#i couldn’t stop loving daenerys if i tried

[in-my-feels-probably]

hey! Is it okay if you write something for Daenerys where reader is usually very playful and is suddenly scared of Dany? After the thing in King's Landing, R is very cold and overly polite with Dany, calling her "Your Grace" and flinching away from her. Happy ending and female reader please!

A Better World

Request: hey! Is it okay if you write something for Daenerys where reader is usually very playful and is suddenly scared of Dany? After the thing in King's Landing, R is very cold and overly polite with Dany, calling her "Your Grace" and flinching away from her. Happy ending and female reader please!

Hi! I am so sorry it took me so long to get to this request, I was so busy and then I took a break from writing. I wanted to make sure I took some time with this request when I started writing again, I love this one. 

This is my first time writing for Daenerys and Game of Thrones, thank you for sending this in. I love this request, I have so many thoughts about Daenerys’s ending, she didn’t deserve to die and I miss her. This is a little different from your request, but I tried my best to stick to it. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

(Warnings: mentions of death, murder, grief, execution, let me know if i missed any)

—

You had never known another woman like Daenerys.

Fierce, but kind, and undyingly loyal. She was strong, and brave, and everything the realm needed her to be. You watched in awe at everything she did. 

She often spoke of how she couldn’t do it without you by her side. From the desert wasteland after Khal Drogo’s death, to her dragons being stolen. From witnessing the deaths of slaves, to making decisions regarding the lives of those who betrayed her. 

There were countless times she thanked you for your ability to lift her spirits and keep her going. She loved that about you, how easily you were able to get her to smile and laugh, and keep her uplifted and driven.

When she and her armies secured Meereen after the attacks from the Sons of the Harpy, resulting in the death and near death of Ser Bariston Selmy and Grey Worm, she found the time to take you aside to confide in you. 

In her chambers at the end of the night, she laid in your arms with her head resting on your shoulder. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can do it.”

You sat up, looking her in the eye. “Do what, love?”

“Watch people die. Watch the people who put their faith in me suffer, because I cannot protect them.”

“No,” you quickly shook your head. “You cannot think like that. You saved these people. Without you, they would still be suffering, even worse than now. You freed the slaves, gave the armies something to believe in. Someone to fight for. You are doing all you can. You are one person, you cannot be expected to save every single person who looks to you for help.”

“Why should they follow me if I can’t save them? Why should you? I was so worried for you today, I didn’t know if you were safe or not.”

“I’m fine, see?” You said, dramatically showing her your arms and legs to prove you hadn’t been hurt. 

Daenerys tried to fight it, but a smile broke through, and yours grew at the sight of it. 

“There’s that smile.”

You cupped her cheek in your palm, running your thumb across her cheekbone. 

“People die every day, Dany. People get hurt. There’s nothing you can do to stop that. What you can do is lead these people. You can break the wheel, so that nobody else has to suffer in the ways you did. The people follow you because they believe in you…I believe in you. You’ll be the one to save us all. So please, do not worry about my safety, or whether or not I’m alright. I will always be alright if I’m around you. I may have my fears, but I have never once feared for my life when it came to following you.”

—

Sticking by Daenerys’s side for the better part of her adult life, the things that scared you were far and few in between.

You had watched her take cities and free slaves. You watched her command armies, getting the Dothraki and Unsullied to believe in her fight. She was fierce and relentless, never stopping until the work was done. 

You had watched her dragons hatch and grow into the beasts they are now. Others might shake in terror at the sight of them, but to you, they really were Daenerys’s children. You never feared them. They never hurt you.

Together, after uniting the North, you had fought the Night King. You lost many, and feared for the death of friends and family, but you made it through.

You had watched both Viserion and Rhaegal die. 

In your years with Daenerys, their deaths were one of the only times you had been afraid to be around her. Watching her grieve was more than you could take. You watched her grow cold. 

But still, she was your Daenerys. Your girl, your Queen, your best friend. With you by her side, she made it through. Despite the rage and sorrow you knew she felt, she grew warm again, opening back up to you. You made it through together. 

You had fought through your fears together, and now, there wasn’t much you were truly afraid of. You had been through it all together, what was left to fear? 

—

The darkest day was when she rained fire down upon King’s Landing.

You watched in horror as she sat upon Drogon, seething as she listened to the city ring the bells in surrender. You knew that face. 

Missandei had been killed just days before, and Daenerys was devastated. That, on top of the North rejecting her as their leader, and the deaths of her dragons, it was more than she could bear. 

Instead of heading straight to the Red Keep, she set fire to the streets. The sound of screams filled your ears, people desperately trying to run away. Mothers calling for their children, crying when they couldn’t find them. 

Soldiers from the Keep were being slaughtered by the Dothraki and Unsullied, as well as any man who tried to stand in their way. 

Jon, who had been charged with keeping you safe in the unlikely event that you would need protection, kept you close by his side when the real chaos began. 

You were supposed to stay with Tyrion, but you couldn’t wait any longer. You wouldn’t stand by and let your people get hurt because Cersei was too prideful to save her own. You had gone down to the streets to try and reason with the soldiers fighting for Cersei to give up. The city was surrounded, there was nowhere for them to go, and it was a fight they would not win. All they had to do was wait for the bells to be rang, and that was it. 

Men and women screamed for the bells to be rang, begging and pleading with their Queen to surrender. Daenerys watched overhead atop Drogon, and you knew even when the bells were rung that it wasn’t the end. 

She first headed for the Keep, and you had a fleeting sense of relief that she was going to do the right thing. The people would be spared, and Cersei would die. That’s how it should have been. But people started running and screaming, and your heart sank from your chest.

Just as the men laid down their swords, and you were going to retreat to safety, fire filled the streets. 

Grey Worm commanded the Unsullied to kill the Keep’s soldiers, with the North men and Dothraki quickly following. Jon convinced a few to stay back, to not kill anyone, but quickly was forced to fight back when the soldiers swamped him and his men.

Jon immediately brought you to stand behind him, handing you a sword off a dead soldier. You knew how to use it, and you’d fight for your life, but you were scared. Even if you survived this, you wouldn’t survive dragon fire if Daenerys unknowingly turned your way on Drogon.

“Stay close to me! Don’t leave my sight!” He yelled, and you quickly nodded, following behind him.

Soldiers were burning in the streets. Mothers cried as they clutched their children to them, hiding in alleyways. Smoke and ash encased the city.

You killed any soldier that tried to kill you, but mostly watched in dazed horror as you followed Jon through the streets, running as fast as you could. 

Soldiers from your own side were murdering fathers in front of their wives and children, forcing them to run. Mothers were sacrificing themselves, giving their now orphaned children just enough time to escape. 

You could see it in Jon’s face that he was just as horrified as you, only killing when necessary. His men weren’t listening to him, and screams filled the streets. 

“Find somewhere to hide,” he told a woman who had narrowly escaped a soldier's wrath, motioning for her to get up.

You grabbed his arm, turning him towards you. “Jon, there’s nowhere to go.” 

He gave you a sad look, pulling you with him. “Just keep going.”

Ash filled the air, making it hard to see. Injured citizens were laid out all through the streets, screaming and crying in agony. Others called out for lost family, unable to find them. People were running, trampling over each other.

“We’re going to die here,” you said, narrowly escaping the buildings caving in. 

“She wouldn’t hurt you. Not you.”

You heard his words, but you didn’t believe him. An hour ago, you would have. But now, you were afraid. So afraid, and it was because of her.

“Fall back, Y/N. We have to go beyond the wall, we have to get out of the city. Fall back! Fall back!” He yelled to the surrounding people, pleading with them to follow him. 

You kept a hand tightly clutched to the back of his coat, not daring to let go. You followed where he led, trying to shut out the sounds of explosions, screams, and cries. 

The Dothraki went in to finish the job, killing any survivors the flames and wreckage missed. 

—

Within an hour, the fighting had stopped. 

There was so much ash in the air that it looked like it was snowing. You were choking on it, it clinging to your eyes and scratching its way down your throat.

Casts of people's incinerated bodies lay throughout the streets, small fires surrounding them. 

You and Jon hadn’t said a word to each other in minutes, both in shock. The silence was so loud it was beginning to hurt your ears. 

Tyrion led you through what was left of King’s Landing, before parting to go find his siblings, if that was even possible. 

Jon kept you by his side. Slowly, you walked together to the steps of the Keep, trying your hardest not to look at the dead children scattered in the street. There were a few survivors left in the city, dazedly wandering around.

You stumbled upon Grey Worm, who had Lannister soldiers in a line on their knees. He had sentenced them to die in the name of the true Queen. Jon couldn’t stop him, and you moved onward before the executions began. 

You walked through the army of Dothraki, and then the Unsullied. A banner with the Targaryen house sigil was hung over the wall. 

You climbed the steps with Jon, spotting Grey Worm at the top. Jon stopped halfway up the steps as he heard Drogon’s roar, turning to look.

You kept going. You were afraid that if you turned around, and you saw Daenerys atop Drogon, you’d never be able to get the memory of it out of your head. Your view of her would be permanently scarred. You heard the cheers of her army as she flew overhead, and you quickly climbed the rest of the steps, turning around at the top to face the armies. 

Daenerys suddenly walked through the archway, coming to stand at the top of the staircase. 

You shrunk into the corner, and were unnoticed by her. Jon took his place beside you, laying a hand on your shoulder. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly. “You’re safe now. It’s over.”

You nodded, watching as Daenerys addressed her army. First the Dothraki, and then the Unsullied. You had a vague understanding of each language she used, catching a few words here and there. You found it hard to pay attention to her speech, your new fear of her now outweighing your love for her. 

She spoke with a fury that you had once admired. 

But now, as you listened to her speak, you feared she was following in her house’s footsteps. She was supposed to be the Targaryen that changed everything. The one to save you all. Now, you weren’t so sure. 

Tyrion appeared, standing at her side. You only caught glimpses of their conversation, their voices drowned out by the cheers of the army. 

“I freed my brother,” you heard Tyrion say. “And you slaughtered a city.”

He removed his Hand of the Queen pin, throwing it down the steps. It grew quiet, and you anxiously watched as Daenerys commanded for him to be taken away. 

As Tyrion was led away, Daenerys finally turned around and spotted you. 

You must have been a sight to see. Covered in ash and blood, your clothes torn and your hair disheveled. A dead man’s sword, still in your grasp. You willed yourself not to shrink away from her gaze in fear, keeping your eyes on hers. 

She let out a small gasp, concern written across her face. Daenerys had never anticipated you getting hurt. You were supposed to stay outside the city and away from danger, yet here you were, lucky enough to have narrowly escaped death. 

A death that would have been by her hands. 

“Y/N,” she muttered, taking a step towards you. 

You took an involuntary step back, internally scolding yourself for showing weakness. Her eyes widened, and she gently took another step toward you. 

“What happened to you? Are you hurt?” She asked, softly cupping your chin and turning your head to get a better look at you. 

You gently pulled your face from her grasp, shaking your head. Your voice was small. 

“I’m fine, Your Grace. Just a few scratches. Jon was there to help me.”

Daenerys was confused by your words and distant tone. “Why were you here, I told you to—“

“I’m sorry,” you quickly said, taking a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, my Queen. I need a moment alone.”

You rushed off before she could say another word, finding an alleyway to duck into. You collapsed against the wall, taking deep and erratic breaths. How could this have happened? Why didn’t she accept the surrender?

It was just that morning that you looked at the woman you loved with nothing but pure adoration in your eyes. Now when you looked at her, you felt fear strike in your heart. 

You thought through the events of the day. You watched her burn a city to the ground, with everyone in it. You watched soldiers from your own side slaughter innocent mothers and children. You heard cries for help as Drogon flew over the city, incinerating everything in his path. 

This was not the first time Daenerys chose the violent path. She murdered the slavers of Astapor. She crucified hundreds of Meereenese nobles. She burned the Dothraki khals alive. And who could argue with that? You were by her side for all of it, and you justified each one. They were evil men doing evil things, they deserved to die. They didn’t deserve her mercy, they deserved the gruesome deaths they got. 

But after so many liberations, the bodies began to pile up. The streets were filled with blood and ash, and who was left to rule over all of them now? Your Queen.

She freed the people of Meereen, Slaver’s Bay, and now Kings Landing. She freed them, and she would continue liberating people until the entire world was free. 

At its core, it wasn’t a bad idea. Daenerys has a good heart, you knew that much. She was doing what she genuinely believed was right. Freeing people, you agreed with. Breaking the wheel was a necessary step. But the methods in which she did and would continue to do it weren’t excusable, even by you. 

To her, it seemed as if building a better world, and burning it to the ground, were one in the same.

Fire and blood was in her nature. You hadn’t decided if that was a good thing or not yet. 

—

A few hours later, you were called to the Red Keep. 

Daenerys had requested your presence. Grey Worm led you to the throne room in silence, opening the door and guiding you in. 

“That will be all. You may leave us,” Daenerys said, and he closed the door behind you. 

She was standing before the Iron Throne, running a hand along the melted down swords. She hadn’t turned to look at you yet. 

“Tell me,” she said, her voice soft. “What were you doing in the city? You could have been killed.”

You fought the urge to scoff at her, fiddling with your hands in front of you. Biting your tongue, you answered. 

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“Your Grace?” She asked incredulously, turning around to face you. 

You held your breath as she stared, feeling like her eyes were piercing straight through you. 

“Is that not what you want to be called, My Queen?”

“Not by you. You’ve never referred to me as such. Why now?”

You chose your words carefully, keeping your gaze on the floor. “You have the throne now. You have control of the realm, you are now its ruler. As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, is it not my place as a subject to refer to you as such?”

She ignored your answer, asking again. “Why were you in the city?”

“I couldn’t stand by any longer. The city had fallen, but the bells hadn’t been rung. If there was any chance that I could convince Cersei’s soldiers to stand down and give up control, I had to take it. I followed Jon’s men to catch up with him, and just as the soldiers laid down their weapons, the fires started. The fighting followed. I had no way of getting out of the city on my own, and so I stayed with Jon.”

You heard her approach you, faintly flinching as she got close. 

“Look at me,” she commanded, her voice quiet. “Y/N…look at me.”

Reluctantly, you glanced up to meet her gaze. She reached out, taking one of your hands. You stiffened, but didn’t pull away. You felt tears stinging your eyes, and willed them not to fall.

“Why can’t you look at me?” She asked, squeezing your hand. “Do you fear me?”

It was silent for a moment. You looked into her eyes, feeling a twinge in your heart. 

“What if I do?”

A look of sadness set on her face. It pained you to see it, so much so that you almost gave in to her touch.

“Why?”

“Have you been down there?” You asked, growing angry. “Have you seen all that you’ve done?”

“I did what was necessary–”

“No!” You said, cutting her off. “No. You did what was easy.”

You watched as her jaw clenched, and she dropped your hand. She moved to turn around, but you grabbed her shoulder to stop her. She looked at you in shock, but didn’t say a word.

“I could have died, Daenerys. Do you realize that?”

“I would never hurt you–”

“But you did! I was lucky compared to most of the people down there. I’m still alive. I didn’t lose anyone. I can’t say the same for anyone else. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. When I heard the bells toll, and the city had surrendered, I felt relief. You were supposed to go for the Keep! This was just about Cersei.”

“Cersei gave me no choice!”

You shook your head. “There’s always a choice, Daenerys. I watched innocent men, women, and children die today. Either at the hands of your soldiers, or from the fire and destruction you rained down upon them. I killed men today. I ran for my life for hours through the streets. I would have died if Jon wasn’t there to protect me. When it was all over, we walked by complete and utter destruction. Families burned to ash. Children…burned to ash. You once told me you had no interest in being Queen of the ashes. Has that changed?”

Daenerys took a step closer to you, laying a hand on your cheek. “I did not intend for you to get caught in the crossfire. You must believe me, I would never put you in harm's way. I’d never forgive myself if you had gotten hurt.”

You pressed your face into her palm, feeling fresh tears spill onto your cheeks.

“I understand that this city is corrupt. And I know how hurt you are, I know how much you’ve lost. Jorah, Missandei, your dragons, the North’s support. There’s nothing I could say that would make that any better. I know how much you’ve had to grieve, and I wish that I could take that pain away from you…but you punished a city for it. This throne, it has corrupted you. It’s made you lose your way. Dany, I know your heart is good. I know that. But I will not stand here and justify what you did today. How can you?”

Her face crumpled at your words, and she sank to the floor. You slowly followed her, kneeling at her side. 

“All my life, I’ve waited for this moment. I’ve sacrificed so much, Y/N. I’ve seen too much suffering at the hands of people like Cersei Lannister. I will not stand idly by when there is something I can do to change that.”

“I would never ask you to. I understand the world you’re trying to create, Dany. You have done so much good already. Freeing people, killing tyrants, and that is how it is supposed to happen. I have stood by your side and supported you through it all, have I not? But this is too far. Please tell me you see that.”

“I never meant for it to be this way. I never meant for you to get hurt.”

You nodded, taking her hands.

“I know that. But hear me now, and hear me well. You are not your Father. You are not him, or your brothers, or any other man that has come before you that has been responsible for the suffering of countless others. There is this rage in you, one that I think has been brewing for generations. Don’t let it control you. You are stronger than it. Be better than the ones who came before you.”

She clung to your hands like she was too afraid to let you go. “I don't know if I know how to do that.”

“I’ll help you,” you said, squeezing her hands. “We all will. I won’t lose you, Dany. Not after everything. But I will not stand by your side any longer if continuing down this path is what you choose.”

“I did what I thought was right,” she whispered, and you felt your heart crumble at her words. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you did. That’s why I love you so much. You’re my best friend, and My Queen. I’ve watched you for years, in awe of you every day. You’re strong, and you’re driven, and you’re brave. You care about people, and you’ve saved so many. You’re good, Daenerys.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away.

“I believe in you, Dany. I believe in your fight. But what happened today is not the way. This rage that is inside of you, in some ways, I admire it. But it is controlling you. If you truly mean what you say, then we must do better. Building a better world means protecting those who cannot protect themselves.”

She listened to your words, and sat for a moment in silence. After a moment, squeezing your hands, she stood and walked to the edge of the room where the wall had fallen. She let out a shrill whistle, and Drogon appeared from below. 

He crawled inside the keep, facing his Mother. She turned to you, giving you a sad smile, before turning back to Drogon.

“Drogon…Dracarys!”

Standing tall, letting out a roar, Drogon set fire to the Iron Throne. 

You shielded your face from the heat, watching in shock as he melted the throne down into nothing more than a pool of steel on the floor. Daenerys backed up, stopping when she stood by your side. You reached for her hand, gripping it tight and intertwining your fingers. 

Daenerys never ceased to surprise you. She was the strongest person you had ever met. She waited years to sit upon the Iron Throne, and had given up so much of herself for it, only to burn it to the ground when it really mattered. 

Your Dany was good, and she would not let herself be controlled by the demons that controlled the very men she sought to overthrow. The wheel would be broken, that was a dream she’d never give up on. But it would be broken by justice and mercy, not fire and blood.

When it was over, she turned to you. “I won’t be weak. I won’t allow the evil of this world to continue. Sometimes, fire and blood is necessary. It is the way, for those who deserve it. But it won’t control me. I won’t be cruel. I won’t kill those who don’t deserve it, and I’ll protect those who cannot protect themselves. You were right. I don’t want to be Queen of the ashes…I want to be Queen of the free. I said that I wanted to leave the world better than I found it, and that is what I intend to do.”

You smiled, bringing her into your arms. “I’ll follow you every step of the way, My Queen. As long as it takes. We’ll do it together.”

—

A/N - Hi! Thank you again for being so patient. If you couldn’t tell, I love Daenerys, and I miss her so much. She deserved so much better. Anyways, I hope you liked it, let me know what you think!

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

The Most Impossible Battle

Pairing: Young Robert Baratheon x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: soft dubcon, NSFW, gradual consent, rough sex

Words: 3020

Summary: Robert hated all Targaryens. Wise words from those close to him though make Robert Baratheon give in to the idea of taking (y/n) Targaryen as his bride.

By the Gods Robert, have mercy on the girl.” Ned pleaded but was immediately shut up by Robert’s roaring voice.

“Mercy?! MERCY?! Did that Targaryen whore’s brother show your sister mercy when he raped her?!! The Targaryen don’t deserve mercy Ned!” Young and callous, Robert Baratheon’s beautiful blue eyes were now tainted with his fury and anger. He stood a few inches higher above the his Stark brother. Even with that fact, Ned refused to stand down on the matter.

With a stone face, he goes on “Her brother is to blame. She has done nothing wrong.”

That made Robert scoff. “Except let the others escape. She’s fully aware of her family’s guilt. Have you so quickly forgotten what her father had done to your brother and father? The whole family is taint and should be eradicated.”

Yes, young (y/n) Targaryen had made sure her younger siblings were well out of harms way. At the moment she had been captured she had sent her younger brother Viserys and newborn sister Daenerys away on a cargo ship. To where, she refused to say. Brave, Ned admired that much about the girl. In that moment he was reminded so much of Lyanna. Brave, beautiful and stubborn.

Ned couldn’t let Robert execute her. He didn’t want anymore blood shed thanks to this stupid war.

He gives Jon Arryn a sideways glance, asking for his help. Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale, purses his lips together for a moment. “Think rationally Robert.” The older man did always have a way in reining him in. Both men viewed him as a surrogate father and in that aspect resonated a great deal of respect. “Even though there were a great deal of people who hated Aerys, there an even greater many who loved Rhaegar and (y/n). Those supporters are already upset at the death of Rhaegar, as deserving as it was. But (y/n)? She’s but a sweet maid who has done nothing. Those families might do something hasty if you were to execute her.”

“Then I’ll kill them. I’m king now and if a see someone that isn’t obedient I can surely have them executed. The whole lot of those Targaryen loving scum.” Spitting he stomps over to a large window to look over his new dominion of King’s Landing. Hands splayed on the windowsill he glares out over the city.

“Be reasonable Robert.” Jon tries again. “That will just earn you more resentment from the people you now govern. Otherwise you’d be just like Aerys.”

That made Robert’s broad shoulders go rigid. The last thing he wanted was to be compared to the Targaryen king. No, he didn’t want to be anything like Aerys. “Then what do you suggest I do with the girl?”

The room was quiet for a moment, as if Jon was afraid to even say the solution. One encouraging look from Ned gave him the strength he needed. “Marry her.”

Ned gaped at the Arryn lord, he hadn’t been expecting that as a solution.

Robert spun on his heel, dark mane of hair flying as he did so. “Marry her? Have you lost your mind?!”

“Not as much as you have.” Jon speaks truthfully, staring down the young man who used to be his ward. “Think about it Robert. If you marry her, then those who still support the Targaryens will have no choice but to support you. She’s well loved among the people. That would give you good reception, having her as your bride.”

Gritting his teeth, his blue eyes narrow. “No. Never. I will never marry her. It would be a disgrace upon the memory of Lyanna. Lyanna was who I was supposed to marry. And now because of that Targaryen bastard, she’s dead.”

“What’s done is done Robert. You cannot turn back time. But you can attempt to move on.” He tries to sound a little sympathetic. Robert had been deeply in love with Lyanna, but even Jon Arryn knew that his love only ran so deep. It hadn’t stopped Robert from sleeping with dozens of other women.

Sighing, Ned places a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “He’s right. You’re king now. You must do things that you don’t necessarily want to do. Keeping the peace by marrying her… It needs to be done Robert. There is still unrest all throughout Westeros. Her father and brother may have been bastards, but she was beloved by all the realms. It would do you good.”

“Damn you Ned. Damn you and your sensible words.”

*

Were they okay? You hoped Viserys didn’t lose his temper with the newborn Daenerys.

Your fingers made circles in the dirt that you called your bed.

They should be safely out in the open water. People would have a hard time finding that ship.

Fear and worry and the echo of Viserys pleading with you to go with them. But there wasn’t any time. Not for you at least. You had to delay Robert’s soldiers. That was the only way that the ship would be able to leave the port in time. Daenerys’ shrill cries still haunted you as you stared at the walls of your cell. You never thought in a million years that you would wind up there, in the dungeons of your ancestors.

You didn’t know what would be worse, you rotting away in the dungeon or Robert Baratheon having you executed. You understood why all this had happened, you weren’t that much of a naive girl. True you had been sheltered most of your life, you knew how the world worked. Your brother had been a fool. It was his fault for stealing the Stark girl although you didn’t believe one bit that he had raped her. That was not in Rhaegar’s nature. Neither was war. Now you were paying for the price of it. You knew that if the soldiers had caught Viserys he would have been as good as dead. He posed a threat to the usurper as now being the next in line for the Iron Throne. The last male heir of Aerys. What would your fate be?

You hadn’t anticipated marriage being an option.

Guards had dragged you out of your cell, filthy and stumbling as your eyes tried to adjust to the bright light that suddenly blinded you. You were lead to the reception hall that was once filled with the skulls of your family’s dragons. There in the back, commanding authority was the Iron Throne. On it now sat an imposing Robert Baratheon. It was an odd sight for you, seeing a man that wasn’t your insane father on the throne. One that lacked the Targaryen violet eyes and snow white hair. Robert’s thick hair clashed against your own; violently dark opposed to your gentle silver tresses. He looked every part of king, much more than your father did. During the last few years, Aerys’ body had begun to deteriorate greatly as his body thinned and became frail. Not Robert. His body was taught with muscle, ready to strike. His thick beard betrayed his young age, making him look so much more older than you knew he was. The new King of Westeros.

You had thought you were there to hear your death sentence. What came out of the stag king’s mouth nearly made you lose balance.

“I will take you as my queen. You have no say in the matter and will act accordingly unless you want to meet the same fate as your brother and father.” Stating with no compassion in his heart, rich blue eyes glare at you. “It seems fitting since he took my bride away.”

Opening your mouth you realize you didn’t know what to say. Surely you could oppose but what would that do to help you? From his voice it was clear that the last thing he wanted to do was marry you. The feeling was very much mutual. Even though your brother had been an idiot and had been in the wrong, you still hated Robert for killing him. You realized you might want death rather than this. To have to bed the man that killed Rhaegar… It made you sick. Rhaegar was an idiot, but he was your idiot. Dozens of memories resurfaced that nearly had you weeping.

“I… I am to be your bride?” The words were laced with venom. “A usurper’s queen?”

If he hadn’t been perched on the throne you knew he would’ve slapped you. Instead you noticed the subtle whitening of his knuckles as he gripped at the throne. “Watch your tongue, whore. You should be grateful that I don’t crush your skull in with my hammer.”

Dragon fire flushed your face. “I would rather you do that than subject me than your disease ridden cock.”

There was a collective gasp in the hall. A beloved princess you were, but that didn’t mean you let people step over you. You were blood of the dragon after all.

“Your grace,” broke in a voice next to you. A solemn looking man took to your side. The sigil of a direwolf displayed proudly on his vest. “Please, I know this must be difficult for you but it is the best course of action for you to take. You’ll still have your life and your people.”

“And what of my respect? My dignity? I lose all that to the Baratheon usurper.”

In a more hushed tone, the young Stark lord bends a bit to whisper in your ear. “I promise to you, if you go through with this I’ll make sure your siblings remain safe. To the old Gods and the new, I swear that they won’t be harmed.”

You soften. The Starks kept good to their word, everyone knew that. How could you say no when it ensured the safety of your siblings?

“Okay… Okay.”

*

By the Gods she was beautiful. Disgustingly beautiful with her Targaryen traits. Robert hated it. Hated her and her entire family. But he couldn’t deny her beauty. Especially when she stood there in front of him, her Targaryen cloak around her shoulders about to be replaced by the Baratheon yellow and black. She looked every bit a queen should. Full pouting lips, dark eyelashes that kissed at her cheeks when she fluttered her eyelids. The trail of her neck that led down to a prominent collar bone (probably from having been denied food for days).

It should have been Lyanna there in her place. Jon Arryn was right in one thing though, he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t dream of mending the past. Nothing would bring Lyanna back to him. Robert would take Rhaegar’s sister as retribution; watch the fallen prince turn in his grave as he married her.

Robert couldn’t deny his immense attraction to her though. More so now that she stood in front of them in their wedding chambers. The Bedding Ceremony was about to commence. Violet eyes hold onto blue as she stands her ground.

“Turn around.” He growls out. “I don’t want to look at your face.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” She hisses back and turns around. Her silver hair had been done so meticulously in luscious braids and curls that even Robert couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and grabbing her hair. Catching himself, he gives it a good yank making her suck in breath at the pain. His other hand goes to the laces on the back of her dress, easily ripping them to reveal her flawless, bare, back. Such beautiful skin. Robert’s fingers glide along her back before tearing off the rest of her dress so that it pooled around her feet. (y/n) continues to stand tall with her back straight. Grabbing the back of her neck, Robert bends her over the bed so that her face was pressed into the mattress; her small hands curled tightly into the silken bedsheets. Preparing for whatever Robert had planned for her. Surely she must know what he would do. Treat her as harshly as Rhaegar must have treated Lyanna. His thick thigh pushes her legs apart and Robert nearly sighs at the sight. The sight of her exposed and bent over was enough for him to salivate over. What a beautiful cunt she had. Possibly the most beautiful he had seen. He wanted to run his tongue along her slit and taste her.

(y/n) struggled slightly to move her face into a better position for her to breathe. As she did so she unconsciously wiggled her ass, an ass that begged for a smack.

That’s just what he did. Reeling his hand back and smacking her ass. “Stay still.” A vivid red handprint starts to bloom on her rear. His large hand grabs her pussy and with his fingers spreads her lower lips apart in preparation for his cock. He was a little bit too excited to fuck her. He shouldn’t have felt the thrill of it rush through him. In the end he was just as weak as any other man. As much as he wanted to be rough, he also wanted to enjoy it. Ever so slowly he pushes his cock inside of her inch by inch. Each slow movement of him entering her made (y/n) tremble and dare he say, even moan a little bit. Finally he was completely sheathed inside of her. Robert let his head roll back, eyes closing at the sublime feeling of her wonderful cunt. It was unlike anything else he had felt before. And he had fucked many maidens. Many virgins as well. None had felt quite so good though. His pace was slow at first, enjoying each contraction her cunt made as he slid his cock in and out. Using his hands, he tilted her hips up even more and hitting the right place, (y/n) lets out a shaky moan. It made him pick up the pace and pound into her. The sound of his pelvis smacking against her ass as he went balls deep into her was maddening.

“Fuck.” His deep voice groans out. He wanted to see her face. Wanted to see her tits as he fucked her senselessly. With such ease he flips her onto her back. (y/n)’s face was incredibly red now that she faced him. She was trying to glare at him but once Robert slid back into her, her eyes rolled back into her head. Crying out as he rammed into her over and over again, so much so that it made her tits bounce. Robert wraps his fingers around her slender neck putting the slightest pressure; tightening his grip little by little.

*

Fuck

Fuck

FUCK

It was becoming hard to breathe but that was the least of your worries. The sight of Robert, his barrel chest and taught abs fucking you was too much to bear. Hard lines of his muscles twitching as he tightened his fingers around your neck.

Why did it feel so good? He was basically fucking you like a whore. You were a pureblood Targaryen and deserved better. But you found yourself enjoying his harsh treatment. You wanted him to get rougher. You wanted him to pound harder into you so that you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Head becoming light and warm, something else was happening. You felt a tightening below. The more he fucked you, the tighter the coil seemed to get until…

No. You didn’t want to be the first one to come undone. You didn’t want him to know that you were actually enjoying it. At the rate he was going though it was only a matter of time.

To take back control you launched yourself at him, catching him by surprise and his hand releasing from your neck. With your surprise attack you wrestle him so that he was now the one under you on the bed. His cheeks are red, eyes hard as he regards you with question. His about to protest until you sit yourself down on his cock. Protest devolving into a groan he lets his head fall onto the mattress as you roll your hips. You place your hands on his hard chest. Bobbing up and down his cock you try to ignore your cunt begging for release. Curling your fingers, you dig your nails into his chest and drag them harshly down. His face scrunches up, baring his teeth and hissing. Hands reaching around you to grab at your ass, he pulls you quickly up and down. You wouldn’t allow him to be in control for too long though. Again you dig your nails and drag them. Robert releases your ass and glares up at you. Beautiful blue eyes. Your own little hands reach to his thick neck and tighten like claws of a hawk. Using that as support you lift yourself off of his engorged member and start to tease the head of his cock. Slowly, torturously slow, you barely sit down enough for the head to be sheathed before coming back up. Your husband growls impatiently, wanting you to go back to riding his cock. You’re just buying yourself more time and shortening his. That’s when you sit all the way down on his cock. His mouth gapes open as you ride him. His breathing become hard, his hips desperately thrusting to match you.

You feel his body lock up underneath you as he lets out a loud groan.

The two of you were frozen in that position, trying to regain your breath. You had won. At least this battle. A bit unsteadily you lift yourself off of him; something warm and wet dribbling out. Smuggly you lay down beside him and stare at the ceiling, the space between your legs upset with you that you denied yourself your own orgasm.

“Well fuck.” Robert pants. Lazily he turns his head. “You didn’t come.”

“I wouldn’t dare grant you that satisfaction.” You roll away from him and onto your side.

Determined to prove you wrong, Robert’s hand lands on your shoulder and rolls you onto your back. “Fuck that noise. I’m gonna make you cum so hard that you’ll see stars.”

[axelsagewrites]

Hi. Can I request Edmure x female Snow (Jon’s sister) where Edmure, reader, Jon etc learn her heritage and after dany’s mad queen thing is reader selected to be queen and Edmure her consort. Maybe smut too, either way more Edmure.

Edmure Tully*My Queen, My Love

Pairing: snow!f!reader x husband!edmure

A/N: I did change your request slightly since I just couldn’t think of how to write danny as the mad queen or how to get the plot going so now its edmures reaction to her heritage and danny naming her as her heir and them celebrating with some soft smut at the end so I hope you still like it!

Word count: 2705

Warnings: talks of death/red wedding, praise, ‘my queen’ honorific, f!receiving oral, fingering, slight teasing, thighs, soft smut 18+

Past

When Jon left for the wall, you thought you’d never see him again. When your sisters got taken as hostages in the red keep you thought they were as good as dead. When Winterfell was taken you thought your youngest brothers were gone for good. Everyone around you began to drop like flies and if not for Edmure you would have thrown yourself from Riverrun’s walls when you got the news of Robbs brutal murder and at a wedding no less.

Your stomach churned at the memory, and you wondered what your own fate would have been if Robb had not sent you and Edmure back to Riverrun to defend it from Lannister attacks. Sometimes you wondered if he knew, if somehow Robb felt the unease in the air of the twins. When you hugged Robb goodbye for the last time you clung on, but you did not know why you did or why your direwolf star was so reluctant to leave Greywind’s side. She, like ghost, was a pale white but unlike his red eyes hers were the palest of purples, so pale you wondered if they were clear in certain lights.

You were only halfway to Riverrun when you heard the news. You tried to back, hell bent of trying to avenge Robb with a sword, a wolf, and only three men but Edmure had to hold you back. He screamed at you in the forest ‘do you want to die? What of your sisters who will they have to save them when your dead at Walder Frey’s feet? Dying won’t bring him back.'

'My father is dead. My brothers are dead. The girls are as good as dead and only the gods know where Jon is, you screamed it back, face wet with tears and your voice tearing the air. I have no one.'

'You have me and you have star and the gods be good your sisters in time, but you won’t have anything if you run without thinking.'

His words swam about your heads for the weeks you spent traveling with Edmure and the two others Robb had sent with you. Your gold ran out quickly and there were no friends for you to find. That was until you came across the man with half his face scorched off. You’d found him in a heap at the bottom of a mountain and were shocked when you noticed his shallow breaths.

You didn’t know why you felt the need to stop your travels for a week to nurse him back to health, but you did and when he was not insulting you or trying to start fights his roughness started to slip. 'Did you see a girl dressed as a boy? Brown hair, face like a pinched arse, a tiny needle of a sword. Goes by Arry.' Arya. Your sister was alive. You had hope again.

Eventually the gods turned your fate. You may have lost the two guards Robb had sent with you in skirmishes, but you were left with Sandor and Edmure and eventually the brotherhood found you. With them came travels and with travels came Jon. Finally you had Jon back. Then Sansa too and with the hope Arya was out there you dared continue.

Meanwhile you had Edmure beside you the entire time. He backed all your decisions publicly and debated you in private but never to berate. He helped you heal the wounds you couldn’t reach and didn’t eat till he made sure you had your share. He was the rock securing your tie to reality.

You remember his reaction to meeting Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name. Its not her dragons we should fear. A woman who brings the Dothraki across the sea on the hope of a promise not given to her holds power. Her words hold power.

While Sansa was sceptical of her you felt yourself drawn to her. As time went on you began to view her as more of a friend than a foreign queen. You found yourself added to her small council. Despite Tyrion being her hand, it was you she turned to in her dilemma.

Then one day Jon barged into one of your chambers, insisting it could not wait a day longer. He forced Edmure to leave the chambers despite you insisting that the man who had become your husband could hear anything he had to say. 'Ned Stark was not our father sweet sister, but he was not a stranger either.' You felt the colour drain from your face as he spoke. 'Bran, he saw it, Lyanna Stark on her birthing bed. Twins in her arms. We had a mother sweet sister and a father too. Rhaegar Targaryen.'

Present

After he broke the news, you demanded he leave, not wanting him to speak another word till you could bare to tell Daenerys yourself. Then Edmure returned. As you told him everything Jon had revealed you felt your world spinning as Edmure sat silently taking it all in.

The feel of Edmures hands grabbing yours slowed your rant, your breathing steadying. “Breathe my love. It is going to be okay,”

“But what if its not?” You asked, a break in your voice.

You looked to the man that had kept you afloat during this war with wide eyes brimmed with tears. His hand gently moved to hold your face, “You are still you, my love. This does not need to change your world unless you choose it too. Your brother will back you; he always has. I am here for you love. We are safe, we will survive this,”

“What if she thinks us a threat?” You said, voice barely above a whisper, “Rober Baratheon would’ve murdered them in their cribs if he had got there in time to swing his hammer. What will she do to me?”

“She has shown you no signs of tyranny, no signs of madness. If you lie to her, scheme against her, she will know but even if ned Stark was not your father you still have his honour,” Edmure said, leaning to kiss your forward softly, “and you have me. I may not breath fire, but I would fight any dragon for you,”

You watched as Daenerys face turned as Jon told her the truth with you by his side. “If it were true, you would be the last living male Targaryen. Are you here to threaten my claim?” She asked, her face twisting into betrayal.

“No,” you said, finally speaking up in the silence, “Jon has no interest in the iron throne, do you brother?” You said, scared when he paused for a moment before agreeing with you.

Daenerys turned away, pacing to the fire in silence, “Leave us,” she said, her head raising to face Jon, “and do not speak a word of this to anyone. Swear it,”

“I swear it your grace,” Jon said, nodding his head solemnly before leaving.

As the door shut Daenerys finally turned to look at you, “I assume Edmure knows,” she said dryly, “Who else?”

“No one your grace,” you said, crossing the room to try come to her side but she backed away, “No one needs know if you don’t want them too. But you cannot deny you need a family,”

“I have my dragons,” she said, almost spitting the words before looking into the flames, “A woman told me once they would be my only children,” she said with a softer tone.

"When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east," you whispered back, having heard her tales of her first marriage many nights.

“When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves,” she said, her eyes not leaving the flickering flames, “I believe I will see my child when I die. The son a witch stole from me. The family I was told to dream about having as a child, gone. What is a queen with no heirs?” She said, finally looking from the flames. “If I was to name Jon my heir people would cross their fingers for the day I died. Your land has never cared much for their queens,”

You paused for a moment, thinking back to the talks you had with Edmure the night before. “There is another way your grace,” you said, moving over to sit in the armchair by the fire, Daenerys moving to the other, “The northerns have never liked to bend their knee to the south but what if you didn’t make them? Allow Jon to be king of the north, recognise Robbs kingship and his will naming Jon as his heir. No southern lord is going to fight for a bastard to sit the iron throne,”

Daenerys sat back in her chair, thinking over your words carefully, “And what of you? You would stay in the north to take the throne after him?”

You shook your head lightly, “No your grace. He may be my brother, but you are my queen. I will follow you south, fight your battles and die for you, if need be, serve however required,”

Daenerys paused, chuckling slightly under her breath, “Even as my heir?” She said, her eyes hard to read.

“Unless you have children,” you said but Daenerys just laughed and stood again.

“No. My dragons are my children. One of them is already dead. My womb has been cursed and the child bed is more dangerous than any battle ahead. Now I will not have children. But I will have an heir. An heir who will act as a delegate to the newly independent north. You,” she said, finally turning back to see you, “You shall be my heir and you shall rule when I am gone. Not your husband, not Jon. You,”

The feast announcing Daenerys decision was one of the last moments of joy for many before the long night. You sat at the head table, Daenerys on one side and Edmure on the other. He held your hand under the table, his thumb stroking over your hand. Jon sat on the other side of Daenerys; a shoddy silver crown placed on his head unlike the one Daenerys wore made of gold.

After the festivities you walked back to your chamber, slightly lightheaded from the wine but with Edmures arm wrapped around yours to steady yourself. “One day you will be a queen,” he hummed, smiling down at you, “The title suits me,”

“Hopefully not for a long time,” you said, kissing his cheek as you stumbled to your chambers, “Excited about your future promotion?” You joked with a drunken grin.

He shook his head with a chuckle, “the title is yours not mine. I will not rule for you love for you will be my queen. Though I hope you will at least allow me on your council when the time comes,” he said as you turned into the corridor your chamber lay in.

“Of course,” you said, hugging his arm tighter, “You have always been my hand. Without you I am nothing,”

“No, my love,” he said as he unlatched the chamber door, “You are everything and more,” he said, kissing your lips softly in the chamber doorway. “Give me a moment to light the fire,”

As Edmure stoked the flames you began to slip out of your northern clothes, leaving them in a pile at the side of the bed and leaving only your shift on for coverage. You sat on the foot of the bed, watching as Edmure finally had the fire burning bright before he took his own outdoor clothing off.

“You look divine my love,” he said as he sat his neatly folded tunic on the armchair by the fire.  You held your hand out to him across the room, silently beckoning him over. Edmure did as you asked wordlessly, gently taking your hand and moving to stand between your legs. He bent down, pressing a slow soft kiss to your lips. Your hands rested on his shoulders, his cupping your jaw lightly before he stood up straight again, “It is time for rest my love,” he said, moving back to kick off his boots.

You shook your softly at him, a smile toying your lips, “We are celebrating tonight remember?” You said, standing so you could wrap your arms around his waist to pull him closer. His body, left with only his trousers, pressed flush against yours leaving no gaps between your skin. “Wont you celebrate with me, husband?” You asked, a teasing smile on your lips.

“I suppose some celebrating could be in order,” Edmure said with a light chuckle. He lifted your chin with his fingers, his head dipping to reconnect your lips. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer somehow. You were breathless as Edmure walked you back till the backs of your thighs hit the bed frame. “Lay down my queen,” he said, panting as he pulled away from your lips.

“I am not queen yet,” you said, the wine making the idea more funny than terrifying. None the less you moved to lay on the bed, letting your shift bunch up to reveal more of your thighs.

Edmures eyes scanned your thighs, soaking in your frame. You couldn’t help but notice the outline in his trousers by this point but you did not protest as he began to crawl up the bed to you, kissing your calf then knee and up to your thighs, “Let me serve you my queen,” he said as he placed a kiss to your inner thigh, “You have always been my queen,”

Your breathing was ragged as you felt him kiss up your inner thighs, his breath fanning over your skin making it tingle. Your fingers ran over his hair, toying with it softly, “Serve me husband,” you said, aching for his mouth which was less than an inch from where you wanted it to be, “Serve your queen,” you inhaled sharply when you felt him place a soft kiss to your wet cunt, his lips moving up to place another wet kiss to your clit. Your fingers tugged his hair gently as he began to lick soft stripes up your cunt, his pressure increasing with each lick to tease the feeling. While you were usually the one doing the teasing Edmure wanted to make sure this was truly a celebration for you tonight as his tongue worked its wonders while his hands softly squeezed your thighs.

His mouth moved up, his focus turning to gently sucking your clit as curse words slipped from under your breath. His hand slipped from your thigh, slowly grazing over your skin till his fingers began to tease your hole. You moaned lightly when you felt his fingers slowly slipping in as he had practised many times with you over the years. You could feel your thighs tighten around his head and how he moaned sending vibrations through your wet cunt.

You could feel your body tightening, a knot forming in your stomach as Edmure began to hit your sweet spot, his fingers curling gently to hit closer with each move. “Yes,” you gasped, your fingers suddenly tightening in his hair, “Like that,” you said, your voice caught as your body tightened.

Edmure did exactly as he was told as he felt your thighs begin to twitch. Your body felt close to bursting till your orgasm spilled over you, your legs clamping around his head as your body tensed up, toes curling. Edmure did not attempt to remove his tongue or mouth as he let you ride out your wave, only moving when he felt your legs begin to release his head.

He came up for air, his face slick and an adoring smile on his face, “You truly are amazing,” he murmured, kissing your thigh before moving up to lay beside you.

You turned, trying to reach for his trousers to return the favour but Edmure caught your wrist, raising your hand up to his lips to kiss, “Not yet love. Catch your breath my queen,”

You laughed lightly at his words, “Are you always going to call me that?” You asked.

“Yes, for it will always be true,”

Taglist @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy @valeskafics

[alwritey-aphrodite]

My Game of Thrones Girlies as

Taylor Swift Songs

It’s my two favorite things!

Cersei Lannister: The Man - not in a ‘she would be great if she were a man’ kind of way but in a ‘she thinks she’d be great if she were a man’ kind of way. because at the end of the day, Cersei would be a shitty ruler. She’d be straight up awful, but not because she’s a woman, because she fucking sucks. Everyone likes to shit on her solely because she’s a woman when they should be shitting on her because she’s an awful human being. Everyone would praise her as being an awesome villain if she were a male character. Hate her because she’s bad and dumb, not because she’s a woman.

Arya Stark: Karma - she is karma. She is ‘going to track you down, step by step from down to town’. She is ‘sweet like justice’. Like.. has there been a more perfect song for the girl who lists off all the people she wants dead every night before she goes to sleep? For the girl who did that to Walder Frey? She is making sure everyone is getting what they deserve, she’s crossing those names off her list, and I love her for it.

Sansa Stark: mirrorball - ‘I’m still a believer but I don’t know why’ if that line doesn’t describe Sansa I don’t know what does. She is the mirrorball blueprint, she tries so, so, so hard and even when things don’t work out, when she gets fucked over again and again and again, she keeps trying. All of those lines like “watch my shattered edges glisten” I feel perfectly capture how even when she’s broken into a million little pieces she is still keeping up appearances and doing what she needs to in order to survive. I’d take a bullet for her.

Margaery Tyrell: Bejewled - Margaery Tyrell is the love of my life, my best friend, I’m obsessed with her. And yes, there are plenty of sad songs I could have used, but I think this fits her better. “A diamond’s gotta shine”, nothing is stopping her from getting what she wants and looking good while doing it. I feel like this is another one of those songs where it’s like do whatever the hell you want to me, you’re not taking me down, and I feel like that just perfectly describes Margaery and her determination to get what she wants.

Daenerys Targaryen: you’re on your own kid - the way the phrase ends with “you always have been” and then switches to “you can face this” perfectly captures Dany’s entire story arch. She has been alone her entire life, the only person she could rely on was Visery, who was a total creep and trying to pimp her out since she was old enough to be leered at. She has always been alone, the last dragon, and yet she’s survived and she’s ruling and she has friends now. She started off so alone, and now she’s gaining confidence as a person and as a ruler and she is able to handle whatever life throws at her. “I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this.”

Rhaenrya Targaryen: this is me trying - “they told me all of my cages were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential” I just… it’s so perfect for her. Also you can’t tell me the line “it’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you” wasn’t written about her and Alicent. I feel like it perfectly captures her balance of trying so hard to beat everyone, to live up to her expectations, while simultaneously falling apart. A son for a son

Alicent Higtower: The Lucky One - “you don’t feel pretty, you just feel used” I mean come on!! This was written for her!! As much as the hate the Greens, Alicent deserves so much better. She deserves better than a father who used her for power, she deserves better than an old ass husband who couldn’t give less of a shit about her. “Everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool” is just the perfect descriptor for the young version of show Alicent - she’s just trying her best to be what everyone else expects of her. Book Alicent can rot in hell tho

[im-a-goddamn-cat]

Contact

Neggie/Negan Smith x Maggie Rhee || Rated: G || Words: 696

Summary: Negan and Maggie take comfort in each other.

A/N: This is a Valentine's Day gift for my amazing girlfriend, Gaby (@daenerys-tarrgaryen & tudorregina on AO3)! :] I love you so much, sweetie! <3 I chose the prompt "touch starved" from the list that I was given.

AO3 || FF.net || ↓

......

They don't know how they ended up like this. In bed together curled up in each other's arms. They were enemies, they shouldn't be together like this. Yet here they were. Perhaps it was the fact that neither of them had been close to someone like this in a long time and were desperate for any sort of contact now. Touch starvation surely is a deadly thing it feels like. Or maybe they had finally been giving into feelings that had been buried for a while now. Nevertheless, here they were. They were laying on their sides facing each other, Negan on his right side and Maggie on her left. Their arms were draped over each other in an embrace. 

Negan shifted a little to lean back and look at her face. He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through her hair and she sighed in content. He admired her face and its beautiful features. He also briefly glanced down her body. Negan has always found her attractive ever since he first laid eyes on her. At first, it was just a silly lust for the widow he created but over time, it grew into true love. Getting to know her had just made him fall for her hard. He admired her fiery spirit, kind personality, and strength. It also made him feel even guiltier about the sins he committed. He hates that he hurt the woman he loves now so badly and he wishes that he could take it back, even if it meant she'd still be married to someone else. Another part of him also wished that she loved him back but he knew that she never would considering the trauma he put her through.… But then again, he never thought he'd get to be close to her like this either. Either way, he was overjoyed that she was allowing him to be like this with her.

Maggie was also admiring him in her own way. She looked over his face, taking in all his features, which she reluctantly admits to herself does look good. She may have also snuck a peak down his body as well but she would deny it. Maggie moved one of her hands to gently wrap around his neck and she rolled her thumb over the scar on his throat, the symbol of the beginning of his change, and Negan hummed in approval. Over time, Maggie has gained some sort of odd attraction towards Negan. She has tried to rationalize it by telling herself that it's just because she's been without someone in that way for a long time and that her brain is just focusing on him because of her obsession with him, but deep down, she knows it's because she is actually slowly falling for him. Getting to know him more and seeing the way that he has changed and continued to be a better man than he was has been building something inside her. She feels guilty for having an attraction to her husband's killer but she hasn't been able to stop it.

They slowly shifted again and moved their arms back around each other. Maggie leaned in and gave Negan a quick kiss, which caught him off guard but made him very happy, before she scooted closer into him and snuggled her face into his neck. Negan shifted to lean closer into her as well. He moved his head to gently place a kiss on the top of her head before laying his head back down. They pressed themselves as close to each other as they could physically get, soaking in the comfort from each other. Neither of them were ready to admit their feelings vocally but they were okay with showing it physically like this for now. They couldn’t get enough of each other, the feeling of contact with someone after so long and with someone they felt they were falling in love with was addicting. Nestled together, they took solace in each other’s presence. For the first time in a while, they felt at peace.

They don't know how they ended up like this. But neither of them would change a thing.

......

A/N: Thank you for reading! <3

[azazelflare]

Sent Back To Love You Again Chapter one

Read it on AO3 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45987295/chapters/115755796

Jaime and Sansa were waiting for the white walkers to attack. They sit in the crypts with the women and children with Jaime as their only defense. He holds his sword in his remaining hand. His gold hand had been taken off before he left King's landing. He holds Sansa close, a few moons before the war started they were forced to marry by Daenerys in the godswood. Jon was against it at the beginning but there was nothing any of them could do to stop her, with three dragons at her side threatening them they couldn't say no. He holds his wife close and silently cries for the future he knows they cannot have. 

They get up and walk to the hot springs while his wife silently prays to the old gods. He starts thinking there should be something they can do to save everyone. They make it to the back of the crypts and find the hot spring there. They walk to the edge and look into the water. Their reflections stare back at them and they feel a push, they fall into the hot spring and feel like they are on fire and they close their eyes and pass out. 

Winterfell kings visit.

The Starks stand in line waiting for the king to arrive. Since Bran said he spotted the king's party. Arya runs to Ned he takes off the helm she is wearing. She stands in line next to Sansa, her sister shushing her. The king’s party enters the gates of Winterfell and Sansa starts to feel dizzy she grasps her head as she falls forward. Jaime falls off his horse, his sister screaming his name and running toward him. 

Sansa is carried by Ned to the maester, and Jaime is carried by the other kingsguard. They lay them both on the beds as the maester looks over them both. They start to age before him and gain scars he has never seen on them before. Jaime’s hand disappears and a beard starts to grow on his face. Sansa’s hair grows longer and her body matures. Her hair turned as red as wierwood leaves. 

As Ned enters the room with the king, they wake up. “Jaime, where are you?” “Sansa, my love” he stretches across the bed and tries to get up. He reaches for her but the maester holds him back. Jaime pushes the maester back and hurries over to his wife. She smiles as he reaches her and pushes up to meet his lips. Ned and Robert stare at them in awe, Ned reaches for his sword ready to fight Jaime for touching his daughter. She glances over and sees her father, tears come to her eyes as she sees him for the first time since he was murdered. 

“Is this the afterlife? Are we dead?” Jaime shakes his head at her “No we aren't dead apparently your gods decided that all hope was lost and sent us back.” her eyes widen and she gets up off of the bed. 

“Hello father, King Robert, I guess we have some explaining to do. Have everyone meet in your solar. We will explain everything there.” Ned nods and Robert follows after him. 

They meet in the solar Sansa sitting in the chair behind the desk. She waits for her family to enter and as they do she stands up. 

“Hello everyone, you probably are wondering what has happened in the past few hours. As you know Jaime and I have gone through some changes, some more noticeable than others. We were blessed by the old gods. We come from a time when the others are real they attacked and the wall fell. Arya, Bran, Jon, and I were the last Starks left. Jaime and Tyrion were the last Lannisters, Jaime and I were forced to wed by Daenerys Targaryen in the godswood before the old gods. Tyrion Lannister gave his brother away as his father was dead long before, and Jon gave me away as he was the only family that could as Bran was officiating the wedding. We were wed before the gods with little choice and we made the most out of the situation. Jaime and I were down in the crypts waiting for the others to attack. Jaime was the only defense left for the women and children. We walked to the end of the crypts and prayed to the old gods for an answer on how to save everyone. Then we were pushed into the hot spring and we burned. Then we ended up here. Any questions?” Sansa said explaining everything. 

Ned looked like he was about to vomit. Robert looked surprised that the others were real and the rest of the family look as though they were about to faint. Sansa sits next to Jaime and starts holding his stump in her lap. She traces her hands across the scar tissue and lifts the stump to kiss it. Jaime closes his eyes and sighs his wife always does this when she’s nervous. 

“My love, It’s fine, I’m sure your father will understand. What can I do to make you feel better? I can easily get rid of Joffery.” Jaime said trying to get Sansa to snap out of her daze. 

“Sansa, sweetling who hurt you?” Caitlyn said hurrying over to her daughter. Arya looked like she was ready to kill. Rob had the same look on his face and Jon looked like he was prepared to go to the wall right this minute. Robert looked ready to kill that little shit Joffery for what he did to Ned’s daughter. Ned grabbed the hilt of Ice and tried to walk out of the room only for the door to shut from an unknown wind. He tried to open the door but it was locked from the other side. The old gods wanted everyone to calm down before they do something drastic. 

Sansa gets up from the bed and walks over to her father, she hugs him and lets out 8 years of pent-up tears. He hugs her back and holds her so her head is on his shoulder. “Ramsay, that motherfucker is still alive,” Jaime says quietly.

“Ramsay Snow? That little shit? He hurt my daughter?” Ned says angrily. He holds his daughter close and pets her hair. Sansa pulls away and returns to Jaime, Jaime begins to tell Sansa's story. He recounts how she was stripped in front of the court by Joffrey and how she was tortured by Ramsay. Caitlyn is crying, and Arya looks like she is ready to mount a horse and ride to the dreadfort immediately. 

The door stays shut until everyone calms down. They all start talking with some sense and start to plan what to do with the enemies.

[viking-hel]

I posted 1,301 times in 2022

45 posts created (3%)

1,256 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

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I tagged 908 of my posts in 2022

Only 30% of my posts had no tags

#long post - 97 posts

#lol - 81 posts

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#vikings valhalla - 19 posts

#observations of hotd - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 123 characters

#i have gaps in my memory because i don’t even know if what happened happened because my half sis was good at gaslighting me

My Top Posts in 2022:

#4

For the Jonsa Halloween 2022.

Beast. Potion. Magic. 🎃

Jon couldn’t stop watching the way the fire danced with Sansa’s hair. Her glorious mane became the flames given true form, magicked into dancing as some hopeful lad of House Cerwyn tried his best.

He lazed back into his seat, a cup of ale held idly in his hands, a potion of false courage the Cerwyn lad mayhap guzzled too much of. He must have now felt it as Sansa gracefully twirled through his clumsy steps, a kind smile on her face.

Jon loved seeing her smile. She’d had so little to smile about before now. Here she was, Queen in the North, more regal and beautiful than any lady before, and he was a mere pauper worshipping at her feet.

Magic infused the air. Jon tasted it, sweet and heady, as he kept watch of Sansa as she twisted and turned with the cheerful lutes and drums. They had no worries now; no dragonqueens or lionqueens, and no rat faced bastards to chase down and hurt young women—

Jon’s fist clenched thinking of that snake. It had been so satisfying to bloody him, to hear the sound of bone striking bone. It was only Sansa’s sweet face that tempered that beast inside him, that would do anything for her.

He came back different, Jon knew. Perhaps a part of Ghost he took with him, some man left behind in the wolf. Whatever this was, it bubbled just under the surface. That beast inside that always sought to protect her - even when she believed he couldn’t - but now she was safe inside the walls of their ancient home and they had each other.

That. That was the true magic. That they were together after so long and so much, the world was right now in a way it had never been, even before they left.

Sansa picked out a mug of ale, held it up to her lips, and tipped her head to him in askance as her eyes took on a hint of mischief. Jon smiled back and gestured her forward. He’d shared her enough, the protective beast wanted his wife beside him. Carefully, Sansa wended her way to him, speaking briefly with those who wished her well as she moved. Tall and fire-touched, she was. Again, he was a worshipper merely wanting to bask in her presence.

‘Husband,’ she said, sitting beside him. ‘Are you well?’

‘Far better now you’re here, my love.’

She reached across the table and plucked up a grape. ‘Is something to your liking?’

He couldn’t keep his eyes from her slender throat as she moved. ‘There is.’ He gulped more of his courage potion, but found none left. ‘I always do when admiring my wife.’

Giggling, Sansa handed him her mug of ale, untouched. They sat back, Jon kept his hand around hers as the court made merry.

Yes, their life was some kind of magic. Jon would never question it.

67 notes - Posted October 28, 2022

#3

‘Next is Germany!’

Already? - Graham

79 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#2

The Dance hasn’t even started yet and I can’t wait for Cregan Stark to come down and clean up the mess.

92 notes - Posted October 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Don’t tell me people are shocked Rhaenys killed the common people. It’s perfectly normal for Targaryens to come in on their overgrown lizards and slaughter defenceless people. Daenerys did it. Aegon and his sisters did it. Practically a pastime.

116 notes - Posted October 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[tcrgaryens]

Even after all of this absolute horseshit....I still love Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. I’m pretty amazed and proud of myself that despite how wrong they’ve just done her, my love for her never wavers and never diminishes. I know Dany is a hero. All the Dany Stans know Dany is a hero. Emilia Clarke knows Dany is a hero. She will always be that hero to me, and to the millions of people around the world that she inspired. I am perfectly capable of blocking this season from my mind, pretending it never happened, and completely emmersing myself in fanfic which, to be frank, has much better writing than what D&D could ever hope to achieve. I do not regret loving Daenerys, nor will I be shamed into renouncing my love for her. I will remember Daenerys the way she was meant to be remembered: as the Mother of Dragons, The Breaker of Fucking Chains.

[goldsainz]

MASTERLIST.

A/N: in honour of hotd eve!! i also do not care if this accurate or not, it’s fanfic, give me a break pls [gif cred: @daenerys-stormborn] REQUESTS ARE OPEN BTW

WORD COUNT: 1,5k

──────────

RECKLESS BEHAVIOUR

You were sure that Daemon Targaryen was the bane of your existence. He infuriated you to no end, and he probably acted the way he did just to annoy you further.

Your situation had become especially annoying because you couldn’t stop yourself from finding him ridiculously handsome. The first time you saw him you had been in a sort of trance, but the moment he opened his mouth all of that vanished.

It had become a sort of custom for you to glare at him from across the room, while he just smugly smirked at you, as if he knew something you did not. You tried to pay no mind to how thin the line between punching his beautiful face or kissing it, was.

It was quite similar to how he was looking at you now. Except now you were in some sort of staring contest, neither of you willing to break your apparent streak.

“Lady Y/N?” Someone near you said, it made you falter slightly in surprise, making you lose the undefined contest.

“Yes, my Lord?” You responded, the smoothest tone present, trying to ignore the way Daemon was looking at you now. You hoped that no disinterest showed, or worse, the fact that you had no clue who you were talking to.

“I saw you all by yourself, and couldn’t resist taking the chance to approach you.”

“I’m flattered.” You knew that some could consider you impolite, yet by the way he only seemed to look at your body, and not much at your words, you were sure he didn’t have much to say in honesty.

“What is a fine lady like you doing all alone?” He asked, and you took a moment to really look at the man. He was a Lannister without doubt, the enormous lions dancing on his clothing were the only proof you needed.

“Enjoying the wine, perhaps some dancing, if the right Lord asks.” You ambiguously answer, smiling slightly to not seem impolite.

“Would you care for a dance, Lady Y/N?” Your eyes traveled around the room, trying to find the one person you would mind seeing you dancing with someone. You didn’t know why, but the thought irked you.

Daemon stood near a corner, talking to some people who were surely going to bore him to death soon. His violet eyes caught yours swiftly, like he knew you were looking for him. You were quick to divert your eyes from his in a mere second, and though you were convincing yourself to having imagined it, you were sure he had frowned for just the shortest moment,

“I’d love that, my Lord.” You declared with a smile.

Lord Lannister took your hand in his, and pulled you from your seat. His hand was a bit rough, but still soft, like he hadn’t truly ever fought someone, or dealt with rough situations in general.

“For a moment I felt you’d say no.” Lord Lannister suddenly confessed, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Why would you think that?” You question, feeling his hand move towards your waist, pulling you in for the dance he asked for.

“I just thought… it does not matter, it was improper of me to think such things.”

“It’s alright, share your thoughts with me.” He looked hesitant, as if he was about to confess to a murder, “Please?”

“I had thought that perhaps the Prince had already won you over.”

“Won me over?” The thought of it was preposterous, something that would’ve made you laugh if the other person involved wasn’t burning your head with his stare.

“Forget I ever mentioned this, Lady Y/N, I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.” His words brought no comfort, and neither did his dancing. He wasn’t half bad, he just wasn’t what you were looking for. His dancing was just dull.

The dance floor was getting more crowded by the second, and alongside all those people followed Daemon. It suddenly seemed like he was challenging you, his eyebrows raised in mockery, his eyes never leaving your form. Suddenly the dancing became less dull, and more like a battle you had to win.

You and Lord Lannister moved swiftly across the floor, finally picking up a more active pace. Though you were starting to dread the dancing, because you were now awfully close to the part in which you switched partners, and Daemon didn’t seem like he was going to move away from where you were soon.

“Well, hello Lady Y/N.” It had been so swift, too fast for you to notice that you had changed partners.

“My prince.” You greeted, looking up at him, his face looked too beautiful up close, too perfect for your liking.

“Enjoying the view?” He asked, spinning you according to the dance.

“Not particularly, no.” The lie fell from your lips too quickly, which made it far too obvious that you were enjoying it. Even when you were convincing yourself that it was just to see where it would affect him the most, if you ever got to hit him.

“I adore it when you lie to me, my Lady.”

“Not your Lady.” You respond, your posture stiffening, the fierce look in your eyes never leaving.

The prince just hummed in response, continuing the dance with no more words.

━━━━━━

The festivities were seemingly coming to their ends.

It had been exhausting, the bustling of people talking, your feet now begging for mercy after all the dancing you’d done.

You decided to make your exit with a couple other people, after saying you goodbyes and thank yous, it seemed satisfying enough for you. Of course, Daemon did not agree with your thoughts.

He followed right after you, catching up to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in to an empty room. But you were prepared, spinning you both around and placing the blade you hid under the copious amount of fabric from your dress.

“Would you kill your Prince, Y/N?” He asks after a beat, you breathing slightly heavy from the situaton and just how close you really were from him.

“If the Prince is bothersome enough…” You whisper out.

Neither of you moved, minutes seemed to tick by. Both of your breathing trh only noise present, it was peaceful, it was something neither of you had experienced together.

Your blade was a light tingle in his skin, no longer pressed with murderous intention, but just because you did not what would happen if you were to let it fall on the ground. Your faces close, noses almost grazing, as if touching the other would scorch the other.

For a moment, your head moved back, but Daemon briskly placed his hand on the nape of your neck and pressed his lips against yours. It took you by surprise, but not enough for him to pull back. Instead you grabbed his face, pulling him towards you, the knife falling to the floor instantly.

You moaned slightly against his mouth, his other hand placed on your waist, in the exact same way Lord Lanister had done. Daemon seemed to want his touch gone, and to be replaced by his, for your mind to only ever remember his hand right there.

“We shouldn’t…” You finally breathe out, having pulled away, despite the noise of protest the Prince made.

“We should.” He says against your lips, pulling you in once more, and your body could not say no to such claims.

You had no intention of stopping, and Daemon didn’t either, yet an abrupt noise made you both pull away. You jumped from his embrace, smoothing down your dress, kicking away the blade from the both of you.

The door opened, revealing a guard.

“I’m sorry, my Prince, but your presence is required.” You could tell he was nervous, the slight shake to his voice giving him away. He decided the next best thing (or the thing that would not get him punished), was closing the door, leaving you both alone once more.

Daemon huffed, making you laugh softly.

“I’m glad you’re amused.”

“I’m not,” He just turns to you fully, the darkness of the room only contrasted by the moonlight. You could only make out the way his head cocked to the side, “I’m not.” You say more seriously this time.

“I assure you that this is not finished.”

“I know,” You near yourself to him, pecking the corner of his mouth, feeling the smirk forming on his lips.

“Goodnight, my Lady.” He whispers next to your ear, leaving the room.

You rest your head on the nearest wall, smiling up to the ceiling, and wondering how you even allowed yourself to be involved in such a situation. The cool night did not help the already formed goosebumps on your body, ones you were sure to see cover your skin frequently from now on.

[megsironthrone]

A Chance?

Based on this request:  May I request an imagine where the reader is Sir Jorah’s niece and is taught by him to be a warrior, she looks up to him but also has feelings for Danearys and feels guilty due to this. Perhaps she has a chance?

Here you are, lovely! Familiar characters are NOT mine!

Warnings: Fluff and slight angst

Pairings/Characters: Daenerys Targaryen x fem!reader, Uncle!Jorah Mormont

Your uncle had been more of a father to you growing up than your own father had ever been. So when you went against the grain and decided you wanted to learn sword skills, you asked Jorah to train you. He, of course, had agreed. You left Westeros with him when he was banished and traveled with him and Dothraki. You were by his side, learning and training, for years before you met the one person that could put a wedge between you.

         Daenerys Targaryen was one of the most beautiful woman you'd ever met. She was also one of the strongest mentally. She worked so hard to make life better for those living as slaves in Meereen and the other cities she had visited on her travels West, toward Westeros. She was fierce and you had grown to love that about her. Suppers together, sitting on her council, and just spending time with her were the highlights of your day. You really liked her. More than you had anyone else before and you needed to tell someone.

         During your training, you and your uncle had your best heart-to-heart conversations. You confided in him about everything you were thinking and he listened. He hardly shared his own feelings with you, but he was always willing to help you. So you absolutely told him how you felt about Daenerys when you discovered your feelings for her. His reaction was not what you had expected.

         "Perhaps I'm not the best person to tell this secret to." His voice was tight and his stance was tense and rigid. Your brows drew together in confusion. He refused to meet your gaze, which was also strange. "Uncle?" No response so you tried again. Once more, nothing. You lowered your sword and thought for a moment. Why would he be like this? Unless…

         "Uncle, are you-do you love her? Daenerys?" He still didn't answer, but you saw him glance at you from the corner of his eye. That was all the answer you needed. Guilt instantly bloomed in your heart. You hadn't meant to put yourself in competition with your own uncle for Daenerys' affections. You never knew that he loved her. "I-I didn't know. I'm sorry!" you apologized.

         Jorah looked confused for a moment. "What for? You cannot help who you fall in love with, my dear niece." You gave him a sad smile. "No we can't, but you deserve love too. I think she would be a better match for you than for me, if that's what she wishes." You could feel your heart breaking as you spoke, but you meant it. Jorah needed love and if Daenerys could and would give him that, you would step aside.

         Jorah sheathed his sword and pulled you into a hug. "I'm too old to chase fantasies, Y/N. If our queen is inclined to love either of us, I hope it is you. You have a bright future full of love and devotion that you deserve." You returned the hug and sighed. Your heart and mind were fighting one another. You felt like you couldn't betray your uncle by pursuing Daenerys (if she even wanted that), but you also couldn't betray your own blossoming love for the queen. So what could you do?

         You finished up your training that day, your mind racing. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice someone approaching you in the dimly lit corridor. That is, until you practically ran into them. You managed to stop yourself by tripping over your own feet and falling. Right into Tyrion Lannister, knocking you both to the ground. You barely managed to shift again before you landed on top of him with your chest directly in his face.

         "Forgive me, my lord," you said quietly before you noticed who else you had nearly run into. "Khaleesi," you greeted as your face heated up and you rose back to your feet. You could see her fighting back a soft smile. "Lady Y/N. I was hoping to catch you before you retired for the evening. I find myself in need of female companionship for supper. I grow tired of all the men." You laughed before apologizing to Tyrion again. He merely shrugged and then left.

         "So, will you join me for supper?" Daenerys asked again and you bit your lip. Supper alone with Daenerys was a big deal to you. But could you? Your uncle wanted you to be happy, but you wanted him to be. Before you could get lost in your thoughts again, she continued, "I believe we have things to discuss…concerning you, your uncle, and myself." She gave you a knowing look. Oh. She knew. She'd heard or someone had told her. You watched her face for a moment. She didn't look angry or even a little annoyed. In fact, she looked rather happy.

         "O-Of course, Khaleesi," you finally replied, "Should I fetch my uncle?" She shook her head. "No. I've spoken to him already. I wish to speak to you. Alone." You nodded and followed after her as she continued walking. "You can walk closer, Y/N." The familiarity of her words had your skin heating again. The soft way she spoke to you and the way she continued to glance at you had your heart thudding against your ribcage.

         As you walked, you passed by your uncle who gave you a soft, sad smile. Clearly his conversation did not go well. Part of you hurt for him and worried that your conversation with Daenerys would end similarly. But a smaller, louder part of you couldn't help but hope you maybe had a chance.

         You must have lagged behind because the next thing you knew, Daenerys reached over and grabbed your hand in hers to pull you gently along. She glanced back at you again and smiled. Did you have a chance with her at all? Could she love you or let you love her? "You do," she replied softly, making you jump. You hadn't meant to voice your thoughts out loud. "You have a chance, Y/N. After…after the khal, I didn't think I could love again," she explained, pulling you into her chambers, "I thought Drogo would be it for me but then he died and a part of me died with him. That is what I thought. But then, I met you and that part of my heart that I thought had died started beating again."

         You couldn't speak. This was happening so quickly after you'd come to terms with the fact that you and Jorah loved the same woman. But she wanted you. She. Wanted. You. You had to fight against screaming out in joy when Daenerys closed the door behind you both and pulled you a little closer to her.

(a/n: I hope this is what you were looking for!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard​ @brewsthespirit-blog​ @etherealpotter​ @line-viper​ @frozenhuntress67​ @cd1242​ @smalltownbigheart​ @igotmadskills​ @supernatural4life2022​

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Targaryen Daughters

Pairing: none, platonic sister relationship

Warnings: none

Words: 2933

Summary: After so long staying safely hidden in the privacy of a Sept, you discover your younger sister Daenerys is very well alive. Alive and with three dragons.

There were a lot of things you didn’t understand at such a young age. For one thing, politics; you didn’t have a single grasp on it and you never really bothered to try to. You didn’t understand why your father was so insistent that you marry your brother Rhaegar. Above all things though, you couldn’t even begin to understand the meaning of war. All you knew is that through thick and thin you wanted to stay by Rhaegar’s side. Maybe if you had been older, Rhaegar would’ve been more inclined to let you. But the truth of the matter was that you were still a child. Ten compared to his twenty-four years. Your father had always chastised you that you had been born too late, as if you had any control of when you were conceived. If you had been older you would’ve already been married to Rhaegar. Your older brother had told you that who knows if that would’ve been enough to stop the events that had unfolded. You knew that he was in love with the Stark girl, Lyanna. Many say that he had kidnapped and raped her. Neither of which were in your brother’s nature.

So you stood by him. Even when all others tried to hide you away, in your stubbornness that only children seemed to possess, you held onto his hand. You would fight off any enemy with him.

Rhaegar wouldn’t have it though.

“I’m not leaving you Rhaegar!” Haughtily you stomp your feet which must have been adorable in Rhaegar’s eyes as he couldn’t hide the gentle smile that crept onto his face.

“You truly are a little spitfire of a dragon.” He chuckles and kneels down so that he’s eye level with you. “I admire that you want to be by my side, but you’re still a child (y/n). I can’t risk your life.”

“But you’re risking your life!” You insist.

Seriousness shrouds his handsome features as he cups your face with his hands. Hands that didn’t used to be so callused. Those hands were meant to play the harp, not wielding a sword. “Yes I am. You’ll understand when you’re older (y/n). You won’t have the chance to grow older though if you stay with me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. Why did it sound like he was saying goodbye?

Ever so gently, like he always treated you, Rhaegar kisses your forehead before each one of your eyes. “Keep that fire in you. Gods knows it will help you.”

For the last time, Rhaegar kissed your tiny lips. There had never been any romantic intention in those kisses yet they had always been full of love. Because Rhaegar did love you. You were precious to him from the moment you had been born. Not because he was supposed to marry you, but because you were his sister. His beloved sister. Something so tiny and fragile that he thought he needed to protect. As you grew though you had proven that you could protect yourself. You were hot tempered but not to a fault. You stood up for yourself and anyone who needed it.

When he pulled away you noticed the red in his eyes as he gazed upon you before motioning for your septa who had been quietly waiting in the corner of the tent.

“Take her somewhere safe. Not the Keep. Not Dragonstone. Far away. When I win I’ll come retrieve her.” Rhaegar’s hand is smoothing out your silver curls.

Your septa seemed a bit hesitant. “You will win, won’t you?”

There’s a sad smile as he betrays his own worry. Your septa understands it as she becomes more solemn. “Princess (y/n), let’s go.”

That’s when you start sobbing. You understood that sad smile too.

That would very well be the last time you saw your brother Rhaegar.

** YEARS LATER **

“They’re alive?” Breathing shallowly you tear off your septa headdress to reveal short silver tufts of hair.

Since the day you left Rhaegar’s side your septa, Septa Rila, had followed your brother’s orders and taken you far away. She had used ink to dye your hair despite you having tried to fight her about the whole thing. You didn’t want to disguise your Targaryen hair and traits. You were a dragon. Rila told you that dragons had a tendency of getting themselves killed. When the two of you had finally made it to her old Sept the both of you were weak and weary from travel and you having had several bad tantrums. In the beginning life at the Sept had been hard. Your fiery attitude conflicted greatly with the teachings that the septas tried to instill on you. Even if they wanted to, your septa refused to let them beat the teachings into you. After the two of you had a long heart to heart you finally relented and conformed yourself into the sept. Each day though you waited for news of your brother. Not even a month after of being at the sept the news came of Rhaegar’s death. Of his defeat. You thought the tears would never end. You wanted to die alongside him. To make things worse was when you heard the death of your mother. You hadn’t seen her in so long, having wanted to be with her when she gave birth but your heart called to Rhaegar’s side. You regretted not being with her, not being there for your younger siblings.

Septa Rila purses her lips slightly, her eyes darting from your silver hair to the septa headdress. After those first few weeks when you were younger of dying your hair you refused to do it again. You wouldn’t alter your Targaryen hair ever again. Instead you cut it short and hid it fairly well. Your eyes however. . . There was nothing to be done about your eye color.

“Well, Daenerys, your sister, is. Viserys. . . He was killed by the Khal of the Dothraki.”

“Dothraki?” Scrunching your face up you have to carefully take a seat on your bed. Everything seemed to be coming at you fairly quickly. Of course there had been rumors of your younger sibling’s escape and of their whereabouts. Robert Baratheon had eyes everywhere looking for any surviving Targaryens. Which was why you had decided to stay at the sept. You’d be good as dead if the wrong people ever found out who your parents were.

You couldn’t really trust gossip though. Silently you hoped that they were true. That they were alive.

Wringing your hands together anxiously you bite down on your lip. “She’s alive. . .”

Rila nods. The years hadn’t been too kind to her regarding her complexion. There were bags under her eyes from late nights of constant worry and wrinkles that somehow still made her face look soft and gentle. She had taken care of you and for that you will always be grateful to her. But now that you knew for certain that at least one of your siblings were alive, you had to go find her. You’d have to leave the sept.

“You know what I have to do.” You whisper.

“You don’t have to. It’s dangerous out there for you (y/n). I hear Robert Baratheon has hired men to kill her. If you go then people will know of your existence. They’ll kill you too.” She pleads with you, pulling on your sleeve. “Your brother told me to keep you safe.”

Taking her hands you bring them up to your lips. “And you have. You’ve done an outstanding job. But Daenerys. . . She’s the only blood I have left. She needs me.”

There was evident fear on the aging septa’s face as she clung to your hands with her head bowed. “Gods keep you safe (y/n).”

You wouldn’t tell her that you didn’t much believe in gods. Not after what they did to your family. You kept hold of your tongue and kissed the crown of her bent head. When Septa Rila straightens up to reveal tears in her eyes you move away from her to a certain area in your small room and get to your knees. With the help of your nails you unlodge a loose floorboard and lift it up. There in a small nook was a canvas pouch. It didn’t look extraoirdinary, far from it. The simplest looking sheet of cloth that there ever was. But inside was the real treasure. Inside you pulled out a necklace with the Targaryen crest that you hadn’t worn in such a long time. You used to be able to see the three headed dragons everywhere; they seemed to be erased from all of Westeros. You slip it around your neck, letting the dragon nestle itself on your chest. The last thing in the pouch, well, it meant more to you than anything else. Heart leaping when you lay eyes on the dagger that Rhaegar had given you. Teary eyed as you balanced it on your palms you admire the beauty of such a dangerous weapon. The handle was a garnet red, embellished with the very rubies that had been on Rhaegar’s armor. He had taken a few off just to put them on your dagger. The handle itself was fashioned to look like three serpentine dragons wrapped around each other and joining together at the pommel. The blade was what really tied together the entire thing. The blade was made of Valyrian steel. Such a fine piece of metal that you had heard of people killing each other over it. It was hardly forged nowadays.

“I’m on my way Daenerys. Your big sister is on her way.”

~

Through waves that caused you to empty out your stomach you finally caught word of a definitive area where your younger sister was. She was making quite a name for herself in Slaver’s Bay. With three dragons. You grew more fervent to find her. You had seen the aftermath of her visit to Astapor; many having directed you to the path of Yunkai. All the while you still kept you septa’s headdress on. It was safer this way until you actually found Daenerys.

The journey to Yunkai wasn’t quite as difficult as you had thought it to be. There were signs still evident on the ground that a massive army had just made it’s way through. There wasn’t much to admire in regards of landscape. Most of the journey involved mountains surrounding a dry desert. What you did love was the wide open sky. When the sun didn’t prove to be a bother you’d send your gaze up to the overstretched blue. It was so much different than the ocean blue. Much more calmer and serene. At night it turned into a dark blanket filled with glittering jewels. It had been so long since you enjoyed the simplicity of open skies. They had lost their beauty once Rhaegar died. The sky was filled with bittersweet memories of the two of you. How he would hold you in his arms when you were small and point up at the stars. He’d tell you the most magnificent stories. You were never cold when you were with Rhaegar.

Maybe you’d be able to offer the same warmth to Daenerys.

Finally you came across the outskirts of Yunkai weak and weary but the sight of hundreds of Unsullied soldiers loitering about. When one caught sight of you the others fell into line and came upon you. You stood your ground. A dragon never flinched.

In fluent Valyrian you told them “I demand to see Daenerys Targaryen.”

They stood silent, their spears aimed at you. You didn’t blink as you pulled off your head cover, revealing your silver hair that had since grown to your shoulders. Neither of them were stupid. All of them escorted you further into camp until you came across a litter of tents.

It had been so long since you saw someone with your hair and eye color. So long since you saw family.

Daenerys seemed even more shocked as her lilac eyes grew rather large. The men around her mirrored her face as you entered the tent. What caught your attention were the three dragons that surrounded your sister. Staring at you as well. So it was true. Your sister was indeed the Mother of Dragons as you had heard all around Astapor.

You take one step, then two until you were inches away from where Daenerys sat. “It’s so good to see you, sister.”

Her mouth parts, gaping slightly. “You. . .”

Smiling gently you nod. “I don’t know if our brother Viserys was kind enough to tell you about me-”

“(y/n).” She breathes and stands abruptly making her dragons scatter. “I-I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I.” You felt like you couldn’t breathe despite the feeling of your chest rise and fall. Everyone else could only stare and watch at what was happening. No one could believe what was going on.

“Viserys said you were dead.” Daenerys’ brows furrow in utter confusion. “He said you were the ruin of our family because you weren’t born sooner. Not that I believed the last part. . .”

“Oh how nice of him to think so.” You roll your eyes and smile when you hear a soft laugh come out of her. “Rhaegar made me get out of danger before anything could happen. I’ve been living at a sept ever since. . .”

Gingerly her hand goes up to your face with a bit of uncertainty and you try to stop yourself from flinching as Daenerys goes to brush at your silver hair. Her smile widens. “I thought I was the last one. . . I thought. . .”

There’s a screech that came from one of her dragons. One that possessed green scales. It flew at you making you stumble back and fall into the dirt.

“Rhaegal!” Daenerys says and goes to your side when the sizeable dragon plops onto your chest.

You stare into it’s bright, orange eyes that look at you with such intelligence. “Rhaegal?”

It tilted it’s head in response before going to nudge your chin with it’s nose.

At his mother’s insistence, Rheagal backs off of you and goes back to join his brothers. Holding out a hand to you, Daenerys helps you back up.

“He likes you.” She admits with a bit of bewilderment.

“I suppose it’s because I am a Targaryen.” You shrug and finally observe the others that are present in the tent. No faces that you knew but Daenerys, seeing your mistrust is quick to introduce you to the people who have helped and protected her. The man named Jorah Mormont was the one to speak first.

“I must say, I am surprised that you’re alive. Everyone thought you dead. If I may ask, where have you been all these years?”

“I too am curious of that. Viserys didn’t tell me much of you but even he presumed you dead.” Daenerys smiles, her eyes glittering with curiosity; much like Rhaegar’s used to. She had you sit next to her as you told your story. It wasn’t as exciting as the one she told you. You grieved that you weren’t there alongside her to take care of her and Viserys.

What’s done was done though and you couldn’t go back in time.

Not too long after you and your sister catch up you notice that Daenerys is finally comfortable enough with you to place her hand on top of your’s. She looks down at her scaled children, trying to hide her tears from you. “I’m so happy you’re here. It’s been. . . It’s been tough without family. There have been times when I doubted that I could take back Westeros all on my own.”

Rhaegal was even more comfortable with you as he flew around you, once in a while trying to perch on your lap rather ungracefully. “Why do you want to take back Westeros?”

“Because it’s our birthright.” Daenerys says as if it was the most simple answer. “It was taken from us. The Iron Throne is rightfully our’s. Well. . . I suppose it’s your’s.”

You’d had a lot of time at the sept to think about your family and the atrocities that they had done. Of course you wanted to see Robert Baratheon sliced to bits for starting this ridiculous war that cost your brother his life. But ruling it though? Your father had left a terrible smear on the Targaryen name. Now anyone who heard that name would forever attach it with the Mad King. It may have been your birthright, but it didn’t mean that you should rule.

Then you realized the folly of men.

It was men that had failed on your family name.

“No. You’re right. Our’s.” You turn to your sister with conviction. Even now Robert Baratheon was ruining Westeros. “We’ll be better than our father. Better than any king. The Targaryen men have failed us. The women will not do such a thing. When people hear of Targaryen they will no longer think of the Mad King. They’ll think of us. The last dragons.”

That seemed to strike Rhaegal as he stands on his legs and lets out a scream that made you jump a little. There was no malice in it though. It sounded like he was agreeing with you.

Daenerys smiles down at him. “Yes. The last dragons. Who would’ve thought they would be women.”

The one she had called Drogon goes to her side while Viserion situates himself between you and your sister.

The Targaryen women would bring back the three headed dragon sigil.

With fire and blood.

[a-libra-writes]

How the GoT Characters Propose To You

We’re BACK AT IT AGAIN FOLKS

In this imagine, you’ll be proposed to by: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion

NED STARK

In spite of the fact your families arranged this marriage years ago, Ned has to be his usual honorable, traditional self and go along with the expected courting process. That includes a formal proposal, but… that’s not for the purpose of tradition. The way he beams and looks at you with such adoration, you can tell he just really wants to hear you say “yes” to the proposal he shyly talks through. The ring is on the more modest side, combining the direwolf and your house’s sigil. There’s a personal touch on the inside; either an inscription or an engraving that has a special meaning to the two of you. He likely has a matching ring, very unassuming, that he wears whenever possible.

ROBB STARK

He didn’t expect to fall so completely for you during this stuffy courting process. Robb can’t believe how lucky he is, and it’s obvious to everyone how enamored he is with you. He’s ready to jump straight to the wedding, tradition be damned, but oh well. What he does do is give you the ring quite early, and his own proposal, even if your marriage has been long decided. His proposal is straightforward, but there’s love and earnestness in his eyes as he takes your hands and presents the ring he secretly acquired. It’s beautifully crafted, with silver direwolves and gemstones that match your house’s sigil for their eyes.

SANSA STARK

Sansa had thought about this for a long time. Letting that romantic spirit come back, even after you’d been together for a while, was difficult. The whole concept of marriage had become repulsive to her, but together the two of you could make it something different. She gave you an unassuming ring you could always wear, with gemstones that reminded her of your eyes. She tried not to cry with happiness as she gave her heartfelt proposal. You’d say your vows in the weirwoods, where she always wanted to be married. The whole day would seem like a dream to her, like the innocent daydreams she had as a girl, before the world took everything.

JON SNOW

He had it planned out: What he would say, where he would say it, but his nerves and doubts bite at him again and again. You can tell he’s been thinking about something for months, it’s been weighing on him, but you hadn’t expected this. It all makes sense when you both are alone in a godswood and Jon takes your hand … and finally blurts it all out. He had a silver ring made; you don’t know how he managed it, but it’s pretty in its simplicity. There’s a direwolf running across the ring, its teeth bared, and another one running beside it. A pack of two.

BENJEN STARK

The asking and ceremony would be more of a ‘symbolic’ thing - being you both were in the Night’s Watch, and you were in disguise. It’s why when he first asked you, you thought it was some silly jap. “Of course, Ben,” You rolled your eyes. “I would love to be your wife.” Then he took your hand, removed the old woolen glove covering it and put on a small, unassuming iron ring that fit you perfectly. Benjen couldn’t stop grinning as he asked you again. It’s a sweet moment you share high up on the wall, in the middle of the darkness, where it seems like you both are totally alone in the world. Days afterward, you notice the engravings of the direwolf inside the ring.

JORY CASSEL

No matter how long you both were together at this point, Jory gets tongue-tied and stumbles over what he carefully rehearsed. He’s still so sure you’ll refuse him, given the small land and influence his family has. He thought for a long time about what sort of ring to get you, and admittedly, he was thinking about it early on in the relationship. It’s something quite pretty and elegant, and it references your house and personal taste. Honorable and traditional as he was, it didn’t feel right going to your family for “formal” permission. He wanted to know your feelings first, and that you truly wanted the arrangement.

EDDISON TOLLETT

You being his “old lady” was a dumb in-joke you and Edd had for some time. You were disguised in the Night’s Watch, of course, but the way you two (playfully) bickered made everyone call you an exhausting old couple. Even when you both were alone, Edd would use “wife”, though you were increasingly aware it wasn’t a joke anymore. Finally he really asks you, even if it’s pointless, even if it’s while you both are freezing in the middle of a frozen wasteland. And even then, he’s still surprised you say yes. One day he ties a piece of old twine around your finger, blushing the whole time, insisting you don’t have to keep it on if you don’t want to.

YARA GREYJOY

If you were from the greenlands, from the get-go, Yara liked to refer to you as her salt wife. It was half teasing, half telling the other Ironborn to stay away. Whenever she’d say it, she’d keep such a protective hold on your waist, you were half-convinced she was going to carry you off to her ship. Eventually she made good on that promise. If you were Ironborn, Yara would be more willing to be forward. She’d tell you about some story she heard from her uncle about brides of the sea, women who stayed together and never married, though you knew she wasn’t one for fancies. Regardless, she’d have matching necklaces made for the both of you, leather and iron, like most of what she owns. She keeps it protected under her clothes.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

Oh, she’s brought it up with you plenty of times - how you’ll be her Queen before gods and men, no matter what anyone thinks. The thing is, you both never did a grand ceremony. There were other matters to attend to, but Daenerys always made it clear to visitors who you were to her. She has plans for a wonderful ceremony once she takes her throne back, a celebration of your unbreakable union… Well, until then, you both can have your private vows. There’s dozens of beautiful things she’s given you (mostly from suitors who won’t bugger off), but your favorite is a necklace she had specially made. It’s a necklace of obsidian with dragons in flight, all connected together. The three largest dragons have a ruby, a diamond and an emerald for their eyes - a reference to her children, who are also fond of you. You two also wear matching obsidian bands with small rubies, made from the same stone as the necklace.

JORAH MORMONT

First, you knew this was happening. Jorah wears his heart on his sleeve and that’s even more evident when he’s worried about something. You noticed he was being both especially loving and anxious. You considered saying something, but he was clearly waiting for a perfect moment. Seriously, he’d look ready to say something, then back off at the last second at least a dozen times. Finally Jorah asked you, with the most loving smile on his face, and he was so choked up when you accepted - as if he really thought you’d refuse. You’ve told him before that you don’t need anything fancy, but he still gets you a lovely and elegant ring with silver-black engravings of small bears and another animal you’re fond of. He’s thrilled if you got him a matching ring or necklace; again, Jorah didn’t imagine you’d want such a thing. He’d wear it constantly and it’d become something he’d fiddle with when he was nervous.

MISSANDEI

Missandei would wait for you to pop the question because, in truth, she never imagined you’d want to. She understood that was a tradition in your home country, but you were both women, and she was… well, she just didn’t expect it. But Missandei’s eyes light up with surprise and adoration at your earnest question, and she says yes without even thinking. She isn’t one for anything fancy, but she’d love you both to have a matching set of bracelets, necklaces or rings - something elegant but not flashy, perhaps with stones or engravings that mean something personal to the both of you. She’d always wear it, even if she had to hide it under her clothes for some reason or another. She’s terribly flustered when someone asks her who it’s from and what it means.

GREY WORM

Oh, no no no. He’d grown a lot beside you, and as Daenerys’ commander, but there were still areas where Grey Worm felt like he wasn’t enough. It would take a lot of prodding and reassurance from Missandei before he’d finally start planning. You’d wonder what he was up to, and he’d just shyly say it was a surprise and you’d learn eventually. His proposal is sweet and faltering; he tried to stay serious, but he just couldn’t when you looked at him with those kind eyes. Grey Worm decided to make the jewelry himself - it would be an intricate leather bracelet with gemstones inlaid. He hunted the animal and tanned the leather himself, and spent many evenings hurting his fingers to put it together. He has a matching one, though it’s far simpler.

TYWIN LANNISTER

First off, this was a marriage arranged well in advance, so you didn’t expect any extended courting or proposals. This was Tywin, after all. Still he managed to surprise you a fortnight before the wedding with an absurdly jeweled ringbox. The ring itself was Lannister gold, and you anticipated lions and rubies… but it was your house’s sigil, with your birthstone inlaid, and small lions along the band. It’s far more than you anticipated from such a man. And when Tywin presented it to you, you sensed his expectation, and the heat in his eyes... He would never admit to wanting your approval, but that look was saying otherwise. Some years later, you have more jewelry than you could dream of, but you still wear that original ring most often. You’ll catch him glancing at it when you put it on, or twist it around your finger, then he’ll glance aside like he wasn’t watching.

TYRION LANNISTER

Naturally, he’s been thinking of this and planning it for weeks, maybe months, depending on how in love he is. Even if it’s a marriage of love, Tyrion will still have late-night nagging thoughts that you’ll back out, or you’re doing it out of duty. When he takes your hand and gives you the sweetest proposal you’ve ever heard, he still isn’t sure… until you kiss him and tell him what a silly man he’s being. Of course you’d accept. The ring has beautiful craftsmanship, with delicate flowers, lions and gemstones matching your house. It’s rosegold and silver rather than Lannister gold, and the inscription inside is something of an in-joke between you two, likely a quote from a book.

JAIME LANNISTER

You were concerned when he first approached you. It’s rare Jaime is this solemn with you, and he’d been acting strange the past week. Then he started to speak, and you realized he was nervous. His cheeks were starting to get red, and he was having trouble looking right at you. His nervousness came from the fact that Jaime wasn’t entirely sure you’d say yes, no matter how long you’d been together, no matter how confident he was that whole time. All the doubts would begin to creep, and before you could even answer, he considered backing out. But you said yes, and the smile that grew on his face was so wonderful to see. Jaime doesn’t want anything fancy or ceremonial, tradition and his family name be damned. The ring is gold, naturally, but it’s simple and charming. There’s small, pretty gemstones inlaid beside lion engravings.

SANDOR CLEGANE

At this point, you two have been married in all but name for years. He has his own thoughts on marriage, and you have your’s, and there was never a rush. People in the village already thought you already took vows, so honestly, you might have kids before Sandor starts considering something a little official. It would be something simple, but heartfelt. He’d have a fancy leather bracelet woven for you, or a simple silver ring, if you’d prefer that. He wouldn’t want much for himself, and would be flustered if you made something - but he’d absolutely wear it. Instead of taking the three black dogs from the Clegane sigil, you both would think of something new.

BRONN

He’s made all sorts of stupid jokes about marriage, especially now that he’s a proper lord. You’ve never taken any of it seriously, especially when these sentimental rambles come from when he’s drunk and wanting under your dress. Other times are when you’re out and about and pass a sept - “We oughta made it official, then go straight to the wedding night” - really, you never expected him to be serious about it. One evening he tossed something shiny at you, and you caught it. It was a beautiful ring with a huge diamond … and your first thought is if he stole it. He didn’t look at you, only mumbled something about maybe talking to your family. Maybe considering it for real. Bronn’s terrible with emotions, especially speaking them out loud. His gestures speak louder, and the whole time he’s talking he’s trying not to look at you.

PETYR BAELISH

Naturally he planned out the whole proposal - the right location, what he would say, and a beautiful ring that meant something important to you. It wasn’t big and conspicuous, rather it was something absolutely tailored for you, with a mockingbird etched inside. Petyr starts strong as he takes your hand, but begins to falter in his words when you look at him with such adoration. That undivided attention and love just gets him flustered, though he knew you’d accept. This was all part of his plan, but even knowing it would happen didn’t make him any less pleased.

STANNIS BARATHEON

Your houses had been in discussion about the betrothal for a while, but being the man he was, Stannis still wanted to do the usual courting and formal proposal. His words were blunt, the tips of his ears were turning red and he kept darting his eyes away, but he said it. He remembers the ring when you accept, and you assumed he had it ordered without much thought… Though when you look at it, you notice it’s not just pretty woven gold and black diamonds. In the center of the diamonds is your birthstone, and you wonder if he added that touch - your parents certainly wouldn’t have. Even after you’ve been married for years and have plenty of jewelry to pick from, Stannis gets a little flushed that you wear the first ring he gave you so often.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

Your dear Davos made your ring, a pretty and modest thing he created with the help of a blacksmith friend (you were wondering where those little burns on his fingers came from). You both had been together for a while now, talking about marriage here and there but never actually doing it. When he takes your hand, he’s bashful, though he gets through his words. They’re sweet and honest, like you expected. He knew you’d say yes, but he wanted to say it, and to give you the ring. Even if you don’t want a ceremony, he wanted to give you this. It’s a pretty silver and iron ring with pretty engraved flowers, your favorite, and a loving inscription on the inside.

MARGAERY TYRELL

First off, she’d been asking you strange questions for weeks. You could tell she wanted to get you a gift, and she wanted it to be just right. Then you realized she must have some sort of elaborate date planned… Well, you didn’t expect the wonderful evening to end in a proposal. Even if it wasn’t possible for you by the laws of Westeros, Margaery didn’t care. She had a beautiful ring made for you, and she had her “vows” ready. As far as she’s concerned, your hearts belong together, and the gods will understand. She only cries a little, but she’s mostly beaming as you say yes and allow her to put it on your finger.

The gold ring is made wonderfully, with sculpted roses and a large emerald in the center, with her birthstone around it. Margaery wanted a matching one, but that might be suspicious. So, her ring is your favorite flower sculpted with your birthstone in the center.

BRYNDEN TULLY

All his life Brynden resisted the brides his brother threw at him, absolutely sure he was going to die a warrior and not some lazy lord… Well, you certainly changed that perspective, though he likes to say he’s still too old and you ought to spend your life with someone else. Because he thinks it’s the right thing to do, and you deserve it - and with the upcoming war - he gets the ring. Brynden is actually flustered the whole time, giving you a curt and honest proposal. He wants to be with you until the rest of his days - even if they’re numbered - if you’ll have him. No fancy ceremony, ideally, it’s just the two of you. The ring itself is unusual and also not traditional. It’s cool silver with black etchings, and the sigils are your house’s sigil or a favorite flower. It’s not very Tully, except for a small chain of trout engraved on the inside.

EDMURE TULLY

He’s completely confident in this proposal. And why not? You both adore each other, the marriage has been planned for well over a year now, he has just the right place to ask you… Though he’s so excited, he ends up stumbling over some words while he asks you. The official arrangement had already been announced, but he still wanted to do something private and romantic. It was difficult for Edmure to keep the ring a secret. He oversaw every step of it being made, and when he notices you looking at it, it makes him very happy. It’s an elegant silver ring inlaid with diamonds, rubies and sapphires; the latter being in a wavy formation like the Tully banner. You think it’s a bit extravagant, but he says otherwise.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

She’s been thinking about it over and over… you can tell she’s been agonizing about something for months. Finally she shyly presents you with a pretty and simple gold bracelet she figured you could always wear; stumbles over her words to explain it, then you understand her meaning. Yall find an abandoned sept and do cute lil vows and shes crying lol. You rlly want her to wear something similar and she’s just blushing the whole time but she agrees; she takes extremely good care of the necklace/bracelet and wears it under her armor.

RAMSAY BOLTON

Your parents and Roose made the arrangement, so you and Ramsay had little say in the matter. Still, he loves to play his roles, so he wanted to play the part of the attentive, doting lord, especially in front of your family. Though you’re surprised by the unusual ring he gives you; it’s two smooth rings interlocking with each other. The proposal is a little intense and unsettling, but you notice something when he puts it on your finger. He has small burns on his fingers, like had smithed it himself… And you wonder how he knew your ring size… Later on, when you both are married and living in the Dreadfort, sometimes he’ll take your hand and run his thumb over the cold ring.

ROOSE BOLTON

You both were officially engaged for some time, so he didn’t have to do any sort of proposal. When you both were at a private, quiet place in the gardens, and he took your hand. You weren’t expecting it at all. It was simple enough. He promised to look after you, to ensure your protection and health. It almost seemed… genuine, though those eyes were cold as ever. The ring was another surprise. You realized it was an heirloom, but it still looked impeccable. It was iron that was twisted into an elegant shape, with rubies and morganite. The largest ruby was in the center, shaped like a tear-drop… or maybe that was a blood-drop? You notice afterward he’ll glance at your hand each time you meet, as if concerned you wouldn’t wear it.

OBERYN MARTELL

You both had been paramours for years now, and you didn’t need the ring to be happy or official… So it surprised you when after a wonderful evening of dancing and drinking, and pressing against each other in the gardens, he asked you the question. It was romantic, like you’d expect, but also so earnest. Oberyn always wears his feelings on his sleeves, but this didn’t seem like a spur-of-the-moment passionate proposal. His words seemed like he’d worked on them for a long time. Oberyn is understanding if you want to stay paramours and not an official Lady Martell, as that title comes with trappings and expectations. He just had to ask you and hear your acceptance. The ring he gives you is gold, with vibrant topaz and rubies. The inside is engraved with the spear of Martell. You later learn from his brother that it’s a beloved family heirloom.

BERIC DONDARRION

The two of you don’t have much, but you’ve been in love for a long time and he very much wants a “proper” ceremony to express that. He shyly proposed to you in the moonlight after you both made love, and the almost desperation in his voice surprised you. He gave you a smooth, iron ring with a faint design of interwoven flames. The “ceremony” is a drunk Thoros and equally drunk septon his men found, for a double ceremony! It’s extra luck! Or something like that. Beric insists that makes it even more official, and he’ll marry you under a Godswood too, if you come across one. He’s full of smiles and wants to bridal carry you every chance he gets.

[magalidragon]

11 for the formula 1 / car racers au my fav !! pls

Hello Anon! Here you go!

11. Things you said while drunk.

“We won!”

“You won, love, not we.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dany slurred, tripping over her feet out of the Direwolf, the classic one that Ned kept locked away and only took out once a year. They’d stolen it. Well, Jon stole it. Snatched the keys right off the hook in the garage and poured her into it, zooming off into the night. They had a lot to celebrate, as she had just won her very first professional race.

Take that, to anyone who dared complain, she thought through her haze of one bottle of thirty-year Northern whiskey. She tilted the empty bottle to her lips, but there was only a drop left. She stomped her foot. “Oh darn!”

Jon spun her around. “I’m sober.” He wiggled another bottle in front of her. “Let’s change that, shall we love?”

Love, he drawled, in his raspy accent. Gods, it did things to her. She heard his voice in her ears, as she raced the track earlier, lapping the Lannisters twice. Shouting for her to take that turn or this turn, ease off, ease on, watch her speed, her steering. Sometimes he was too talkative during a race. Other times he wasn’t talkative enough. “I love you,” she murmured, waiting for him to open the bottle and take a long pull, offering her some. Seh sipped and sighed again, grabbing the lapels of his race coveralls, which he still hadn’t taken off yet. “I love you Jon Snow. I have since I was sixteen.”

He nuzzled her neck, turning her towards the Direwolf. They’d lost their virginity to each other in a version of this car, she thought idly, when he stretched her out on the hood. He’d told her loved her for the first time there. It was where she’d mourned Rhaegar with him. Where he’d told her she would be the best racecar driver in all of Westeros one day. And now she was.

One race down, a million more to go.

He worked his way through the bottle as she stared dreamily at the night sky, watching the stars sparkle and counting the faces in the moon. “We're gonna’ be here all night,” she whispered, side-eyeing him as his gray eyes glimmered in a tipsy haze. “Where’d you put the keys?”

“Somewhere in the car. Doesn’t matter. I could stay here forever.”

“A thousand years.”

He cradled the whiskey bottle to his chest with one hand, and her with the other. Fingers delving into her hair, he twisted the strands. “I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Soon enough.” He took a few more swigs and soon yes, he was as drunk as her, both of them giggling and pushing at each other, tickling and teasing, like the stupid kids they were, until he fell right off onto the ground, laughing hysterically as she tried to lean over to see how he was. He waved. “Hi Dany!”

“Hi Jon!” She waved back and pillowed her head on her arms, staring over the car hood down at him, in a messy heap below. Her eyebrows wiggled. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at you. Can’t tell what’s the moon and what's' your face.”

“Pretty words.”

He snorted. “Drunk words.”

“I like them.”

He gazed up at her another moment, pure adoration shining back. She smiled and crooked her index finger at him. “Come back up here.”

“In a minute.” He sighed and shook his head slightly, whispering. “Marry me.”

She rolled to her back, stretching like a cat. “You’re drunk Jon.”

“I’m serious. Marry me.”

“We’re too young.” She couldn’t remember how old they were, but she thought maybe she was nineteen.

He got to his feet and then fell to one knee, his arms outstretched, shouting for all to hear. “Daenerys Targaryen, marry me!”

She laughed, unable to stop. “Jon! Shut up! You’re crazy!”

“I’ve never been more sane in my life!” He stumbled upright and fell onto the hood over her, nuzzling her nose with his whispering. “I love you. I want you to marry me. Have babies with me. Race cars with me. Stay with me. For always.”

It was an appealing prospect. They already lived together. They’d never spent a day apart since she moved to the Winterfell estate with Rhaegar when she was a kid. She shared her very soul with this man. He encouraged her to race. Told her she could do it. She would be the best. He’d build her cars. He’d coach her. He’d race too. They would take the world. Together.

She nodded, her hands cradling his jaw, nails scratching his beard. “Yes Jon Snow. I’ll marry you.”

“Drive off into the sunset with me?” he breathed. He smiled over her mouth, stroking her face. “That’s the happy ending in movies, right?”

It wasn’t a movie, but it felt like one, so she nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “We’ll race off into the sunset, happily ever after.”

Things you said ficlet prompts

[toas-tea]

goodnight // modern au jorleesi

Jorah falls asleep during one of their late-night face time sessions, but Daenerys couldn't be mad even if she tried.

modern au / pre-relationship

-

welp, thanks to this comment iain made on emilia's instagram, i pulled this one out of my ass. thanks iain.

ao3

“So I’ll probably end up going back to uni at this rate-”

A soft little sound stops her mid-rant. Her eyes flicker from the braids in her hands to her phone mounted on her nightstand.

Oh, how her heart soared at what she saw.

Through the screen, further highlighted from the darkness in her room, was Jorah. It wasn’t a frequent occurrence, but on the rare occasion that her stubborn friend succumbed to the long days, Daenerys could never bring herself to be upset.

Not when he looked like this. Jorah was an incredibly handsome man, but there was always something so much more special seeing him in such a vulnerable and adorable state - a state, in which he trusted her with.

She couldn’t help the way her eyes wandered and traced his face, free of the lines caused by the stress of his security job. His lips slightly parted, the cute little snore, his face half-buried into his pillow. He looked damn near boy’ish, something the average person would never use to describe someone who was normally so brave and strong and stoic.

Daenerys shifts a bit closer to the night stand, a small smile gracing her lips. She reaches towards the screen from under the covers and traces the outline of his beautiful features with her finger.

Without shame, her fingers double tap the center to take a screenshot. She made a mental note to make sure to apologize to him soon for this. It was incredibly difficult not to save a shot when he looked like this.

Her eyes begin to water, as if the buildup of laughs, tears, joy, and late Friday night reruns of Drakes and Rec has begun to spill over. She swallows the sudden surge of feelings forming in her throat and with little trepidation and zero regret, Daenerys whispers, “Hey…Jorah.”

His lack of response gently pushes her forward.

“I love you,” she confesses, “unbearably so.”

With her heart still aflutter, her finger hovers over the red hangup icon.

“Goodnight, my bear.”

[targaryenimagines]

Tempering the Storm

Daenerys Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 2,164

Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not knowing what to truly say, you simply nod. 

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

“Then let’s go.” 

---------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “What do you mean, Dany?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not as long as you had her.

[metataxy]

Tyrion/Sansa Nonsense

This has been sitting on my hard-drive since S8 -- basically AU from the episode where Arya kills the Nightking.  Tyrion and Sansa get together, Jon gets the throne of Winterfell, and Arya is a wandering knight and shite at remembering her birth control.  Sansa POV.

Warnings for infertility, reference to previous sexual assault (ie. Sansa dealing with Ramsay), canon-typical ableism POV (Sansa describes Tyrion as having a deformity, which seems in character for her, but ugh).

---------------------------------------

This should have been her happy ending.

The war had ended.  Arya had killed Cersei, and the Mountain, and the twisted Maester Cersei named her hand—but not before Cersei’s men had shot Daenerys dead off her dragon.  Jon had mourned, the Unsullied had mourned, the Dothraki had mourned.  When the news came to her in Winterfell, Sansa hadn’t even bothered to play at mourning. Why should Sansa mourn the woman’s death?  With Daenerys gone, the North belonged to itself once more.  Jon would reluctantly rule in the South, while she held the North from Winterfell.  

Besides, there were many more important things for her to concern herself with than a foreign queen’s death.

Before Jon and Daenerys’ armies had passed out of eyesight, she’d begun housecleaning. There were bodies laid deep as the castle walls in some spots, bodies rotting over lintel of every window and hanging off every parapet.  Sansa herself had rolled up her sleeves and worked alongside her people—northerners, wildlings, even a few Dothraki and Unsullied too injured in the War Against the Night King to survive the journey south.  They’d carted any body they couldn’t recognize out the walls, and stacked them high enough you could have seen them a league off, if not for the forest.

The bodies they did recognize, they burnt.

No one wanted to go into the crypts to lay them to rest, least of all Sansa.  But if her sister had been brave enough to kill the Night King, she would be brave enough to forget them.  She sewed Lyanna Mormont’s bones into a shroud, and carried them below herself.  And her people followed.  They righted the funerary statues and sorted the bodies, and staked each one with dragonglass, and inhumed them again.

But they didn’t sleep soundly, any of them.  Not after they’d swept the bones and scrubbed the bloodstains from the floors, not while the children still found amputated fingers tables and tripped on bodies frozen in the snow.  She stared out at the bodies from the window of her parents’ room—now her own—and tried to convince herself she hadn’t seen them move.

Those were the nights Alys Karstark and Wenda Snow and a handful of other women crowded into her room, when they’d spend the night sharing stories of the times before the war, of the ones they’d loved and lost.  And as the candles dwindled into daylight, they confessed their dreams for when the war was done, and the men came home.

When Jon returned with his dragons and her Northerners, and Tyrion Lannister, when she saw the heaps of corpses burnt to dust under dragonfire, she decided it was time. So as the night ebbed, before her erst-while husband could get truly drunk, she took away his goblet and took him by the hand.

“Milady, I will be needing that—”

“Not where we’re going.”

He looked at her guardedly as she took him out of the room.  The redheaded Wildling had winked widely at her, and against herself, she smiled.  

“Not that I object to holding private conference with you, but must we do so right now?  I have been thinking incessantly since this war began and I had planned to imbibe enough alcohol to stop thinking for a month at least—what are you--oh”

At some point during his monologue she’d gotten him into her room, shut the door, and begun unlacing her dress.

“I have other ways to help you stop thinking,” she told him pleasantly, removing her overdress and folding it neatly on the chair beside the bed, before starting on her shift.  “Though not as many as you.  I assume you acquired some measure of skill through all those years of whoring?” She stepped out of her smallclothes, and he gaped at her.

“You look like you’ve never seen a woman before.”

“I—no—just,” he stuttered, and she laughed.  

“I told you I could help you stop thinking,” she reminded him.

Tyrion laughed, and began to undress.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a good match.  She’d known it before she’d taken him up to her room that first night, and every night after proved it.  His deformity and his years of hardship made him a more attentive and gentle lover than any lord knight Sansa had hoped to marry in her youth.  It didn’t hurt that he knew his way around a women’s body from his education in all the whorehouses of the Seven Kingdoms and abroad.  From the whispered conferences in the kitchens with the other young wives, she knew Tyrion had forgotten more about the arts of love than the callow minds of other men could aspire to learn.  The other girls began to come to her for advice; surprisingly, she enjoyed giving it.

She had no shame, not after Ramsey Bolton, and not now that intimacy had become such a pleasant and easy act, and not with the way her husband stared after her as though she hung the moon.  

After they made love, they’d lounge nude on the bed, and he’d stroke her hair, or braid it, his short fingers surprisingly nimble, and they’d talk, and there was the other half to why this was a good match.  He was her intellectual equal, though he’d had decades longer to hone his mind and a far superior education.  He knew more than a Maester, she swore.  Ask him any question—the kinds of grain they grew in Meereen, and if they’d grow this far north, how much to buy a Dothraki stud, the cost of silk—and he had an answer.  He had answers for questions she never could have thought to ask, and so gave her a world she couldn’t have imagined with his words.

So she loved him, and they made love, and she prayed to the Old Gods and New, for her happy ending.

But a year passed, and another year, and the winds had begun to warm when she asked the question and dreaded the response.

“Why am I not yet with child?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I thought he couldn’t hurt me anymore,” she said softly, staring out over the courtyard where the children sparred under Ser Tormund’s gleeful eye.

The dull crack of wood on wood drifted up to her, interspersed with shrieks of excitement and half-stifled groans as blows were landed.  She watched incredulously as the wildling demonstrated a gut-punch to a girl of seven, and even through her unhappiness, she smiled to see the girl accidentally aim a bit too low while testing the technique on the man.

Tyrion just held her hand.  He didn’t say anything because he knew Sansa knew as much as he did about this. Because he didn’t want to give her false hope, or guilt that she could not bear his child.  His silence was both respect and a release from expectation.

They wouldn’t talk again about what Ramsay had done to her or its probable effects.

“There’s the matter of succession,” she said instead.  

“You have two brothers.”

“Neither of whom seem to have any interest in women.”

“Well, they certainly have no interest in men either,” Tyrion murmured, and then fixed her with a close look.  “Jon is still living like a monk then?”

She gave him a look.  “He’s still mourning for Daenerys, I think.”

“Ye gods,” he groaned, and that also did not need explanation.  The last thing anyone in the Seven Kingdoms wanted was another war over the succession.  “If either of your brothers could even just get a bastard on a woman—”

Their eyes met, and then Sansa really smiled, as she kneeled down to kiss him.

“If anyone could arrange to have someone happily bedded, husband, it would be you.”

Thus began the most awkward saga of Aegon Targaryen and Bran Stark’s adult lives.

---------------------------------------------------------------

He was under the weirwood tree, as he always was these days, when she made the proposal to him.

“No,” Bran said simply.  He wasn’t entirely there when he said it, his eyes still rolled back in his skull.

“You didn’t even hear the question yet,” Sansa exclaimed.  She supposed her objection might not be strictly true.

He blinked, and his gaze refocused to land somewhere in the vicinity of the present time and place.  

“I will not marry Alys Karstark,” he told her definitively.

“But it would mend the bond between our houses!  She’s well-bred, attractive, I can hardly see what objection you might have to the union—”

Bran stared flatly at her.  “It’s not an objection,” he informed her mildly, his eyes rolling back again.  She scowled at the dismissal and turned to walk away.

“Sansa,” he said.

She stopped.

“The succession won’t be a problem.  Give it time.”

Her mood was hardly improved by this reassurance as she stalked away. Three-Eyed Ravens could sit and wait for the future to come.  She was the one who would make it happen.

“I’m not going to be happy when Tyrion puts a whore in my bedroom,” Bran yelled after her.

She grinned.  The idea had been under discussion, but it was always nice to know some things would go as planned.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a few months after that when Arya finally came home, and only then because she was sick.  Sansa had missed her too much to be furious with her for her absence.  She set Arya up in her old room and heaped the bed with pillows and tucked her in as tightly as their mother ever had, and called the Maester up to look at her.

Maester Kebold was an energetic young man, one of the few Samwell Tarly had befriended in his stay in the tower.  “Your complaints, milady?”

“Nausea. I can hardly keep any food down. I have to piss all the time and I’m fucking exhausted and I can hardly shit, and no matter how much I eat I’m always starving—” Sansa braced her palm against her forehead.

“Have you been travelling at all lately?  Been in contact with any sick folks?”

Arya snorted.  “I just got off the horse, of course I’ve been travelling, what kind of stupid question—”

“I, very well.   Let me examine you—”

He felt his way around Arya’s body, but he hardly had to.  There was a rondeur to Arya’s belly and breasts where she had been once whipcord lean, and when he pronounced it as an “excess of bile,” Sansa had enough.

“She’s not bilious, you fool, she’s pregnant.”

He paused. Arya paused.

“I can’t be pregnant—”

“Please leave us,” she ordered the witless Maester out, and closed the door.  “Of course you can be pregnant.  Is it Gendry Baratheon’s?”  Jon had legitimized the blacksmith, out of respect for their fathers’ friendship, and for his services during the war.  

She gawked.

“You can’t be more than a month or two along.  Who have you slept with since then?”

Arya continued gawking.  “You mean fucked?  What does that have to do with anything?”

“Arya, you do know that’s how people get pregnant.”

She shut her mouth.  “What a stupid thing to say, of course I know that.  But I can’t get pregnant.”

“Why not?”

“I’m too busy,” she wailed.  “I’m a fucking assassin.  I’m a fighter.  I don’t have the time for laying about for the next fucking year for a baby, I have things to do—”

“As of now,” Sansa said determinedly, “you don’t.”

Arya might have glared and swore after that, but it was half-hearted at best. They both knew Sansa was right.

---------------------------------

It was Gendry’s, she told them.  At least, she was fairly certain it was.  Apparently she’d passed by Casterly Rock to visit Brienne, and she’d sort of fooled around with Podric while she was there—but no, that was too long ago.  It had to be Gendry’s.

Some women might have found her situation maddening.  After all the trouble Sansa had gone through to get with child on purpose, her sister had gotten pregnant by accident, and did nothing but complain about it.  Those women lacked practicality.  She was getting a child.  The only maddening thing about the situation was Arya herself.

To begin with, while she’d seen Arya get cut open and stitched up with nary an anesthetic nor a word of complaint, she griped constantly about pain of pregnancy. Her feet were bloating.  Her stomach was sore.  It was impossible to ride a horse with a belly so fat—though she did, against Sansa’s advice.  Brienne, pregnant with her second child by Jaime, was no better.  The ravens sent between Casterly Rock and Winterfell became a constant flight of complaints.

Which was not to say she was unhappy to have Arya home.  She hadn’t realized how much they’d missed her until she was home.

Arya and Tyrion got along like a house on fire.  They happily bickered about everything—the best alcohol, war history, brothels (of which Sansa was, in retrospect, unsurprised to learn her sister frequented, though less for the purposes of killing time than people). As Arya’s advancing pregnancy forced her into inactivity, she was forever stealing Tyrion’s books from their room and leaving them about the house.  He’d go to reclaim them and upbraid her for the theft, she’d argue a point of military strategy, and he’d forget what he’d come there for.  She found them everywhere—in the library, the hayloft, the crypts—at the center of a debate.  

In fact, the only time they weren’t bickering was during their chess games, which could go on for hours.  She came down to the Great Hall one morning to find them both slumped over the chessboard, asleep.

Perhaps some women might also have worried about their husbands’ fidelity in this situation.  Those women didn’t have common sense or a sister with such dubious taste in men.

Arya liked Tyrion because he reminded her of their father—and, as it came out, Tyrion’s own father.  That had been a surprise.  They almost seemed to regret Tywin Lannister’s death.  More surprisingly, Arya reminded Tyrion a little of his sister though he’d never say it to her face.  Neither of them was incestuously inclined, so they’d never bed each other.

Besides, Arya had someone else to occupy her.

Ser Tormund had returned with Tyrion after the war.  Jaime Lannister regretted the necessity of knighting the wildling both before and after he’d actually done it.  Rumour had it that the wildling had been drunk enough after the ceremony to induct a dog, a horse, and several chickens into knighthood with him.  Ser Squawk had been promptly beheaded for dinner the next evening.

The point was, Tormund was as wild and irreverent as Arya herself, and living in close quarters, it hadn’t taken long for either of them to notice it.

Perhaps some women might have been concerned about their sister’s taste in men. Those women, Sansa reflected, had not spent the last winter listening to the lovesick Ser Tormund composing terrible ballads about Brienne of Tarth, and worse, actually singing them.

She’d tried to get Ser Tormund out of Winterfell.  She really had.  Not that there weren’t advantages to having a knight like him in the castle—they never lacked for venison or alcohol, and Tyrion swore Tormund could distill ale out of air.  Certainly some of Tormund’s brews were of dubious origin, but they had no better entertainment that winter than sampling them.  The trouble with Tormund was that he had no sense of boundaries.  For instance, he thought nothing of regularly barging into her room to ask inane questions while she and Tyrion were preoccupied with each other, and would casually chat as though the two of them weren’t in their skins and nought else.

She’d tried to marry him to Alys Karstark, who was beginning to find Sansa’s matchmaking on her behalf somewhat suspect.  She tried to send him scouting north of the wall.  She tried to send him back to Brienne and Jaime.  That, at least, had revealed why he was so stuck on staying in Winterfell—

“But I can’t go back to her, you see.”

“Whyever not?” demanded Sansa in exasperation.

“Well, I asked her what might make her happy, if I couldn’t at least have her, and she said what would make her happiest is if I kept her oath to keep Milady safe.”

Thinking of how his brother had probably laughed over this, Tyrion wrote an acidic letter of thanks to Jaime for his consideration.