punched him in the face in episode 2, is perfectly capable of making her own decisions without him, which was the point of the first half of episode 6. As much as she loves him, her attachment has actually comparatively little to do with him and everything to do with the death of her parent(s) figure(s) twice in a row in the span of a year when she was a child.

(Episode 6 in the anime, chapter 5 in the manga.)

Her attachment to Eren has caused a bunch of issues and is her biggest "flaw", but she has never been a *doormat*, which is what so many people read her as and I disagree with.

The decision to kill Eren was made by her when she saw families and children suffer because of him, something she can deeply relate to and works to prevent.

(Chapter 48)

Mikasa isn't a crying damsel, she's a warrior who went through some pretty tough shit and is reacting accordingly.

She will fight when she needs to fight and do the right thing when she needs to do the right thing.

3) Pacing was actually probably the biggest issue I personally had with the manga's ending, but the anime pretty much fixed all of it in my eyes. Mikasa's feelings for Eren, though, and vice versa was one of the most obvious things about the entire story from start to finish, so you've got a disagreement there as well. From the moment you see the subtle blush from Eren in the flashback, the trope became really clear to me and nothing onward from there really convinced me otherwise because Eren never had any other relationship like that in the story, no other love interest characters or characters framed in relation to his character in the same way.

4) Likewise, I think Levi probably had the best ending out of every single character in the story. As much of a pyrrhic victory as defeating Eren was, he got his revenge and kept his life. He got the most strongly defined closure he could get in context of the story.

5) What I agree with you on is how Historia was treated, though I'm not sure if for the same reasons or in the same way. The final arc basically destroyed her character and the anime equally did not even mention or even have a nod towards any of her defining moments as a character or her important relationships (because I suspect Isayama just could not figure out how to write her in this context in any other way).

In my eyes, she went through one of the best, most strongly defined character arcs in the entire story, but all we got from it was a metaphor for the birth of a new world... through a clearly gay-coded character. It's pretty awful and contradicts the theme of freedom her character is about and embodies by the end of the Uprising arc AND the general ideas of freedom the story is about, but I choose to put it in its own awful box and reluctantly close my eyes to it.

I think her arc was about her finding out what she wants and no longer living in a role and I think the entirety of the final arc went against that.

I've gone into why Historia's arc is awful in many other asks and posts, so I don't feel like reiterating it all right now (I have a tag for her character and pretty much all characters, so if anyone is interested, you'll probably find my detailed thoughts looking around there, but, yeah I think it's pretty awful even if you don't see her as gay-coded.)

Thank you for the ask!

[controversial-blorbo-bracket]

Anti-Snape propaganda: his whole reasoning for opposing wizard fascism was ‘oh no, my tragically unrequited crush (who hates me because I called her a slur when she was trying to help me and cruelly married a man who bullied me in highschool) might be in danger!’ If Lily was a Pureblood, he would have no reason not to stay a Death Eater. He’s the one who puts her life in danger in the first place, while spying for the mass-murdering blood supremacist, and he only feels regret and switches sides when it affects him personally.

(In addition, it’s highly insinuated that there was more to the end of the friendship than Snape calling Lily a slur, although, you know, that’s reason enough. She mentions that he’s already hanging out with future death eaters who make her uncomfortable, which definitely presents the possibility he’s already entrenched in the gross racist views whether or not he likes her personally).

This is the quote where he goes to Dumbledore:

“The — the prophecy . . . the prediction . . . Trelawney . . .”

“Ah, yes. How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?”

“Everything — everything I heard! That is why — it is for that reason — he thinks it means Lily Evans!”

“The prophecy did not refer to a woman. It spoke of a boy born at the end of July —”

“You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down — kill them all —”

“If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?”

“I have — I have asked him —”

“You disgust me.”

Yeah, he was totally cool with trading away the lives of his high school bully and his supposed true love’s newborn baby (who she died for! But he cares so much about her happiness, right?) as long as he got to keep Lily Potter like a muggleborn pet. Because let’s be honest, muggleborns weren’t considered equals by the Death Eaters, and I can’t imagine the woman who sacrificed herself to save her child’s life would be super fine with just letting her family be slaughtered in exchange for ‘mercy.’ How would he deal with her horrified trauma? Would he be keeping her under lock and key, or…? I think it’s reasonable to assume some pretty fucked-up implications for the whole ‘I asked the Dark Lord’ comment.

Also, lots of people justify his creepy sadman act (where he used his academic authority to bully the abused orphan who dared to be related to his highschool bully) by saying he was abused and bullied himself, like that doesn’t make it worse? He knows what that’s like, and he inflicts that pain on others, while remaining constantly self-pitying. Additionally, as though his motivation for actively trying to make the eleven year old orphan’s life miserable wasn’t stupid enough, Harry is absolutely not the only one he treats this way. He torments a ton of Gryffindors over the years, so either he just enjoys preying on the weak, like Neville (who in no way resembles James Potter, and whose family life was ruined in part due to the prophecy Snape revealed), or he’s taken his childhood bullying trauma to the next level by assigning it to a quarter of the school population! I’m not saying getting bullied isn’t terrible. It’s very traumatising in some instances and I do feel sympathy for his experiences. But Snape is not a sympathetic figure or hero to bullied children, he’s just a hypocritical self-pitying incel who wilfully plays straight into the circle of generational trauma. If anything, the fact that Harry didn’t grow up to bully children who reminded him of Snape makes him the true champion here.

Sorry, this is stupidly long. I guess I have a lot of repressed rage about the TERFiest of books and how much crap I’ve heard justifying poor writing in the past.

[kxowledge]

The Home-maker, Dorothy Canfield Fisher

The Home-maker by Dorothy Canfield Fisher was such a lovely read. I dare say it’s what got me back into sitting down in the evening to enjoy a book. The book is built on the simple but intriguing premise of a story of (traditional) role reversal between husband and wife (housekeeping / earning an income). There’s so much more than this.

The writing is brilliant and it’s all I love about all of the Persephone Books selection. The subject matter might be mundane, yet each character is treated with so much depth. Through her word choices she conveys so much and paints a small window into the inner thoughts of each character, reminding us how lived experiences and thoughts differ (the nuances! the different povs!) and how everyone (even, and especially, the children) has a rich interior life and a lot to be valued for. Each having his own merit and his own intelligence. I found her approach of telling the story through the minds of the different characters very refreshing. Not one single character was one-dimensional. We get to see different facets of Helen, the wife, for example: we see her overlooking and frightening her children (involuntarily) but we also understand why she’s behaving like that and what’s making her miserable [“What she thought was her duty had held her found fast in a death-like silence and passivity” is such a good sentence]. We get to see Lester, the husband, and both how society sees him and how this reflects on how he sees himself. But we also see them evolve throughout the story, both becoming more at ease, changing their views of each other, and also dedicating more time to the children.

The kids are at the centre of the story and you can see between the lines some of the Montessori principles at work – mostly, I think, Canfield is arguing that children needs respect. Next to the recognition of the value of homemaking, this is very much central to the book. The “little human souls” are as worthy as the adult ones. I can say it did make me think about raising children a lot.

I was hooked from the first chapter, where I could relate a lot about the duty and stress of housekeeping – all the little things that need to be done, the thoughtful considerations, the sense of duty and of never-ending work. I found that I could understand a lot of the subtext because I could relate in many ways, either because of my own experience or because of that of people close to me (my grandmother came to mind for example).

The children’s reaction (fawn / flight / fight) for example. The description of anxiety. The psychosomatic connection with stress as a catalyser, which is a prevalent theme throughout the entire book for pretty much all of the Knapp family (Henry and Lester and their stomach issues, Helen and the eczema). Considering when this book was written, I found it eminently brilliant.

Yet, there’s still so much more. She touches on the role of poetry and the arts. She comments on how this arrangement can work only as long as it is socially acceptable (which is when it is forced upon the family, not chosen). She comments intelligently on consumer trends. She hints at conflicting values and different dispositions. Her portrait is a nuanced one, that is not all rosy.

Towards the last few chapters I had a growing anxiety – I was left waiting for a bad turn. Yet, like the other Persephone books I read, it has a happy ending. I wasn’t prepared for that. I somehow can’t have only good things happening, not being thwarted.

Overall, it was a great piece of fiction that’s both insightful and relevant to the day, while being also a comfortable, good read. The introduction and the final essay written for the edition were equally great.

[albionscastle]

Way of the World pt.3

The last part of my John Thornton series which is pretty much all smut. I can’t help it have you seen the man?

No trigger warnings but man is it NSFW.

Masterlist

The Way of The World 3

It was done, you were finally Mrs. Thornton and there was no longer any impediment to you and John being together. Even Mama Thornton had been forced to accept the inevitability after a time. Turned out when you both found common ground in your love for John, she had become almost lukewarm toward you. For her that was a huge step forward. Now, with her safely ensconced in the new apartments John had built for her, you could be alone with your husband. There was no-one who would dare interrupt you now, at least not if they wanted to live.

The party had gone late into the night, John sparing no expense for the celebration and after the way the other masters had treated him during the speculation debacle, he had wanted to show them up. He had managed to pull back the mill from the brink of ruin without any help from anyone, just his own business acumen. Now he was running circles around the rest of them, expanding into new ventures. His reputation for the fair treatment of his workers, and his 'investments' into their health and conditions of living, was well-known and inspired great loyalty. He wasn't afraid to do any of the work they did and he often worked alongside them, ate with them and talked with them as equals. The other Masters had sneered at him with derision until they realized how profitable the mill had become. Now they fawned like the sleazy sycophants they were, though they still didn't change any of their business practices. John wasn't a resentful or egotistical man by nature, but you were glad that he at least took a small amount of satisfaction in the fact that your wedding was the most celebrated event of the year, while still being the most tasteful. For Mrs Thornton, the chance to crow over the others was something you didn't begrudge her, in fact the two of you had enjoyed heaping quiet judgment on the rest of them. Lord knew she and her children had been judged enough for too long for the sins of her husband.

Now, with the festivities over, you had a chance to breathe, John was pouring a drink for you both and you took a moment to really look at him in the candlelight. He had removed his jacket and cravat and despite the excitement and stress of the last few weeks and months, he looked totally relaxed, a small smile lighting up his face. You could  look at him as much as you liked now, spend time with him, touch him, anything the two of you wanted and the knowledge of that made your heart soar. The fact that, for the first time, the two of you were completely alone had not escaped you, and you felt a shiver of anticipation at the thought, watching the way his long fingers wrapped around the glasses. It had been months since you had felt his hands on you, the two of you heavily chaperoned since the engagement was announced. In fact, you had barely seen him in that time, you had gone to stay with Fanny the day after he had come to your room, and since then he had been so busy with turning the business around that he rarely left the mill. He had written to you almost daily though, and such letters they were, full of longing, romance and heated promises. This had been the way you had gotten to really know one another, so many things could be committed to paper that were often impossible to say in person. You were the only one who knew that the often scowling John Thornton was in possession of a romantic and poetic soul, as well as a way with words that left you in no doubt of his desires. And now, you were his and he was yours and nothing stood between you anymore.

“A drink, Mrs. Thornton? he smirked, handing you a glass of brandy.

His fingers brushed yours as you took it, noticing the way his eyes flared when you shivered. Silently you both took a drink, each watching the other over the rims of the glasses. To be honest you weren't sure what was expected of you now, or how to really initiate the same. You were reliant on his greater experience in these matters, waiting for him to take the lead, and you tried not to think about why he had this greater experience.

John must have noticed something in your face, gently taking your drink and placing both glasses on the table.

'There's something troubling you.' he stated, taking your hands in his. "Are you nervous about tonight?"

You felt your cheeks turn red while you shook your head. If there was one thing you weren't nervous about it was that. He had always been so gentle with you that you knew he would continue to be so. Admitting you were jealous of whoever had come before you, that made you nervous. The last thing you wanted was for John to think he had married a shrew. There was a different standard and set of rules for a man in society and you knew that you were going to have to live with it.

‘Please, will you tell me what it is?' he asked softly, his face now a mask of concern. 'We can wait, if you want to, if you don't feel comfortable."

He meant it, you knew that, which only made you love him more.

'It's just my own silly insecurities, nothing that needs to be worried about." You smiled at him, gripping his hands tightly, almost afraid that he would pull away. Of course the man was nothing if not astute, and with a sigh he led you to the settee, pulling you down beside him and leaning close.

"Let's not start our marriage by not being honest with one another.’ he gazed lovingly at you, brushing a tendril of hair back from your face. ‘You can tell me anything without any fear of judgment, I will never be angry at you for speaking your mind.'

"It's embarrassing and foolish." you mumbled, unable to look him in the eye.

"If you are feeling something then it's not foolish, ever. You understand that don't you?’ he sounded almost desperate now, and you hated yourself for it.

'I'm jealous."

His eyebrows shot up, he had definitely not been expecting that.

"Jealous? I don't understand, there's nothing to be jealous of, I love you."

‘I know that, trust me I do.’ you tried to reassure him. ‘It's nothing like that.’

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder, sighing in relief when he wrapped his arm around you to pull you closer. Taking a deep breath, you entwined your fingers with his.

"I just had a thought for a moment, I was thinking about how much I wanted to be in your arms but I didn't really know what to do, how to approach it. I knew that you would, and then that led to me understanding that you have experience that I don't and I felt jealous.’

Feeling very foolish, you hung your head. You had ruined what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

'Darling, look at me. Please.’ he begged softly.

Your cheeks were flaming as you slowly raised your eyes to meet his. There was a look of such intense tenderness and understanding that your eyes filled, tears threatening to spill over.

'I know it's stupid, I do, and it was only for a moment. I'm sorry I ruined our night.'

‘You haven't ruined anything, love, and you certainly are not stupid. Please don't ever think that about yourself. It's true, I am more experienced, but it has been several years, and I never used or paid a woman. I know it isn't fair and I would honestly be jealous if I thought another man had touched you before me. Just please know that since the moment you came to Milton, I have thought of no-one but you and I want no-one but you. I am not the sort of man who would keep a mistress, especially with a wife. So yes, I have been with women in the past, and you have the right to feel jealous.  However, for the rest of my life, I will love only you, I will touch none but you, I will never stray from your arms or even think about bedding anyone else. I love you so much, and every day I have to pinch myself to believe that of all the men in the world it is me you chose.’

He took a breath, he had not looked away once during his speech, his eyes beseeching you to believe in his sincerity. You knew in your heart he meant every word, he hadn't lied to you about his past when he could have, and his face... It was almost heartbreaking to look at him. . "If you have any questions, if you want to know anything then ask, and I will answer you honestly, I will hide nothing from you.’

You nodded, a weight that you didn't even know you carried, lifted off your shoulders and you managed a smile.

‘I do have just one question.’ He nodded in agreement. ‘Can we forget this conversation ever happened, at least for tonight?"

"If that's what you want.’

You felt a burst of courage, moving your hands to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

‘What I want is to be with my husband at last, no interruptions, no-one else in the house. Just you and I.’

There was that little sideways smirk you loved so much.

‘I think that can be arranged.’

He pulled you up to stand with him, grinning like a loon, before stooping and scooping you up into his arms. You yelped in surprise before grinning back and wrapping your arms around his neck. How he managed the narrow staircase with your billowing petticoats you had no idea, but he refused to put you down until you were over the threshold of your now shared bedroom. Before you even had a chance to look around he had your face cupped in his hands, his mouth descending on yours in a kiss far less chaste than the one you had shaved earlier in the church. You both clutched at one another desperately, having waited so long for any kind of physical contact. The knowledge that there were no impediments now to you being together, seemed to set you both on fire. It was John who slowed you both down, easing into a kiss that was more languid and sensual than desperate. His tongue scraped the roof of your mouth and your knees wobbled, leaving you weak.

'Turn around for me.' he growled after pulling away to let you both catch your breath.

Obeying, you turned your back to him, shivering when you felt his fingers in your hair, removing the pins and ribbons until it cascaded down your back. He ran his fingers through your tresses and you leaned your head back to rest on his chest, practically purring like a kitten. He chuckled, gently brushing your hair over one shoulder and pressed a kiss against your neck, his fingers beginning to tug and loosen the ribbons at the back of your dress. Making short work of them, he moved his hands over your shoulders, sliding his fingers under the creamy silk. John hesitated a moment, his breath heavy in your ear and blowing warmly against your skin.

'Is this ok? I don't want to go faster than you are comfortable with."

You were almost pulsating with want.

'John, I love you, but if you don't help me get rid of all these ridiculous layers right now, I may just divorce you.’

His deep, rumbling laughter filled the room for a moment.

"As you wish, wife'

He gently slid the sleeves of your gown down your arms, past your hips until it puddled on the floor at your feet.

"You aren't wearing stays?" he traced his fingertips around the edges of your chemise.

'I don't like them.’ you whispered breathlessly, leaning further back into him. ‘They are painful and they take forever to remove.’

'Well then.' his fingers ran up and down your arms. "As your husband, I forbid you from ever wearing them again.’

"As you wish.'

His fingers worked at the fastenings of your petticoats with a new sense of urgency, pushing each one down to your feet and muttering under his breath about the ridiculousness of women's fashion. You giggled at his efforts, earning you a growl and a playful pinch of your waist. When he had succeeded in removing all but your chemise and stockings, he helped you step over the pile of petticoats with a laugh.

‘I think I might limit the number of petticoats you are allowed to wear also.’ he muttered, kicking them to the side.

‘Oh, so now we are married you wish to command me to only do your bidding? you chuckled.

"Only when it suits me, my love.' he shrugged, tracing a pattern along the neckline of your chemise.

"And when will it suit you?' your fingers had moved to the fastenings of his shirt, making short work of them, sneaking them barely under the fabric to be warmed by his skin.

‘Right now.' he growled, hauling you against him, his arms wrapping tightly around you.

You could accept that.

Tugging his shirt out of his trousers you tried to pull it over his head without breaking your kiss, with no luck at all. John pulled away just long enough to get it off and throw it to the floor before claiming your mouth again. He stepped forward, taking you with him until you felt the backs of your legs hit the bed.

'Sit for me.'

You obeyed, watching him as he knelt down in front of you, never breaking eye contact. One hand grasped your ankle, lifting your foot to rest on his knee, then his palm slid up the  back of your calf, his long fingers tickling the back of your knee. His lips curved in a smile, his eyes dark with a promise of what was to come as his fingers danced over your thigh to gently untie the ribbons of your garter. With both hands, and with excruciating slowness. he started to roll the silk down your leg, pressing his lips to each inch of skin he exposed. Breathless, you knew he could see you trembling with anticipation as he ran his hand up your other leg, biting your lip as he nimbly untied your other ribbon garter. Then, after a pause, he dipped his head to rest on your thigh before gently grasping your stocking in his teeth and drawing it down your leg.

"John."' you whispered, desperate now for him to move closer, to be able to feel his warmth and strength against you.

He looked up at you with a wicked grin, rising to kneel between your legs, his fingers plucking at the thin ribbon of your chemise, while you ran your hands down his arms, his shoulders and scraped your fingernails down his  chest. He hissed quietly, muscles tensing and relaxing under your touch, bending down to nip at your collarbone and soothing each sting with the flat of his tongue. A familiar heat was pooling between your thighs with every touch, goosebumps breaking out all over your skin. Of their own accord your hips rolled toward him, your body instinctively needing to be as close as possible to him in every way you could. His hand moved to the small of your back pushing you toward him, your legs moving to cradle his hips, a long, low moan escaping from the back of your throat when you felt him against you through his trousers. You wanted more, you wanted everything.

Sensing your agitation, something altered in John's actions, there was an urgency that hadn't been there before. He kissed you, hard, almost swallowing you in his passion. You knew your lips were bruising but you didn't care. The only thing that mattered to you was him. The hem of your chemise was pushed up your thighs, past your waist and over your head, then tossed over his shoulder leaving you naked. Gently John pushed your shoulders till you lay back on the bed, completely exposing you to his heated gaze. You tried not to feel shy but your cheeks turned pink as his eyes raked over you. His hands were suddenly everywhere, splayed across your belly, sliding up your sides, palms dragging over your breasts, the tips tightening under his touch. Little shocks shot from where his fingers traced circles around your nipples, to between your thighs where you ached for some kind of relief.

‘Do you have any idea how much I want you?'

You could only nod, knowing that if he ached even half as much as you did, then he was also desperate for a release. He knelt on the floor in front of you licking his lips as he hitched your legs over his shoulders, biting and sucking on your inner thighs. Breath hitching in your throat, you threw your head back on the quilt, feeling no more shyness, just an intense pleasure as you felt his hot breath between your legs. The memory of his mouth on you sent a flood of heat from your head to your belly, your whole body trembling as one finger dragged through your dampness, every muscle in your body going tense. Moving one arm over your face to cover your mouth you tried to bite back a groan when his finger dipped inside you.

´No-one can hear us tonight,’ John reached up to gently guide your arm away, entwining your fingers with his. ‘You don't have to hold anything back.’

A keening noise escaped your throat as he slid his finger inside you, his thumb brushing roughly against that spot at the apex of your thighs. You heard him chuckle, nipping your inner thigh, repeating the motion with his finger.

"Exactly like that my love,’ he crooned. ‘I want to hear exactly how I'm making you feel.’

His words, the tone of his voice washed over you, lighting the flames in your body to an inferno. A rhythm began, his finger and thumb slowly stroking your body and your hips rolling to meet them. The ache between your  thighs only grew more frustrating with his leisurely movements. You needed more.

"John, please.' you begged.

He didn't waste a moment, using his thumb to spread you open, his head lowered and the flat of tongue swiped from his finger to the place where so much of your pleasure was centered. Your hips bucked against him, your breath coming in pants, between moans, your fingers tightening around his like a vice grip.  John was relentless, his tongue, and teeth scraping, stroking and sucking that one tiny spot. With every moan that passed your lips and every shiver of your body he responded, keeping you right on the edge of the precipice, but always pulling you back. Waves of white hot pleasure shot through you, radiating from between your thighs and you writhed on the bed, your whole body aching for release. Finally John took mercy on you, adding a second finger and stretching you around him. He moved faster, the feeling exquisite, his tongue lapping at you till you were panting his name, back at the precipice again. A tug of his lips, a strong sucking motion and a scrape of his tongue sent you screaming over the edge. White light exploded behind your eyes and it felt like pleasure exploded from between your thighs to overtake the rest of your body. John didn't stop, your muscles spasmed around his fingers, your hips bucked and still he lapped against you, slowing into a gentle rhythm as you started to come down.

As your breathing started to return to normal you felt him remove his fingers from you and you almost gasped at the loss. He rubbed his head against your thigh, giving you a moment to fully recover. When you finally released his fingers, and could catch your breath, you felt John rub his hair against your thigh as he rose to stand.

John Thornton was the most glorious thing you had ever seen and you couldn't take your eyes off him, tracing your gaze over his strong shoulders and chest, trailing down to a vee that  disappeared into his trousers. His fingers were at the fastenings of his trousers, his eyes boring into yours, a sensual promise to be fulfilled. Unconsciously you licked your lips when you saw how tented the front of his pants were. He growled your name, his fingers working frantically to remove his trousers and small clothes until he stood before you naked. Your previous encounters had not prepared you for the sight of him. His cheeks turned pink as you looked him over with obvious appreciation, but he couldn't hide the pride in his eyes at your obvious enjoyment of him as a man. Emboldened you sat up, scraping your nails down his chest and feeling the power you held over him as he shivered. Not moving, he simply watched you from above as you explored him, your fingers brushing over his hot skin, muscles taut as one of his machines as he held himself back. His panting and grunting let you know he loved having your hands on him jerking every time you touched a particularly sensitive spot and you filed those away in your mind.

Tracing a path from his stomach with your lips and teeth you felt heat flooding back through you and the ache between your thighs pulsed with every strained noise he made. The knowledge of how you were making your usually reserved husband feel made your head swim. You found that giving him pleasure was as rewarding as receiving it and you would be more than happy to spend the whole night exploring every inch of his body. Apparently, his body had other ideas as you felt him twitch against your chest.

"Ouch. " he growled, looking down after you bit his hipbone a little harder than you intended.

With a wicked smile you caught his gaze, dark and smoldering, with an intensity you had not seen before.

'What are you about, wife?"

Your nails scraped up and down his thick thighs, making him shiver and groan.

'Let's just say I made friends with a woman who wasn't afraid to explain a few things to me.’

He looked confused for a moment, and then suddenly it dawned on him, and he jerked again under your gaze, anticipation fighting with shock in his eyes.

'Oh my God!’ he practically bellowed as you dipped your head and ran the flat of your tongue up the length of him.

He almost jumped out of his skin, his fingers tangling in your hair, hips jerking toward you and his skin breaking out in goosebumps. Repeating the motion you shivered at his response to you, desperately wishing you could rub your legs together and create some kind of friction as the throbbing, almost desperate need for him grew and grew. John's head was thrown back, muscles corded in his neck and shoulders as his body tensed, fingers tightening in your hair. The sight of him made you whimper, wanting only to give him more, to see him lose the control he held onto so tightly. You wrapped your lips around him, sliding down as far as you could before beginning a sucking motion, that made him gasp and groan like an animal, his hips jerking and rolling uncontrollably.

'Christ! Yes... please... just like that!' he panted. "That feels so good, harder... don't stop.’

Sucking along his length harder and slower, you felt a shiver from the base of your spine radiating through you, the sound of his encouragement flooding you with heat and pooling liquid heat between your legs. You ran your tongue over the head of him, tasting the saltiness leaking there, John keening above you. Glad of the fact you were alone in the house you pushed him, your fingers wrapping around him to join the motion of your mouth, loving the sound of him crying out.

With a sudden growl, he jerked away from you, slipping from your mouth with a pop, his whole body shaking, his breath coming in shallow pants. His skin was flushed dark red and he looked pained as he tried to calm his breath.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"God no.' he bent down to kiss your swollen lips, his tongue flicking against yours. ‘That was absolutely incredible, surprising, and we are going to have a long talk later. I just don't want to finish in your mouth, at least not this time, when I spill I will be buried inside you.’

Shivering, you grasped him around the neck, pulling him down on top of you, your lips smashed against his, your hips cradling his, bucking up desperately. You could feel him against you which only made you roll your hips harder, still missing the friction you needed.

‘Easy there tiger.’ He smiled against your mouth. "Give me a moment to make sure this isn't over too quickly.’

Digging your nails into the skin of his shoulders in response you enjoyed his hiss of pain and opened your legs wider, finally feeling the whole length of him resting against you. You felt like you were going to come out of your skin as you moved under him, rubbing yourself against him with a cry.

‘John! For God's sake!’ you panted, your head tossing against the bed as he worked his teeth and tongue down your neck.

One of his large hands grasped your wrists, lifting your arms above your head and holding them there.

"Is this what you want?’ He growled against your collar bone, rocking his hips against you, dragging his length through your slick heat and sliding against that tiny spot where every nerve in your body seemed to center. The relief of this small amount of friction almost made you sob it felt so good. His name escaped your throat in a cry that left him in no doubt as to how he was making you feel.

"You are ready for me aren't you? His voice was rough, the slow teasing rhythm he set as he rubbed against you driving you mad.

His dark head bent down, his lips wrapping around a nipple and sucking hard, your back arching off the bed us the arrow shots of pure heat shot straight between your legs, the hollow aching now a desperate need. You were writhing under him, grunting his name with every breath, begging him to do something, anything to bring you relief.

"Are you sure you're ready?' he asked softly, gazing down with such love and tenderness that it took your breath away.

You nodded, smiling at him in encouragement, you had never been more ready for anything.

"I'll try not to hurt you, I promise."

"John, if you don't get a move on, I'll be the one doing the hurting.

"Your wish is my command." he smiled, reaching between your bodies to line himself up against your entrance.

The wide tip of him nudged at you, barely breaching your body before he stopped. Your eyes flew open to meet his, about to beg him.

"Don't close your eyes. I want to see your eyes as I do this and I want you to see me. I want you to look at me and see how good this is going to feel. I want to watch you feel me inside you for the first time.

His words made your shiver, you loved hearing him speak like this, words that could never be said outside your marriage bed. You wanted to hear more, to hear him praise you tell how you made him feel and even more, to hear him tell you what he wanted to do to you. You had not known until tonight that you needed it, that his words amplified your pleasure tenfold. A knowing smile spread across his lips as he came to the same realization and he pushed into you further, your breath hitching at the feel of him. For a moment you worried you wouldn't be able to take him, feeling stretched to the limit, and then he pushed again and the slide of him against the walls of your body caused you to see stars as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

John grunted, coming to a halt, his struggle to stay in control evident in his face.

‘So tight.' he muttered, trying to gather himself. "You feel incredible darling, and I'm sorry.

"Sorry for what?"

His open mouth swallowed your gasp as he thrust forward, the sharp sting making your body go rigid. He let go of your wrists, bringing his arms under your shoulders to hold you close to his body. Feathered kisses brushed across your lips, so tender and sweet compared to the humming of your bodies. His hands cradled your face, holding your head still, his eyes catching yours with a questioning tenderness. The sting and burn had been replaced now with a fullness that you could never have imagined, feeling yourself throbbing around him in waves of sharp heat, and yet you still needed more. You moved tentatively against him, feeling him move slightly inside you and you gasped as the ache simply radiated outward through your whole body, growing in searing waves. He must have seen it in your eyes, the wonderment at the feeling of him buried inside you, the lack of pain, and the desire for more.

‘You are mine now, look at me.' you looked at him, saw the satisfaction written on his face, lips curved in a smile that only promised you more.

He pulled himself back, till only the head of him remained and you whimpered at the loss, the need for him all-encompassing. Slowly, frustratingly so, he slid back into you, moaning loudly and making you shiver with the sound of it. His eyes searched yours for any sign of discomfort and found none. His head fell to rest against yours, his breath hot in your ear and you felt him brace his knees against the side of the bed. The tension and anticipation could have been cut with a knife and it felt as though time had stopped. He twitched inside you and your eyes rolled back in pleasure. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that this would feel so good.

"You feel like liquid fire.' John panted in your ear. 'Feels so good."

You couldn't answer, only able to nod your head in desperation as he began to slide slowly back. Every muscle in your body was tensed, your skin red hot and slick with sweat, waiting, anticipating wanting, needing.

'Tell me you want me." John breathed in your ear, his whole body stiff and straining. "Tell me how I make you feel.’

Wrapping your arms under his you gripped his shoulders, holding him as close as you could, turning your head so you could swipe your mouth across lips, sliding your tongue over his, the taste of him making your head swim. Pulling away you rested your cheek against his.

"I want you, I want you so much, John.' you crooned into his ear, enjoying his shiver. "You feel so good, incredible, I never knew it would be like this.’

He kissed you then, almost drinking from you in his passion and you gave back to match him. Your hands ran up and down his back feeling his entire body straining with the effort to hold himself back.

'Let go ' you whispered "You won't hurt me, just let go. Please.’ you begged, squirming as you tried to pull him inside you again.

With a strained cry, John buried his face in your hair, driving himself forward so hard it forced the breath from you. Just as swiftly he pulled back again, leaving you aching for the second before he thrust back into you. He set a relentless rhythm, hard and fast, his every breath a groan or grunt of pleasure breathed into your ear. Your whole body felt alive, electric as his body pounded into yours, giving no quarter. The sound of the bed scraping across the floor only served to urge him to move faster, harder, your hips rising to meet every thrust pulling him deeper and still not deep enough. You knew the noises escaping your

throat were loud and animalistic and only served to push him further, almost sending him into a frenzy. The tightly wound John Thornton had lost all control.

"Wrap your legs around me." he ordered, placing a hand under the small of your back when you obeyed.

You both gasped as the movement changed the angle of his thrusts, seating him so deep inside you, you  swore you could feel him in your belly. He threw his head back with a groan of pleasure so deep and low that you shivered, the sound washing over you, primal and dangerous.

"So. Fucking. Good. ' his every word seemed torn from his throat and matched the relentless hammering of his hips. ‘You. Are mine.'

Responding with a cry, you dug your fingernails into his back, scratching like a cat, delighting in every shudder you felt under his skin. The pain only encouraged him, the bed groaning and shaking under the force of his thrusts, his back arching under your hands, the pressure between your thighs building and building.

'I'm so close.' he panted. ‘I want to feel you come around me."

He changed the angle of his thrusts, his pelvis rubbing against you with the right amount of pressure to send you crazy, climbing higher and higher, his name ripped from your throat in a chant.

"Just like that darling, you're almost there, you feel so good.'

You climbed higher, every time you thought you reached the precipice, you only kept going, his words whispered frantically, only encouraging the drumming of pleasure growing under your skin. Feeling like you would burst you arched your back, writhing under him in desperation, you almost couldn't take it anymore. John's movements were more frenzied than rhythmic, you could feel him rising to meet you at the edge. His hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb roughly dragging over that tiny nub of pleasure with just the right amount of pressure to finally send you over the edge. Screaming his name, you felt the shudder sweep from that spot to spread through your body, bursting from your skin like fireworks. You thrashed against the bed, soaring high, your body rippling and squeezing him, wave upon wave crashing over you, every thrust extending your mindless pleasure.

'Yes! Oh God Yes!’ John roared, his body going rigid, jerking inside you as you felt him release, liquid heat washing, pulsing into you as you continued to tremble, squeezing him until the throbbing arrows of heat began to subside.

John collapsed onto you, sliding out of you he fell to his knees, resting his head on your belly as he tried to control his breathing, gulping and gasping, his body still trembling. You felt boneless, unable to move except to slide a hand into his hair and stroke it softly, your whole body buzzing, even your scalp was tingling and your heart hammered, threatening to beat right out of your chest. John raised his hand weakly, grasping for yours, entwining your fingers gently as you both slowly came down.

Finally, with a kiss to your stomach, John managed to stand and you watched him from heavy-lidded eyes as his legs seemed to shake for a moment. You lay there as he cleaned himself off, before coming back to you with a damp cloth. He stopped for a moment, looked stunned and then started laughing. You felt languid and spent, the sweat on your skin drying in the air, letting your body cool off. Stretching slowly, you hummed in satisfaction, curious but unable to muster the strength to lift yourself up. The mattress dipped as he sat down beside you, still chuckling as he slid the cloth gently between your legs, taking care not to apply too much pressure. You could already tell you would be sore the next day.

"What's so funny?' you whispered, the effort to talk seeming too much.

John continued to take care of you, wincing as he wiped away the small amount of blood, a reminder of his invasion of your body.

'The bed has been moved clear across the room." he smiled, shaking his head.

'Wait, are you serious?" That had gotten you to move and you slid to sit up beside him, eyes widening at the clear drag marks in the wood of the floor marking the progress of your bed.

"Well, I guess there's no hiding that.’ You laid your head on his shoulder as you laughed. ‘There's no denying your strength, husband, though we might look into a very large rug before we destroy the floor completely.’

He laughed, bending over to kiss your head before standing and walking back to dispose of the cloth Taking the opportunity to admire him while he poured a glass of water, you raked your eyes over the smooth skin of his back, a rear end that you wanted to take a bite out of and thighs so strong and thick that they threatened to burst the seams of his trousers every time he moved. That this man was yours still boggled your mind, and the hidden depths of his passions overwhelmed and excited you as you realized you would be able to spend the rest of your life with him.

‘What are you staring at?" John questioned as he turned, giving you the chance to appreciate the front of him.

A flush covered your cheeks as you raked your eyes over him, reminded of the way he had felt moving inside you. You already wanted to feel that again.

"I'm staring at you, John. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?’

He ducked his head, face turning red at your blatant admiration for his body, walking over to bring you water, he pulled the bed covers back and climbed in, laying back against the pillows his arms open to you.

"Come here to me, wife." he crooned, pulling you down to cuddle against him, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

"I love you.' he whispered, nuzzling your face with his.

You reached up to run a finger down the bridge of his nose, all sharp angles and strength. You harbored a secret love of this feature of his face, he hated how big and long it was, but you thought it gave his face character and you never got tired of admiring his profile.

‘I love you too,' you rested your head on his chest, the beat of his heart a comfort under your ear.

You had yearned for this moment, to lay wrapped in his arms, shutting the rest of the world out. Just being with him.

"Now then, you have some explaining to do.' he admonished with a laugh.

Giggling, you pressed a kiss to the skin over his heart before you spent the rest of the night telling him exactly what you had learned and then showing him as the sun rose.

[growling]

I don't know why but today I just woke up with another wave of love and appreciation for mv!Mapleshade warrior cats. I just auughhhhh I love her even if she isn't that intentionally well-written at all I relate to her so much you wouldn't believe that kitty is special to me, at the very least the mv!Mapleshade version of her.

It's the way she's just so out of touch and detached from reality from the moment she's introduced in mv (and maybe even for the remainder of the novella) and living in this fantasy of her and her family being Untouchable and Special, putting her utmost faith in the warrior code/the law and StarClan/God, especially believing that StarClan approves and gave her kits their blessing, and has this narrative/plot-relevant "magical thinking" about everything that happens around/to her. When Frecklewish just asks if the father of her kits is Birchface(he isn't), she thinks it is a explicit sign for her that StarClan themselves is "offering her a way for her kits to be accepted by her clanmates", everything is some sort of "sign" for her. She wholeheartedly believes that nothing bad will ever happen to her very illegal children, that everyone will just accept and love them because they're just so perfect, and that by just being born they will literally change everyone's minds about inter-Clan relationships and achieve world peace -- That they will grow up both loyal to ThunderClan and RiverClan equally, that "the truth about who their father really was would be unable to shake the loyalty of their woodland clanmates, [...] and once RiverClan gets to know them, those cats will feel the same", that "the feud over sunningrocks will be forgotten when the clans realize they share these perfect warriors". And like is this a cause of concern that this is really similiar to whatever I'm going through pretty often too like you and me both Maple. Not related but I think it's also very cool how sometimes when people talk to her or ask her something she just. Doesn't respond. And I think that everybody in the fandom just making it up to be "haha look at this delusional bitch not knowing theres consequences to her actions lol" should be punted into the sun like how is this a testament of her being an irredeemably evil terrible person to you and not like something actually very sympathetic why are you like this with every female character. Beautiful miss Maple baby I will protect you. She should have killed even more people actually

And I need to ask why. Whyyyyyy did they write her to towards the end of the book start hallucinating her dead babies encouraging her to become a serial killer throughout. You literally didn't have to bring psychosis into this she already had perfectly valid reasons to start murdering people!! Why!! You didn't make her more "scary" by this or whatever, instead now it just makes me feel bad for her even more that she went to cat hell forever for the actions she did when she was not only super mega ultra traumatized and in a state of shock after The Events (which none of those was her fault btw), but also that she literally going through some kind of episode the entire time too. And like. You didn't have to bring dead baby murder hallucinations into this as I have said before she had perfectly valid and understandable reasons to start maiming people already auuughhh head in hands. I could treat her so much better than you I am taking mv!Mapleshade away from you she's mine now

(Also dare I say all the people she killed had it coming already lmao like let's see we got uhh. One Snitch. Two Really pushy lady that pressured her into saying that Birchface is the father of her kits and then once she found out that was a lie she clawed her in the face and called her 2 month old kittens "half-clan creatures". Three cheater that didn't give a fuck about their dead children whose corpses he fished out the river and then threw her under the bus and nearly got off scot free for the exact "crime" that she got severely punished for. Like listen has anything of value been lost honestly. Free my woman she did all of that your honor but also like come onnnn man who caressssss)

Im love. I love her. Me and Mapleshade get each other at a spiritual level and I have no idea what this says about me. All of you need to hear about Mapleshade too I don't care I am subjecting you to the triple homicide kitty I'm forcing you to listen. Also this is how her official plush looks. Crying throwing up what is wrong with this horrid wet beast. Horrible I am enamored with everything about it

[nohkalikai]

i remember being 16 and stumbling across photos from mädchenland, a photobook by german photographer karolin kluppel (i don't even want to link to photos; look it up if you must but i'd rather not have her work get more admirers who miss the point of this post). this photobook is supposed to be her attempt at documenting matriarchies that exist in the present day. the photographs themselves are beautiful at first glance; i was in awe of how stunning everyday aspects of a culture i was familiar with could look. at the time, the word 'matriarchy' did not sit right with me, but i couldn't place way. i knew of course that khasis are matrilineal, however i did not see any evidence of a matriarchal society growing up.

and that's because khasis are NOT matriarchal. we do this song and dance every single time our tribe is mentioned outside the northeast. if we're talking about decision making power in families, what khasis follow is a sort of avunculate system, where a maternal uncle's (often the eldest) opinion and blessing must be taken into account. if we're talking about how khasi society is structured, it is very much patriarchal. in meghalaya, khasis are arguably the most well known tribe, but it's worth nothing that the two other major tribes in the state—jaiñtias and garos—also follow a matrilineal system.

7 years on, and i no longer think that karolin kluppel made an innocent mistake in her phrasing. i mean, she did talk about matriliny and property inheritance so that part is true, but it's tucked in a sandwich of this fantasy that is half patronizing and half just plain wrong.

the photos undeniably carry w them an orientalist gaze—this white woman's camera lens is staring down girls in mawlynnong who cannot possibly be older than 7. their eyes look up at the camera. faces are cut off entirely in some photos. captions read like 'no house in mawlynnong has running water' under a picture of a child balancing a cheap mug on her head in her house. do we hear from the girls? do we learn about what everyday looks like for the general aggregate of khasi girls of meghalaya? what everyday looks like for their mothers and aunts and grandmothers? do we know how their fathers treat them? do we learn about what gives these children #girl power? no we don't. that doesn't matter, apparently. this little charade was made to fit into superficial western ideas of gender equality, performed for the west. i am not the first person to say this, by the way. this photo series had its share of critics even when it opened in galleries.

but of course, how dare we interrupt a girlboss? here's what she had to say:

“Yes,” she said, “I know that some people do not really understand that my intention of the series was never to do a documentary on the Khasi culture. It is strange to get criticized by not showing the milieu (which I actually do, it is just not in the main focus) when it is not my topic. I wanted to concentrate on the girls and, of course, I had to leave other topics behind. I am aware that my series is not showing the Khasi culture and I am not claiming to do that.” Instead, she said, she wanted to capture how the girls’ behavior demonstrated their power. “For me, their culture just got visible through their behavior and I tried to capture that,” she said. “I do not think that I leave out the context, because whenever I write about my work, I explain their culture.”

mawlynnong is an incredibly deprived part of an already economically deprived state. yet an early career photographer could traipse around and profit off an indigenous 'other' in some random part of the world she googled and got incorrect information on. it's always the same old story all the time. nowhere in the NY Times article is someone from the khasi community actually spoken to. indigenous girls and women in the third world are not objects for western feminists to place their ideas of #girl power on to. you can't 'noble savage' your way through gender equality. and even if you do, at least do a google search before putting up an exhibition based on an egregiously incorrect fantasy of a matriarchy.

please don't be foolish in the replies ty

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

You know, the parentification thing...

So my mom would say how there was only one time when I threw a tantrum, and it was cause their was this stuffed dinosaur I wanted and was tired, so they ended up leaving but coming back another day

Well, couple years back somehow this comes up with my dad and he kind of pauses and is like...

"What happened is that there was a stuffie you really wanted, and one your mom really wanted, and we didn't have enough to get both. So you were around 3, and you were sitting there trying to find a way to both get what you wanted and make your mom happy, and it upset you so much you started crying about it"

So uh... yeah... I don't know... can't really talk much on this stuff cause like... this is all stuff I normally repress to get by on. Just uh... yeah. Had to pay my mom's rent one time when I was like 10... eh, don't really like to think about it but... there was a fair bit of stuff with her and having to play parent

Wouldn't normally bother mentioning it, but since people are talking about demographics a lot on that post, I'm an only child and a boy so... there you go

Hope you have a nice day though. Just uh... thought I'd weigh in. Probably could offer other examples but... even just remember this has me not doing so keen so rather not search for any other memories

Yeah, parentification and emotional incest are....a hell of an experience.

My wife is trans and like. I get that for a lot of people when you're trans, you were "always" your gender just "misperceived" as your AGAB, but wifey doesn't see it that way. She lived nearly 30 years as a queer black man with 2 sons, and has only recently found herself in the position of associating with herself as a black woman with two brothers. Funnily enough, both changes happened in tandem, in part because she felt that she was officially done raising her boys (the youngest had his 18th birthday shortly before my wife came out and had moved out on his own before she told him) and so her life was no longer about being a mother to them, and she felt more able to be a woman without being a mother, just as she finds it easier to be a father without being a man.

Between my personal life and my professional life, I have seen a lot of parentification in a lot of demographics (women, men, youngest siblings, oldest siblings, kids in 2 parent families, kids in single parent families, it literally does not matter). The emotional/cognitive processes that result in parentification aren't concerned with who "should" have which responsobilities, they are simply incapable of holding themselves accountable to it rather than foisting it off on the kids.

My mother and my wife's mother both equally depend on us for their self-validation as good and loving mothers who cared for us despite their utter failures on all counts with each of us, and they both put the same responsibilities on us despite our different AGABs because it was never about us. It was about THEM. It was about their need for an adult companion who could support and validate them and the utter emotional imaturity that drove them to seek it with their children instead. It was the way that being a child made us captive audiences to our mothers' self destructive tendencies. It was the way our money paid the bills without ever staying in our hands long enough to better our own lives. It was the way they looped us into every interpersonal conflict they created with their misbehavior. It was the way they treated us like friends when they needed validation but like property when we dared to have needs that weren't compatible with theirs. It's the way they comodified and fetishized aspects of our sense of self as something that they could use to control, humiliate, and erase the reality of us from their awareness. It's the way they raised us to know deep in our souls that there is no distinction between them and us to the point that we routinely sacrifice our boundaries again and again in their name without it even occurring to us that we COULD have boundaries there. What they want was always what we wanted, and after a while it's hard to tell how much of that is real.

That's the parentification. And hey, we can even talk about how eldest daughters in particular can struggle to identify what they went through as parentification because of how normalized it is for them to be treated this way! But we do that by acknowledging that what they went through WAS IN FACT parentification rather than by insisting it was some special different thing. That actually reinforces the same cultural issues that make it hard to call out eldest daughters being abused through parentification.

[defire]

Dance of Death Chapter 5:

She Said What

Content warnings for this chapter: Discussion of child abuse, fantasy racism, mild horror

[There's more whump in the next chapter... I didn't know people liked whump when I was writing this so I was trying to ease people into it.]

Saturday was the first clear day after a week of rain and wind storms. Nife went up the carpeted stairs in one of the Wry's small hosting rooms, called the Fireplace Room. Every Saturday, Nife and her friends gathered here to taste artisan teas and relax away from their houses. Black wooden pillars throughout supported the vaulted ceilings, giving just enough reverb to make their laughter sound more full. They often pulled up chairs near the small fireplace near the middle of the room. Their bright eyes reflected the blaze, shades of orange and red, with a couple blue-eyed Bane oddities lingering around the edges of the group.

Often the so-called "relaxing" turned into a wild release of the pent-up energy the teenagers had been stuffing down all week, as they tried to behave for their parents and teachers. However, most of the group was actually sitting in the chairs instead of standing on them or daring each other to climb on stacks of them.

Nife noticed the minute she came in that Greeviss wasn’t there.

"She said what?" Starren was demanding as she entered, standing up as Nife quietly entered the tea gathering in the Fireplace Room.

Kit, who was bent forward on one of the couches, speaking to Starren, looked up as Nife came in. He made a small head-bow in Nife's direction with a slightly awkward smile.

"Nife," Starren said, looking shocked. "Did you try to convince Lord Amlee not to... sternly discuss things... with Greeviss?"

Nife's smile twitched.

"If that's your idea of a 'stern discussion', I'd hate to see your definition of 'shouting'." Nife said, finding her fingers fluttering at her hip, itching to play with her daggers.

"Did you?" Starren insisted.

"Direct today, aren't you?"

"I'm always direct." Starren flipped her voluminous mane behind her with an overt side-eye at Nife. She hated how underhanded Nife was, and Nife enjoyed the blazes out of that.

"I know." Nife smirked.

She meandered to the table with a sample-sized bag of tea. The others crowded around, but it was not for the new tea. They were looking at her sideways, as if they didn't want to speak, but wanted to hear her answer. Finally she relented, sighing.

"I walked in on him abusing Greeviss," Nife paused, looking around for him. He wasn't there. "Do you expect me to walk by when someone's getting hurt?"

The others didn't move or speak for a minute. For a group of teenagers, that was very strange.

"From what I heard, all he did was slap him," Kit said gently. "Can you really call that abuse?"

Nife turned to him, slowly, jaw dropping.

"Wow, really, Kit..." She said. "Can I really call that abuse? Really?"

She shook her head, looking around to see if the others agreed. Maybe it wasn't abuse for herself, but for anybody else, well... She'd been raised with the understanding that all people are equal, and they should all be treated the same, with allowances for their physical and mental capabilities. Of course, she didn't really have a place in society, but the others here were all very important to Nife.

"Nife, it seems you don't understand what you've put your foot in," Starren said. "That's not considered abusive. You can't really 'abuse' someone who has no legal rights. Trying to go against that is useless. Everyone's against you."

“Did you say no legal rights?” Nife said, amused smile faltering.

“Yeah. My mother rubs it in my face every chance she gets.” Starren rolled her eyes. “You have no allies if you’re going to stand against the adults.”

"What about us?" Nife said, looking around at the others, who mostly took positions around them softly, sipping tea and looking uncomfortable. 

"Us?" Kit snorted. "Don't you understand? We're children. There's nothing we can do."

"I mean what do you call this?" Nife said with a mild shrug. "We're here making contacts. Planning our futures. Not like they're doing anything different."

"They just let us go to get us out of their way." Starren said bitterly. "We're barely even people to them."

Nife flipped a stirring stick in her hands a few times thoughtfully. Her parents made her feel unimportant, but not… barely a person, like Starren suggested. She was beginning to get a very bad opinion of Starren’s mother.

"I mean how different are we from them, really?" Kit said. "We have the same thoughts, feelings, the same souls."

"They're in control, that's what's different." Starren spat.

Nife watched the older girl grind her teeth. Something was definitely off with her as well.

"Well, nothing will change unless we change it." Nife said. "Look at us, children of the most powerful nobles in Gapp, complaining that we have no power. We all have souls, same as them. We have essentially the same amount of power as any other soul does. Why don't we draft some laws? Get Grip to propose them, since he's the only actual lord we've got with us." She nodded at him. "Call ourselves the Souls. What do you think?"

Nife had been flipping the stirring stick while she talked. The room had gradually become more quiet, and as she waited for a response, there was a full lull in even the minor conversations that left the reverberant room uncharacteristically quiet.

For a while, no one answered. He was just one lord out of about a hundred minor lords. They'd need a major lord on their side to have any chance at serious political footing. And Nife knew that Raizden was out of the question.

"I mean, maybe our parents are right." Caboodle said quietly. When he got glares, he swallowed nervously and began to prepare a flask of tea with the new kind Nife had brought, but his hands trembled nervously. "I mean," He added. "They say 'Prepare them for the harshness of the world.' Outside these walls the war is still going on; maybe... maybe we'll have to fight."

"I do not believe this." Nife shook her head, leaning back on the couch to process.

"Nife!" Starren barked so loud, several people jumped. Nife's eyes snapped coolly to her. "Stop this now before someone gets hurt. You may have nothing to lose, but we still have to go home to our parents every night!"

Nife frowned, wondering why Starren made it sound so serious. She now noticed that several of them had minor injuries--before, she'd assumed they were accidents, but Starren had a round burn mark under her ear, and Kit had a bruise on the inside of his arm that he kept unconsciously rubbing.

"Wait..." Nife looked around at her friends. Starren, Kit, Caboodle, almost everyone except Flower–another Druid–shared a pained, foreboding look in one way or another.

"No." She stared. "Are you telling me it's not just Greeviss?"

Nobody said anything.

"Kit?" She said.

Kit flushed and looked down, swirling the tea in his flask, as if to mix in the honey. 

She heard a snap and looked down in her hand. The stirring-stick had broken in her fingers. She clenched her teeth, staring at the snapped bamboo.

"I see." She said, trying to pretend to be calm even as she flushed with anger. "Someone has to stop this."

The others looked at each other like they'd already thought of that, and it hadn't worked.

Nife glared.

"Someone has to."

After the meeting, Nife, Kit and Caboodle walked briskly toward their homes together, to try to get more time together before the curfew forced them to separate. Cozy shadows cloaked the city. Nife's boots clanged on the catwalks of 10th street, reverberating off the piping and struts in every direction around them. Gas lamps at every street corner glowed softly through the mist, hampering Nife's nightsight a little.

This street was far above the poisonous miasma reeking up from the bottom. In case they did have to walk on the dangerous lower levels, they wore masks that were enchanted to protect their lungs. 

"I don't know how you're always so sure about what to do." Kit said to Nife.

"She's just pretending." Caboodle said. 

"I would never," Nife lied. "You read me just like you read entrails."

"I don't... read entrails." Caboodle frowned.

"Exactly." Nife said, ruffling his hair.

"Stop." Caboodle said. He took out a pocket comb and combed it down to the correct shape. He even carefully whisked the ends up to the sides in a way that looked like the wind had blown it there or something.

Nife snatched the comb out of his hand just before he put it back in his pocket.

"Hey!" He lunged for it. She laughed, spinning it between her fingers. 

"Just try it." She tossed it, caught it in the other hand, and made it dance again.

He narrowed his eyes and swiped at it again. This time she let him grab it out of her hands, making it look like a mistake. He panted, shoving it back into his pocket, grinning victoriously at her. But suddenly he startled back from the edge, looking scared.

They were standing on a street about eight levels up from the bottom of the city. Above and below, catwalks, stairs, sidewalks, and covered tunnels clogged the alleys and gaps between the buildings.

"What?" Kit said.

"I saw something." Caboodle said faintly.

"What, a shadow?" Nife teased.

"...Eyes. He whispered.

Nife looked at Kit. He looked scared, and he was sixteen, so she should probably be scared as well.

"Let's get out of here." He said, pushing Caboodle forward ahead of him. 

Nife felt out into the darkness using her "nightsight", which was what Druids called their heat vision. She felt underneath the street they were now hurrying down, to feel if she could sense any creatures below. There was no one down there, not even a rodent.

"I think it's alright." Nife said. 

"How would you even know?" Kit said, looking back to make sure she was keeping up with them. 

They were going at an unpleasantly fast speed; Nife hurried to keep up with them, panting. 

"Wait!" Caboodle whispered, sounding horrified. He was staring straight ahead of them out at the road. "It's--I saw it again."

"Eyes?" Nife said, sighing. "Come on, Caboodle..."

She stopped, when she realized she could see a sort of shadow in the path ahead of them. 

"No..." Caboodle said softly, pointing at it. "That."

She squinted at the thing. There was something utterly wrong about it--something she couldn't put her finger on for a moment. And then she realized what it was. It was cold--cold as the air around it. It had no body heat at all.

It was horrifyingly featureless. It was already too dark outside to make out much of each others' faces, but the creature must have been wearing a long, open cloak, because it was nothing but a black silhouette. There were no eyes visible, though, which was a good thing, because they would've had to have been glowing to make out in this light.

"Come on." Nife stepped back like she was going to run. They were both faster than her. The moment they moved ahead of her, she turned around to face the thing, drawing her daggers.

She'd already seen that it could at least climb as fast as any Druid, and it would probably outrun them. Its crouch matched that of a humanoid preparing to pounce--it was hunting them. She refused to let it catch them from behind.

"Nife, don't!" Kit said. 

He went so far as to pull at her arm, which was highly inappropriate in Bane society. She pushed his hand off her arm. Nife knew that when you run, you panic. Facing the beast was the best option.

The thing started moving toward her. It jogged toward them, cape flouncing at its dark heels, in an almost silly way that only made it that much more terrifying. Her stomach dropped. She imagined it getting close, opening a black maw and sucking her soul into its greedy stomach, then pouncing on her, tearing her apart neck-first. 

"Nife!" Kit repeated, retreating from the creature. His voice was breaking. "Nife, please, run with us." 

"I can't run as fast as you can." Nife said over her shoulder. "You guys go ahead, I'll catch up."

Yeah, like she'd catch up with this thing on her, she thought.

She swallowed, staring the thing down, and blinked, forcing the mental image of her dagger targets back home onto it. It's not a monster, it's just a target, she told herself. 

Okay, maybe it's both.

It flopped closer, something blue glinting momentarily under its hat as it approached. She almost thought she'd seen a hungry grin.

Seeing the way it moved, she flipped her right hand dagger, the silver moth stiletto from Warren. If it lunged, she'd need to have something short range in her off hand. 

Then she threw her left-hand dagger.

It lunged unpredictably at the same time, making a crazed bob in her direction, but as the dagger clacked and bounced on the cement just past where it had been a moment ago, it froze.

"That was a warning." She glared at it, voice trembling slightly.

Now that it was closer, she could see that it wore a tall hat, a cloak, and tattered clothes. She realized she was now nervously flipping a third left-hand dagger the way she'd been flipping Caboodle's comb. It danced between her fingers almost mindlessly, giving her just enough presence of mind to realize she should be backing away, without the ability to actually do it.

Feet rooted to the spot, she raised her next throwing dagger threateningly. It flinched and twisted its head slightly. Again, there was a glint from under its hat. Then it leapt to its right, clinging onto the wall of a building nearby, and skidded and slipped down it to the catwalks below like a squirrel rushing down a tree. She heard it rattling away toward the bottom of the city. The dagger in her hand slipped through her fingers and clattered on the ground.

She sank to her knees and stared ahead at her where the dagger she'd thrown lay on the pavement, right next to where its defiled feet had stood a moment ago. Suddenly she realized she was able to breathe again, and shuddered.

"You scared it off!" Caboodle was saying. "I can't believe you scared it off."

Nife looked back, realizing Kit was frozen with his hands on the rail, staring past her where the thing had been.

She got up slowly, trembling. His eyes moved to her.

"Oh Nife." He said. "Please, never do that again."

"Oh, don't worry, I wasn't even scared," She said. "I'm a fighting Druid. We know how to handle this kind of thing."

"Wait, you knew what that was?" Kit said.

"Well, it was a shadowy ghost creature." Nife said. "You couldn't tell?"

"I've never heard of this kind of thing." Kit said.

Nife fell silent as they got closer to Kit and Caboodle's house. She was glad they were going to get home first.

"Will you be alright?" Kit said. "I'm concerned that the shadowy ghost creature might come back."

"I'll kick its ass if it comes back." Nife shrugged.

Yeah, more like pass out, she thought.

They waved goodbye, and the shadowy ghost creature didn't reappear on Nife's way home.

First chapter: Next chapter:

Taglist: @tildeathiwillwrite @mimostic @fleur-a-whump @a-n-j-a-maria

Per Tumblr's content policy, this is the non-nsfw version of Dance of Death.

For anyone following along on this story that wants the canon NSFW version of the story for free, I’m posting this story on ao3 as well, part by part. You can get the full book right away on amazon for $0.99, but I just want to make it possible for anyone to access.

If you like this book, it would mean so much to me if you leave a review of Dance of Death on Amazon.

[phee-einar]

Alma Carrow || Drabble

Childhood is supposed to be an easy thing. Most children play with their siblings, with their parents and the neighborhood children. They start to learn right from wrong and how to properly play with others. Children aren’t supposed to worry about stepping out of line. Getting punished is a common fear but at a reasonable level. Even most pureblood children these days are allowed to play, their parents slowly catching up to the times and becoming less strict. Less abusive. Realizing that children are allowed to have their own thoughts and that they don’t have to be as extreme. Though there are some families that are still rigid and disciplined. The Carrow household was a prime example. On the outside everything looked pristine. Proud parents with three children who never stepped out of line. Children who listened to every word and perfectly carried it out. A closer look and one would see that it hadn’t always been quite so perfect and capable.

The best part of France was the warmth. Something that didn’t really make sense since not much actually changed when they moved. But at least their mothers home had color to it, which was what made all the difference. Alma was sure that their mother loved the three of them. Even though she wasn’t always able to show it. The woman had always spoiled them, though not in a traditional sense. More so in the sense that she had ‘coddled’ them. At least that’s what their father would call it when she would wipe their tears when they cried. Usually after something he had done. Of course it wasn’t exactly how he would describe it. He would say it was something they had done. A punishment they’d brought upon themselves by not completing their tasks perfectly and orderly. Or in Alma’s case, showing up her siblings. As a child she desperately seeked approval and tried her hardest. She could hardly see how it was her fault that her brother wasn’t as accomplished as she was. He did have one thing on her though, his physical strength. 

Alma was brought up that at most she should be equal to her brother, if not lesser. Maybe it was from sexism or possibly from a sense of fear. Fear that Alma might actually do something to betray them in retaliation for him betraying his twin. Notions that he would promptly squash before they could ever begin to take seed in her brain. A foolish fear as the girl would never betray her siblings. Their upbringing had connected them to each other in a way her father hadn’t expected. The three became undoubtedly loyal to each other. At least that’s how it was for her. She would never do anything to hurt her siblings, in fact she would harm anyone who dared to even try to do such a thing to Alpheus and Althea. If it wasn’t for the fear she held for her father, she most likely would have done away with the man long ago for how he treated them. 

This fear was one of her two weaknesses. The other of course being her siblings. Weaknesses could be used against oneself but she would make sure that never happened. One day her father would be gone and then she would only have one weakness and her siblings could take care of themselves. As much as she would hate to admit. Growing up she always felt the need to protect them, offering to take the brunt of the punishments and shielding them the best she could. If they couldn’t take care of themselves by now, then it was their own fault and foolishness if anything actually happened to them. In which case it would simply be the natural order of things. At least that was what she told herself, even as she still did everything she could to protect them. In any case she was sure of one thing; nothing would happen to her. She didn’t study and train so much to be weak. To come second. To lose to anyone. Not even her flesh and blood. Though Althea definitely made that extremely difficult. The two being identical in almost every single aspect. The only one who could match up to her, was herself. She would make sure of it. At Hogwarts she had excelled in all subjects and now at work she was quickly becoming one of the best in her field. There weren’t many legilimens, and most weren’t able to effortlessly read others' thoughts. Though it was a trait she wished that she didn’t have. At least not as well. 

If anything the ability was almost uncontrollable and it had been that way since childhood. Of course then it had been a lot worse, causing her unable to go to events with large amounts of people. All the thoughts at once had proved overwhelming to the girl, giving her migraines to the point she would pass out. Of course her father saw to it that she got over that flaw. Turning what she would describe as a curse, into a gift. A weapon for him to use. Even as a kid he would ask her to learn what other people were thinking, what they were hiding. As she got older, and with a lot of practice, she figured out how to delve past the surface of one's mind. Of course that skill wasn’t as subtle as the other and had to be planned accordingly or else she would get caught. It was worth it though as it was oftentimes even more useful. 

At first using others had made her uncomfortable, now it made her feel powerful. There was nothing better than seeing right through someone and knowing all of their weaknesses. Knowing exactly which buttons to press to get the desired effect. How to slowly torture someone without even breaking a sweat. The feeling was addicting. Alma couldn’t get enough of it. So much that she didn’t even mind if she was stuck cleaning up after someone, usually her brother, in order to feel it. Though she did wish that she didn’t have to clean up so often. The girl was willing to do just about anything to reach her goals. Which was really something very simple, to prove she was the best. Better than her siblings, her peers, her father. Better than the Dark Lord even. She might not be at the top of the chain at the moment but she was steadily climbing. Proving to others that if they tested her, she wouldn’t stand for it.