#i want alysanne's hair color now

[sansa286]

On...Targaryen (Valyrian) Hair Colors!

Season 1 wigs were superior imo.

Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon have a habit of making all Targaryen hair look rather one-note, and in the same bleached platinum-blonde color. However the books offer a wide variety of descriptions which I plan on covering today.

Disclaimer: The pictures used are to show color, not texture. In the books there are several different textures, and in the show the Velaryons have afro-textured hair and locs. Not every example (or most) is going to be texture-accurate, this post is is purely about the different shades of hair color found in the family.

Silver-Gold

The most common hair color Valyrians are said to have is "silver-gold". Aegon I, Rhaenys, Visenya, Rhaena Targaryen (Aenys's daughter), Daenerys, Viserys and many others of Valyrian descent (as well as Hightowers) have been described with this color. Interestingly in the portraits GRRM commissioned years ago, their hair looked something like this:

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The difference between the silver and the gold is stark (pun not intended.) However other depictions have been more blended to resemble something like this:

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That is personally how I first imagined Daenerys's hair in A Game of Thrones looking.

2. Silver-White

The Dragon Twins Baela and Rhaena Targaryen (Prince Daemon and Lady Laena Velaryon's twins) are described as having "silver-white" hair. Which can be interpreted as a very bright silver color with no hints of gold or blonde.

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The wig department for HotD better take notes! This is what Rhaena's locs should've looked like.

3. White

King Aegon III Targaryen is described as having hair so pale it appeared white. White differs from silver due to silver having a gray base.

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4. White Gold

Prince Aemon (son of King Jaehaerys I & Queen Alyssane) was said to have white gold hair, which was considered rare. White-gold can be interpreted as just a very pale blonde/gold color. You may think that white gold is silver-looking in color, but that is only because much of modern-day white gold has been plated with rhodium to reduce the pale yellow color. White gold that hasn't been plated is a (very pretty) pale gold color, which is what I'm assuming GRRM meant because I am fairly certain rhodium plating wasn't a thing during the medieval period.

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5. Honey

Not all Targaryens are pale haired! [Best] Queen Alysanne's hair was said to be honey colored. It was believed that her hair came out this way due to her grandmother being Lady Alarra Massey, who was Andal not Valyrian.

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6. Dirty-Blonde

Princess Alyssa Targaryen (daughter of King Jaehaerys I and Queen Alysanne) was said to have dirty-blonde hair without a trace of silver.

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8. Brown

I'm including Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and his bros here, because while his parentage was disputed, and confirmed in the show, he's still a Targaryen on his mother's side and would have taken on the name Targaryen when he became king. Jace is said to have brown hair. No flowery language used to describe it by GRRM...just brown.

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7. Black

Yes, there are black-haired Targaryens! Rhaenys Targaryen (daughter of Prince Aemon and Jocelyn Baratheon) had black hair, as did the children of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia Martell (sweet Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon.) Aegor Rivers, also known as "Bittersteel" (the son of King Aegon the Unworthy and Barbra Bracken) also had black hair.

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[rhaenaspearls]

Half of My Heart

(A starter for @moondancer-rp)

Rhaena had always been a habitually early riser, one of the many juxtapositions between herself and her twin, Baela; ever since the Dragon Twins were small, their father had joked, "If Rhaena rises with the sun, then Baela is roused by the bells for lunch." It was hyperbole, to be sure, but then again, so many of the perceived opposite ends of each twin's personality were once anyone cared enough to look past the surface. Rhaena preferred bright colors, and Baela dark, Rhaena would rather embroider while Baela played cards, an early riser compared to late, even one's hair was dark, while the other's was Targaryen silver.

That was only the surface, however, because from the moment of their first spark of life, to now twenty years on, there was no company the Dragon Twins favored more than one another. Whether it was Baela sitting through hours of gowns and cosmetics just to spend the time with her sister or Rhaena as her twin's ever enthusiastic accomplice to her practical jokes, what they did rarely mattered as long as they were doing it together; though, since Rhaena claimed Good Queen Alysanne's former mount, Silverwing, four years ago, both were in firm agreement there was no better activity to share than flying amongst the clouds.

As the early riser, it was common for Rhaena to wake her sister by jumping on the end of her bed, with breakfast in tow, and their day's agenda already fully formulated and regimented in her mind, and this morning was no different...well, mostly. "Morning Mandia!!" She spoke brightly as on entering Baela's chambers, pointed to a clear table for the two maids following close behind her to put the breakfast trays stocked with all their combined favorites, and then plunked down on the edge of the dark crimson duvet. The day before her sister had explained the plan she had been formulating to treat with many of their Kingdom's young heirs in order to strengthen bonds and alliances to create the best possible start for all of them in their new Queen's reign.

As was the case for so many of their contrasting interests and talents, Rhaena and Baela were two halves of one whole when it came to the machinations of court and the intersection of the precise science and complex art that was excelling in politics. Her sister was practical, intuitive, equipped with a better view of big picture matters could ever dream to have, and a fast learner of every lesson their stepmother Rhaenyra and their grandmother Rhaenys had to teach; Rhaena, in turn, was charming and sociable, a master in the details, and had a special knack for knowing exactly what the person in front of her wanted to hear. Alone, the Dragon Twins were a talented strategist and a dazzling socialite, but together, they were quickly becoming the greatest political force Westeros had seen since the reign of Queens Visenya and Rhaenys.

"So! I was thinking about our conversation last night, and about all these plans for strengthening all alliances, once again, masterful, I meant it when I said this may be your most ingenious idea to date! And you know any and everything you might need for your meetings all you need do is ask, I'll be waiting eagerly for which you'd like me to attend, but you know the last thing I want is to get in your way." Rhaena had frequently absented herself from the most technical and strategic political matters so important to their family, she would only be one more cook in the kitchen, and her talents mainly laid in a different set of pursuits, but there was nothing in this world she would rather spend her time doing than supporting her twin in whatever way she may need. "While you start to build these foundations, though, I had some ideas about how to get us all working better together. At least one garden party seems a sensible place to start, and it seems worthwhile to coordinate a day's hunt as well, especially to please our young Stark and Tully envoys, but really our key goal ought to be working towards coordinating an event to honor our Ladies and another for our Lords, and before that, figuring out what kind of event will go over best for each!"

Then, the younger twin paused, sitting back on her heels, and looked at her sister intently as she giggled softly, "All that said, what's been on your mind lately?"

[corviids]

Birdie, I have something I HAVE share with you. I was reading about how Alysanne took after her grandmother Alarra Massey in her coloring and I simply must share a plea for Lucemond’s final surprise child in misty dream. Aemond’s prayers are finally answered when he gets a dark haired girl, a child who seems to be a carbon copy of her great-grandmother Rhaenys. The other children, while shocked at the late pregnancy, are somewhat relieved with their new sister. Children always seem to give Luke an energy boost and Aemond has finally gotten his dark haired daughter, but they’re mostly relieved with the idea that there will be a daughter to care for their parents when they age. Jokes on them because all this girl wants to do in learn to fight. She’s inherited Rhaenys spirit too: proud, highly intelligent, a cold and serious demeanor, stoicism and a skill with weapons that rivals Aemond own. But also like Aemond, she has no charisma—only successfully ever charming Luke and a few siblings. No rizz to be found here, just like her kepa. In adulthood, she’s taller than all her siblings except Gaemon. She’s also a staunch loyalist to Valyrian traditions. Once she claims Meleys as a child, a fiery temper makes itself clear.

Because she’s the dark haired girl Aemond has been waiting for, the spoiling gets even worse than with the others, meaning he allows her to train with weapons. In a sad way, she becomes the child he trains and hunts with, goes over military history with, flies with the most. This is something that causes a little resentment in Aenys-it would be one thing if she simply acted like the rest of his spoiled sisters, but even as child she proves herself to have the natural bearings of an heir, despite being the youngest. This causes a really strained relationship that lasts decades. She grows up during an interesting period in for Aemond and Lucerys marriage because it’s a point in time where Aemond has really matured and learned to step back from ruling Summerhall all on his own. He and Luke split the duties more evenly now which means that when his daughter is old enough to develop her personality and hold a sword, Aemond has a lot of free time to spend with her.

However this is what causes a lot of tension with Aenys. He should be having the time of his life: he has the freedom to shadow Luke, learn to rule from him—which means he gets to spend all day with his muna. However as the new sister begins to grow, he develops this idea she’s gotten the childhood he should have had, one not stifled by Aemond’s harsh way raising his heir to be. This is a feeling he’s struggled with before with Valerion, but that was easier to stomach because his brother never found interest in what heirs should be taught. Again, this causes a lot of resentment because this girl seems to be better at everything than he was at his age, and she’s smart enough to see right through him. It gets even worse when it becomes clear that while she doesn’t have her eye on the Summerhall, she wants nothing more to be to one to inherit One Eye from Aemond; a desire that only grows when her Aunts Baela and Rhaena gift her Rhaenys copper armor after Meleys has been claimed. Aenys thought he’d be free of a sibling rivalry when Gaemon left, but this new child is even worse. She’s also unimpressed with him, which fuels his inferiority complex. It’s like having a child with the personality of your father look down on you, though the actual kid looks like your mother.

She isn’t really close with Saera, Gaemon, Naerys, or Valerion since they’re away from home due to either marriage or study, nor Daenys who is fostering at Driftmark. Despite not really knowing him, she respects Gaemon the most since he’s a knight, but clashes all the time with Rhaella since a) she’s stolen Aemond’s attention in a way Rhaella can’t seem to understand (Rhaella goes through the same thing Aenys did when Valerion was born) and b) because she finds her rash behavior/personality childish. She’s protective over Maegelle because she sees her as a the perfect kind of Lady a knight and fighter would protect (actually Maegelle and her give me sapphic opposite coloring Lucemond vibes). However the two of them will eventually come to a crossroads in that she doesn’t believe Maegelle should worship the Seven (which you’ve sort of implied she’s dedicated to?). She believes the religion to be a weakness and a danger to their House. From her extended family she admires Rhaenyra and idolizes Baela, but finds herself the happiest with Viserys since he’s the only one to keep up with her intellectually; they speak for hours whenever he and Saera visit home. (Not sure if Elaena and Daena exist here but if they do this trio raises hell).

I’m not sure if you’ve made Rhaegar and Maekar official md kids, but I have thought of some characteristics for them as well if that is not too presumptuous? I like to think Rhaegar is basically a male version of Sansa. He dreams of marrying Princess of Dorne while spending the days writing poetry. Out of the entire family, he’s the one who has copied Luke’s fashion sense the most (though he’s definitely judged for it because unlike Valerion he doesn’t share the unusual nature of their muna’s body—meaning more feminine clothing can’t be explained away). Dorne is his only hope for a accepting spouse, but also like Sansa he really wants to be an official prince of the realm and manage (not rule) a great House. He takes inspiration from romanticized stories of Luke during those early years of Summerhall in that he wants nothing more than to rear children and support his wife who will run things (something he never voices aloud). (On that note I really do think seeing Luke, a man, play the part of a mother would most definitely influence the way his sons would act with their own children. Having a son who couldn’t get pregnant but still observes the way in which a man can act as a mother does and want to emulate that (but physically couldn’t) would def be something Luke and Aemond would have to reconcile with.) When it come to material goods, he’s spoiled more than anyone. Pretty boy gets pretty things. His own egg never hatched but when they’re old enough his sister takes him on rides on Meleys. Maekar becomes Summerhall’s own little Master of Whispers (nothing he loves more than gossip and reading his parents’ mail). He’s extremely devious but hides it behind a tired facade. His own dragon hatched when he was a teen, and it’s a blue version of Caraxes, the hatchling is a permanent fixture curled around his neck. There’s no one he respects more than Luke after growing up with all the trade deals he created with Essos. (Also he’s very much a dark horse in the regard that he’s the resident slut of Summerhall—no one else seemed up to the task and he definitely inherited the horny gene from his parents. Enjoys entertaining visiting lords’ sons (Lucemond def not seeing any grandchildren from this one). Maekar has a whisp of madness worse than any of his siblings that makes itself known when he hears vitriol about his brother Rhaegar (he’s beaten one or two people to near death who’s tongue became too loose in their judgements). So this final daughter sees Rhaegar as someone to protect just like Maegelle, and Maekar is her partner in crime when she needs one. I like to think of these three + Daenys as the “Post-Essos” babies. Aka the result of when Lucemond went majorly horny whenever Luke took a business trip. Daenys after that first trip he took with Rhaella and Gaemon to Pentos, Rhaegar is after the Summer Isles, Maekar after Volantis, and this last daughter after Braavos. I like to think these cities somehow influence each kid.

Make no mistake, she doesn’t want power, she only wants to fight, hunt, fly, and debate with Aemond. Btw all this time she spends with Aemond makes her develop an obsession towards Luke, less of a muna complex and more a need to protect. Lucerys actually has a special place in his heart for her, not because she’s the youngest or because of her hair color, but because of the calm that she brings Aemond; Luke doesn’t need a friend in these later years (he’s busy enough running Summerhall with Aenys by his side) but he is indescribably happy that Aemond has finally found a friend, a person to speak to in confidence (a role his brothers never filled). I absolutely adore the idea that Viserys prepares her to be the next Hand after himself (which will definitely fuel Aenys inferiority complex for the rest of his life). It’s bitter to acknowledge, but while Aemond knows Aenys is a fine heir for his legacy, he can truly entrust the safety of Summerhall’s place in the realm in the hands of his youngest daughter, with Meleys by her side and the Hand’s pin on her jerkin. Did this whole creation come from wanting Lucemond kid that Arya, Brienne, or Lyanna would look up to? Most definitely. But I also love the idea of Aenys going through a quarter life crisis because he is threatened by a child that would so clearly make a perfect heir. The only thing for this I need is a name! I was thinking Aelora or Jaenara, or maybe Luke gets inspired after a trip to Essos and chooses Shiera? Either way, I hope this is a welcome gift. By no means am I saying ‘add this oc to your story or else.’ Just me be like, hey the vibes of your story inspired this. Adopt her, use tidbits of what I’ve written, or just ignore!

oh anon i love this !!! i always love when yall come up with your own ideas for this little universe we’ve made up !!

any daughter that looks like luke is going to be spoiled ROTTEN. aemond is older and much softer by the time she comes around so he will let that girl walk all over him. she gets anything and everything and can do whatever she wants. she shows up to her married siblings keep on dragonback when she’s bored

as for the younger boys, i always envision rhaegar and maekar as opposite personalities that still get along really well. they still follow luke like ducklings but have to be more self sufficient since luke is a busy lord now 😔 they are more eccentric and wild since they are younger children and have less responsibilities. aenys finds them a bit annoying and maegelle generally dislikes anyone that stresses her out.

[aemondgirlfriend]

INVISIBLE STRINGS

Aemond Targaryen x Twin Sister (OC)

Summary: Aemond Targaryen was known as a cold, cruel and frightening prince, but he wasn't like that. Aemond was affectionate, intelligent, obedient and loved his family, but mostly her. Alysanne Targaryen is Aemond's twin sister, but with a different appearance. She had hair like her mother Alicent's, but her eyes were the violet of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon running through her veins. Aemond Targaryen was cold, cruel and frightening, but not with her. What Alysanne wanted, he did. Because it was always her and always will be.

Chapters: 1;2;3;4;5

Rating: Explicit/+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warning: Violence and explicit NSFW, third-person POV, bad language, angst, fluff, smut (unprotected sex, oral (giving and receiving), use of fingers)

English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes. This is the first story I've posted on tumblr, so please take it easy on me.

Word Count: 796 (the others will be longer, I promise)

In 110 AC, Queen Alicent Hightower was about to give birth, yet another heir from her marriage to King Viserys Targaryen. It was a rainy day, completely closed and dark, and the people of King's Landing were not used to such weather. The noise of thunder mingled with the screams of the Queen who, with the help of the midwives, tried to make her baby come out as soon as possible. She had already given birth twice, but none of them had been as complicated as the one she was dealing with right now.

Alicent's screams were so loud the entire fortress could hear. One of her nurses held her hand while another wiped her forehead with a wet cloth. The Queen screamed one last time, and the next scream was followed by a cry, the child was born. A beautiful boy with silver hair and violet eyes, the characteristics of a true Targaryen. Alicent smiled in relief as she saw her baby being swaddled in a clean cloth and gathered him in her arms, a tear running down her red cheek. She felt better, but the relief didn't last long. Alicent felt a sharp pain in her belly, the same pain she felt when her water broke. She was having another baby.

The midwife returned to her previous position and one of the nurses took the little prince from the Queen's arms, cradling him so that he would not cry again. Alicent felt weak, and as much as she gave birth so easily, this time she felt like she couldn't take it. She took a deep breath and pushed again, her whole body shaking in ecstasy and weariness, clutching her mistress's hand and screaming again. As difficult as the queen thought it was going to be, the second baby came out faster than the first, a crying girl, a beautiful girl with violet eyes and brown hair like Alicent's, a Hightower trait. The midwife swallowed and wrapped the baby in another cloth, handing her to the Queen. She stared at the baby in shock, running her finger through the girl's smooth brown hair. A smile lit up the woman's face, knowing that even if her girl had the Hightower characteristics, she was a Targaryen, because only a true Targaryen had the violet eyes of the ancient valyria, and now it remains for us to know if she had something else, if she possessed the dragon's blood.

King Viserys was alerted of the birth of his children, and his face lit up when he heard that the Queen had given birth to twins. He walked into the room where Alicent was and smiled when he saw her feeding one of her babies. Viserys approached, his smile growing with each step, but it didn't last long, because when he saw the girl's brown hair, only one thought crossed his mind.

bastard.

He swallowed hard and stopped in front of his wife, the baby letting go of the breast and looking at her father for the first time, violet eyes shining. Viserys ran a finger down her full cheek, enjoying the color of her eyes.

“A girl, a beautiful girl.” he whispered, turning and kissing his wife's forehead.

“Viserys, about the hair…”

“Don't worry, my wife. I can see the violet eyes she has, and we all know this is a unique Targaryen trait.” he smiled, caressing her cheek. “And where is...”

Alicent looked back and with just one look had the wet nurse come over with the baby in her arms. Viserys took the boy in his arms, smoothing his silver strands, amazed at how different the twins were.

“They need names, I didn't want to decide before you did.”

The queen said tiredly, arranging the girl in her lap, she had her curious eyes wide open as if she understood her parents' dialogue.

“I have two names in mind.” he whispered, sitting down beside his wife “Aemond. It means he will be strong and someday a good leader. He will possess power, strength and wisdom. Aemond Targaryen.”

Little Aemond opened his eyes and yawned with his little mouth, his little hand gripping one of the King's fingers.

“And her…I thought of Alysanne. The first Alysanne was a good queen. She was kind and loved, just as our Alysanne will be.”

Alicent smiled and placed Alysanne beside Aemond, the two of them looking at each other. Aemond took his sister's small hand and Viserys chuckled. Aemond and Alysanne Targaryen, the twin heirs of Viserys and Alicent. The brothers who would give their lives to save each other. Two brothers who loved each other.

Two connected and pure souls.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 12 Pretty when I cry

Chapter 12 of Sandstorm

A/N- I'M SO EXCITED FOR WHAT'S TO COME!!!

Warning- Sswearing, fluff, incest, violence, ANGST, death!! Dark magic and sacrifice, talks of pregnancy and THERES ALSO CHANGES THAT DRIFT AWAY FROM THE SHOW

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

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There’s a ruined Red Keep that you stand in, two cradles stand in the middle. Snow falls through the gaps on the ceiling, this time albeit it’s slow and so life-like, the bitter breeze that swirls the snowflakes on the ground actually feels cold. Once again just before you can see the babies inside their cradles, the fire begins to grow around you, but this time it's flames actually provide heat and slightly blind your eyes.

You expect the dream to end there and then as it always does, but this time the fire lingers, you don’t abruptly wake up, the fire only grows taller almost as if trapping you inside. The heat intensifies, making you turn your head away and shield your eyes. The silence lingers thereafter and the fire's heat doesn’t change anymore, so you slowly turn your head and put your arm down, that’s when you catch a figure in the fire, it grows taller as it gets closer.

This hasn’t happened before, you never stayed this long. This is…different, something new. Is it the meaning behind this dream?

You narrow your eyes out of curiosity even if your heart is beginning to race out of fear. The figure grows taller the closer it gets, and then when it reaches the edge a shadow casts on the ground before an armored metal boot breaks out of the fire wall. Instead of stepping away even if you have nowhere to go, you stay put and watch the rest of the figure walk out of the fire, revealing herself as a slim woman with silver-gold hair; braided and bound in golden rings. Her eyes are an intense and unique pale lilac color that almost seems to burn as hot as that fire as her glare pierced in you. She shouldn't be unfamiliar but you do recognize her now as the fires light basks her intense majestic face.

It’s Queen Visenya Targaryen.

She is your namesake.

What is she doing here? In this dream? This isn’t an answer, it's only more confusion.

Yet before you can grow mad with confusion, from the corner of your eye you catch another figure emerging from the firewall at your right side. this time it’s a man, a very tall man with a thick and broad appearance, he’s built like a bull. His hair is blond, and his eyes are a deeper lilac. His gaze is as intense as the Queens, but he looks even more intimidating. And just like before, you recognize him too, he’s King Maegor Targaryen.

But why?

“What’s going on?” You ask the pair, the mother and the son.

But there’s no answer, instead a third person appears this time from your left side. It’s a woman, she’s older than the others, slimmer than Queen Visenya, she has a fair complexion and a high forehead. Her eyes aren’t the same color as the others, they’re blue. And like the others there is a name that comes to mind, Queen Alysanne Targaryen.

“What’s—” this time you don’t finish your repeated question because another figure emerges from the fire between Visenya and Alysanne, it’s smaller and the moment their face shows your face falls with disbelief and your eyes fill with tears, and your heart….that shattered thing begins to fill with joy and warmth.

“Rhaenar?” Your voice quivers.

He moves his arm away from his brown eyes and finds you in the middle of the fire circle, and instantly smiles. “Mother!” He exclaims, and before you knew it you were both running towards each other to meet with a tight embrace.

“Oh my sweet boy,” you cry and hold onto him, you draw in a deep breath and take in his scent. “My Rhaenar.” Your breath shudders.

The boy laughs softly and holds onto your neck with force.

“I’m sorry,” you interject and pull back to grab his cheeks and face him, now you notice that his face isn’t burnt, his face is okay here. His curls are so neatly formed and all over his face. “I’m sorry. I failed you, I’m so sorry.”

Rhaenar wipes your tears away and shakes his head with a sweet smile on his face. “It’s alright mother. I’m okay, I’ll be fine. Don’t cry please. I’ll always be with you.”

You shake your head and now grab onto his shoulders. “No. No I’m not ready to be without you, I need you with me in real life. Not here, not in my dreams.”

Rhaenar draws out a deep breath. “They’re not dreams really.” He scoffs. “It’s all real in a way. This place, it’s just been different for everyone, but for you, grandfather says it’s different, you’re the only one who’s seeked far enough to reach all of us. This plane.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, and your eyebrows furrow in comfuson. But the first thing you question is what he mentioned moments ago. “Grandfather?”

Rhaenar’s grin widens. “I’m not alone here mother, I have so many people here, family. But most importantly my grandfather! He’s been with me the entire time.” He nods and then looks back, when you follow his line of gaze you see the man he speaks about with so much glee, Rhaegar Targaryen, your father. He emerges from the fire too, with his long silver-gold hair, his deep blue eyes, and a faint smile on his pale face.

His presence fills you with nostalgia, familiarity, and there is a spark of joy, but that soon gets overpowered by the anger, burning fury.

“I know,” he says in that voice you’ve missed hearing sing to you. “I know you’re upset my girl, but—”

“No!” You cut him off and stand up to your feet to stride towards him. “No! You!” You sneer and point at him. “It’s your fault! It’s your fault I grew up without my mother, it’s your fault my sister and brother died!” You reach him and shove him back with that same anger. “It’s all your fault this all happened to us! To our family! You left me! You left us! You left! How could you do that?!”

Your father ducks his head out of shame and swallows thickly. “I will never forgive myself for what happened to your mother and your siblings, but it’s something I won’t regret.”

You scoff and step back.

“It had to be done. To complete the prophecy. Which it has, Jon, Daenerys, you.” He lifts his head and meets your gaze with awe. “Three heads to our dragon, my darling. We did it.”

You clench your jaw and shake your head. “At what cost?” You snap at him. “My son is gone. He’s dead! Daenerys killed him! He was only 10!” You rebuttal. “It’s true the dead are gone and I’m glad that they are, but nothing else matters anymore because so is he. So I ask what now?”

“Now you rule,” a different voice cuts in. When you snap your eyes to where it comes from you notice that it was Queen Visenya. “You will revive the Targaryen dynasty. You will take back what your father destroyed.”

You swallow thickly and rebuttal. “Daenerys rules now. Isn’t that enough? I can’t lose more, Jon, my children that have yet to be born.”

Footsteps step forward from your left side and a sweeter but still rather stern voice speaks. “You stay there in Winterfell and you’ll die too. Your children will always be a threat to her, will you see them die too?”

You snap your eyes to the left and meet Queen Alysanne’s gaze with a glare. “Like hell. I won’t lose them. But you have her, let her rule, it’s not like our family hasn’t killed their own kin before, why not her? Why me?”

“Because she killed your son,” a different voice adds from the fire.

You look towards the flames again and see a different women come out from within them, this woman had a thicker waist compared to the other two, her silver-gold hair was in a long braid as well. She was ethereal as all the others, but also intensity followed within her gaze. You knew her too, a lot quicker than the others, after all she was one of your favorites, that is before she actually ruled; Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“Because you are the one meant to restore our glory, rule like we couldn’t,” she says and begins to approach you. “If she rules, she’ll commit the same mistakes and wipe out the Targaryen name. It’s you who is meant to sit on that throne, your children shall follow, the ice and fire that our prophecy foretold. I know,” she mutters softer now. “What it is like to lose a son…but you aren’t me, use your anger, use your power, use your kindness and take what belongs to you, for your son. For all of us.”

You let out a shaky sigh, but don’t let anymore tears fall now since you’re beginning to be filled with inspiration and anger once again at the memory of what Daenerys did.

“You have a good heart my dear,” your father interjects, pulling your attention to him again. “Use it, be noble, don’t lose what you already have. Those you keep close will carry you through this, but remember to be firm, fearless, stern and unforgiving to those who truly deserve it.”

You sigh but nod. You then look at Rhaenar, but before you can speak your last words to him, a deep husky voice cuts in from your right.

“Don’t be like your father, girl,” Maegor says and begins to walk around you, as if he’s stalking you, a prey. “Don’t be foolish, and don’t live in the clouds,” he scoffs and shoots your father a dirty glare. “Use your fury, your dragon is your best friend, use your strength and power. Take care of business like me.” He stops by his mother and shoots you a malicious smirk before he looks at his mother with a smirk. “Burn her. Burn Daenerys Targaryen.”

You offer him a nod and shoot him a faint smirk before you face Rhaenar one more time. “I will always, always love you my sweet boy. I’m sorry.”

Rhaenar smiles at you and wipes away that stray tear that falls from your eye. “I love you too, mama. Tell Jon that it’s okay, that I’ll be okay, yes?”

You grin and nod. “Of course.”

He then throws his arms around you and you don’t hesitate to hug him back with all your might. You don’t close your eyes in hopes you’d stay, and it’s why you notice Queen Visenya approaching you one last time. She meets your watery gaze with an intense and burning determined glare.

“Burn your dead, mourn your losses. You are Queen now.” She mutters before the darkness quickly surrounds you at one second before you’re thrown back to the cruel reality, back to your room, back to the coldness.

At least the sun is out today, it’s light is soft but not warm since it is still dawn. It should’ve provided an ounce of happiness, but the natural light finally breaking from the clutches of the winter clouds doesn’t affect you now.

You sigh deeply and wipe your tears away before you look at the bed and find the spot next to you empty, and when you touch it you notice it’s cold, letting you know that Jon has been gone for a while. And since he is your only source of motivation to keep going right now you get up and change to go look for him.

Yet when you reach the crypts he’s not there. You walk to the gates since maybe he’s out with Rhaegal, yet you don’t want to walk all the way over to hills where the dragons are if he isn’t, so you look up and speak to the guards at their post. “Excuse me?!”

A man reaches the rail and looks down. “Princess,” he calls out in surprises and straightens up.

“Has Lord Snow passed the gates?” You ask.

The guard shakes his head. “No, but I did seem him walk towards the Godswood earlier today.”

You hum and nod. “Thank you, sir.”

The guard nods, and you then head towards the Godswood. When you arrive you see the new planted trees begin to sprout where the ashes of the olds ones once stood, leaving a clear view of all the Godswood, and Jon kneeled at the front of the Heart tree.

As to not interrupt his moment of prayer you make sure to slowly approach him, but stop by the frozen lake that’s by the red leaved tree.

Nevertheless, Jon hears your footsteps and turns around. When he notices it’s you his gaze softens for a moment before the sadness on his dark eyes returns.

“Good morrow,” he greets.

You offer a small smile. “Good morrow,” you return and meet him in the middle of the snow covered field. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

Jon takes your hands and shakes his head. “I was…done already. What are you doing out here? It’s cold.” He touches your belly and smiles. “Are they giving you fuss?”

You grin and shrug. “Always, but that’s not what got me to awake up.”

Jon lips pull to a bigger smile and he scoffs softly before he drops his gaze and stares at the snow below his feet with a deep sorrowful frown that makes your sadness return, and brews curiosity.

“What is it?” You probe.

Jon lets out a deep sigh and then meets your gaze with a watery look. “I asked for forgiveness from the gods, but it’s you that I truly need to apologize to.”

You slowly knit your brows together in confusion.

“Please,” he continues with tears escaping out of his eyes. “Forgive me. I’m the reason your son is dead. I didn’t reach him in time, I didn’t get rid of the men fast enough. I’m sorry.” Jon drops to his knees and keeps holding your gaze. “I can never make up for what you lost. I’m sorry.”

Tears threaten to come out of your eyes, but you hold them back and just feel your throat sting more as you slowly get on your knees, and cup his cheeks. “What happened is not a guilt you need to carry on your shoulders Jon...” you pause and swallow back thickly. “My life will never be the same without my boy. It is true, but don’t blame yourself. He’s okay.” You muster a soft smile. “He appeared in my dreams, he said he was okay, he told me to tell you that it’s okay.”

Jon slowly grows perplexed, but he knows better now so he accepts what you say is true. “But you—”

“I’ll…heal soon, but I do know that I have nothing to forgive because I don’t blame you, nor should you blame yourself. Please.”

Jon hesitates, so you press your forehead against his and whisper.

“It’s okay, my love. It is. I need you for what’s to come.”

Jon lets out a shaky breath, and then slowly cups your cheeks and keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he stays silent. You know he won’t doubt you, or try to discourage your new plan so you don’t explain what’s on your mind, you linger in the silence and relish in the warmth that radiates from his hands, from his lips, and from his body.

You don’t linger long though since it is cold and the funeral is today. Since you don’t have the stomach to eat so much breakfast is quick, it’s the getting ready that takes time. It’s not easy for you, no matter if you did see Rhaenar in a dream, to get ready for his…funeral, to mentally get ready to say goodbye one more time. But you still do it, you let the handmaidens dress you in a white dress that is dipped in red at the bottom, so the white-beige color flows to a blood red. You let them put on light makeup and fix your silver-white hair, you put on your gold jewelry, and then before you walk out of your chambers you grab Helios from his cage.

His eyes search the room for the boy he was once bonded to, he calls out for him in soft cries that only smash those heart fragments to smaller pieces. And there’s nothing you can tell him to comfort him. Absolutely nothing because you know he also knows deep within his little heart.

“Come on,” you whisper to Helios. “Let’s go.”

Once you step out Jon is waiting outside of your shared quarters, he holds your gaze for a moment before he takes your hand to interlace it with his before you begin walking outside, past the gates, to the top of a snowy hill. People begin to part once they see you approach, the Starks and your sisters then break away from their spots behind the crowd and follow you towards the funeral pyre where Rhaenar’s body lays wrapped in a white shroud.

Time moved normally before you walked through the crowd, but once you begin to walk past the people gathered to reach the pyre time began to move slowly as your mind still tries to comprehend that this is all real. That you’re going to say goodbye to your boy forever.

Tears even fail to fall at those moments you walk forward, even when you reach him your tears don’t break out from your eyes, no. Even if your heart sinks and a shaky breath escapes from your chest, you don’t cry. Instead you let Jon’s hand go and place Helios on Rhaenar’s chest one more time.

The dragon knows, he knew the moment Rhaenar drew his last breath that he was gone and they’d never see each other again. But the dragon like you held onto hope. It’s why Helios crawled to Rhaenar’s neck and sniffed him before he began to nudge his jaw so he’d wake up.

You knew you were being foolish, but you waited for a response. When it doesn’t come and Helios lets out a broken whine, is when you can’t hold back anymore and let a sob escape from your mouth.

Eraxis feeling your sorrow, cries out and fills the silent air with her melancholy song. Helios follows and sings about his own grief, and Rhaegal then joins them too and all three dragons fill the winter air with their sorrow filled songs.

You then drop your forehead on Rhaenar’s and clutch onto his shoulders, you cry and cry until you can’t breathe properly, until you can’t even stand. That’s when Eraxis leans her head forward and tries to wrap her neck around you for comfort and support. It startles some people from the crowd, after all, all they knew about dragons was that they’re fierce, not that they were also comforting and filled with many complex emotions. It got those who weren’t crying already, to shed tears for a boy they hardly knew.

And it was thanks to your dragon's comfort that you were ready, so you scoop up Helios, and as Eraxis raises her head in the sky you turn and walk down the pyre to hand Arya the orange dragon. “It’s okay,” you assure her. “He won’t harm you.”

Arya pulls the dragon back towards her and holds him fearlessly and with slight pride. Now, as you face Rhaenar again, you take Jon’s hand again and lift your chin to sniffle before you part your lips. Yet you can’t muster the word, only sobs.

“It’s okay,” Jon whispers and begins to rub your back. “Take your time.”

Your bottom lip wobbles, and your chest begins to feel tighter and heavier to the point you can’t breathe anymore, you turn to Jon and bury your face in his chest. He quickly wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head as he caresses your back softly.

“May he soar the skies in paradise,” Jon interjects. “May he rest and find peace, may he watch over his family. I’m sorry Rhaenar…”

A moment longer passes before you can face the pyre, before you can part your lips and mutter out the right words that tore at your heart. “Dracarys.”

The white dragon draws in a deep breath before she opens her mouth and breathes out fire, bathing the pyre and Rhaenar in her hot and bright red-orange flames.

You stand there in front of the fire, you bask in its heat and let more tears fall out before the anger returns, before that burning fury begins to boil your blood again, bringing back that dream you just had and everything that was said, especially those venomous words spoken by Maegor; “Burn her. Burn Daenerys Targaryen.”

You won’t hold onto hope for your rekindling anymore, you won’t ask for forgiveness. You’ll seek revenge and what truly belongs to you.

Which is why you slowly turn and face the crowd still gathered in front of the pyre. You meet the gaze of Jon before you face them all with a scowl. “I was asked to fight for the throne by all of you,” you interject loud enough so they can all hear. “I declined out of hope, and a dream that I would know a peaceful life and receive Daenerys forgiveness for my future, for the future I carry within me. But now, after she took what I held so dear in my heart, my first born. Now she will know my wrath, and I hope you all can follow me in my path to the throne. It will be another war, devastating no doubt, but once it is done we will finally know peace because she is just like those that came before her, a tyrant lost in her way.” You sigh, but muster a malicious smirk.

“I hope you all follow me. For my son, for you, for me.” You finish.

And thus, without hesitation the crowd begins to cheer, shouting out only one phrase. “Queen Y/N!”

——

*DAENERYS. KING’S LANDING*

A knock raps on her door, echoing in the tense silence that filled her quarters.

“Come in,” she welcomes the visitor, hoping it was successful news of the ambush. Waiting for the news has been keeping her on edge, she could hardly sleep, or keep in one place, she needed to know.

“My Queen,” a familiar voice she hasn’t heard in a long time cuts through the silence.

Daenerys turns quickly on her heels and comes face to face with Daario Naharis, a man she had left long ago in Meereen to enforce peace, a man who’s appearance hasn’t changed, and someone who she can’t deny is happy to see. After all he is one of few who hasn’t betrayed her, he’s remained loyal even after she broke his heart.

“Why wasn’t I advised you arrived?” She responds with a quirked brow and a faint smirk playing on her lips as he doesn’t fail to make her body ignite with lust.

Daario smirks wider and pulls his hand from behind him to show her the wildflowers he held in his hand. “I came on a faster ship apart from the others because I wanted to surprise you.”

Daenerys hums and watches the man slowly begin to approach her.

“I’ve brought these,” he says and pushes the flowers towards her.

Daenerys breaks away from her spot to slowly walk towards him, stopping just before she can reach him to let him get close to her instead. He offers her the flowers and she hesitantly takes them from his hand to then raise her chin and hold his warm gaze.

“I would just like to say that you look even more beautiful than before,” he adds. “The crown suits you.”

Daenerys places the flowers down on the table beside her and crosses her arms over chest to now press him with her gaze alone.

“Ah,” he says and clasps his hand behind him. “Right. The ambush happened, yet I’m disappointed to say that Lord Snow managed to escape with a couple of his men. The ship burned, most of his men aboard died, and a boy traveling with them perished in the fire.”

Daenerys blinks and furrows her eyebrows. “A boy?” She queries.

Daario nods. “Yes, I’m not sure who, but Lord Snow made great effort to take his body.”

Daenerys lips slowly begin to fall, and her arms slowly unfold from her chest as a name begins to circle her mind.

“Were there dragons in the sky?” She asks him with her gaze begining to narrow.

Daario nods. “Yes. The creatures burned our ship and helped them escape. There was three of them, a white one, Rhaegal, and a small orange one.”

Daenerys swallows thickly and turns around abruptly to look out at the gloomy white sky, and sighs deeply as sorrow begins to stab at her heart and pain fills her mind.

“What is it?” Daario instantly asks and takes a step towards her.

“Wheres Greyworm?” She avoids his question.

“I let him take a second break so I could deliver the news to you personally.”

Such a radiant boy he was, young prince Rhaenar. Regardless of the tension that existed towards the end of the relationship between you and Daenerys, he never was rude to her, he was kind and caring. No matter how short of time she had with the boy, she still cared for him because he was family, and now he’s gone and you're heartbroken.

And she can’t cling onto the hope that the dead boy is someone else, why else would Jon be so desperate to the take the body, why else would Helios be with Jon. Helios is a small dragon still very much attached to who he’s bound to, that dead boy is Rhaenar.

“That boy who perished,” Daenerys mutters and approaches her window with tears clouding her eyes. “Was the son of my niece. It was y/n’s son. How did it come to be? I said just kill Jon and the men he was with.” She stops and exhales deeply before she turns to face him.

Daario stays in his spot and shrugs. “I can’t be certain. You know how battles are? Unpredictable. All I know is that a fire started on the ship. It was an accident.”

Daenerys scoffs and shakes her head. “She won’t see it that way. No one on her side will. If she was ready to make peace before, now we can forget about that, especially with Sansa whispering in her ear.” Daenerys clasps her hands in front of her and drops her head.

“You sit on the throne now,” Daario interjects and steps forward. “They’ll follow you.”

Daenerys snaps her head up to face him. ��No,” she snaps. “They won’t. The Reach will rally behind her because of what she gave them, and the future commitment that once bonded them. We can’t even count or try and sway Dorne, even dead they’ll never follow another king or queen that isn’t her or descended from her bloodline.” Daenerys turns and approaches the balcony to gaze out at the city below.

“The Vale of Arryn will follow her because of Sansa, meaning the North is also supporting her,” Daenerys continues to tell Daario. “And the Riverlands…they’ll follow the Starks, making for Five great houses rallying behind her, leaving us with two, the Westerlands if I keep Tyrion alive, and the Stormlands...” she pauses and sighs deeply. “That is if I make our commitment periment with a marriage proposal to the new Warden.”

“And so you shall have it,” he assures her with no argument, and finally closes the gap between them to grab her shoulder and turn her to face him. “You have a fleet, more men. And a dragon experienced in war. You can win this, you only lose if you give up, and I know you’ll fight with fire and blood before that happens.”

Daenerys holds his gaze and hums, feeling relieved that she once again had someone she can trust and talk to.

“We’ll get to work right away, fortifying the walls, whipping the men to shape, and making alliances.” Daarios continues to assure her. “No one will take that throne from you.”

——

*WINTERFELL*

Jon’s voice echoes out from the hall, his words are passionate you know they are because he gives good speeches, but right now his words just don’t register in your mind, all that you can think about is Rhaenar, the new future that you are now paving with this choice. Anger still fuels you and it's what’s pushing you, whilst that motivation after seeing your father and ancestors burns in your veins, waking up something that was dorement before, determination to take what’s yours once and for all.

It’s why you don’t frown, you don’t express sadness in your eyes either as Dornish guards make a path and line up across from each other all the way to the end of the hall where Jon, and the maester awaits with your crown. It’s that burning determination, and that grief that brings you pride as you stand at the end of the lined up guards, with your head up high.

Horns begin to play inside after Jon finishes his speech, letting you finally break away from your spot and create a footprint on the sheet of snow as you begin to stride ahead in between the guards.

The blades they hold above your head begin to fall when you pass them, leaving them to see only your back and the tail of your red dress. When you step inside the warm hall, slowly the people viewing your coronation kneel as you walk past them.

Being here was something you never dreamed about, at least you always thought you’d stand on the platform waiting for your husband to get crowned. Now that you’re here though, now that you see all the people kneel, as you see the guards metal blades glistening against the firelight, you can’t help but smile inside. And the moment you take Jon’s hand as you reach the platform a faint smile finally forms on your lips.

Jon mirrors your gesture and then leans forward to press a kiss on your cheek before he shifts to the side and helps you to your knees. Once you’re secured he moves to the side and lets the maester step forward.

“May the Warrior give her courage,” his voice booms throughout the hall before he daps oil on your forehead. “May the Smith lend strength to her sword and shield,” he continues and adds more oil on your forehead with each saying. “May the Father defend her in her need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light her way to wisdom.” With that last saying instead of oil he dabs blood on your forehead by your request as a sign of your goals, battles to come, and revenge.

When the maester finishes he turns to set the bowls down to instead grab a golden crown forged partly by the gold jewelry that Rhaenar owned so you’ll always carry him with you through this journey as Queen. The maester then turns with the shining gold crown in hand, causing the red shining rubies that are decorated around the crown to twinkle against the firelight. As he lifts the crown you see two small winged dragons holding the red ruby at the center. The moment he places the crown on your head you feel the heavy weight fall on your head, bringing some discomfort.

“Let the Seven bear witness, Visenya Targaryen second of her name is the true heir to the iron Throne,” the Maester adds, causing the crowd behind you to quietly agree.

After that is over Jon leans over and offers his hand, you gladly take it and let him help you to your feet. He then quickly lets you go and kneels before you. It catches you off guard for a second, but you have to remember that you are Queen now and it’s going to happen more often.

Alas, Jon then stands up and drifts his gaze to the crowd. “All hail her grace!” He exclaims. “Visenya, second of her name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm!”

You draw out a small breath and turn, catching the crowd and the guards kneel. You drift your gaze to the right front row and see Elia and Sarella kneel, Sansa curtsy whilst Arya kneels too. You then look to the left front row and see Ser Jaime kneel, Ser Brienne and her ward kneel, Ser Davos takes goes down too, and then as on cue, Eraxis fills the silence and air with her prideful roar, making you finally smirk.

“Long live the Queen!” Elia is the first to exclaim.

“Long live the Queen!” Ser Jaime follows before everyone inside repeats those words as they get up and clap.

Those who carry swords lift their blades in the air and shout. “Queen Y/N!”

Those words fill your ears and bring happy tears to your eyes as you tug your lips to a smile. When you sit on the wooden chair that was placed on the platform more people cheer, and Ser Brienne approaches the stairs that lead to the platform. She gets on one knee and meets your gaze.

You throw your hand out to silence the crowd, and they don’t fail to listen, letting Ser Brienne speak.

“I swear toward the Queen,” she interjects in a loud confident voice. “With all my strength, and give my blood for hers. I shall take no husband, hold no lands, mother no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side and defend her name and honor.”

Chills travel down your spine, and a soft smile tugs on your lips. You rise up again and bow your head, letting her stand.

“I appreciate your loyalty and devotion, Ser Brienne. I’d trust no one else but you to be my Lord Commander of the Queensguard.”

Ser Brienne breath draws in a small breath and can’t help her proud smile at the mention of the title you just bestowed upon her.

“I leave it to your judgment to choose the other six who should join the Queensgard. When you have chosen the right people you may bring them to me.” You let her know.

Ser Brienne nods in comprehension and stands back up to return to her spot, leaving you to address the crowd to give them an announcement. “Every ruler needs their most trusted advisor at their side, a friend to confide in. A hand when one’s pair is full. Someone who is not afraid to hide their thoughts or pass judgment. There are many here that I trust to be that with me, but there’s one person who I know won’t fail me, Lady Sansa Stark.”

It was a choice that you had discussed before, and one she took with the condition that when this war is over, and if it is you who sits on the throne then she would step down to be Warden and Lady of the North.

“Lady Sansa, I name you hand of the Queen.” You finish saying, making said person head to the front to kneel. You then turn and grab the pin from Jon to walk towards his sister and hook the golden pin on her chest.

The crowd makes commotion in support of the choice.

“You honor me, Queen Y/N,” Sansa says and stands back on her feet.

You offer her a smile and watch her return to her spot so you can continue to announce to the people who else will be a part of your court. “Now with these battles to come I trust no one else to be my Master of War but my dear husband, and your King Consort, Jon snow.”

At the announcement of both new titles the crowd cheers for Jon, while you look over at him and grin. He breaks away from his spot to stand before you and bow his head. Your smile widens, and you’re filled with glee as you get to finally reveal your gift.

“Arya,” you call out and meet her dark gaze. “If you may please.”

Jon looks back at his sister in confusion and follows her every move as she makes her way to you. You fill with more joy and excitement as she reaches into her sack and pulls out a silver crown that looks similar to yours, but is a bit thinner, and has a golden dragon and a golden wolf holding a ruby at the center.

“Now,” you continue and take the crown from Arya. “I know that you aren’t one to be so flashy, and you’d be content without one, but it is gift from me to you.”

Jon holds your gaze and sighs softly, but he can’t help his faint smile before he kneels, letting you carefully place the crown on his head.

“There,” you say and clasps your hands before you. “Handsome.”

Jon scoffs softly and then stands back up to fall back at your side, letting you continue so you can finally finish and announce your master of whisperers, Bran Stark of course, and lastly your Master of coin Lord Ben Ashfords son, the heir of the Reach, Bernard Ashford. As to the other positions well, you still have yet to fill. Hopefully you’ll get to find the right people soon.

With that said you turn away and head to a different chamber where you will have your first small council meeting that consists of your sisters, Jon, Ser Brienne, Sansa and her siblings, and Ser Jaime.

“You know you did not have to get me this,” Jon breaks his silence as he walks by your side to the meeting quarters. “This crown is not necessary.”

You glance at him and smile. “You are my King Consort, my love, a King needs his crown.”

“I would’ve been fine with a ring,” he counters, making you giggle for the first time since Rhaenar passed.

“I told you,” you retort and hook your arm around his. “It’s a gift. You don’t need to wear it all the time, I just wanted you to have one.”

Jon meets your gaze and hums softly before his gaze softens. “You need to rest, you’ve been on your feet for far too long.”

You roll your head to the side and draw out a deep breath. “Yes, perhaps I should, but there are meetings to be had now. You know this isn’t easy. But for your comfort after this meeting is over we can retreat to our chambers and take a warm bath together, hm?”

Jon nods softly in agreement. “Sounds like a plan,” he assures you. “Not like I could actually refuse you now. You are the Queen.”

You scoff and shake your head. “Don’t start with me Jon.” You chuckle softly, causing Jon to watch you with a soft and admiring gaze and smile since he likes the look of your smile and the sound of your laugh after seeing how much you’ve been suffering.

Yet it is short lived since that sweet look on your face fades away, and gets replaced by a sad confident look when you all enter the meeting quarters.

Now the burden falls on you, after so much that your family did to try and get you on that throne, and after trying to avoid the burden, you wear the crown now and lead thousands. Now rather than listening on the sidelines you sit at the center and have all eyes on you.

“Thank you all for coming,” you address the group as they find their seats around the table. “You’ll have to pardon me for the next couple of meetings. As much as I have studied I still am not used to ruling,” you huff softly and clasps your hands together.

The people around the table don’t say anything to you so let out a deep sigh and continue.

“Let’s get to business then. I know not so long ago I turned down Ser Jaime’s requests of retrieving his brother from the clutches of Daenerys, but now with the sides being drawn, the Westerlands are left undecided. The Lannister’s may not be a strong house, but their name still holds much value, having both men at our side can benefit us. So,” you say and look at Jaime sitting in the middle.

“Ser Jaime, I grant your leave. You won’t have men though, it will attract too much unwanted attention.”

Ser Jaime’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you begin to smirk. “Sarella,” you name, causing the woman to straighten up. “Arya, you are clever, discreet and able to hide well. Will you accompany Ser Jaime to smuggle his brother out?”

Sarella without a fault nods. “Of course, sister.” She assures you, letting you shift your gaze to Arya. And when your eyes land on her a small smirk tugs on her lips.

“I will,” Arya agrees. “Thank you, Queen y/n.”

You offer her a smile and a small nod.

“Excuse me, your Grace,” Lord Royce cuts in. “The plan is great and all, the Westerlands may not be the largest land, but they are the richest. It will benefit us well, but with sides set, and Daenerys with a patch of new soldiers, entering the city will be difficult.”

You nod and can’t help your smirk from widening. “Yes. I know. It’s why while the three of them enter the Red Keep, I will lead a distraction.”

The members of the council all share confused and concerned looks at the mention so you explain your plan, and assure their worry. “It won’t be a big army, there won’t even be men, the distraction will consist of only women. I unfortunately won’t join the battle at the ground, I cannot,” you scoff and reach down to caress your swollen belly. “I’ll be in the skies with Jon, while the women go in pretending to seek refuge and help from Daenerys. Her army will come out and provide assistance, they won’t suspect such brutal attacks from women,” you begin to smirk smugly. “They’ll think of them as weak, fragile. That’s when the army women will strike, I will go in later and burn what remains of the small army. After that Jon and I will lead them out before more men can come.”

“If it pleases your grace,” Ser Brienne interjects as she takes a step forward so you can see her. “I would like to lead the attack on the ground in your stead.”

You catch the disbelieved stare of Lord Royce, but you have faith in her; just because she isn’t like every other typical woman doesn’t mean a thing. It’s sad that men here don’t see such a thing.

“Of course you can, Ser Brienne, the army will consist of Dornish women warriors and northern women who volunteer. Any other woman from the other armies of different houses can also join if they please, but we need to keep the numbers small.”

“Understood,” Ser Brienne agrees.

You drift your gaze back to the other members. “We will make that our first attack after the lords pledge their loyalty. With that said, Sansa, what can we expect from the Riverlands?”

Sansa raises her head and parts her lips. “My mother was a Tully. Our uncle still lives and rules now in my grandfathers stead. I expect we will gain their allegiance, but I think we should still go in person and ask.”

You nod. “Alright. We can go after our first attack, that way Daenerys doesn’t get word of our attempts until after. What about the Stormlands?”

“Given Daenerys gave the Stormlands to Gendry and declared him a legitimate Baratheon,” Jon interjects. “I doubt we can count on his allegiance.”

“But the boy doesn’t know a thing about ruling a kingdom or people,” Jaime argues. “Nor does he have the right connections.”

“But he has the Baratheon name now, he may be a bastard but some people will follow his family name,” Ser Davos defends the man. “Surely the staff at the castle would help.”

“I assume not long, any lord could usurp him,” Jaime counters. “We can use that to our advantage.”

“Aye,” Lord Royce agrees.

You look over at Sansa and ask her a question. “Could we send an envoy to any of the other lords?”

Sansa sighs. “We could, but we have to think about the risks, if Gendry bends the knee it would benefit Daenerys to strengthen the alliance with a marriage. She’d burn any rebellion attempts. We have other kingdoms that take priority if it comes down to a battle .”

“We could get rid of Lord Gendry,” you suggest. “That breaks the alliance—but also turns the Stormlands against us.”

“Then we leave them,” Jon adds. “As far as resources, it’s only fighters they provide. We have the numbers, we don’t need them. If a lord reaches out to us then we can think of a plan, until then we count them as traitors.”

“Anyone disagree?” You ask without trying to argue Jon’s suggestion.

The people around the table shake their heads in disagreement, letting you continue on. “ Bran, do you know anything?” You ask the quiet boy.

Bran nods stiffly. “Only confirmation that Daenerys plans to marry Lord Gendry. As soon as he arrives at the capital.”

Just as Sansa mentioned.

“Smart girl,” you comment. “With the Stormlands off the table, we also can’t count on the Iron Islands. With luck we will gain the Westerlands and the Riverlands.” You let out a small breath and then continue. “Anything else someone would like to discuss?”

Everyone looks around, but no one adds anything, thankfully leading this meeting to an end for today.

“Alright, well you all are dismissed, thank you for attending.”

Everyone disperses out of the room, and you wait for them all to leave before you can. However, Ser Brienne, Ser Jaime, Jon and your sisters linger behind.

“Excuse me, your Grace,” Brienne directs and bows her head as she addresses you. “But is it okay if I take my leave for today? I would like to start finding the other members for the Queensguard.”

Right that.

“Of course uh, Sarella, Elia,” you call out. “May you introduce Ser Brienne to some of the commanding officers of the Dornish army. There are some great fighters there you can choose from.”

“Yes!” Elia exclaims all too excitedly. “I would love to go.”

Of course she would, she likes to gawk and flirt with the men.

Regardless, they leave but Ser Jaime stays behind still. He takes a moment before he says anything, first he slowly makes his way towards your chair before he finally reveals his thoughts.

“I know I have probably said this, but, thank you. You have been too kind, more than I deserve. You have given me a second chance, and it’s one I don’t deserve and one I will live my life repaying. So thank you, Queen Y/N.” He reaches for his sword and then kneels with his hands on his pommel. “My sword is yours, my Queen. I may not be a great fighter anymore, but I have experience that can be just as valuable. I want to serve you.”

You share a small glance with Jon before you stand on your feet. “Then you shall. I need all the help I can get. And I value your thoughts, Ser Jaime. Just promise that when you see me straying from my moral path that you will help rather than betraying me. Remind me of the people I fight for because some rulers tend to forget who really keeps them in power.”

The corner of Jaime’s lips tug upward before he nods in agreement. “I will. I swear.”

“Great. Then if Jon wants you can help him with the armies. You may also help train the soldiers.”

Jaime gets to his feet and accepts before finally leaving Jon and you alone.

“Now,” Jon says and take your hand. “Can I have you to myself?”

You grab onto his arm and drop your head on his shoulder. “Please, I beg you.”

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

With the anger fueling through your blood, with fury clouding your mind, sleep was impossible, that hunger for revenge kept you awake and raised a desire in you for something to be done. Something that you haven’t touched in a long time, dark magic.

Rhaenar was your son, he was your little boy, and Daenerys took him, she will pay with blood, you will rip everything she has ever loved from her hands so she can feel what it is you feel.

So while the castle is sleeping, while no one can interrupt you, you use the chambers where Daenerys had stayed in to conduct a spell.

“Did you bring it?” You ask Sarella.

Sarella nods and unhooks her cloak to show the small baby in her hands.

You trusted no one else but them, besides the others would only judge you for this dark magic. Elia and Sarella won’t.

“It’s sick,” she mentions. “Mother dead, father drunk and with no love for this child.”

You nod stiffly and take the blade from the flames, and watch as the metal gleams red and orange with how hot it is.

“A dragon will never compare to the love you have for your own children. I want her to feel that love, that joy when she holds her child in her arms for the first time. I want to see her care for that child so much more than her own life so she feels an ounce of what I feel.” You sneer to the flames. “Blood for blood. Son for a son.” You glare at the flames and clench your jaw.

You then turn to grab the bowl off the floor, but just before you can you come to a sudden stop as you swear you see Rhaenar’s face in the flames, you swear you see his sweet brown eyes. And a small frown on his face. It’s only for a second, but you swear you do.

“I’ll use my blood that connects us,” you mutter and put the bowl over the fire. You then put your palm in front of you and use the sharp edge of the blade to cut a slash on your palm.

The pain stings and burns, but you just clench your jaw and keep quiet as the blood begins to spill out of the cut. After the slash is made you put the blade down and put your hand over the fire and fist your hand to make the blood pour over the bowl.

“Now, Elia give it to me,” you interject and put your uninjured hand out.

Without hesitation the girl comes to you and hands you a brush. One Daenerys had left behind when she left Winterfell.

“Now I’ll use her hair to connect this spell to her.” You add and pull the strands of hair off the brush and throw it in the bowl. “Now,” you sigh deeply and feel some hesitance and regret. But your pain is much deeper, so you turn regardless, and Sarella hands you the sickly baby.

“The sacrifice to complete this spell,” you continue and pick up the knife from the floor. You swallow thickly and without thinking deeper into what you’re going to do you slice.

The blood trickles out so you push it towards the fire and let the thick scarlet liquid spill over the bowl. Once the bowl is full you hand the lifeless body back to Sarella. “Feed it to the dragons.” You tell her.

“Now it’s time to finish.” You put the blade down, and put your arms out, you close your eyes and lift your head to begin chanting the needed spell in High Valyrian.

At first you start off quiet, but you get louder and louder, whilst the fire suddenly enrages and sends off sparks and thick smoke as it engulfs the bowl and what it contains inside.

The heat intensifies, bringing sweat to break out on your face, making the dress stick to your skin. The fire's light brightens, making Elia and Sarella shield their eyes.

But the act doesn’t last long, it then ends and the heat and brightness fades back to what it was before. Now nothing remains in the bowl anymore. Now the spell is complete.

“There,” you let your sisters know. “She’s barren no longer. She’ll have a child now and fear my pain. Soon she’ll pay. Son for a son.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Now do you guys think Daenerys will have a child with Daario? Or one with Gendry?

Tagged: @watercolorskyy @jessimay89 @cecespizza01 @theroyalbrownbarbie e @crybabyatthediscooffandoms @neenieweenie @midnightpantherxo @ashleyforeverareject @dark-night-sky-99 @starwarsslut @stargaryenx x

[sansacherie]

the gods in their madness

(What sin could Aemma have possibly committed, for the gods to subject her to this absurdity? If they did this to let her cheat death, she wanted no part of it.)

Aemma Arryn becomes 15 years old again, and marries Viserys Targaryen for the second time, wearing the colors of House Hightower.

I.

Aemma wondered how long it would take her to drown in this tub.

All she needed was for her ladies to leave.  With that, Aemma could slip under the water and wait.  In the warmth and silence.  No blood.  Nothing but a peaceful end, she hopes.

Even if she was wrong about it being painless, it did not matter.  Aemma was not frightened of the pain of dying. She was more frightened of what was to come, her wedding.   She’d done her level best within the past month to hide from her fear, but it was still here, nonetheless.

Aemma watched Lady Casella through the mirror as she intently combed Aemma’s hair.   She would give almost anything to be in her place instead.  To be the one looking forward to all the festivities that beckon.   The Red Keep had not hosted such a wedding in so long.   After all, none of them were alive to see the Conciliator wed.

A royal wedding, where Aemma will bring her family the greatest honor a woman can bring her family.

A way to the Iron Throne.

Last night, Aemma was told how proud her mother would be.   Aemma had never known her.  Princess Daella died in the birthing bed, as Viserys and Daemon’s own mother, Princess Alyssa.  It was Amanda,  Aemma’s older sister, who told her how their lord father had loved Daella Targaryen so much that he begged Queen Alysanne herself to bury her in the Vale.   But the queen had refused, bringing Daella’s ashes back to Dragonstone.

When Aemma was just a little girl, she resented her grandmother for it. Queen Alysanne already had memories of Princess Daella; did she truly need her bones as well?  At least Aemma could look at the painting of her mother in her father’s solar whenever she pleased.   Lord Rodrik commissioned it just after they wed.  In it, Father smiled lovingly at Mother.  Mother was seated, wearing a splendid gown that paid respect to both Arryn and Targaryen.  Her smile was shy and sweet.   They said she had smiled when she held Aemma, after bringing her forth.    And Aemma’s late mother had been so happy there in the Vale as well.  That is what her lord father said, and Amanda too.  Even Grandmother concurred, although her blue eyes were oft sad to say it.

But now Aemma understood her grandmother’s actions better.  Daella Targaryen was the blood of the dragon, even if being the blood of the dragon hadn’t done her much good in the end anyway.   Her ashes belonged on Dragonstone, the true seat of the Targaryens.   Her place was there, but not Aemma’s.  When the Stranger came for her, Aemma would be buried in the Vale.

That would never be, now.  No thanks to Viserys.

“There,” Lady Casella smiles in proud satisfaction.  Lady Talya and Lady Rosamund compliment her on how well she’s styled Aemma’s hair.

And she has, indeed.  Her auburn hair is styled in an intricate updo.  Aemma had something very similar, on her first wedding day.   The Vale and the Reach were quite similar when it came to bridal fashions.

“Come, Alicent.”  Lady Daena tells her, gently taking her by the hand.    Alicent’s ladies dress her.   Her gown is undeniably beautiful, even more so than Aemma’s had been, she will admit.   But that is not surprising.  Aemma was not marrying a king like Lady Alicent was.    And the Hightower's were as rich as their line was old and proud.  

When the ladies complete their work, they bow their heads, as if Alicent is queen already. 

II.

Aemma had kept to her bed during those first few days, pleading illness.  That was because she hoped she would find herself in her old life when she woke up.  Her old life, where she was Rhaenyra’s mother.

Oh, and gods help her, the life she had with Viserys.  Aemma and her cousin had wed for duty, as so many of them did.   As Aemma had grown up in the Vale and her Targaryen cousins had grown up at King Jaehaerys’ court,  Viserys and she had seen each other only at important events like the king’s name day, so Aemma had not known him well.   He was also five years her elder.

And twenty to Alicent Hightower’s. 

But they built something out of their duty.  Their marriage never burned with passion, but you did not need passion to have a good marriage. Of the two sons sired by Prince Baelon, Aemma knew she’d been fortunate to be wed to the elder.   While she did not think Daemon would dare treat her with such outrageous disrespect as he did the Lady Rhea,  Aemma had never felt true regard from him when wed to his brother.   Aemma could not help but think her being only a cousin, and a half-Valyrian one at that, was the fault of it.   Targaryen custom meant that Viserys’ ideal match would have been a sister.   Perhaps Daemon wished that Viserys was born a girl so they could marry.  

Well,  Viserys was Aemma’s husband, and he was a good one in some ways.  He was gentle and generous.  He did not dishonor her, by being careless about his relations.  Aemma knew it was happening, thanks to one of her ladies-in-waiting, but she knew nothing of the women he bedded, except they were of common birth.  Truthfully,  Aemma did not know whether she preferred these bedwarmers to be highborn or not.   A common girl would only have power in Viserys’ bed, and as open-handed as Viserys was, he would not hesitate to put them in their place when necessary.  He had dismissed one proud mistress once, after all.    As for someone highborn, well her power did not only come from the King needless to say.  But most houses would not suffer such an insult to their daughters, anyway.    At least nobody in the Vale did. There was no security, no honor in a noble lady being a man’s mistress and not his wife.   

What sin could Aemma have possibly committed, for the gods to subject her to this absurdity? If they did this to let her cheat death, she wanted no part of it.   Why could they not have saved her little boy?   When Aemma had first realized – and it had not taken her very long- what became of Prince Baelon,  she was torn between sorrow and resignation.  Sorrow, as she’d been wrong to doubt Viserys’ confidence about him being a boy.  Perhaps if Aemma had matched Viserys in this, perhaps Baelon would be in the nursery right now.  If Baelon lived, perhaps Rhaenyra would still have her dear friend and Alicent Hightower her freedom.

Resignation, because Aemma had been through this dance before.  Over the 15 years of her marriage to Viserys,  Aemma had eight children.   Of the eight, only Rhaenyra was spared.   That was why Aemma hated Rhaenyra flying Syrax, as much as she knew it was unfair to her daughter to discourage it.  But Aemma could not help it, sometimes inventing excuses such as her being heavy with child. 

She wondered how Alicent Hightower would feel about having dragon riders for children.  

Aemma thought Viserys cruel to not only be marrying Rhaenyra’s childhood companion but to have named her heir.   Aemma understood it, of course.  In fact, she and Ser Otto were of the same mind when they urged Viserys to appoint Rhaenyra and not his brother, his successor.    If Viserys died suddenly with a son, his closest male relative would be one who encouraged war and did nothing for the Faith, nothing for the people.  Daemon Targaryen would do nothing but what pleased him.   Worst of all, if he was king,  Aemma knew he would put aside his marriage to Lady Rhea.  That was to be expected, but Aemma did not like the thought of whom he would favor as his queen.    

But anyway, Viserys should never have named Rhaenyra his heir when he was going to remarry.   Aemma did not believe for a moment that Rhaenyra would remain first in line if Alicent Hightower had a son.   

Viserys would think nothing of the succession changing for a son, as he thought nothing of Aemma’s stomach being cut into for one. 

III.

Aemma had no memory of the pain, praise the Seven.

But she remembered well what Viserys had said to her before the end.  

I love you. 

As if that made what he commanded better.

IV.

Aemma wondered if the horror of what Viserys did drove her actions with Ser Theo. It must have.   The fear of being accused of a witch if she dared say she was in fact a dead queen, was greater than the fear of a discovered dishonor.

But they were not discovered.    Ser Theo slipped into her chambers, as he did Lady Elinor’s.  Aemma would have preferred someone her age or a little older, but she was not a woman of thirty- at least not in body.  But Ser Theo was no green boy at least, twenty-four and handsome.    

As Alicent or Aemma chased her pleasure on top of the knight she had never done the same with Viserys, their coupling always missionary, as the maesters said it was best for conception- she thought of the maidenhood that would never be Viserys.  Not now.    

Aemma could not bear the thought of Viserys taking her maidenhood again.  So, she took her pleasure. 

She fucked.

She would have fucked in front of Viserys if she could get away with it.  Fucked his pride. Fucked those stupid dreams.  Oh, you dreamt our son wearing a crown, you say.  That is what happens when your father is a king, you fool. 

V.

Aemma sat on the dais, tasting nothing of the food set before her.  Beside her, Viserys was in a high mood and toasted everyone from his new wife to the singers. 

Rhaenyra looked as lonely as Aemma felt.   It was agony, sitting so close to her dear girl.  The devil of it is that if there was anyone Rhaenyra would have confided as her father remarried, it was Alicent Hightower.   Viserys ruined that, with all this.  Gods, the girls were only 15.

Aemma’s mind fell upon the Velayrons then.   They were absent from the celebrations, even though Viserys was Rhaenys’ cousin. 

Laena of course.   The Velayrons would have been on the top of the list wanting their daughter to marry the king.  Undoubtedly, Rhaenys and Corlys would have considered themselves to be the only ones on that list.    They had never forgotten that council.

VI.

They were alone.   Viserys reached for her, and Aemma pulled away.

“Alicent?”  He asked with concern.

“I,”  Aemma began.   She could herself sweating.   She could not bear him touching her, just yet.

She smiled sweetly at him.  “I’m so tired, Your- Viserys. The celebrations, they- they were overwhelming.  Could we not sleep instead?”

Viserys looked half relieved, half dismayed.  “They will except a consummation,” he said.

Aemma drew herself to Alicent’s full height and looked him in the eye.   “They can wait.  It does not need to happen this very night.”   Thankfully,   Viserys nodded at this,  and that night they only shared a bed.

Aemma accepted that this was only a temporary refuge, just as she accepted there was no possibility of making Ser Theo her lover once she wed.   Whenever it was lust or expectation, Viserys would consummate the marriage.

VII.

That was the very topic three days later, as Alicent broke her fast with the Hand of the King.  Viserys preferred to sleep in, and Rhaenyra who had eaten with Aemma every morning, had her meals brought to her own apartments now.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, Your Grace?” Aemma wondered how long it would take for Ser Otto to grow used to calling his daughter by this title.  Aemma was already used to it.  She had already been queen once before.

Aemma shook her head.

“Alicent.”  Aemma hid a grimace.  She doubted she would get used to being called Alicent.   Ser Otto frowned.  “You cannot allow this to continue. You are a wife-,”

“I have not forgotten that.  You made me one.” Ser Otto looked taken aback, and Aemma realized that Lady Alicent would never challenge her father like Rhaenyra did Viserys.  Aemma’s own father had spoiled her, but Aemma’s daughter even more so.  Viserys indulged Rhaenyra.  But indulgence was not what Rhaenyra needed from her father.   That was why she encouraged Viserys to take Rhaenyra as his cupbearer when she turned ten.  “She might not ever rule from the Iron Throne, but she can learn much from listening to your meetings with the small council,”  Aemma had said.  “She can use that experience to guide her husband or sons, in time.”

Ser Otto cleared his throat.  “You must not forget your duty.   The kingdom holds its breath for a son-,”

“I have been married for three days!”  Alicent, or Aemma snapped.  “Let them hold their breath.”

VIII.

It was just shy of a fortnight when Viserys called her to his chambers.   He was tired of waiting.

She felt numb, as Viserys took his rights.  She wanted to refuse, but-

He lasted longer with Alicent than Aemma could remember he did with her.  Which is to say, not much.

She lay beside Viserys in the bed, listening to him catch his breath.

“Viserys?” Aemma said as they grew ragged.  She looked at him and felt cold all over.   He was clutching his chest, and the sweat- the sweat was not just from their marital duties.  

But it was his eyes that spoke the truth of it. 

Viserys had the eyes of a dying man.

Of course, Aemma had hers closed.    She had closed them, as if that would stop what was happening to her.

She knew that she needed to shout for help, to alert the maesters. 

Instead, she waited. 

Waited for him to die.

Aemma would offer him no comfort, nothing. 

IX.

Ser Harrold Westerling was on guard duty outside their door.  

She must be strong, Aemma knew.   

"The king is dead," she tells Ser Harrold, who freezes.  "His heart gave out." 

"He is truly gone?"

"Yes,"  Aemma nods.   "Long live the Queen."

[iksidaorvali]

❛❛   visenya targaryen .  ❜❜   ― 🔥 ― a cry in the night as you watch your lover fall, sound echoed by the winged beast who shares your heart (no one else can know what you truly saw)... secret knowledge and a desire for revenge feeding a rage burning at your very core, flames threatening to consume you (being sent away was the only solution)... your uncle’s coronation drags you back into the too familiar heartache of home, peace of mind and body left back in lys (pain is your constant companion in westeros)...

BASICS.

full name : visenya alysanne targaryen celtigar

name meaning :

visenya : high valyrian | possibly derived from vezenka which means “solar”

alysanne : german | “noble”

targaryen : tba | “tba”

celtigar : tba | “tba”

nicknames : sena, vis, v

epithets : the dragon heart

titles : lady of dragonstone, lady of claw isle

gender / pronouns : cis woman / she/her

sexuality : pansexual

date of birth : fifth day of the fourth moon

age : six and twenty years

zodiac : aries

place of birth : dragonstone, the crownlands, westeros

accent : english

languages : common tongue, high valyrian

allegiance : house targaryen, house velaryon, house celtigar

religion : the old gods of valyria

APPEARANCE.

faceclaim : frida gustavsson

height : 5′7″

eye color : lilac

hair color : silver-gold

dominant hand : ambidextrous

glasses : n/a

MEDICAL.

mental : insomnia, adhd, depression

physical : some smaller scars from sword practice

PERSONALITY.

positive traits : steadfast, determined, captivating

negative traits : ruthless, brazen, sarcastic

hobbies : swordplay, dragon riding, painting, sketching, swimming

RELATIONSHIPS.

parents :

ruling lord ___ targaryen; father [ 55+ ]

ruling lady ___ targaryen, née rogare; mother [ 55 ]

siblings :

lord heir ___ targaryen; eldest brother [ 37 ]

lady ___ targaryen; eldest sister [ 34-36 ]

lord ___ targaryen; older brother [ 31-33 ] ** twin

lord ___ targaryen; older brother [ 31-33 ] ** twin

lady ___ targaryen; older brother [ 28-30 ]

lord baelor targaryen; younger twin brother [ 26 ] ** twin

lord vaella targaryen; younger sister [ 24 ]

extended family :

lord vaegon targaryen; late paternal uncle [ 46, deceased 6 years ]

ruling lord ___ targaryen; paternal uncle [ 49 ]

ruling lady ___ targaryen, née ___; aunt marriage [ 45-50 ]

queen rhaenyra velaryon, née targaryen; paternal aunt [ 49 ]

king daemon velaryon; uncle via marriage [ 51 ]

house celtigar of claw isle

former in-laws via jacaerys celtigar

house rogare of lys

via her mother

house targaryen of summerhall

via her paternal uncle

house velaryon of king's landing

via her paternal aunt's marriage

spouse : lord jacaerys celtigar; late husband [ 28, deceased 2 years ]

children : n/a

pets : 

nightsong [ dragon - think silverwing but mostly lavender ]

ADDITIONAL INFO.

quick facts :

visenya has been having dragon dreams with consistency from a very early age. the only ones who know of her ability are her mother and late husband.

more coming soon. i just wanna write.

biography :

doc here

feel free to ask me anything, as this is a work in progress.

CONNECTIONS.

late husband’s killer : their true target was visenya, so they may or may not be planning another attempt now that she’s returned to westeros. while i’m open to determining the reason for them wanting her dead together, i would like it to have something to do with her dragon dreams and/or connection to the crown. ➢ 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 

in-laws : i’d just love to see the celtigars around for some fun former family things. members she was closer to, maybe some who never liked her much. all the things. ➢ 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 (𝟎/𝟕)

childhood best friends : just two other babes from the crownlands who visenya has been very close to her entire life. any gender is fine. ➢ 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 (𝟎/𝟐)

[thesilverlady]

Hi, sorry for the stupid question but I'll do it anyway. What color hair and eyes do you think the Targaryen family has? I've always had the impression that Rhaenyra inherited Viserys's purple eyes but hers are more inhuman almost fuchsia and silvery white hair from her mother Queen Aemma (I have the headcanon that Daella had the lightest hair among her siblings after Aemon and his daughter Aemma inherited it), Daemon has darker silver hair, plus silver gray contrasting with pale lilac eyes, Viserys would have purple eyes and silver hair with streaks of gold, NOT PLATINUM BLONDE HAIR. Aegon like the canon, he looks a lot like his father so he would have the same color of eyes and hair, Aemond would have silvery gray hair and violet eyes, Helaena instead would have hair of a similar tone to her older sister but her eyes would be a bluish violet, and Daeron would be the most beautiful after Rhaenyra, she would have light silver curls with delicate golden streaks and bright purple eyes but lighter than those of her older half-sister.

hi! it's not stupìd at all! Visuals are important and they help imagining the characters so your questions is really interesting! I'm sorry for taking so long to answer this but I wanted to really think about it and give a genuine answer instead of writing down whatever I was feeling like at the moment

Tbh my interpretation of their looks is quite different from yours, but please don't take my response as me correcting you or anything else. Pretty much all the characters you mentioned don't have specific descriptions of their colors in canon, so really, there's no right and wrong. The beauty of imagination is how we don't think the same, and your descriptions definitely made me rethink some of my own ♥

So with that being said let's start:

Targaryen looks (dance era)

The Targaryens generally seem to have white or silvery gold hair because the family is originally from Old Valyria. In f&b a big majority is described as silver-gold (which doesn't help us at all George🙄) Of course hair color varies as we have seen, some have no trace of silver and only gold, some others have more silver, some others have a mix of both colors, and in rare cases we have seen their hair being described as white.

Now, when it comes to the characters I have the tendency to look at the family tree and make a conclusion of their appearance with whatever little description we're given.

In the case of Rhaenyra's we know from f&b that she was extremely beautiful. Daemon declared her the fairest maid in all the Seven Kingdoms, she had a large number of suitors fighting for her hand in marriage, the queen at the time and stepmother felt antagonism towards her despite her young age, and we even later see her appearance being weaponized during the war when men were trying to bring her down.

But what did she look like? well, precise description for her colors is never given but I headcanon that she was Viserra come again; beautiful with the deep purple eyes, flawless white skin, and fine features

While I don't picture her hair as exactly silvery white, I do think that Rhaenyra inherited the rare color from her great uncle, Aemon (her grandfather's brother) and she too had pale hair, shining like white gold.

I also imagine her to be on the short side. (random, i know but I've been dying to mention it) Daella was tiny and her mother Queen Alysanne was described to be a "small woman". So Aemma inherited the looks and height from both women (not to mention her father Rodrik was also described as short man as well) and passed it down to her own daughter, also Alysanne had honey colored hair so imagine Daella and Aemma bore similar colors with some silver perhaps. Thus some hint of gold that Rhaenyra may have in her hair comes from these two.

It's not the first time that I hear someone else describing her eyes as bright, but in my mind they were always a dark violet shade - which her son, Aegon iii later inherited. As I mentioned her hair is a white gold (absolutely not blond) and they fall in big loose curls any time she doesn't wear them in braids.

For Daemon, I agree with you. I see him with silver straight hair with no trace of gold (basically a reverse of his mother Alyssa who had dirty blonde hair and no silver) and with lilac eyes.

I headcanon Viserys to also have the silver-gold hair but as he grew older the silver became more evident and as you mentioned, he has purple eyes. His hair is also more wavy than curly.

As in canon, Aegon II looks like him. Though I imagine his hair slightly more silver, similar to Aemond's.

Helaena takes after her great grandmother Alysanne, aka she doesn't have a trace of silver hair in her head. Her strands are honey-colored and her eyes are a bluish violet as you mentioned.

Aemond's straight hair is silver gold but the silver is way more evident and his eyes are a bright violet color (similiarly to how his grandmother's Alyssa one eye had been)

As for Daeron, i wouldn't call him the most beautiful after Rhaenyra 'cause that's quite a huge to compete but he was indeed the most popular of his brothers, though I think that was mostly because of his better manners rather than just beauty, but he is beautiful as all targaryens tend to be. I think of him with soft curls like Rhaenyra's and his hair is a perfect mix of silver-gold, I'm uncertain about his eye color so I'm gonna agree with you on that one.

Thank you again for this very interesting ask and I'm sorry for taking so long to reply it 💕

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 81

Gif by @pedropcl

Sometime after they had left, Vermithor had shaken off his false king and sought out his mate.

Orwyle could scarcely believe it himself until Vermithor was greeted by Silverwing just over their heads.

He had warned those traveling with him to remain calm, that the great beasts would do no harm to them.

The Bronze Fury and his Silver Queen were the dragons the gods had given Jaehaerys and Alysanne, they were wiser than the average dragon, the Maester lied for the sake of peace.

Vermithor and Silverwing were loyal to the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and her consort.

This time it is Alysanne who sits on the Iron Throne.

A ruler needs a good head and a true heart, a cock is not essential, the Good Queen had said and so the singers, sellswords and other refugees had repeated during their journey to Harrenhal.

The time of dragons is over, the man had shouted to his bloodthirsty lambs.

It has not, many pointed to the sky and lost their heads for speaking it outloud.

Orwyle has revealed himself to a select few. Some Septons, Septas and people who the Grand Maester believed to be honorable.

He is to go and offer the dragon egg in exchange for Gaemon Waters’ safety and a chance to prove his loyalty to her.

Queen Aemma had always been a good child. Kind and sensitive to the feelings of others, a good head on her shoulders and a healthy sense of justice.

The same cannot be said about her husband, ill tempered, loyal but not dutiful to anyone except a select few, fierce as Maegor himself when needed and as dangerous as Daemon.

But they work together, she provides the silk to his steel, and he provides the violence and fear needed to bring about this utopia she dreams of.

“What is your business?” A guard dressed in the livery of House Targaryen asked with suspicion.

“We come from Kingslanding to swear ourselves to Good Queen Aemma.” Orwyle said dismounting from his mule. 

“We bring the last of Dreamfyre’s eggs as tribute to her.”  The disgraced Grand Maester brandishes the blue egg.

Blue, silver and gold.

The colors of House Velaryon.

With the surprised gasps of the mass of men, women and children behind him are echoed by those manning the great castle.

The gates groan as they open and the maester is welcomed by Sabitha Frey flanked by northmen and rivermen alike.

“I am sorry, your grace, Prince Joffrey and Prince Viserys---” Two months ago, Kingslanding had fallen into chaos.

A month ago, Joffrey was eaten by their mother’s dragon when he tried to save the dragons in the Dragonpit.

Viserys killed by Lyseni wanting revenge for their men.

And little Aegon had been captured by Aegon.

Aemma cannot breathe and the moment she can make up an excuse to leave, she runs and runs until she falls to her knees, lost, but alone.

Aemond runs after her as does most of their guards.

She needs to be alone.

To let herself shatter for a moment and grieve for her family.

Aemond unleashed everything he bottled up inside during his training, hunting and sparring.

Aemma was not afforded such outlets.

Some days she takes Silver at all the speed she can manage and pretends that’s enough.

Others, like now, she opens the lid keeping the storm inside her and prays no one stops her.

Aemma tears at her hair, at her clothes shouts at the gods for damning her to this hell.

“Why? Why me?!” she screams and cries and prays to any god who can hear her to end her suffering.

Why must she suffer all this?

Why does everyone she loves die?

Why did she keep her mouth shut when she had the power to stop this from coming true?

If she had just revealed her visions from the beginning, this war would never have happened.

Her family would still be alive, she wouldn’t have so much blood on her hands, she would have never been forced to see her worst nightmares become her reality.

But she cannot turn back time, she cannot wash Alicent’s blood off her hands, and she cannot raise the dead.

She is Daenys the Dreamer, Daenys who the gods cursed so the Valyrians paid for their hubris.

Sometimes she wonders if Daenys ever wished for it to just stop.

All she wants is for the gods to stop tormenting her and let her have the peace of mind they so cruelly denied her.

“Sometimes I wonder if Gaemon the Glorious ran after Daenys like you run after me.” Aemma speaks when she hears the leaves crunch under Aemond’s feet.

“I doubt she would have married him if he did not.” He comes and kneels beside her, taking her hand and giving it a firm squeeze.

If you saw him, you would not think he was the same arrogant boy she married.

Aemond has learned humility the hard way, a lesson his grandsire could not learn before Dark Sister showed him what the gods thought about his avarice.

“We can stay here until you feel better.” He offered softly and she nods wordlessly as she finds comfort in his arms.

“They were children, Aemond!” she cried as if somehow, he could make it better. “Viserys was only three.” As if he had not lost a brother as well.

Daeron had died and somehow, and yet Aemond had not broken himself to pieces over it.

He mourns differently, Aemma does not know what to make of his lack of emotion when it comes to death.

“I know.” He said soothing her as she grieves for her little brothers. "We will get through this, Aemee. We will know peace again.”

“Queen Aemma is indisposed, I am afraid you must make do with me.” 

Aemond is no stranger to governing.

While he prefers standing behind Aemma and let her shape the world in the vision she’s had in her head since they were children, he does not mind reminding everyone he is king, not king consort.

Cole had briefed him, Orwyle had come shepherding refugees and men swearing themselves to their cause.

Not only that, Orwyle had saved three of Dreamfyre’s eggs.

Dawn, Day and Sunset.

He does not know how, but Aemond knows that is what his children will name their dragons.

“I only ask that you spare the boy, your grace. His mother was caught in a conspiracy to name him your brother’s heir and it was by the will of the Mother that he was entrusted into my care before Queen Rhaenyra’s men killed him too.” Orwyle shows the boy Aemma once rescued from the rat pits.

He had been a toddler of barely three, now Gaemon Dragonseed was five with his silver hair poking out under the garish blue dyes.

As a dragonseed he could live as finely as noble.

Aemma would gladly allow him into the nursery with Aemon, but tradition dictated that bastards be raised in relative comfort and away from court.

A place would be found for him, with someone willing to raise him as a foster son. Once he talks this with his wife, they will find him a good home where no harm will come to him.

“Gaemon Dragonseed will be safe and provided for even if you had not asked for it.”

He would have added, I do not hurt children, but everyone knows that is a lie.

Aemond can see the ghosts of the little boys he murdered stand around his son’s crib.

Watching and waiting for the moment to punish him for his sins.

The sword hangs over his neck, a sword he put there himself.

If I could turn back time I would, he finds himself telling the ghosts in his nightmares.

“As for you, Grand Maester, you best pray our gentle and kind queen blesses you with her mercy.”

Aemond cannot remember the rest of the petitions that day. No, his mind and eye focused on the bronze scales roosting with his mate.

It would be a good omen if this reunion brought a clutch of eggs.

It would be a good omen if you claimed him, he finds himself thinking.

What better way to restore House Targaryen to its golden age of peace than by claiming King Jaehaerys’ dragon.

It is the Hour of the Wolf when he presses a soft kiss onto his Aemee’s temple and decides to find out if he can cheat death a second time.

[aerltarg]

thinking again how names of direwolves given to them in the very beginning actually speak very loud abt starklings' arcs and even foreshadow them BUT re: stark sisters.

nymeria, huge female alpha leading hundreds of wolves, with no fear of men and hunting everything she sees fit, that got her name after the historical figure, the princess of her people, the leader and military commander, who fought to get a new home for them and succeeded in that, changed the laws of the lands she conquered to the better for women and left her daughters as heirs, who is remembered as a “warrior queen” and a “witch queen”.

and lady, a simple yet a sweet name given by the girl who was “a lady at three” herself, never misbehaved pup.

and dead too early.

i think it only adds up to the already rich leadership arc and foreshadowing of arya, her ties to northern politics plot and even her warging and skinchanging abilities if you remember the “witch queen” bit. after all, she's the only one who got separated from her direwolf so early on but still became a warg, so powerful that she has wolf dreams even from another continent.

and it opens some interesting speculations abt sansa's ending. currently she is in a very complicated and dangerous position. imo, there's no other purpose for her to be in the vale than to use the power she has (or the greater power she might have in future) for helping the north w food, possibly in the great war and considering the losses the north will endure during the upcoming war against the boltons and the set up inheritance crisis of the starks, when we are said multiple times how rich it is when it comes to food supplies. however, i don't think sansa will stay in the vale forever for multiple reasons, major of which are several obstacles in her way of becoming the lady of the eyrie. and now, looking at this direwolves names foreshadowing, i got persuaded even moreso that sansa won't become a lady of the castle, possibly she will give up the noble lady's position whatsoever. how exactly will it look like? i don't know though hope for the happiest outcome, e.g. sansa escaping w the help of sandor and settling for the simpler life w him.

it actually will be so poetic! arya who never hoped to be a queen will become the leader of her people because of her natural gift for this and important lessons she learnt, and sansa who craved the flashing luxury and glory of life of royalty and was so eager to conform to whatever standards southern lords might have for their wives will come to appreciate the simple life w man whom she judged first by his looks, smth she never thought abt before too.

it becomes double interesting if you consider there all the parallels arya shares w alysanne targaryen but especially these ones:

Alysanne Targaryen, the youngest child of King Aenys and Queen Alyssa, had been little known amongst the lords and ladies of the realm before then. Her childhood had been spent in the shadow of her brothers and her elder sister, Rhaena, and when she was spoken of at all it was as “the little maid” and “the other daughter.” She was little, this was true; slim and slight of frame, Alysanne was oft described as pretty but seldom as beautiful, though she was born of a house renowned for beauty. Her eyes were blue rather than purple, her hair a mass of honey-colored curls. No man ever questioned her wits. (Fire & Blood)

skinny, pretty, smart, but in the youth overshadowed by elder sister? sounds too familiar, isn't it? yet, it was alysanne who is forever remembered as the “good queen” and who also changed the laws of the lands she came to rule for the better, especially for women, just like nymeria of ny sar, and who wanted her eldest daughter (called, funnily enough, daenerys) to be the next ruler as the queen regnant. while her elder sister rhaena was never happy as a wife to kings or a lady wife to a lord.

tldr; arya and sansa will end up in positions they didn't expect but even moreso didn't expect such positions to make them happy.

[sappheirs]

♛ → THE STORMLANDS present CASIMIR TARTH, the HEIR of TARTH. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACK would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-FIVE year old MALE who was FREEWHEELING & VEHEMENT before they saw the first of the flames, is now CALLOW & PUGNACIOUS after seeing the last. through the ash, now they struggle to find A SILVER  &  SAPPHIRE PLATED SHIELD THAT SHOULD NOT BELONG TO HIM,   CHESHIRE CAT GRINS HIDDEN BEHIND HIS SISTER’S SHOULDER,    THE CRISP TASTE OF A PEACH CRUSHED BETWEEN TEETH;   JUICE DRIBBLED DOWN THE FRONT OF HIS TUNIC instead of the remnants of the war of succession. ( thomas doherty )

full  name:   casimir tarth.  nicknames:    cas,   casi.  age:    25.  date  of  birth:    december 3,   115 ac.  orientation:    undiscovered bisexual in training.  religion:    faith of the seven,    mostly just in name at this point.    casimir is known for skipping out on trips to the sept and really only appears when it’s deemed absolutely necessary.  political  affiliation:    baratheon loyalist,    has secret  +  silent opinions about the targaryens sucking.  hair  color:    brown.  hair  length:    generally grown out to just below his ears,    in his natural state it’s shaggy and unkempt.    you can always tell when minisa’s helped him get ready by how his hair looks.  eye  color:    sapphire blue.  height:    6  feet,    4  inches.  father:    bryndenmere tarth. mother:    aemma tarth,    nee estermont    .    deceased.  siblings:    petyr tarth  *  brother,    deceased.    arik storm  *  half - brother,    deceased.    minisa tarth  *  sister.  children:    none,    yet.  significant  other:    none,    yet.  pets:    cider  +  mead,    sibling otterhounds.    rye,    a black forest horse. 

the final trueborn child of the lord and lady of tarth,    casimir,   better known to those around him as cas,   had a torrential childhood.    moments into his life,   his mother passed,   seemingly setting the scene for those he cared for to one by one find their own graves.    what began with his mother carried into his eldest brother,   and then his beloved bastard brother as well   -   casimir knows loss like the back of his hand,    knows that in the blink of an eye what little remains of his family could be gone just like the rest.    he clung to minisa just as much as she did him;    allowed the coddling and kindness,    because at least it was closeness.    at least it was proof he wasn’t alone.    she was,   and continues to be,   his closest confidant;    as he grows closer to inheriting evenfall and the isle of tarth,    cas longs to keep her by his side,    despite knowing that she ought to have a family of her own,    that he himself will need to do the same.    but his chest aches at the thought of another loss,    even if she exists somewhere in the world,    it wouldn’t be the same comfort of having her at his side.    and to be entirely truthful,    he isn’t certain he can rule without her    -    doesn’t believe himself capable of being the lord he’s supposed to be when he knows the role was meant for petyr and not him.

his lows are low    -    fear and guilt tangled into one unfortunate web that lingers in the corner of his mind;    but casimir on a good day is almost whimsical.    full of boisterous laughter and jokes,    blue eyes alight with life and a joy unmatched.    he jests with his father and his men,    hunts and fishes with the best of them and always manages to come back telling a harrowing eventful tale.    he wants to believe in the good of others,    so desperately,   but the fact of his life is that he cannot depend on the kindness of anyone not loyal to the name tarth.    he wishes it wasn’t this way    -    wishes for better things and better days,    where his mother and brothers are smiling and laughing alongside him and not buried beneath the dark soil,    a smattering of blue flowers marking each one.

casimir is fond of animals,    and considers himself the proud owner of the equivalent of a pair of otterhounds named cider  &  mead,    as well as a horse named rye.    he isn’t much for reading,    but is known for his singing    -    though he plays no instrument,    he can often be found providing his voice to the tunes his sister minisa plays.    his favorite song is ‘alysanne’.    

wanted  connections     -    new  additions  not  in  the  group,    i’ll be typing these up officially for the wc section i just needed to splat these ideas down sdflkj. 

casimir’s  best  bro    -   he requires someone to be a himbo with him,    tbh.    maybe someone who was fostered @ evenfall and they kinda just ???  became inseparable and now cas is forever like  NO NO THAT’S MY DUDE RIGHT THE FUCK THERE.    cas is pure and truly sees this pal as a psuedo brother,    would 100% die for him no questions asked u feel me?    makes sense for this dude bro to be from another house in the stormlands or a house that was also aligned with the blacks. 

because i enjoy spice ... casimir’s best bro’s sister.    best friend’s brother from the hit nickelodeon show victorious plays in the bg except it’s his best friend’s sister and boy oh boy is this man w H I P P E D.    he’s well aware that it’s probably never going to happen,    has for the most part,    resigned himself to fawning from afar.   maybe she’s married to someone else,   maybe she’s just not interested    -    either way,   i humbly request and require an unrequited love for this sad,   sad boy. 

wanted  connections    -    for  pre - existing  characters. 

i think it’d be cool for someone to want to take cas under their metaphorical wing;   and i think it could easily go for either a genuine,    loving friendship or someone who just wants to be able to manipulate the future of house tarth and have them under their thumb.    cas is naive enough to allow the latter to happen,    and i think it’d cause some really cool tension for the tarth sibling dynamic. 

characters who,   for whatever reason they so choose,   dislike cas  /  house tarth    -   yes i enjoy angsty bullshit,    no i will not stop trying to ruin his life.    he’s really like,    a dumb golden retriever boy,   and won’t fully understand why someone wouldn’t like him because he’s like:    i’ve never done anything wrong ever?    and would probably try to at least prove his goodness. 

i mean,    eventually he’s probably going to have to be betrothed,    because as a very eligible future lord,    that’s the logical step.    i like to imagine that while casimir is the type to play a little fast and loose with his heart and probably has flings where he proclaims his never ending love and devotion,    he’s also just dedicated and understanding enough of his position that he will do as his father and the storm king decree.      what i’m saying here is    . . .    if you wanna be his lover,    that’s cool,   but he’ll very sadly leave you when his papa tells him to marry someone for reals. 

[butterflies-dragons]

Sansa - Alayne - Alysanne - Sara - Sansara

A great deal has already been said about how similar Sansa Stark and Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen are. Here some sources:

Sansa Stark and "Good Queen" Alysanne Targaryen parallels

open thread #1: alysansa

Good Queen Alysanne translates to Good Queen D@ny??

Don't you think that Alysanne has more similarities with Arya than Sansa?

Tidbits from Fire and Blood

More tidbits from Fire and Blood

An Idyll where love conquers all

Jaehaerys and Alysanne was a romance unequaled since the days of Florian the Fool and his Jonquil

Doug Wheatley, we need an explanation!

can I copy your homework?

Lord Commander Burley also renamed Snowgate castle in her honor, as Queensgate

is nourishing

What are you doing George?

Jonquil Darke “the Scarlet Shadow” & Joffrey Dogget “the Red Dog of the Hills”

There is a certain irony in people rejecting any Sansa/Alysanne connection

There’s plenty Sansa and Alysanne parallels and some situations may actually repeat themselves

so sansa and good queen alysanne am i the only that sees it?

What are some parallels/similarities between Sansa and Good Queen Alysanne? Are there any?

More Sansa = Alysanne

Queen Alysanne has a knight named Jonquil and meets Lord Commander Lothor at the wall

Sansa & Alysanne portraits 

Queen Alysanne and her cousin King Jaehaerys

Queen Alysanne/Sansa Stark parallel

Why is it so significant the parallel between Queen Alysanne and Sansa?

Queens

Now I will give you my contribution on the matter, mostly based on what I found in my recent first re-reading of Fire & Blood.  

MERCY

Five of Maegor’s Seven yet survived. Two of those, Ser Olyver Bracken and Ser Raymund Mallery, had played a part in the late king’s fall by turning their cloaks and going over to Jaehaerys, but the boy king observed rightly that in doing so they had broken their vows to defend the king’s life with their own. “I will have no oathbreakers at my court,” he proclaimed. All five Kingsguard were therefore sentenced to death…but at the urging of Princess Alysanne, it was agreed that they might be spared if they would exchange their white cloaks for black by joining the Night’s Watch. Four of the five accepted this clemency and departed for the Wall; along with Ser Olyver and Ser Raymund, the turncloaks, went Ser Jon Tollett and Ser Symond Crayne.

—Fire & Blood

This passage reminds me of Sansa asking mercy for her father Ned and saving Dontos’ life by denying him the mercy of a quick death: 

The king! Sansa blinked back her tears. Joffrey was the king now, she thought. Her gallant prince would never hurt her father, no matter what he might have done. If she went to him and pleaded for mercy, she was certain he'd listen. He had to listen, he loved her, even the queen said so. Joff would need to punish Father, the lords would expect it, but perhaps he could send him back to Winterfell, or exile him to one of the Free Cities across the narrow sea. It would only have to be for a few years. By then she and Joffrey would be married. Once she was queen, she could persuade Joff to bring Father back and grant him a pardon.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

"Do you deny your father's crime?" Lord Baelish asked.

"No, my lords." Sansa knew better than that. "I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was King Robert's friend and he loved him, you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be Hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or … or somebody, they must have lied, otherwise …"

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."

"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

JOFFREY & THE HOUND

In Fire & Blood we meet a character named Ser Joffrey Doggett, also known as the Red Dog of the Hills. He was a knight from House Doggett, a noble house from the westerlands, vassals of House Lannister. 

During the reign of Maegor I Targaryen, Ser Joffrey Doggett was a member of the Lannisport chapter of the Warrior's Sons, an order of Westerosi knights sworn to the Faith of the Seven.

Ser Joffrey Doggett’s family was burned by the fires of Balerion: 

Then Maegor himself took wing, flying Balerion to the westerlands, where he burned the castles of the Broomes, the Falwells, the Lorches, and the other “pious lords” who had defied his summons. Lastly he descended upon the seat of House Doggett, reducing it to ash. The fires claimed the lives of Ser Joffrey’s father, mother, and young sister, along with their sworn swords, serving men, and chattel. 

—Fire & Blood

The day of his coronation, Jaehaerys I Targaryen appointed Ser Joffrey Doggett a member of the Kingsguard: 

“I rose against your uncle just as you did,” replied the Red Dog of the Hills, defiant.

“You did,” Jaehaerys allowed, “and you fought bravely, no man can deny. The Warrior’s Sons are no more and your vows to them are at an end, but your service need not be. I have a place for you.” And with these words, the young king shocked the court by offering Ser Joffrey a place by his side as a knight of the Kingsguard. A hush fell then, Grand Maester Benifer tells us, and when the Red Dog drew his longsword there were some who feared he might be about to attack the king with it…but instead the knight went to one knee, bowed his head, and laid his blade at Jaehaerys’s feet. It is said that there were tears upon his cheeks.

—Fire & Blood

Much later, Ser Joffrey Doggett flew with Queen Alysanne on her dragon Silverwing:

Even for a dragon, the flight from King’s Landing to Oldtown is a long one. The king and queen stopped twice along the way, once at Bitterbridge and once at Highgarden, resting overnight and taking counsel with their lords. The lords of the council had insisted that they take some protection at the very least. Ser Joffrey Doggett flew with Alysanne, and the Scarlet Shadow, Jonquil Darke, with Jaehaerys, so as to balance the weight each dragon carried.

—Fire & Blood

So here we have a character from the westernlands, vassal of the Lannisters, named Joffrey but also known as a red dog, whose family was burned by dragonfire and later became a member of the Kingsguard of Jaehaerys and also protected Queen Alysanne.  Ser Joffrey Doggett sounds like a combination of Joffrey Lannister and his sworn sword and later Kingsguard Sandor Clegane, the Hound. Both characters closely connected with Sansa Stark.

This is not the first time that GRRM did something like this. In the tale “The Hedge Knight”, part of his book “A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms”, GRRM has surrounded the fair maid of the Ashford Tourney, a girl of 13 years old, with a lot of characters that remind us of Sansa’s suitors and other men somehow interested in her.  

And this is not the only time that GRRM did it in Fire & Blood either. Queen Alysanne is surrounded by a lot of characters that remind us of ASOIAF characters that surround Sansa Stark. 

APPEARANCE

Before Fire & Blood, GRRM gave us this description of Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen, as an old woman at the end of Jaehaerys I reign:

GOOD QUEEN ALYSANNE

Alysanne was the queen, consort, and sister of King Jaehaerys I, the Old King, and like him she lived a long life. Since you pictured him as an old man at the end of his reign, I figure it would be most appropriate to do her the same way, rather than as the young woman she was when Jaehaerys first ascended the Iron Throne.

You might consider Alysanne as the Eleanor of Aquitaine of Westeros, and model her on Katharine Hepburn's portrayal of Eleanor in the film THE LION IN WINTER. Tall and straight, unbowed by time, she had high cheekbones, clear blue eyes. Age left crow's feet around her eyes and laugh lines about her mouth, but her face never lost its strength. She was a fine archer and hunter in her youth, and loved to fly atop her dragon to all the distant parts of the realm. Alysanne was slim of waist and small of breast, with a long neck, a fair complexion, a high forehead. In old age her hair turned white as snow. She wore it in a bun, pulled back and pinned behind her hear.

Her relationship with King Jaehaerys was always very close. She was his most trusted counselor and his right hand, and often wore a slimmer, more feminine version of his crown at court. Beloved by the common people of Westeros, she loved them in return, and was renowned for her charities.

[Source]

Here is Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine in the film THE LION IN WINTER:

Katharine Hepburn‘s was 1.72 m.

After Fire & Blood, GRRM gave us this description of Good Queen Alysanne Targaryen, as a girl of 13 years old: 

Though she had only recently turned thirteen, the young princess rose to the challenge brilliantly, all agreed. For seven days and seven nights, she broke her fast with one group of highborn ladies, dined with a second, supped with a third. She showed them the wonders of the Red Keep, sailed with them on Blackwater Bay, and rode with them about the city.

Alysanne Targaryen, the youngest child of King Aenys and Queen Alyssa, had been little known amongst the lords and ladies of the realm before then. Her childhood had been spent in the shadow of her brothers and her elder sister, Rhaena, and when she was spoken of at all it was as “the little maid” and “the other daughter.” She was little, this was true; slim and slight of frame, Alysanne was oft described as pretty but seldom as beautiful, though she was born of a house renowned for beauty. Her eyes were blue rather than purple, her hair a mass of honey-colored curls. No man ever questioned her wits.

Later, it would be said of her that she learned to read before she was weaned, and the court fool would make japes about little Alysanne dribbling mother’s milk on Valyrian scrolls as she tried to read whilst suckling at her wet nurse’s teat. Had she been a boy she would surely have been sent to the Citadel to forge a maester’s chain, Septon Barth would say of her…

(...)

“My little flower,” was how the queen described her. Like Alysanne herself, Daella was small—on her toes, she stood five feet two inches—and there was a childish aspect to her that led everyone who met her to think she was younger than her age. Unlike Alysanne, she was delicate as well, in ways the queen had never been. 

—Fire & Blood

5.2 feet = 1.58 m.

Queen Alysanne’s “semi canon” description matched with Sansa’s a lot. But, from the “semi canon” source to the canon source (Fire & Blood), Queen Alysanne changed from tall (1.72 m) to small (1.58 m).  She kept two features that are very similar to Sansa though:   

Not purple eyes but BLUE EYES

Not silver hair but HONEY-COLORED CURLS 

And these two features are very close to the main features of House Tully: Blue Eyes and Auburn Hair. 

You can google “honey colored hair” and see by yourselves that honey colored is closer to auburn than silver. There are also metas about the matter out there, you can check them out too.   

There is not no mention of high cheekbones in Fire & Blood, but the illustrator of the book, Doug Wheatley, definitely gave Queen Alysanne high cheekbones and a very close resemble to Sophie Turner, the actress that played Sansa Stark in the Series:

This could be a coincidence of course. This is what GRRM has said about book illustrations while promoting Fire & Blood:  

Q: You have a very distinct idea of what the characters look like in your own head, because readers will always take their own?

GRRM: I do have ideas of what the characters look like in my own head but I’m perfectly willing to let the artist do different interpretations… You know, let different artists present their different interpretations of it, I’m fine with that. It’s not photography, so I love the idea of, you know, letting people use their own creativity within limits of course, but I love some of the works, many of the works I’ve bought original is hanging on, you know, on my own walls so…    

In conversation: George R. R. Martin with John Hodgman FULL EVENT 

Drawing Queen Alysanne with a close resemble to Sophie Turner was within the limits, it seems. 

I’m not saying Queen Alysanne and Sansa are identical twins, they don’t have to be, but they share significant physical features. They have differences as well, Alysanne is slim with small breast while Sansa is curvy with a big bosom. 

Queen Alysanne and Sansa also share these traits:

Alysanne was a bright but unremarkable girl; small but never sickly, courteous, biddable, with a sweet smile and a pleasing voice. To the relief of her parents, she displayed none of the timidity that had afflicted her elder sister, Rhaena, as a small child. Neither did she exhibit the willful and stubborn temperament of Rhaena’s daughter Aerea.

—Fire & Blood

This Alysanne’s description matches almost bit by bit these Sansa’s descriptions (including the contrast between Alysanne/Aerea and Sansa/Arya): 

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper.

"And Arya, well . . . Ned's visitors would oft mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. Arya was a trial, it must be said. Half a boy and half a wolf pup. Forbid her anything and it became her heart's desire. She had Ned's long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. I despaired of ever making a lady of her. She collected scabs as other girls collect dolls, and would say anything that came into her head. I think she must be dead too." When she said that, it felt as though a giant hand were squeezing her chest. 

—A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

Tyrion let them have their byplay; it was all for his benefit, he knew. Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces. He felt as though he was back on the bridge of boats, the deck shifting beneath his feet.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. All I could ever do was shout the words.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

INTELLIGENCE

Fire & Blood remarks Alysanne’s intelligence a lot, she was an avid reader and she could have been a Maester of the Citadel:

No man ever questioned her wits.

Later, it would be said of her that she learned to read before she was weaned, and the court fool would make japes about little Alysanne dribbling mother’s milk on Valyrian scrolls as she tried to read whilst suckling at her wet nurse’s teat. Had she been a boy she would surely have been sent to the Citadel to forge a maester’s chain, Septon Barth would say of her…for that wise man esteemed her even more than her husband, whom he served for so long. That was far in the future, however; in 49 AC, Alysanne was but a girl of thirteen years, yet all the chronicles agree that she made a powerful impression on those who met her.

(...)

It is written that the young king and queen were seldom apart during that time, sharing every meal, talking late into the night of the green days of their childhood and the challenges ahead, fishing and hawking together, mingling with the island’s smallfolk in dockside inns, reading to one another from dusty leatherbound tomes they found in the castle library, taking lessons together from Dragonstone’s maesters (“for we still have much to learn,” Alysanne is said to have reminded her husband).

(...)

“If I had not become queen, I might have liked to be a maester,” she told the Conclave. “I read, I write, I think, I am not afraid of ravens…or a bit of blood. There are other highborn girls who feel the same. Why not admit them to your Citadel? If they cannot keep up, send them home, the way you send home boys who are not clever enough. If you would give the girls a chance, you might be surprised by how many forge a chain.”

(...)

For three days she lost herself in the Citadel’s great library, emerging only to attend lectures on the Valyrian dragon wars, leechcraft, and the gods of the Summer Isles.

(...)

Once the initial frost had thawed, his lordship took the queen hunting after elk and wild boar in the wolfswood, showed her the bones of a giant, and allowed her to rummage as she pleased through his modest castle library.

—Fire & Blood

Sansa shares Alysanne’s love for reading:

The queen took Sansa's hand in both of hers. "Child, do you know your lettersSansa nodded nervously. She could read and write better than any of her brothers, although she was hopeless at sums.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Jeyne Poole and all her things were gone when Ser Mandon Moore returned Sansa to the high tower of Maegor's Holdfast. No more weeping, she thought gratefully. Yet somehow it seemed colder with Jeyne gone, even after she'd built a fire. She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother's queen.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

“Do you read well, Alayne?"

"Septa Mordane was good enough to say so."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Here is Arya listing all of Sansa’s artistic talents:

It wasn't fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Arya is also here to tell us that Sansa is good at Heraldry:

No one ransomed the northmen, though. One fat lordling haunted the kitchens, Hot Pie told her, always looking for a morsel. His mustache was so bushy that it covered his mouth, and the clasp that held his cloak was a silver-and-sapphire trident. He belonged to Lord Tywin, but the fierce, bearded young man who liked to walk the battlements alone in a black cloak patterned with white suns had been taken by some hedge knight who meant to get rich off him. Sansa would have known who he was, and the fat one too, but Arya had never taken much interest in titles and sigils. Whenever Septa Mordane had gone on about the history of this house and that house, she was inclined to drift and dream and wonder when the lesson would be done.

—A Clash of Kings - Arya VII

Sansa understands songs sung in High Valyrian:

"I'm sore all over," Arya reported happily, proudly displaying a huge purple bruise on her leg.

"You must be a terrible dancer," Sansa said doubtfully.

Later, while Sansa was off listening to a troupe of singers perform the complex round of interwoven ballads called the "Dance of the Dragons," Ned inspected the bruise himself. "I hope Forel is not being too hard on you," he said.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

Then the heralds summoned another singer; Collio Quaynis of Tyrosh, who had a vermilion beard and an accent as ludicrous as Symon had promised. Collio began with his version of "The Dance of the Dragons," which was more properly a song for two singers, male and female. Tyrion suffered through it with a double helping of honey-ginger partridge and several cups of wine. A haunting ballad of two dying lovers amidst the Doom of Valyria might have pleased the hall more if Collio had not sung it in High Valyrian, which most of the guests could not speak.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

If the Eyrie had been made like other castles, only rats and gaolers would have heard the dead man singing. Dungeon walls were thick enough to swallow songs and screams alike. But the sky cells had a wall of empty air, so every chord the dead man played flew free to echo off the stony shoulders of the Giant's Lance. And the songs he chose . . . He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

But, apparently, Sansa is bad with numbers...

It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

She could read and write better than any of her brothers, although she was hopeless at sums.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Something changed then, because Alayne Stone is doing pretty well as de facto Lady of the Eyrie...

I can continue but this would be too long, so it’s better if I leave you this great post about Sansa’s intelligence: Sansa Smart

And here is GRRM himself talking about Sansa’s wits:  

Up to now Sansa has been a piece, that other people have moved around the board, to achieve her own goals, using her, discarding her, using her for a different purpose: You know, you’re going to marry Joffrey. No, you’re going to marry Loras. You’re going to marry Tyrion. She is beginning to at least try to understand how she can play the Game of Thrones and be not a piece, but a player. With her own goals, and moving other pieces around. And she’s not a warrior like Robb, Jon Snow. She’s not even a wild child like Arya. She can’t fight with swords, axes. She can’t raise armies. But she has her wits! Same as Littlefinger has.

—Game of Thrones Season 4: Episode #8 - A Different Purpose (HBO)

UNDERDOGS

Queen Alysanne Targaryen and Sansa Stark are two examples of “underdogs”:

No one paid attention to Alysanne until she was a maid of thirteen and was left in charge to entertain and charm lords and ladies at court. She grew up in the shadow of her older siblings, she was never expected to be Queen:

Alysanne Targaryen, the youngest child of King Aenys and Queen Alyssa, had been little known amongst the lords and ladies of the realm before then. Her childhood had been spent in the shadow of her brothers and her elder sister, Rhaena, and when she was spoken of at all it was as “the little maid” and “the other daughter.” 

(...)

We know very little about the childhood of Alysanne Targaryen; as the fifthborn child of King Aenys and Queen Alyssa, and a female, observers at court found her of less interest than her older siblings who stood higher in the line of succession. From what little has come down to us, Alysanne was a bright but unremarkable girl; small but never sickly, courteous, biddable, with a sweet smile and a pleasing voice. To the relief of her parents, she displayed none of the timidity that had afflicted her elder sister, Rhaena, as a small child. Neither did she exhibit the willful and stubborn temperament of Rhaena’s daughter Aerea.

—Fire & Blood

The same way as Alysanne was described as “unremarkable”, Sansa Stark is often described as “stupid”:

That gorget wasn't fastened proper. You think Gregor didn't notice that? You think Ser Gregor's lance rode up by chance, do you? Pretty little talking girl, you believe that, you're empty-headed as a bird for true. 

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

"Your Grace," he said sharply. "You truly are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother says so."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

. . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . . 

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

"Everyone wants to be loved." "I see flowering hasn't made you any brighter," said Cersei. 

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

"He will," Sansa lied. "He is very . . . very comely."

"You said that. You know, child, some say that you are as big a fool as Butterbumps here, and I am starting to believe them. 

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

"Her heart was broken."

Sansa would have sighed and shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid. She couldn't say that to Ned, though, not about his own aunt. "Did someone break it?"

—A Storm of Swords - Arya VIII

"I forgot, you've been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head."

That's stupid, Arya thought. Sansa only knows songs, not spells, and she'd never marry the Imp.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

"NO!" Lysa gave Sansa's head another wrench. Snow eddied around them, making their skirts snap noisily. "You can't want her. You can't. She's a stupid empty-headed little girl.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

"Some books. I like the fighting stories. My sister Sansa likes the kissing stories, but those are stupid."

—A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

Sansa as Alysanne was not “remarkable” among her siblings, who often called her stupid, specially Bran and Arya, and was never expected to be the Heir of Winterfell or the Stark at Winterfell. She is the underdog...  

... And GRRM just loves underdogs:

Chris Long: Do you watch sports through that lens (characters developed all the time, unsung heroes/archnemesis of everybody/misunderstood as villains/some heroes are villains in disguise), with your writing background, and your penchant for creating characters, do you look at the characters in sports?  

GRRM: I do. You know, I think America loves the underdog, and we don’t like, except if it happens to be your dynasty, we tend not to like dynasties, you know?

—George RR Martin in The Fish Bowl with Chris Long

WEDDED BUT NOT BEDDED

Alysanne and Sansa flowered and wedded at a similar age. But both remained maidens: 

The princess was three-and-ten years of age, and had recently celebrated her first flowering, so it was thought desirable to see her wed as soon as possible. 

(...)

A modest feast followed the ceremony, and many toasts were drunk to the health of the boy king and his new queen. Afterward Jaehaerys and Alysanne retired to the bedchamber where Aegon the Conqueror had once slept beside his sister Rhaenys, but in view of the bride’s youth there was no bedding ceremony, and the marriage was not consummated.

—Fire & Blood

“How old are you, Sansa?” asked Tyrion, after a moment.

“Thirteen,” she said, “when the moon turns.”

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

“She is old enough to be Lady of Winterfell once her brother is dead. Claim her maidenhood and you will be one step closer to claiming the north. Get her with child, and the prize is all but won. Do I need to remind you that a marriage that has not been consummated can be set aside?”

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

Also Alysanne’s determination to marry his King brother Jaehaerys against her own mother's wishes, sounds pretty much like Sansa's stubbornness to marry Joffrey against Ned's orders.

Sansa, in an act of defiance, ran to Cersei and tells her of her father's plans, pleading that she might be allowed to stay and marry Joffrey.

"How well I know that, child," Cersei said, her voice so kind and sweet. "Why else should you have come to me and told me of your father's plan to send you away from us, if not for love?"

"It was for love," Sansa said in a rush. "Father wouldn't even give me leave to say farewell." She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so willful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn't loved Joffrey as much as she did. "He was going to take me back to Winterfell and marry me to some hedge knight, even though it was Joff I wanted. I told him, but he wouldn't listen." The king had been her last hope. The king could command Father to let her stay in King's Landing and marry Prince Joffrey, Sansa knew he could, but the king had always frightened her. He was loud and rough-voiced and drunk as often as not, and he would probably have just sent her back to Lord Eddard, if they even let her see him. So she went to the queen instead, and poured out her heart, and Cersei had listened and thanked her sweetly … only then Ser Arys had escorted her to the high room in Maegor's Holdfast and posted guards, and a few hours later, the fighting had begun outside. "Please," she finished, "you have to let me marry Joffrey, I'll be ever so good a wife to him, you'll see. I'll be a queen just like you, I promise."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Alysanne ran to Jaehaerys himself and they both elope to Dragonstone:

No record survives of what Alysanne Targaryen said or thought when first she learned that she was to be wed to a youth ten years her senior, whom she scarcely knew and (if rumor can be believed) did not like. We know only what she did. Another girl might have wept or raged or run pleading to her mother. In many a sad song, maidens forced to wed against their will throw themselves from tall towers to their deaths. Princess Alysanne did none of these things. Instead she went directly to Jaehaerys.

The young king was as displeased as his sister at the news. “They will be making wedding plans for me as well, I do not doubt,” he deduced at once. Like his sister, Jaehaerys did not waste time with reproaches, recriminations, or appeals. Instead he acted. Summoning his Kingsguard, he instructed them to sail at once for Dragonstone, where he would meet them shortly. “You have sworn me your swords and your obedience,” he reminded his Seven. “Remember those vows, and speak no word of my departure.”

That night, under cover of darkness, King Jaehaerys and Princess Alysanne mounted their dragons, Vermithor and Silverwing, and departed the Red Keep for the ancient Targaryen citadel below the Dragonmont. Reportedly the first words the young king spoke upon landing were, “I have need of a septon.”

—Fire & Blood

Curiously enough Alysanne’s first betrothed was Orryn Baratheon, just like Sansa’s first betrothed was Joffrey Baratheon.

LIKE IN THE SONGS

Alysanne and Jaehaerys eloping and first wedding had all the element’s of a fairy tale, like the songs Sansa loves to read: 

The Kingsguards as witnesses 

The Kingsguard arrived from King’s Landing by galley a few days later. The following morning, as the sun rose, Jaehaerys Targaryen, the First of His Name, took to wife his sister Alysanne in the great yard at Dragonstone, before the eyes of gods and men and dragons. Septon Oswyck performed the marriage rites; though the old man’s voice was thin and tremulous, no part of the ceremony was neglected. The seven knights of the Kingsguard stood witness to the union, their white cloaks snapping in the wind. 

—Fire & Blood

The Kingsguards fighting against the men that tried to separate the couple

From that day to this, the tale has been a favorite of lovesick maidens and their squires throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and many a bard has sung of the valor of the Kingsguard, seven men in white cloaks who faced down half a hundred. 

—Fire & Blood

This eloping, secret wedding and the Kingsguars involvement reminds me a lot of Lyanna’s “abduction” by Rhaegar and the Kingsguards “protecting” Lyanna in the Tower of Joy...  

A romance unequaled since the days of Florian and Jonquil

“That is how the singers tell the tale, certainly; the swift and sudden marriage of Jaehaerys and Alysanne was a romance unequaled since the days of Florian the Fool and his Jonquil, to hear them sing of it. And in songs, as ever, love conquers all. ”

—Fire & Blood

Florian and Jonquil love story is Sansa’s favorite. 

We are one now, and neither gods nor men shall part us

“As you command, Mother.” King Jaehaerys pulled his sister closer and put his arm around her. “But do not think that you shall unmake this marriage. We are one now, and neither gods nor men shall part us.” “Never,” his bride affirmed. “Send me to the ends of the earth and wed me to the King of Mossovy or the Lord of the Grey Waste, Silverwing will always bring me back to Jaehaerys.” And with that she raised herself onto her toes and lifted her face to the king, and he kissed her full upon the lips whilst all looked on.”

—Fire & Blood

An endless honeymoon

“It is written that the young king and queen were seldom apart during that time, sharing every meal, talking late into the night of the green days of their childhood and the challenges ahead, fishing and hawking together, mingling with the island’s smallfolk in dockside inns, reading to one another from dusty leatherbound tomes they found in the castle library, taking lessons together from Dragonstone’s maesters (“for we still have much to learn,” Alysanne is said to have reminded her husband), praying beside Septon Oswyck. They flew together as well, all around the Dragonmont and oft as far as Driftmark.”

—Fire & Blood

A maid observing her love while training

Every morning Jaehaerys trained with them in the castle yard, shouting at them to come at him harder, to press him, harry him, and attack him in every way they knew. From sunrise till noon he worked with them, honing his skills with sword and spear and mace and axe whilst his new queen looked on.”

(…)

“Jaehaerys was oft brusied and bloody by evening, to Alysanne’s distress, but his prowess improved so markedly”

—Fire & Blood

Jaehaerys training with more than one man at the same time reminds me of Garlan Tyrell and Jon Snow because they do the same:

On the edge of the yard, a lone knight with a pair of golden roses on his shield was holding off three foes. Even as they watched, he caught one of them alongside the head, knocking him senseless. "Is that your brother?" Sansa asked.

"It is, my lady," said Ser Loras. "Garlan often trains against three men, or even four. In battle it is seldom one against one, he says, so he likes to be prepared."

"He must be very brave."

"He is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

Jon swelled with pride. "Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

“When Iron Emmett spied him, he raised a hand and combat ceased. “Lord Commander. How may we serve you?”

“With your three best.”

Emmett grinned. “Arron. Emrick. Jace.” . . .

“Which one do you want first?” asked Arron.

“All three of you. At once.”

“Three on one?” Jace was incredulous. “That wouldn’t be fair.” He was one of Conwy’s latest bunch, a cobbler’s son from Fair Isle. Maybe that explained it.

“True. Come here.”

When he did, Jon’s blade slammed him alongside his head, knocking him off his feet. In the blink of an eye the boy had a boot on his chest and a swordpoint at his throat. “War is never fair,” Jon told him. “It’s two on one now, and you’re dead.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

An Idyll

“Queen Alysanne, for her part, was in no haste to return to court. “Here I have you to myself, day and night,” she told Jaehaerys. “When we go back, I shall be fortunate to snatch an hour with you, for every man in Westeros will want a piece of you.” For her, these days on Dragonstone were an idyll. “Many years from now when we are old and grey, we shall look back upon these days and smile, remembering how happy we were.”

—Fire & Blood

Sansa Stark is sighing somewhere... 

QUEENS

I found this very interesting detail in Fire & Blood: The Three Queens 

In 50 AC, the realm of Westeros found itself blessed with one king, a Hand, and three queens, as in King Maegor’s day…but whereas Maegor’s queens had been consorts, subservient to his will, living and dying at his whim, each of the queens of the half-century was a power in her own right.

In the Red Keep of King’s Landing sat the Queen Regent Alyssa, widow of the late King Aenys, mother to his son Jaehaerys, and wife to the King’s Hand, Rogar Baratheon. Just across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, a younger queen had arisen when Alyssa’s daughter Alysanne, a maid of thirteen years, had pledged her troth to her brother King Jaehaerys, against the wishes of her mother and her mother’s lord husband. And far to the west on Fair Isle, with the whole width of Westeros separating her from both mother and sister, was Alyssa’s eldest daughter, the dragonrider Rhaena Targaryen, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned. In the westerlands, riverlands, and parts of the Reach, men were already calling her the Queen in the West.

—Fire & Blood

This passage obviously makes me think in The Three Queens mentioned by Littlefinger in a conversation with Sansa in A Feast for Crows:  

“You would not believe half of what is happening in King’s Landing, sweetling. Cersei stumbles from one idiocy to the next, helped along by her council of the deaf, the dim, and the blind. I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hoped to have four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now … it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. What little peace and order the five kings left us will not long survive the three queens, I fear.”

“Three queens?” She did not understand.

Nor did Petyr choose to explain. Instead, he smiled and said, “I have brought my sweet girl back a gift.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Thanks to this passage of Fire & Blood about The Three Queens: 

Queen Alyssa, Queen Regent, widow of Aenys

Queen Alysanne, Queen Consort, wife of Jaehaerys (but still a maid)

Queen Rhaena, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned (& Maegor)

We can make the following association with these three ASOIAF characters in a similar position:

Alyssa/Cersei = Regents & Widows

Alysanne/Sansa = Wedded but No Bedded

Rhaena/Margaery = Twice Widows of Aegon/Maegor & Renly/Joffrey

But Fire & Blood has a little surprise in a footnote:

Footnote:

*1.- It should be noted, lest we be charged with omission, that there was a fourth queen in Westeros in 50 AC. The twice-widowed Queen Elinor of House Costayne, who had found King Maegor dead upon the Iron Throne, had departed King’s Landing after Jaehaerys’s ascent. Dressed in the robes of a penitent and accompanied only by a handmaid and one leal man-at-arms, she made her way to the Eyrie in the Vale of Arryn to visit the eldest of her three sons by Ser Theo Bolling, and thence to Highgarden in the Reach, where her second son had been fostered to Lord Tyrell. Once satisfied of their well-being, the former queen reclaimed her youngest boy and repaired to her father’s seat at Three Towers in the Reach, where she declared she would live quietly for the remainder of her life. Fate, and King Jaehaerys, had other plans for her, as we shall relate later. Suffice it to say that Queen Elinor played no role in the events of 50 AC.

—Fire & Blood

The fourth queen was Elinor Costayne, widow, mother of three living sons and one stillborn of Maegor. 

So we can make this final association:

Alyssa/Cersei = Regents & Widows

Alysanne/Sansa = Wedded but Not Bedded

Rhaena/Margaery = Twice Widows of Aegon/Maegor & Renly/Joffrey

Elinor/Daenerys = Widows, Mothers of three living sons: 3 Bolling sons/Drogo-Rhaegal-Viseryon & one twisted and malformed stillborn (unnamed/Rhaego)

Take note how Alysanne is described as “a younger queen” and “maid of thirteen”, because this could be a hint that Sansa Stark is the younger and more beautiful queen of Maggy The Frog prophecy.    

FLORIAN & JONQUIL

Sansa Stark’s favorite love story is the Tale of Florian and Jonquil, and Alysanne Targaryen is heavily associate with that story as well.

As mentioned earlier, Alysanne’s own love story is compared to Florian and Jonquil:

“That is how the singers tell the tale, certainly; the swift and sudden marriage of Jaehaerys and Alysanne was a romance unequaled since the days of Florian the Fool and his Jonquil, to hear them sing of it. And in songs, as ever, love conquers all. ”

—Fire & Blood

The Maidenpool incident

Alysanne suffered an attempt of murder perpetuated by three women at Maidenpool:

The town of Maidenpool was far famed for the sweetwater pool where legend had it that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing during the Age of Heroes. Like thousands of other women before her, Queen Alysanne wished to bathe in Jonquil’s pool, whose waters were said to have amazing healing properties. The lords of Maidenpool had erected a great stone bathhouse around the pool many centuries before, and given it over to an order of holy sisters. No men were allowed to enter the premises, so when the queen slipped into the sacred waters, she was attended only by her ladies-in-waiting, maids, and septas (Edyth and Lyra, who had served beside Septa Ysabel as novices, had both recently sworn their vows to become septas, consecrated in the Faith and devoted to the queen).

The goodness of the little queen, the silence of the Starry Sept, and the exhortations of the Seven Speakers had won over most of the Faithful for Jaehaerys and his Alysanne…but there are always some who will not be moved, and amongst the sisters who tended Jonquil’s Pool were three such women, whose hearts were hard with hate. They told one another that their holy waters would be polluted forever were the queen allowed to bathe in them whilst carrying the king’s “abomination” in her belly. Queen Alysanne had only slipped out of her clothing when they fell upon her with daggers they had concealed within their robes.

Blessedly, the attackers were no warriors, and they had not taken the courage of the queen’s companions into account. Naked and vulnerable, the Wise Women did not hesitate, but stepped between the attackers and their lady. Septa Edyth was slashed across the face, Prudence Celtigar stabbed through the shoulder, whilst Rosamund Ball took a dagger in the belly that, three days later, proved to be the death of her, but none of the murderous blades touched the queen. The shouts and screams of the struggle brought Alysanne’s protectors running, for Ser Joffrey Doggett and Ser Gyles Morrigen had been guarding the entrance to the bathhouse, never dreaming that the danger lurked within.

The Kingsguard made short work of the attackers, slaying two out of hand whilst keeping the third alive for questioning. When encouraged, she revealed that half a dozen others of their order had helped plan the attack, whilst lacking the courage to wield a blade. Lord Mooton hanged the guilty, and might have hanged the innocent as well, save for Queen Alysanne’s intervention.

—Fire & Blood

I find this incident a metaphor of that famous Littlefinger line: "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow." Maidenpool was a place where a great love story occurred but for Alysanne was also the place where other women tried to murder her.  She was pregnant of her first child during the attack and later she gave birth a premature baby, Aegon. He died three days after birth. Alysanne blamed her son’s death on the women who attacked her at Maidenpool. Had she been allowed to bathe in the healing waters of Jonquil’s Pool, she would say, Prince Aegon would have lived.

The same ‘disillusionment’ happened when Jaime and Brienne arrived at Maidenpool in ASOIAF and found the pool full of corpses:

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooton's red salmon still flew above the castle on its hill, but the town walls were deserted, the gates smashed, half the homes and shops burned or plundered. They saw nothing living but a few feral dogs that went slinking away at the sound of their approach. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. "Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool . . ."

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime III

But this awful incident was the cause for Alysanne to take a female knight to protect her. A knight with a very singular name: Jonquil Darke.

FEMALE KNIGHT

Jonquil Darke

With hundreds of knights eager to compete for the honor of serving in the Kingsguard, the combats lasted seven full days. Several of the more colorful competitors became favorites of the smallfolk, who cheered them raucously each time they fought. One such was the Drunken Knight, Ser Willam Stafford, a short, stout, big-bellied man who always appeared so intoxicated that it was a wonder he could stand, let alone fight. The commons named him “the Keg o’ Ale,” and sang “Hail, Hail, Keg o’ Ale” whenever he took the field. Another favorite of the commons was the Bard of Flea Bottom, Tom the Strummer, who mocked his foes with ribald songs before each bout. The slender mystery knight known only as the Serpent in Scarlet also had a great following; when finally defeated and unmasked, “he” proved to be a woman, Jonquil Darke, a bastard daughter of the Lord of Duskendale.

In the end, none of these would earn a white cloak.

—Fire & Blood

Jonquil reminds me a lot of Brienne of Tarth, the True Knight of ASOIAF. Both female knights that competed for a place in the Kingsguard. Jonquil didn’t make it, but Brienne got a place in Renly’s Rainbow Guard. 

After the Maidenpool incident, Alysanne chose Jonquil Darke to be her sworn shield:   

“I need a protector of mine own,” she told His Grace. “Your Seven are leal men and valiant, but they are men, and there are places men cannot go.” The king could not disagree. A raven flew to Duskendale that very night, commanding the new Lord Darklyn to send to court his bastard half-sister, Jonquil Darke, who had thrilled the smallfolk during the War for the White Cloaks as the mystery knight known as the Serpent in Scarlet. Still in scarlet, she arrived at King’s Landing a few days later, and gladly accepted appointment as the queen’s own sworn shield. In time, she would be known about the realm as the Scarlet Shadow, so closely did she guard her lady. 

—Fire & Blood

At this point in ASOIAF, Briene of Tarth is in a quest to find Sansa Stark to fulfill the promises that Jaime Lannister and her did to Catelyn Stark:

“Hear me out, Brienne. Both of us swore oaths concerning Sansa Stark. Cersei means to see that the girl is found and killed, wherever she has gone to ground . . .”

Brienne’s homely face twisted in fury. “If you believe that I would harm my lady’s daughter for a sword, you—”

“Just listen,” he snapped, angered by her assumption. “I want you to find Sansa first, and get her somewhere safe. How else are the two of us going to make good our stupid vows to your precious dead Lady Catelyn?”

The wench blinked. “I . . . I thought . . .”

“I know what you thought.” Suddenly Jaime was sick of the sight of her. She bleats like a bloody sheep. “When Ned Stark died, his greatsword was given to the King’s Justice,” he told her. “But my father felt that such a fine blade was wasted on a mere headsman. He gave Ser Ilyn a new sword, and had Ice melted down and reforged. There was enough metal for two new blades. You’re holding one. So you’ll be defending Ned Stark’s daughter with Ned Stark’s own steel, if that makes any difference to you.”

“Ser, I . . . I owe you an apolo . . .”

He cut her off. “Take the bloody sword and go, before I change my mind. There’s a bay mare in the stables, as homely as you are but somewhat better trained. Chase after Steelshanks, search for Sansa, or ride home to your isle of sapphires, it’s naught to me. I don’t want to look at you anymore.”

“Jaime . . .”

“Kingslayer,” he reminded her. “Best use that sword to clean the wax out of your ears, wench. We’re done.”

Stubbornly, she persisted. “Joffrey was your . . .”

“My king. Leave it at that.”

“You say Sansa killed him. Why protect her?”

Because Joff was no more to me than a squirt of seed in Cersei’s cunt. And because he deserved to die. “I have made kings and unmade them. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.” Jaime smiled thinly. “Besides, kingslayers should band together. Are you ever going to go?”

Her big hand wrapped tight around Oathkeeper. “I will. And I will find the girl and keep her safe. For her lady mother’s sake. And for yours.” She bowed stiffly, whirled, and went.

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime IX

See? Jonquil Darke was Alysanne’s sworn shield as Brienne of Tarh is Sansa’s sworn sword. A sword made of Ice, literally.   

Later, when Alysanne visited the North for the first time, she met another “female knight”, a wildling girl:

Manderly also staged a small tourney in the queen’s honor, to show the prowess of his knights. One of the fighters (though no knight) was revealed to be a woman, a wildling girl who had been captured by rangers north of the Wall and given to one of Lord Manderly’s household knights to foster. Delighted by the girl’s daring, Alysanne summoned her own sworn shield, Jonquil Darke, and the wildling and the Scarlet Shadow dueled spear against sword whilst the northmen roared in approval.

—Fire & Blood

It would be no surprise if Sansa meets another female knight or warrior during her return to the North, a wildling spearwife, or a Mormont woman, or her wild faceless assassin sister Arya Stark.   

To finish with Jonquil Darke, take note that her name and surname are also references to Dontos Hollard, another character that acted as Sansa’s knight. Sansa called Dontos “Her Florian” and House Hollard was once sworn to House Darklyn of Duskendale, that are related to House Darke.

Also take a look at this color refrences:

Jonquil Darke was also known as the Serpent in Scarlet and the Scarlet Shadow.

Ser Joffrey Doggett was also known as the Red Dog of the Hills. 

Ser Dontos Hollard was also called Dontos the Red.

Only Brienne of Tarth breaks this pattern, because she was called Brienne the Blue, during his days as member of Renly’s Rainbow Guard. Wanna know who was the Red in Renly’s Rainbow Guard? It was Ser Robar Royce, son of Yhon Bronze Royce and brother of Waymar Royce, Sansa’s first crush.

But my point with all this Red/Scarlet colored references is that red is a color hugely associated with Sansa Stark, because of the red of her hair and the red of the weirwood tree. 

THE VISENYA AND THE RHAENYS 

During a discussion between King Jaehaerys I and his older sister Rhaena, these words were exchanged: 

“And Silverwing?” asked Rhaena. “Our sister—”

“—had no part in this. I will not put her at risk.”

The Queen in the East smiled then. “She is Rhaenys, and I am Visenya. I have never thought otherwise.”

—Fire & Blood

Rhaena compared Jaehaerys with Aegon the Conqueror, herself with Queen Visenya and Alysanne with Queen Rhaenys. 

This is part of a dichotomy that GRRM work with a lot: the Lady Woman Vs the Warrior Woman. A pattern that started with the Stark Sisters, and is replicated a lot in Fire & Blood with several Targaryen Sisters. Here some examples:

Visenya and Rhaenys

Rhaena and Alysanne

Aerea and Rhaella

Baela and Rhaena  

Rhaena was not exactly like Visenya and Alysanne was not exactly Rhaenys, but Rhaenys and Alysanne certainly shared a lot of similarities:

Rhaenys

Rhaenys, youngest of the three Targaryens, was all her sister [Visenya] was not, playful, curious, impulsive, given to flights of fancy. No true warrior, Rhaenys loved music, dancing, and poetry, and supported many a singer, mummer, and puppeteer. Yet it was said that Rhaenys spent more time on dragonback than her brother and sister combined, for above all things she loved to fly. She once was heard to say that before she died she meant to fly Meraxes across the Sunset Sea to see what lay upon its western shores.”

(...)

Queen Rhaenys was a great patron to the bards and singers of the Seven Kingdoms, showering gold and gifts on those who pleased her. Though Queen Visenya thought her sister frivolous, there was a wisdom in this that went beyond a simple love of music. For the singers of the realm, in their eagerness to win the favor of the queen, composed many a song in praise of House Targaryen and King Aegon, and then went forth and sang those songs in every keep and castle and village green from the Dornish Marches to the Wall. Thus was the Conquest made glorious to the simple people, whilst Aegon the Dragon himself became a hero king.

Queen Rhaenys also took a great interest in the smallfolk, and had a special love for women and children. Once, when she was holding court in the Aegonfort, a man was brought before her for beating his wife to death. The woman’s brothers wanted him punished, but the husband argued that he was within his lawful rights, since he had found his wife abed with another man. The right of a husband to chastise an erring wife was well established throughout the Seven Kingdoms (save in Dorne). The husband further pointed out that the rod he had used to beat his wife was no thicker than his thumb, and even produced the rod in evidence. When the queen asked him how many times he had struck his wife, however, the husband could not answer, but the dead woman’s brothers insisted there had been a hundred blows.

Queen Rhaenys consulted with her maesters and septons, then rendered her decision. An adulterous wife gave offense to the Seven, who had created women to be faithful and obedient to their husbands, and therefore must be chastised. As god has but seven faces, however, the punishment should consist of only six blows (for the seventh blow would be for the Stranger, and the Stranger is the face of death). Thus the first six blows the man had struck had been lawful…but the remaining ninety-four had been an offense against gods and men, and must be punished in kind. From that day forth, the “rule of six” became a part of the common law, along with the “rule of thumb.” (The husband was taken to the foot of the Hill of Rhaenys, where he was given ninety-four blows by the dead woman’s brothers, using rods of lawful size.)

—Fire & Blood

Alysanne

Queen Alysanne looked back on the short-lived glories of her father’s court fondly, however, and made it her purpose to make the Red Keep glitter as it never had before, buying tapestries and carpets from Free Cities and commissioning murals, statuary, and tilework to decorate the castle’s halls and chambers. At her command, men from the City Watch combed Flea Bottom until they found Tom the Strummer, whose mocking songs had amused king and commons alike during the War for the White Cloaks. Alysanne made him the court singer, the first of many who would hold that office in the decades to come. She brought in a harpist from Oldtown, a company of mummers from Braavos, dancers from Lys, and gave the Red Keep its first fool, a fat man called the Goodwife who dressed as a woman and was never seen without his wooden “children,” a pair of cleverly carved puppets who said ribald, shocking things.

(...)

The king’s first progress was meant to be a modest one, commencing with the crownlands north of King’s Landing and proceeding only as far as the Vale of Arryn. Jaehaerys wanted Alysanne with him, but as Her Grace was with child, he was concerned that their journeys not be too taxing. They began with Stokeworth and Rosby, then moved north along the coast to Duskendale. There, whilst the king viewed Lord Darklyn’s boatyards and enjoyed an afternoon of fishing, the queen held the first of her women’s courts, which were to become an important part of every royal progress to come. Only women and girls were welcome at these audiences; highborn or low, they were encouraged to come forward and share their fears, concerns, and hopes with the young queen.

(...)

Men oft speak today of Queen Alysanne’s laws, but this usage is sloppy and incorrect. Her Grace had no power to enact laws, issue decrees, make proclamations, or pass sentences. It is a mistake to speak of her as we might speak of the Conqueror’s queens, Rhaenys and Visenya. The young queen did, however, wield enormous influence over King Jaehaerys, and when she spoke, he listened…as he did upon their return from the Vale of Arryn.

It was the plight of widows throughout the Seven Kingdoms that the women’s courts had made Alysanne aware of. In times of peace especially, it was not uncommon for a man to outlive the wife of his youth, for young men most oft perish upon the battlefield, young women in the birthing bed. Be they of noble birth or humble, men left bereft suchwise would oft after a time take second wives, whose presence in the household was resented by the children of the first wife. Where no bonds of affection existed, upon the man’s own death his heirs could and did expel the widow from the home, reducing her to penury; in the case of lords, the heirs might simply strip away the widow’s prerogatives, incomes, and servants, reducing her to little more than a boarder.

To rectify these ills, King Jaehaerys in 52 AC promulgated the Widow’s Law, reaffirming the right of the eldest son (or eldest daughter, where there was no son) to inherit, but requiring said heirs to maintain surviving widows in the same condition they had enjoyed before their husband’s death. A lord’s widow, be she a second, third, or later wife, could no longer be driven from his castle, nor deprived of her servants, clothing, and income. The same law, however, also forbade men from disinheriting their children by a first wife in order to bestow their lands, seat, or property upon a later wife or her own children.

(...)

Alysanne remained in the Red Keep, presiding over council meetings in the king’s absence, and holding audience from a velvet seat at the base of the Iron Throne.

(...)

“I see no honor in any of this. I knew such things happened hundreds of years ago, I confess it, but I never dreamed that the custom endured so strongly to this day. Mayhaps I did not want to know. I closed my eyes, but that poor girl in Mole’s Town opened them. The right of the first night! Your Grace, my lords, it is time we put an end to this. I beg you.”

(...)

And so it came to pass that the second of what the smallfolk named Queen Alysanne’s Laws was enacted: the abolition of the lord’s ancient right to the first night. Henceforth, it was decreed, a bride’s maidenhead would belong only to her husband, whether joined before a septon or a heart tree, and any man, be he lord or peasant, who took her on her wedding night or any other night would be guilty of the crime of rape.

—Fire & Blood

As you can see, we can easily associate Sansa Stark with these shared similarities between Queen Rhaenys and Queen Alysanne.

SINGERS AND KNIGHTS 

Queen Alysanne was fond of singers and gallant knights, just like Sansa:

Three of the brothers had been singers before taking the black, and they took turns playing for Her Grace at night, regaling her with ballads, war songs, and bawdy barracks tunes. 

—Fire & Blood

Ser Simon Dondarrion

Though his castle was small and modest compared to the great halls of the realm, Lord Dondarrion was a splendid host and his son Simon played the high harp as well as he jousted, and entertained the royal couple by night with sad songs of star-crossed lovers and the fall of kings. So taken with him was the queen that the party lingered longer at Blackhaven than they had intended.

(...)

But the champion’s laurels went to the gallant and handsome Ser Simon Dondarrion of Blackhaven, who won the love of the commons and queen alike when he crowned Princess Daenerys as his queen of love and beauty.

—Fire & Blood

A young and handsome noble man that played the high harp as well as he jousted sounds like Sansa Stark’s ideal man. 

Also, the name Simon and the surname Dondarrion are very subtle references of Jon Snow, an idea that I’m developing in an unfinished meta. 

Ser Ryam Redwyne

Queen Alysanne knew in person to the famous knight Ser Ryam Redwyne: 

It was a time for celebration and celebrate they did, with a tourney at King’s Landing on the anniversary of the king’s coronation. Princess Daenerys and the Princes Aemon and Baelon shared the royal box with their mother and father, and reveled in the cheers of the crowd. On the field, the highlight of the competition was the brilliance of Ser Ryam Redwyne, the youngest son of Lord Manfryd Redwyne of the Arbor, Jaehaerys’s lord admiral and master of ships. In successive tilts, Ser Ryam unhorsed Ronnal Baratheon, Arthor Oakheart, Simon Dondarrion, Harys Hogg (Harry the Ham, to the commons), and two Kingsguard knights, Lorence Roxton and Lucamore Strong. When the young gallant trotted up to the royal box and crowned Good Queen Alysanne as his queen of love and beauty, the commons roared their approval.

—Fire & Blood

Later, Ser Ryam Redwyne served as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard under Jaehaerys I Targaryen and Viserys I Targaryen.

In Sansa’s case, while having a nightmare of the riot of King's Landing, Sansa wished to be saved by Ser Ryam Redwyne Florian the Fool, or Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but none appear:

That night Sansa dreamed of the riot again. The mob surged around her, shrieking, a maddened beast with a thousand faces. Everywhere she turned she saw faces twisted into monstrous inhuman masks. She wept and told them she had never done them hurt, yet they dragged her from her horse all the same. "No," she cried, "no, please, don't, don't," but no one paid her any heed. She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came. She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. Women swarmed over her like weasels, pinching her legs and kicking her in the belly, and someone hit her in the face and she felt her teeth shatter. Then she saw the bright glimmer of steel. The knife plunged into her belly and tore and tore and tore, until there was nothing left of her down there but shiny wet ribbons.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa IV

The only man that effectively, but unbeknownst for her, had fulfilled Sansa’s wishes for a hero, was Jon Snow: 

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. “Life is not a song, sweetling,” he’d told her. “You may learn that one day to your sorrow.” In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound’s voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

“You are refusing to obey my order?” “You can stick your order up your bastard’s arse,” said Slynt, his jowls quivering. […] “As you will.” Jon nodded to Iron Emmett. “Please take Lord Janos to the Wall—” […] “—and hang him,” Jon finished. […] This is wrong, Jon thought. “Stop.” […] “I will not hang him,” said Jon. “Bring him here.” “Oh, Seven save us,” he heard Bowen Marsh cry out. The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Jon said, “Edd, fetch me a block,” and unsheathed Longclaw. […] The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse. Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. “Please, my lord. Mercy. I’ll … I’ll go, I will, I …” No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended. “Can I have his boots?” asked Owen the Oaf, as Janos Slynt’s head went rolling across the muddy ground. “They’re almost new, those boots. Lined with fur.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

WATER AND BREAD FOR THE SMALLFOLK

Alysanne procured clean water for the people of Kingslanding:

Queen Alysanne served each of them a tankard of river water at the next council meeting, and dared them to drink of it. The water went undrunk, but the wells and pipes were soon approved. Construction would require more than a dozen years, but in the end “the queen’s fountains” provided clean water for Kingslanders for many generations to come.

—Fire & Blood

Sansa made Joffrey gave some money to a poor woman with a death baby:  

Halfway along the route, a wailing woman forced her way between two watchmen and ran out into the street in front of the king and his companions, holding the corpse of her dead baby above her head. It was blue and swollen, grotesque, but the real horror was the mother's eyes. Joffrey looked for a moment as if he meant to ride her down, but Sansa Stark leaned over and said something to him. The king fumbled in his purse, and flung the woman a silver stag. The coin bounced off the child and rolled away, under the legs of the gold cloaks and into the crowd, where a dozen men began to fight for it. The mother never once blinked. Her skinny arms were trembling from the dead weight of her son.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

But the people was hungry and wanted bread: 

From both sides of the street, the crowd surged against the spear shafts while the gold cloaks struggled to hold the line. Stones and dung and fouler things whistled overhead. “Feed us!” a woman shrieked. “Bread!” boomed a man behind her. “We want bread, bastard!”

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

Bread that Sansa would have given them, If she had it:

Tyrion called to her. “Are you hurt, Lady Sansa?” Blood was trickling down Sansa’s brow from a deep gash on her scalp. “They . . . they were throwing things . . . rocks and filth, eggs . . . I tried to tell them, I had no bread to give them”. 

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

In the Show they translated this Sansa’s line of dialogue to this one: “I would have given them bread if I had it.”  

Sansa, like Queen Alysanne, knew that love was a surer route to people’s loyalty than fear: 

“The night’s first traitors,” the queen said, “but not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning.” As they left, she turned to Sansa. “Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and you’ll have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

"I will remember, Your Grace," said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa VI

THE NORTH

Did you know that in the ASOIAF Books, Queen Alysanne is mostly mentioned in Stark POVs? Yes, she is. Queen Alysanne is mentioned by Jon, Bran, Catelyn and Sansa. You can also count Samwell Tarly in this list, because he is now a Black Brother of the Night’s Watch and Jon’s best friend. 

Jon, Bran and Samwell mention Good Queen Alysanne’s visit to the North and the Wall.

In Catelyn’s and Sansa’s case, they heard singers singing the song “Alysanne”, that according to Sansa is a sad song.  

Winterfell

In Winterfell Good Queen Alysanne met Lord Alaric Stark. A man that reminds me a lot of Stannis Baratheon:  

Alaric Stark

Alaric Stark was best left in Winterfell; a stubborn man by all reports, stern and hard-handed and unforgiving, he would make for an uncomfortable presence at the council table.  

(...)

Lord Alaric had a flinty reputation; a hard man, people said, stern and unforgiving, tight-fisted almost to the point of being niggardly, humorless, joyless, cold. Even Theomore Manderly, who was his bannerman, had not disagreed; Stark was well respected in the North, he said, but not loved. Lord Manderly’s fool had put it elsewise. “Methinks Lord Alaric has not moved his bowels since he was twelve.”

(...)

Her reception at Winterfell did nothing to disabuse the queen’s fears as to what she might expect from House Stark. Even before dismounting to bend the knee, Lord Alaric looked askance at Her Grace’s clothing and said, “I hope you brought something warmer than that.” He then proceeded to declare that he did not want her dragon inside his walls. “I’ve not seen Harrenhal, but I know what happened there.” Her knights and ladies he would receive when they got here, “and the king too, if he can find the way,” but they should not overstay their welcome. “This is the North, and winter is coming. We cannot feed a thousand men for long.” When the queen assured him that only a tenth that number would be coming, Lord Alaric grunted and said, “That’s good. Fewer would be even better.” As had been feared, he was plainly unhappy that King Jaehaerys had not deigned to accompany her, and confessed to being uncertain how to entertain a queen. “If you are expecting balls and masques and dances, you have come to the wrong place.”

—Fire & Blood

Stannis Baratheon

"Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion."

—A Game of Thrones - Bran II

"Oh, a shred, surely," Littlefinger replied negligently. "Hear me out. Stannis is no friend of yours, nor of mine. Even his brothers can scarcely stomach him. The man is iron, hard and unyielding. He'll give us a new Hand and a new council, for a certainty. No doubt he'll thank you for handing him the crown, but he won't love you for it. And his ascent will mean war. Stannis cannot rest easy on the throne until Cersei and her bastards are dead. Do you think Lord Tywin will sit idly while his daughter's head is measured for a spike? Casterly Rock will rise, and not alone. Robert found it in him to pardon men who served King Aerys, so long as they did him fealty. Stannis is less forgiving. He will not have forgotten the siege of Storm's End, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dare not. Every man who fought beneath the dragon banner or rose with Balon Greyjoy will have good cause to fear. Seat Stannis on the Iron Throne and I promise you, the realm will bleed.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard XIII

A king's first duty is to defend the realm, and Mance attacked it. His Grace is not like to forget that. My father used to say that Stannis Baratheon was a just man. No one has ever said he was forgiving." 

—A Feast for Crows - Samwell I

"A boy he may be, my lord, but … King Robert was well loved, and most men still accept that Tommen is his son. The more they see of Lord Stannis the less they love him, and fewer still are fond of Lady Melisandre with her fires and this grim red god of hers. They complain."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

At this point in ASOIAF, Stannis is in the North trying to take Winterfell from the Boltons. And as Queen Alysanne melted all the ice of Lord Alaric Stark, I think Sansa could do the same with Stannis Baratheon.  Sansa would easily befriend Princess Shireen as well:    

Even a lord as stern and flinty as Alaric Stark found himself helpless before Queen Alysanne’s stubborn charm.

(...)

The longer the queen stayed, the more Lord Alaric warmed to her, and in time Alysanne came to realize that not everything that was said of him was true. He was careful with his coin, but not niggardly; he was not humorless at all, though his humor had an edge to it, sharp as a knife; his sons and daughter and the people of Winterfell seemed to love him well enough. Once the initial frost had thawed, his lordship took the queen hunting after elk and wild boar in the wolfswood, showed her the bones of a giant, and allowed her to rummage as she pleased through his modest castle library. He even deigned to approach Silverwing, though warily. The women of Winterfell were taken by the queen’s charms as well, once they grew to know her; Her Grace became particularly close with Lord Alaric’s daughter, Alarra. 

—Fire & Blood

Night’s Watch

Alysanne then decided to visit the Night’s Watch:

In the North, Queen Alysanne grew restless with waiting, and decided to take her leave of Winterfell for a time and visit the men of the Night’s Watch at Castle Black.

—Fire & Blood

Once at Castle Black she met the Lord Commander: 

Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Lothor Burley, assembled eight hundred of his finest men to receive her. That night the black brothers feasted the queen on mammoth meat, washed down with mead and stout.

—Fire & Blood

Lothor Burley sounds pretty much like Lothor Brune, another of Sansa’s protector.

Curiously enough, Queen Alysanne had this exchange with Lord Commander Burley:

Burley was apologetic for the quality of the food and drink presented to the queen, and the rudeness of the accommodations at Castle Black. “We do what we can, Your Grace,” the Lord Commander explained, “but our beds are hard, our halls are cold, and our food—”

“—is nourishing,” the queen finished. “And that is all that I require. It will please me to eat as you do.”

—Fire & Blood

This exchange is very similar to the one between Sansa Stark and “Lord Commander” Edd Tollet during Season 6 of the Show:

Edd Tollet: Sorry about the food. It’s not what we’re known for. 

Sansa Stark: That’s alright. There are more important things. 

From Snowgate to Queensgate  

Queen Alysanne left her mark in the Night’s Watch forever: 

Above all else, a queen must know how to listen,” Alysanne Targaryen often said. At Castle Black, she proved those words. She listened, she heard, and she won the eternal devotion of the men of the Night’s Watch by her actions. She understood the need for a castle between Snowgate and Icemark, she told Lord Burley, but the Nightfort was crumbling, overlarge, and surely ruinous to heat. The Watch should abandon it, she said, and build a smaller castle farther to the east. Lord Burley could not disagree…but the Night’s Watch lacked the coin to build new castles, he said. Alysanne had anticipated that objection. She would pay for the castle herself, she told the Lord Commander, and pledged her jewels to cover the cost. “I have a good many jewels,” she said.

It would take eight years to raise the new castle, which would bear the name of Deep Lake. Outside its main hall, a statue of Alysanne Targaryen stands to this very day. The Nightfort was abandoned even before Deep Lake was completed, as the queen had wished. Lord Commander Burley also renamed Snowgate castle in her honor, as Queensgate.

—Fire & Blood

This is an action that Sansa could easily replicate as Queen in the North. House Stark was always a friend of the Night’s Watch. And as Queen in the North Sansa would probably have statues to honor her all along the North.

Also the “Snow” gate becoming the “Queen” gate gives me a lot of Jon and Sansa romantic vibes.

A New Gift 

Queen Alysanne proposed a New Gift: 

Lord Stark and King Jaehaerys would never be fast friends; the shade of Walton Stark remained between them to the end. It was only through Queen Alysanne’s good offices that they ever found accord. The queen had visited Brandon’s Gift, the lands south of the Wall that Brandon the Builder had granted to the Watch for their support and sustenance. “It is not enough,” she told the king. “The soil is thin and stony, the hills unpopulated. The Watch lacks for coin, and when winter comes they will lack for food as well.” The answer she proposed was a New Gift, a further strip of land south of Brandon’s Gift.

The notion did not please Lord Alaric; though a strong friend to the Night’s Watch, he knew that the lords who presently held the lands in question would object to them being given away without their leave. “I have no doubt that you can persuade them, Lord Alaric,” the queen said. And finally, charmed by her as ever, Alaric Stark agreed that, aye, he could. And so it came to pass that the size of the Gift was doubled with a stroke.

—Fire & Blood

Jon remembers Ned Stark’s wishes for the New Gift:

Your brothers will not like it, no more than your father's lords, but I mean to allow the wildlings through the Wall . . . those who will swear me their fealty, pledge to keep the king's peace and the king's laws, and take the Lord of Light as their god. Even the giants, if those great knees of theirs can bend. I will settle them on the Gift, once I have wrested it away from your new Lord Commander. When the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together. It is time we made alliance against our common foe." He looked at Jon. "Would you agree?"

"My father dreamed of resettling the Gift," Jon admitted. "He and my uncle Benjen used to talk of it." He never thought of settling it with wildlings, though . . . but he never rode with wildlings, either. He did not fool himself; the free folk would make for unruly subjects and dangerous neighbors. Yet when he weighed Ygritte's red hair against the cold blue eyes of the wights, the choice was easy. "I agree."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

This is something Sansa would do as Queen in the North, to fulfill Ned’s wishes, either with the wildlings or northern people, or both.

Also, take note how Jon is always choosing the redhead girl over a threat to the realm and humanity... After all, Jon is the shield that guards the realms of men.    

The Wall and Beyond

Finally, to finish the North section, we have that Queen Alysanne’s reaction to the Wall and the lands beyond, is very similar to the reaction Jon Snow imagines Sansa would have to that sight:  

Her first sight of the Wall from above took Alysanne’s breath away, Her Grace would later tell the king.

—Fire & Blood

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice.

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he'd dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

And this passage about Alysanne ride atop the Wall from Snowgate to the Nightfort and the descending to the ruinous castle, reminds me a lot of Sansa’s descending from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon:  

Lord Commander Burley himself took the queen into the haunted forest (with a hundred rangers riding escort). When Alysanne expressed the wish to see some of the other forts along the Wall, the First Ranger Benton Glover led her west atop the Wall, past Snowgate to the Nightfort, where they made their descent and spent the night. The ride, the queen decided, was as breathtaking a journey as she had ever experienced, “as exhilarating as it was cold, though the wind up there blows so strongly that I feared it was about to sweep us off the Wall.” The Nightfort itself she found grim and sinister. “It is so huge the men seem dwarfed by it, like mice in a ruined hall,” she told Jaehaerys, “and there is a darkness there…a taste in the air…I was so glad to leave that place.”

—Fire & Blood

"Ser Sweetrobin," Lord Robert said, and Alayne knew that she dare not wait for Mya to return. She helped the boy dismount, and hand in hand they walked out onto the bare stone saddle, their cloaks snapping and flapping behind them. All around was empty air and sky, the ground falling away sharply to either side. There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghostwolf, big as mountains.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

I HOPE MY HUSBAND FALLS OFF HIS HORSE

This is just a funny parallel:

What do those “highborn ladies do whilst their lords are out deflowering maidens? Do they sew? Sing? Pray? Were it me, I might pray my lord husband fell off his horse and broke his neck coming home.” 

—Fire & Blood

Those lords Alysanne was referring to sounds very much like Harry the Heir: 

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. "As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger's bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow." And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Sassy Queens!

A FEMALE RULER

A ruler needs a good head and a true heart. A cock is not essential. —Alysanne Targaryen

Queen Alysanne wanted a female Targaryen ruler. She really wanted it. She tried. She failed.    

This is a bit hypocrite tho... Since Alyssa, Jaehaerys and Alysanne herself wronged Rhaena and her claim to the throne, but still...

You could argue Jaehaerys and Alysanne ruled together, but despite the great influence and counsel of Queen Alysanne, she was not the ruler. Jaehaerys was. Alysanne was only the Queen consort.

Alysanne wished for her daughter Daenerys to be Queen, but Jaehaerys wanted a male heir to succeed him on the throne, so he chose his son Aemon:

“She is so clever, she will be reading to me before long,” she told the king. “She is going to be a great queen, I know it.”

(...)

Jaehaerys loved all three children fiercely, but from the moment Aemon was born, the king began to speak of him as his heir, to Queen Alysanne’s displeasure. “Daenerys is older,” she would remind His Grace. “She is first in line; she should be queen.” The king would never disagree, except to say, “She shall be queen, when she and Aemon marry. They will rule together, just as we have.” But Benifer could see that the king’s words did not entirely please the queen, as he noted in his letters.

—Fire & Blood

Alysanne also wished for her granddaughter Rhaenys to be Queen, she was the only child of the heir to the throne, Prince Aemon, but Jaehaerys wanted a male heir to succeed him on the throne, so he named Prince Baelon, Aemon’s younger brother, the Prince of Dragonstone:

Baelon, a seasoned knight of thirty-five, was better suited for rule than the eighteen-year-old Princess Rhaenys or her unborn babe (who might or might not be a boy, whereas Prince Baelon had already sired two healthy sons, Viserys and Daemon). The love of the commons for Baelon the Brave was also cited.

(...)

The most prominent dissenter was Good Queen Alysanne, who had helped her husband rule the Seven Kingdoms for many years, and now saw her son’s daughter being passed over because of her sex. “A ruler needs a good head and a true heart,” she famously told the king. “A cock is not essential.”

(...)

The queen died of a wasting illness in 100 AC, at the age of four-and-sixty, still insisting that her granddaughter Rhaenys and her children had been unfairly cheated of their rights. 

Sansa Stark has a lot of Queen foreshadowing and imagery around her and she could be the one female ruler to defeat patriarchy in ASOIAF.  

SARA SNOW

Let me tell you about a northern girl, the mysterious bastard girl from Winterfell, a wolf girl called Sara Snow:

But we turn to Mushroom to find the tales other chronicles omit, nor does he fail us now. His account introduces a young maiden, or “wolf girl” as he dubs her, with the name of Sara Snow. So smitten was Prince Jacaerys with this creature, a bastard daughter of the late Lord Rickon Stark, that he lay with her of a night. On learning that his guest had claimed the maidenhead of his bastard sister, Lord Cregan became most wroth, and only softened when Sara Snow told him that the prince had taken her for his wife. They had spoken their vows in Winterfell’s own godswood before a heart tree, and only then had she given herself to him, wrapped in furs amidst the snows as the old gods looked on.

This makes for a charming story, to be sure, but as with many of Mushroom’s fables, it seems to partake more of a fool’s fevered imaginings than of historical truth. Jacaerys Velaryon had been betrothed to his cousin Baela since he was four and she was two, and from all we know of his character, it seems most unlikely that he would break such a solemn agreement to protect the uncertain virtue of some half-wild, unwashed northern bastard. If indeed there ever lived a Sara Snow, and if indeed the Prince of Dragonstone perchanced to dally with her, that is no more than other princes have done in the past, and will do on the morrow, but to talk of marriage is preposterous.

(Mushroom also claims that Vermax left a clutch of dragon’s eggs at Winterfell, which is equally absurd. Whilst it is true that determining the sex of a living dragon is a nigh on impossible task, no other source mentions Vermax producing so much as a single egg, so it must be assumed that he was male. Septon Barth’s speculation that the dragons change sex at need, being “as mutable as flame,” is too ludicrous to consider.)

This we do know: Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon reached an accord, and signed and sealed the agreement that Grand Maester Munkun calls “the Pact of Ice and Fire” in his True Telling. Like many such pacts, it was to be sealed with a marriage. Lord Cregan’s son, Rickon, was a year old. Prince Jacaerys was as yet unmarried and childless, but it was assumed that he would sire children of his own once his mother sat the Iron Throne. Under the terms of the pact, the prince’s firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.

—Fire & Blood

How is Sara Snow connected with Queen Alysanne and Sansa Stark?

At this point in ASOIAF, Sansa Stark is under the disguise of Alayne Stone, a bastard girl, like Sara Snow.  Both young maidens, and both were called wolf girls: 

The green knight laughed again. "Barristan the Old, you mean. Don't flatter him too sweetly, child, he thinks overmuch of himself already." He smiled at her. "Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand's daughter."

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

And regarding Queen Alysanne, Sara Snow is linked with her through their husbands. 

According to Mushroom, Sara Snow married a Targaryen Prince in secret. And who was this Targaryen Prince? It was Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the older son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was a Targaryen Prince with brown hair (Like Jon Snow). He was probable a bastard (Like Jon Snow) son of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Harwin Strong, called Breakbones.

Curiously enough, Jacaerys Velaryon supposed father, Laenor Velaryon wanted to name him Joffrey (Like Sansa’s first betrothed Joffrey Baratheon, also a bastard).

Jacaerys is a traditional Velaryon name. House Velaryon is of Valyrian descent, and its members often have Valyrian features, such as silver hair, purple eyes, and pale skin. But as I said before, Jacaerys had brown hair, like Jon Snow.

Also, Jacaerys sounds like the Velaryon version of Jaehaerys. The short for Jacaerys was Jace. 

Sara Snow and Jacaerys Velaryon married in secret like Alysanne and Jaehaerys. 

Alysanne and Jaehaerys eloped because their mother planned to marry Alysanne with Orryn Baratheon (This is also parallel with Rhaegar and Lyanna).  

Jacaerys Velaryon was already betrothed with his cousin Baela Targaryen. Jacaerys Velaryon broke that vow to marry Sara Snow in secret.

These two couples Sara Snow & Jacaerys Velaryon and Alysanne and Jaehaerys Targaryen are two similar versions of Rhaegar and Lyanna, a Targaryen Prince with a Stark maiden or, in Alysanne case, a maiden that reminds us of a Stark one. All three secret marriages that broke a previous betrothal.

Curiously enough, Cregan Stark (Sara Snow’s brother) and Jacaerys Velaryon  signed “the Pact of Ice and Fire”, a pact sealed with a marriage, a marriage between the Stark Heir (Cregan’s son) with a Velaryon/Targaryen Princess (Jacaerys’ daughter).  

Under the terms of the pact, Jacaerys’ firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.

That pact never happened because Jacaerys Velaryon died childless.

Mushroom said that Vermax (Jacaerys’ dragon) left a clutch of dragon’s eggs at Winterfell. This could have meant that Sara Snow (Jacaerys’ wife) was already pregnant with Jacaerys’ first child and if that child were a girl, she must have married her cousin Rickon Stark. But that never happened.

What did happen was that Jon Snow, the son of a Targaryen Prince with a Stark Maiden, was raised at Winterfell, next to his cousin Sansa Stark, older daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, with whom he can fulfill the “the Pact of Ice and Fire”. 

Rhaegar himself probably tried to fulfill “the Pact of Ice and Fire” with Lyanna Stark. And Jon Snow would be the fruit of that fulfillment, a son of Ice and Fire. 

Here you can read more about Jace & Sara.

ALYSANNE “BLACK ALY” BLACKWOOD

Alysanne Blackwood, also known as Black Aly, is not very similar to Queen Alysanne or Sansa Stark. She was a woman more like Arya Stark. In summary: Not a Lady.

But Alysanne Blackwood became the second wife of Lord Cregan Stark, wich made her Lady Stark, Lady Alysanne Stark.

RICKON STARK

Lord Cregan Stark had a son with his first wife Arra Norrey, a boy named Rickon Stark. And little Rickon sang for the new Lady Stark:

The wedding itself was said to be splendid, however; Black Aly and her wolf pledged their troth before the heart tree in Winterfell’s icy godswood. At the feast afterward, four-year-old Rickon, Lord Cregan’s son by his first wife, sang a song for his new stepmother.

—Fire & Blood

This will probably never happen, but imagine our little Rickon Stark singing for his sister-mother Sansa Stark... But our beloved Rickon is a wild wolf pup so he would probably howl instead of sing, after all: 

“The Starks know no music but the howling of wolves.” —A Game of Thrones - Catelyn V

SANSARA TARLY

If you thought that all this similar/linked names are just a coincidence, that Sara Snow has nothing to do with Queen Alysanne and Sansa Stark, now let me tell you about “more coincidences”, let me tell you about Sansara Tarly.

In Fire & Blood, during the searching for King Aegon III second wife, we meet a character named Sansara Tarly:

Perhaps the boldest letter came from the irrepressible Lady Samantha of Oldtown, who declared that her sister Sansara (of House Tarly) “is spirited and strong, and has read more books than half the maesters in the Citadel” whilst her good-sister Bethany (of House Hightower) was “very beautiful, with smooth soft skin and lustrous hair and the sweetest manner,” though also “lazy and somewhat stupid, truth be told, though some men seem to like that in a wife.” She concluded by suggesting that perhaps King Aegon should marry both of them, “one to rule beside him, as Queen Alysanne did King Jaehaerys, and one to bed and breed.” 

—Fire & Blood

Sansara is literally a combination of Sansa and Sara.

Sansara is from House Tarly, and our beloved Samwell Tarly is, what I call, a Male!Sansa:

Yes, it’s just amazing how similar Sansa Stark and Samwell Tarly are. They have a lot of common interests and they sure would be the best of friends:

Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell’s birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IV

Sam remembered the last time he’d sung the song with his mother, to lull baby Dickon to sleep. His father had heard their voices and come barging in, angry. “I will have no more of that,” Lord Randyll told his wife harshly. “You ruined one boy with those soft septon’s songs, do you mean to do the same to this babe?” Then he looked at Sam and said, “Go sing to your sisters, if you must sing. I don’t want you near my son.”

—A Storm of Swords - Samwell III

And during a few passages in the ASOIAF Books you can read how Samwell prays to the Mother: “Mother have mercy, Mother have mercy, Mother have mercy.”, just like Sansa. 

It is said that Sansara Tarly “has read more books than half the maesters in the Citadel”. This is a direct connection to Queen Alysanne, another book lover that could have been a Maester of the Citadel; and also to Samwell Tarly who is actually studying at the Citadel to become a Maester (Thanks to Jon Snow). Another book lover? Yes, Sansa Stark.     

Sansa - Alayne - Alysanne - Sara - Sansara

What an interesting chain of names George, all of them connected, so subtle of you:  

SANSA’S bastard name is ALAYNE  

ALAYNE can be formed removing a letter S and one letter N from ALYSANNE    

SARA was called WOLF GIRL like SANSA

SARA is a bastard like ALAYNE 

SARA married in secret with JACAERYS just like ALYSANNE married in secret with JAEHAERYS (Also JACAERYS = JAEHAERYS) 

ALYSANNE “Black Aly” Blackwood married Lord Cregan Stark and became LADY STARK, LADY ALYSANNE STARK 

SANSARA is a combination of SANSA and SARA

SANSARA is from House Tarly, like Samwell Tarly who is a Male!Sansa

SANSARA is as cultured and well read as ALYSANNE (Also like Samwell and Sansa) 

GRRM chooses the names of his characters very carefully. For example, here is what he has said about the Stark Sisters’ Names:     

The names Arya and Sansa are meant to represent the polar opposites of their characters, Arya being a hard sounding name, Sansa a softer more pretty name, etc. [Source]

After all of this, if GRRM decides to name a next character of the ASOIAF Universe: ‘ALYSANSA’, I would not be surprised.  

I rest my case.  

[magalidragon]

Coloring | an Adventures of Daddy Jon fic

Summary:  The girls have never cared about Jon’s tattoo before but suddenly take interest on a rainy day, deciding they need some for themselves...with lots and lots of markers. Shame Jon wasn’t paying attention when he left them to color alone...you think he’d have learned his lesson by now..

Excerpt:

Alysanne picked up a pink marker, twirling it in her fingers. She eyed his shoulder. “Why’d you get it Daddy?”

“Get what?” He scraped the glitter onto a piece of paper and walked it to the trash. He sighed at his hands. Glitter stuck all over his palms. He supposed it was a hazard of living in a house with three little girls.

“The too.”

“Tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“Well…” To be honest sweetheart, Daddy had several ales, lost a bet to your crazy Uncle Tormund, and the next day realized he had to cash in. That was the simplest story. The other story was that he actually wanted something to constantly remind him of where he came from, of his outsiderupbringing, and at the ripe age of seventeen, he wanted to rebel. Robb got one too, of a grey wolf instead of a white one. “I wanted something to always be with me. A wolf, that was what they called me, growing up.”

“Oh.” Lyanna swished her lips around, meeting Aly’s gaze across the table. They both appeared disappointed. “I see.”

He chuckled. “Are you almost done with the paint?”

“Yes. I want to put ribbons here.” She pointed to the princess she’d drawn with Missy’s hair and coloring. She giggled. “For her hair!”

“Ribbons? Well that’s a great idea.” He actually thought there might be ribbons and paper in the basement.

As he leaned over to put the paint away, he felt a cold scrape of something on his shoulder. Yelping, Jon whipped around, to see Rhaella laughing, holding her paintbrush in one hand and a marker in the other. “What’d you do?” he asked, trying not to laugh, but knowing she had just swiped pain on his bare skin. He tried to be stern. “Rhaella! That wasn’t very nice!”

“I wanted to color it.”

“Color what?”

“The too!” Lyanna giggled. She pointed at where Rhaella had painted. “His eyes are red now! Really red!”

“It’s not colored in, you need to color in the lines,” Alysanne said, piping up. She pointed and frowned. “They did not do that Daddy.”

Because it isn’t supposed to be colored in

Read here!  https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985057

[aemondgirlfriend]

INVISIBLE STRINGS (4)

Aemond Targaryen x Twin Sister (OC)

Summary: Aemond Targaryen was known as a cold, cruel and frightening prince, but he wasn't like that. Aemond was affectionate, intelligent, obedient and loved his family, but mostly her. Alysanne Targaryen is Aemond's twin sister, but with a different appearance. She had hair like her mother Alicent's, but her eyes were the violet of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon running through her veins. Aemond Targaryen was cold, cruel and frightening, but not with her. What Alysanne wanted, he did. Because it was always her and always will be.

Rating: Explicit/+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warning: Violence and explicit NSFW, third-person POV, bad language, angst, fluff, smut (unprotected sex, oral (giving and receiving), use of fingers)

English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes. This is the first story I've posted on tumblr, so please take it easy on me.

Alysanne stared at her reflection in the mirror while her maid calmly combed her dark hair. It had been weeks since the princess had spoken to the King, and he made no point of speaking to her. The dinners, meetings and celebratory parties were always the same, a part of the family getting together to keep up appearances, but it was all shit.

"- Princess?" she came out of her thoughts and faced her maid in the mirror “— I’m done.”

“—Oh, thank you, dear. You can stay for dinner with us, you know I love your company.”

“— It wouldn’t be appropriate, princess. The King would not approve.”

“—Oh fuck what he thinks. You are my maid, my lady-in-waiting, if I ask you to accompany me to something, no one should interfere with it.” She approached Gilly, her blonde lady-in-waiting with brown eyes, holding her shoulders “— I’ll lend you one of my dresses, you can choose.”

“—But…princess…”

“—Do not disobey your princess’s orders.” Alysanne said in a serious tone, clearly joking, then smiling. “— I’ll fix you up.”

And she did. Gilly chose a lilac dress with some embroidered butterflies and the princess did a simple hairstyle on her blonde locks. They looked in the mirror and hugged each other.

“— You’re beautiful, I bet some lord might even be interested in you.”

Gilly's pale face turned red as a tomato and the princess laughed, linking their arms together. They left the rooms and walked slowly to the main hall, where a celebration was taking place. It had been like this in the last few weeks, since Alysanne and Viserys had a falling out, the King had been throwing parties in the fortress with the aim of finding a groom for his youngest daughter, but it wasn't being easy. Not only Alysanne, but Aemond scared away the princess's potential suitors, scaring them and offering them as lunch to Vhagar. And now Alysanne scared them with Cannibal, saying that the dragon was super protective of her and would kill anyone who got close to her without her approval.

The King didn't like this.

Alysanne asked Gilly to have fun and went to her twin who smiled when he saw her. The purple dress fit perfectly on her body and highlighted her curves, matching perfectly with the color of her beautiful eyes. The princess approached her brother and hugged him, kissing his cheek.

“— You once again attracting everyone’s attention, I don’t like it.”

“—Come on, no jealousy, Aemond.” She adjusted the collar of her black clothes and held his hand. "- Do you wanna Dance?"

"- I do not dance."

"- Please. Or will I have to ask one of these lords, and honestly? I don't want." She looked at him with her pious eyes. “— Then I will ask Aegon.”

She let go of his hand and turned to leave, but Aemond grabbed her wrist, turning her back to him. With his jaw set and his face serious, Aemond pulled his sister into the middle of the room. He spun her around and held her waist, everyone's eyes fixed on the two brothers, the princess who was laughing and the prince who was just doing what she wanted. Everyone knew how spoiled by Prince Alysanne was, but they had never actually seen it happen. Alicent looked at the two with a smile on her face, while the King drank his wine in silence.

“— They’re getting closer and closer.” the Queen said, looking at her husband. “— We should accept Aemond’s proposal.”

Viserys placed the cup on the table and took a deep breath, wetting his lips.

“—Alysanne will marry whoever I choose.”

“— You know she won’t.” the King was silent, turning his gaze to the Queen. “— I never liked your ways, but…I can see how happy they are and how happy they would be. Can't imagine? Aemond has Vhagar and Alysanne Cannibal, they would be strong and good allies for other houses in the future.” Alicent got up from her chair and straightened her dress. “—Think about it once again, husband, and dance with your daughter. It’s time to sort things out.”

The Queen walked away and went close to Helaena who was arguing with Aegon because he was drinking too much. Alysanne and Aemond stopped dancing and the princess was panting, unlike the prince who was just tired. She held his hand and pulled him to the table, taking a glass of wine and drinking it heartily.

“— I see you’re thirsty.”

She looked at her father and let go of her brother's hand, wetting her lips and wiping away the traces of wine.

“— Dancing makes me thirsty and tired.” she pursed her lips, Aemond still staring at her.

"- Is tired? I thought I could have a dance with my daughter.”

Alysanne opened her lips in surprise and looked at her brother who smiled with the corner of his lips, motioning for her to accept the dance.

“— Well, I… I think I can dance some more.”

Viserys smiled and stood up, walking over to her daughter and linking her arm with hers. The two attracted all the eyes in the room, most of them surprised by the King's attitude, especially Otto and his children. The last time they saw Viserys do something like this was when Rhaenyra was just a child and Helaena when she married Aegon, but now it seemed different. All the guests knew that the father and daughter had fallen out, rumors spread quickly through the walls of the fortress and especially throughout Westeros, seeing that scene made some people happy with their reconciliation.

Alysanne danced the choreography she always did with the others, spinning, jumping and laughing, sometimes making the King laugh.

“— I'm sorry for my rude words, my daughter, I've been really hard on you.”

The princess stopped to listen to him, people still dancing around them.

“— I want to see you happy and with your family formed, and… with someone you love.” he held her hands and caressed her palm. “— And that’s why I wanted to make you a proposal.”

Alysanne took a deep breath and waited for his answer with a small smile on her face, wishing it was the answer she wanted.

“— I want to propose your hand to Jason Lannister.” the sparkle in the princess's eyes and the smile on her lips disappeared immediately, and once again she felt her eyes water. “— He is not an old man and he is a good person, I am sure he would be a good husband just as you would be a good wife and they would have beautiful heirs. He’s super loyal to me and it would be nice to always have the Lannisters on our side.” he shook her hands, looking into her violet eyes. “—What do you say?”

She felt her lips tremble and pulled her hands away, her nose itching with the urge to cry. She shook her head and laughed nasally, wetting her lips.

"- You are unbelievable."

Alysanne walked away, pushing past the people who were in her way and left the room, hearing the King shout her name, his eyes following her steps one last time that night. The princess locked herself in her chambers and removed the dress she was wearing, undoing her hair. She changed into looser clothes and let her hair down, grabbing a cape from her hanger. With her dagger at her waist, the princess entered Maegor's passages and left the castle, heading towards the flea desert.

She was going to have a different kind of fun tonight.

[writerbri-archive]

Alternate canon. Ned deals with realising Jon and Sansa’s feelings for each other are not what they should be.

I’ve been re-familiarizing myself with asoiaf history and recently stumbled across Jaehaerys I again so this is loosely based off of his marriage to Alysanne. Also Jojen Reed can’t mind his own damn business and Ned really needs a drink. I hope that you like it!

This got really long so there is an AO3 link.

If you want a prompt filled, all you have to do is ask.

It was hard to pinpoint when it began. It seemed to change overnight, though he knew that something had to be brewing beneath the surface for a long time for such a drastic change to take place. Just after her ninth nameday, Sansa went from spurning Jon to taking his arm in the courtyard, allowing him to escort her, or whispering with him in the godswood, their heads bowed close together.

It upset Catelyn. Ned didn’t have to speak to his wife to know it was true. She had a closeness with Sansa, the most southron of her children. Yet it was hard for her to watch their eldest daughter sit so closely with the boy she resented so much. Another thing for Ned to feel guilty about, for he only fostered the animosity between them with his lies.

As much as he wanted to comfort his wife, he could not say that it was anything but a relief. Jon relished in his closeness with Arya and Robb, but there was something about his demeanor when Sansa gave him her attentions. The heaviness in his eyes seemed to fade away when she smiled and his shoulders eased when she spoke to him, as if she lifted away a burden that did not belong on the shoulders of so young a boy.

It may have been selfish, merely a balm to his guilt-ridden heart, but Ned did not want to tear them apart.

By the time he realized he should, it was far too late.

On Sansa’s eleventh nameday, northern lords gathered to celebrate the oldest daughter of Winterfell. She relished in all of the attention, her smile a fixture upon her face as she received every gift and well wish with a gracious acceptance. When the feast ended and Sansa ate every lemoncake she could, the floor was cleared to make way for dancers as the finest musicians that Ned could find began playing each of her favorite songs.

Sansa allowed herself to be escorted by any man who offered their hand. Robb escorted her several times, their similar hair gleaming in the torchlight as they spun about the floor. Ned himself danced with her, as well as a delighted Bran and a few of the lords and their sons. It wasn’t until she coaxed a very reluctant Jon out with both of her hands grasping his and a pleading look upon her face that he heard a sharp intake of breath beside him.

Catelyn seemed happy all night, nearly as pleased as her daughter at how it all came together. Now she frowned, a deep line forming between her brows as she watched Sansa lead Jon about in a simple dance, color high in her cheeks and the faintest flush upon his. Ned knew why his wife disliked the sight of them but as he watched them dance far more gracefully than he might have expected, he knew that anyone might be forgiven for looking twice.

It was like seeing a younger version of himself and Cat, for all that Sansa favored her mother and Jon favored his. They complemented each other well, a thought that never occurred to him until now. For the first time, as he watched their eyes never stray from one another, he felt the oddest sensation of worry rise within him.

There was no reason to be concerned, not really. Sansa stood no closer to Jon than she did to Robb and even if she did, they were young and innocent. There was no intent in their actions. No hidden motives. They were children. Brother and sister, for all anyone knew.

Yet he could not help but worry if a man’s nature was not so easily subverted. If a father that Jon would never know managed to pass onto him a rebellious spirit. A love for unattainable women. Even more, he wondered if Sansa possessed a hint of wolf blood after all. For the smile upon her face looked more like Lyanna than he’d ever seen before.

There was no true reason to worry, but Ned did so all the same.

“She is too young,” Catelyn argued, her hands held out in supplication as she stood before the desk in his solar. “It is far too soon to consider marriage petitions. We haven’t even done so for Robb.”

Ned sighed, putting aside the letters that he’d been considering.

“It is not unheard of,” he said, meeting his wife’s alarmed gaze. “Lyanna was betrothed to Robert at ten.”

Catelyn dropped her hands, a displeased look crossing her face. He knew it was not a good comparison, yet it was all that he had to offer.

“Girls in the North are betrothed before their brothers. it does not mean that she will be married immediately. We will have a few years yet to prepare ourselves,” he assured her, rising to his feet.

She watched warily as he rounded the desk to take her hands in his own.

“Sansa would thrive in the south,” Catelyn said reluctantly, glancing to the letters before looking back at him. “But I do not want her to go so far.”

“Nor do I,” Ned said, refusing to think of sending one of his children so far if he could help it.

A good northern house would do. Close enough that they could call upon their daughter and her husband to visit but far enough that his fears could be assuaged. For six moons had done nothing to ease his worries. Sansa and Jon seemed to grow closer with every day that passed, some secret connection drawing them to one another.

He found himself on the edge of questioning them many times, wanting to know exactly what changed. Yet Ned somehow knew that they would evade his queries. Even Robb and Arya seemed confused by it and he’d heard of how his younger daughter’s frustration boiled over, each scathing word aimed at her sister, causing more shouting fights between the girls than he could count.

“Let us look, then,” Catelyn said, reaching out to gather the letters. “We shall decide on a proper suitor for our daughter together.”

Ned did not challenge her in this, knowing that she would want a good match as much as he did. He could only hope that this solved the unspoken problem. For he did not know what else to do.

When a red-faced Septa Mordane met him as he stepped out of the Great Hall, weary from hours of petitions from noblemen and commonfolk alike, Ned let out a sigh.

“What has Arya done now?” he asked.

The woman tilted her chin up, inhaling deeply before a pained look crossed her face. She almost seemed reluctant to speak, which was odd. Usually the septa was all too ready to speak out against Arya’s misbehavior.

“It was not Arya, my lord,” she said, bowing her head.

His eyes grew wide with surprise. Ned couldn’t remember the last time that Sansa gave Septa Mordane trouble, if she’d ever done so.

“What happened?”

“Your daughters were working on their stitching under my supervision along with Jeyne Pool and Beth Cassel. Those girls can be rather silly sometimes, but I set them straight if they overstep. I saw no harm in what they spoke of until Sansa reacted rather… strongly.”

Ned gave her an impatient look, waiting to hear exactly what upset his elder daughter so much that it brought the septa running straight to him.

“They spoke of Daryn Hornwood, Lord Stark,” Septa Mordane said warily.

It was all that he had to hear. As soon as news of the Hornwoods and their impending visit spread through the castle, people began whispering of their intent. Especially when they learned that young Daryn would accompany his father. Catelyn convinced him that they should speak to Sansa before the rumors reached her ears but it seemed that they were too late.

“She shouted rudely at the two girls, telling them to quiet themselves with no trace of the lady I know in her demeanor. I gave her a sharp reprimand but she did not apologize. She ran from the room, my lord, giving no care for her lessons or my attempts to call her back.”

Ned reached up, pinching at his nose before nodding his head, knowing that this was partially his own fault.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“The godswood, I believe,” Septa Mordane said, stepping aside that he could pass her.

He ignored her curtsy, striding forward with determination in every step. Ned knew that Catelyn wanted to be there when Sansa learned the truth but this was simply something that he had to explain. There was no time to ease their way into it. Not when she already knew. Not when she reacted so strongly to the news. 

It should not have surprised him that she wasn’t alone in the godswood yet he still drew up short at the sight of Jon’s arms wrapped protectively around her, her face buried in his shoulder. The boy’s head lifted at the sound of Ned approaching and something flitted across his face. A mix of emotions. Anger. Annoyance. Guilt. Defensiveness.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ned asked, keeping his voice as steady and gentle as he could manage.

Sansa pulled away from Jon with a gasp, looking at him with glassy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Her lips parted as she glanced from him to Jon and back before pulling away and smoothing out her skirt.

“Lord Father,” she said, sinking into a curtsy.

Jon bowed to him, murmuring the same.

“You should be in the training yard, Jon,” Ned said, moving closer to them. “And you should be in your lessons with your septa.”

Sansa’s stared at him for a long moment before her eyes narrowed at him. She knew why he was there and what he knew.

“You should have told me of my betrothal,” she said, the words passing her lips in a quick rush.

Her face drained of color and she glanced away from him nervously, realizing that she’d erred in speaking so plainly with her father. Ned could not quite believe it himself, staring at her with no words upon his lips. He truly could not think of what to say.

“Sansa-” Jon said quietly, his hand lifting to clasp around her arm.

Her eyes darted to him and the color returned to her cheeks just as quickly.

“He’s lied to us,” Sansa hissed, just loud enough that Ned could hear. “All these years, he’s…”

She trailed off at the cutting look that Jon gave her, as if remembering where she stood and who stood there with her. They both looked to him, a similar look of alarm on their faces. Ned stepped closer to them, his heart racing not with anger, but with fear. They could not know. There was no chance of it. Yet what else could she be speaking of?

“What do you mean by that, Sansa?” Ned asked, his voice low and tight.

She stared at him warily, fear flitting through her eyes as she twisted her hands together nervously.

“I-I had a dream,” Sansa admitted hesitantly, glancing to Jon.

The boy looked almost ready to run, as if this was far from what he wanted.

“A dream?” Ned repeated, glancing between them.

She nodded slowly, her eyes darting around as if she sought her own escape. Nearly three and ten and she had never looked so fearful in the presence of her father. It was as if she bore the weight of the world in that moment. Ned hated seeing such a burden upon her, though he suspected the nature of it.

“I saw a boy,” she said, her eyes closing for a moment as if she envisioned the dream in her mind. “He wore grey and green, the colors of House Reed.”

Ned inhaled sharply at the house name, almost able to smell the blood clinging to the air. The feel of a sword in his hand. Howland Reed at his side, vowing to keep the day’s events to himself. Sansa’s eyes opened, fixing upon him without flinching as her voice grew stronger when she spoke once more.

“He told me about Jon.”

Ned sat before the fire in his solar, head in his hands as he grappled with everything that happened that day. His daughter, receiving prophetic dreams at nine namedays that told her of the past more than the future. His nephew, aware of his true parentage for years. The one secret that Ned tried to keep, laid out in the open between Sansa and Jon and yet never spoken to anyone else.

It explained everything. He could not blame his daughter for telling Jon, though she admitted that it took several dreams of a similar nature for her to finally tell him. What else was she meant to do? Keep such a burden to herself at such a young age? Jon bothered him even more. The boy knew all that time that Ned deceived the entire world, including him. Was it any wonder that he sought comfort in the sister that told him the truth?

No, not sister.

Cousin.

Their knowledge of the truth concerned him even more. The closeness between them could not be so easily dismissed, even if they were still young. He could remember his older brother at that age. Headstrong and wild. Refusing to bend to the will of others, even his own father. And Lyanna, beautiful and willful. Incredibly protective of those she deemed worthy of it.

And Rhaegar, willing to tear apart a realm for his love.

Would his son do anything less for his own?

Ned knew that he could not alter his path. Though Sansa and Jon knew the truth, he could not encourage what brewed between them. The defiance it fostered. The danger. He would speak to them, though they seemed to understand the gravity of the truth without his interference. Secrecy was of the utmost importance and they had to go on with life. Yes, Ned would do what it took to protect the both of them. Jon would remain a Snow and Sansa would one day be known as Lady Hornwood.

He knew that it was necessary.

He knew that it must happen.

Yet he did not know that Sansa and Jon had quite another path in mind.

“Are you certain about this?”

Sansa glanced up, meeting Jon’s questioning gaze. She knew his concerns. A part of her even shared his reluctance. They were young. Their life had barely begun and now they were taking steps to alter it rather drastically. This decision would most certainly change everything. He was right to ask if she was certain, just as she was right to nod her head without another moment of hesitation.

“I am,” Sansa said, squeezing his hand that was clasped around her own. “Are you?”

“I fear what may happen after this night,” Jon admitted, glancing around as if he expected someone to leap out and demand what they were doing in the godswood in the dead of night. “But I do not fear this.”

His eyes returned to hers and she could not help but smile, turning to place her other hand upon his cheek. Sansa couldn’t feel his warm skin beneath the glove she wore but her heart still fluttered when he leaned into her touch. This was so very dangerous. She could understand that, even at her young age.

But there was something romantic about it as well. Sansa could almost hear a song in her head, written about this day. Anyone else might think her foolish but she knew that her thoughts were safe with Jon. They had been ever since she told him the truth of her dreams. For years, they had only one another to confide in.

That sort of experience changed someone. She may have been young but she felt far older than her age. The boy that visited her dreams told her far more than the truth of Jon’s parentage. His warnings were grave, telling her what would transpire if she did not change her path, and the paths of others. Her father, her mother, Robb, Arya, Bran.

But Jon most of all.

So here they were, heeding the warnings of the strange boy. Sansa had never felt more sure about something in her life. She knew that Jon had his reservations but she knew that he trusted her more than his own fears. It was a powerful feeling, yet one that she treasured. For as much affection as he felt for her, it was returned in equal measure.

“Are you ready?” Sansa asked, her heart leaping in her chest at her own words.

Jon nodded his head, lifting his own hand to press over hers.

“I am.”

They pulled away from one another after another few moments, continuing on through the trees to the heart of the godswood. The great weirwood that loomed over them. The red leaves fluttered in the wind at the bark looked even paler in moonlight. Sansa and Jon did not stop their approach until they stood directly beneath it, their hearts fluttering quickly and their hands trembling.

“I do not know what to do,” Jon admitted.

Sansa glanced his way, remembering that he had never seen such a ceremony before. She’d attended a few, as Lord Stark’s daughter, but his supposed bastard was never allowed to witness it.

“We present ourselves before the gods,” she said, her voice hushed. “Then you ask who gives me away and I answer.”

Jon nodded, though the look on his face told her that he did not quiet understand exactly what to say. It wasn’t the custom, but Sansa knew she would have to speak first. She could only pray that the old gods did not take offense to the odd ceremony.

“Ask me who comes before the gods,” she urged him.

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat before gripping her hand tighter and opening his mouth to speak.

“Who comes before the gods?”

“I, Sansa of House Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Catelyn Tully-Stark,” Sansa pronounced solemnly, keeping her eyes fixed upon the face of the tree. “Who comes before the gods?”

Jon did not answer for nearly a minute, his breaths coming out in short bursts. Just when she feared that he would call an end to it, his voice filled the air.

“I, Jon of House Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Westeros, and Lyanna Stark-Targaryen.”

Sansa pressed her lips together, emotion welling within her. They were truly doing this. It was almost unbelievable, though she knew it to be true. It was almost exhilarating.

“Who gives you away, Sansa of House Stark?” Jon asked, glancing her way.

She looked back at him, seeing the same excitement shining in his eyes.

“I give myself in the presence of the old gods of the First Men, willingly and without threat, to Jon of House Targaryen.”

The smallest of smiles pulled at his lips, as if he couldn’t quite believe it either. Sansa turned to face him fully, reaching out to take his other hand. They stared at one another, the godswood falling silent as if the very world stood still to hear their vows.

“One flesh,” Sansa said, nodding at him to repeat it.

“One flesh.”

“One heart.”

“One heart.”

“One soul.”

“One soul.”

“I am his and he is mine, from this day until my last day.”

“I am hers and she is mine, from this day until my last day.”

Sansa’s heart seemed to soar in her chest, a smile breaking out onto her face that she could not contain as tears pricked at her eyes.

“You may-” her voice hitched and she inhaled deeply, willing herself to remain under control. “You may now cloak the bride and take her under your protection.”

She had no maiden cloak to show her house colors and Jon only had his practical one, but it mattered little to them. Sansa allowed him to shed her dove grey cloak and shivered as he placed his own on her shoulders, reaching around to clasp it at her throat. Jon did not step away, turning to breathe her in as they stood there as one, wed before the gods of their ancestors.

“Now what?” he whispered into her ear.

“We kiss to seal our union,” Sansa said, turning her head to look at him.

Jon hesitated before slowly moving to face her once again. As his hands lifted to cup her face, she felt a warm flush of anticipation fill her. The kiss he bestowed upon her lips was brief and sweet, enough for the both of them. When he pulled away, she met his eyes with stars in her own.

“We are wed,” Sansa breathed out.

He grinned at her, looking more handsome than she’d ever seen him.

“That we are.”

Sansa let out a light giggle, leaning into him to press her forehead to his shoulder. Jon’s arms wrapped around her, holding her close for a long stretch of time.

“We will wait to consummate it,” he said, his voice suddenly solemn. “You are far too young.”

She lifted her head to look up at him, a curious relief unfurling in her chest. She was not ready, she knew that. In truth, neither of them were. His words only made her love for him grow.

“Thank you,” Sansa choked out before throwing herself into his arms once more.

Though it wasn’t exactly like the songs she adored, she knew that Jon was far more than everything she wanted. He was everything that she needed, which was far better than any romantic tale.

“Sansa and Jon are nowhere to be found.”

The words stirred the entire castle into a frenzy. Every room was searched. Every bed overturned and every corner peered into. By the time the two walked out of the godswood, standing close as they dared with Jon’s cloak still wrapped about Sansa’s shoulders, fear had turned to anger that was focused directly at them.

“Where in the seven hells have you been?” Robb demanded of them, though his eyes were fixed upon Jon.

Ned usually would have reprimanded such speech, especially with Arya so close, but his own anger pulsed through him so hot that he could not bring himself to care. Sansa looked at Jon with wide eyes, fear taking hold on her face. Whatever they’d been up to, it was up to the boy to speak of it. Her tongue seemed to have sealed to the roof of her mouth. Jon looked straight at Ned, reaching down to twine his hand with Sansa’s.

The defiance in his grey eyes struck the Lord of Winterfell directly in the chest and somehow he knew. He knew and yet he could not believe that they’d done something so foolish. Ned wanted to whisk them away, to speak of this in private. Servants knew well enough to keep their distance from the family but the others stood far too near. Rickon would not understand but the rest would. He could not let them hear. He could not-

“We wed one another.”

Jon’s words seemed to cast a spell over them all. They stared and stared in disbelieving silence. Arya’s scoff broke it, though there was a stricken look upon her face. Rage brewed in Robb’s who looked about ready to punch the boy he thought to be his brother. Bran looked between them all with confusion. And Cat… Cat’s face was impossible to decipher. She was the first to speak, turning to Ned slowly.

“You will remove him from this castle,” she said in a low voice.

“Catelyn…” Ned sighed.

“You will. You will or I will make it happen myself.”

“No.”

It was not Ned who spoke. Their eyes all settled upon the source of the single word. Sansa, who stood in front of Jon as if to protect him from whatever words would fly his way. For she knew well enough that he would be blamed for it all. She was too young and a girl at that. Jon should have been smarter. He should have been more responsible. He should have known what would result from this.

But there Sansa stood, the same defiance taking hold in her Tully eyes. Her hand still held Jon’s, extended behind her without sign of letting go. She looked older than her years. Far older than she should have. As much as he hated the sight of it, Ned could not help but admire her in that moment. A wolf defending her pack. As natural as can be.

“It is not what you think,” Sansa said, her eyes flitting between them all. “He is not what you think.”

“What do you mean?” Robb finally managed to say, his voice dark with anger.

She looked at Ned, daring him to speak. Challenging him to finally tell the truth.

“My solar,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

A storm raged within the walls of Winterfell that day. Accusations flew, tears fell, and shouts rang off of stone walls. Servants and councilors steered clear of the lord’s solar unless called upon to bring food or drink. At the end of it all, every one of them knew the truth, apart from Rickon. Even the angriest of them knew why the secret must be kept.

And they all knew that another must join it.

For no one could know of the marriage that took place. Even as Catelyn demanded that Ned declare it null, he did not do so for the desperate looks that Sansa and Jon sent his way. He knew now that there was nothing to be done. He waited too long to see the danger in their connection. They wouldn’t be dissuaded, though they would certainly learn the consequences of their actions.

“You will not be wed to Lord Daryn,” he said as they sat around his solar, watching the visible relief cross Sanas’s face. “But you have shown that you cannot make rational decisions when you are together.”

Jon straightened where he sat next to his new wife, his eyes growing wide as a protesting noise passed Sansa’s lips.

“What will you do?” Jon asked.

Everyone else stayed silent, their eyes on Ned as they awaited his judgement. He considered it carefully, hating his position in that moment. As much as he wanted to afford them every joy in the world, and the happiness of a marriage of choice, winter was coming and it was clear that they did not heed the words as they should have. Nor did they anticipate the effect of their decisions.

“I will write to the Smalljon Umber,” he decided, the idea occurring to him. “He is in need of a squire.”

“No!” Sansa cried, leaping to her feet.

Jon didn’t say anything, his face growing pale.

“You can’t!” Arya complained, horrified at the thought of Jon going away to the Last Hearth for years.

“Quiet,” Ned said, giving them both as stern a look as he could muster. “Foolishness will be met with consequences. You gave no thought for your futures when you made this decision.”

“We did,” Sansa said, her voice breaking as tears slipped down her porcelain cheeks. “Please, Father, please do not do this.”

He rose to his feet, glancing at Catelyn only to be met with a look of stone. She blamed him for this, that much was clear.

“You have not legitimized your marriage,” he said carefully, looking back at Sansa and Jon. “Be thankful that I do not declare it null before you have the chance. You will be parted until I deem it wise to reunite you.”

Sansa let out a miserable sob, turning to bury her face in Jon’s shoulder as he stood to embrace her. Every single eye in the room fixed upon them, slowly grasping the reality of the situation. In a single day, everything changed for House Stark. In a single day, everything changed for all of Westeros.

The day that Jon left for the Last Hearth, none could bring themselves to smile. A dark cloud hung over the castle, souring the mood of every man, woman, and child within the walls. Every member of House Stark gathered to see him off, even the Lady of Winterfell, though she kept her distance. Sansa stood at a distance from her siblings, her face pale and drawn as she wordlessly watched Jon prepare his horse.

He bid goodbye to Robb first, stiffly shaking his hand before drawing him into a hug. It did not matter what anger still lingered. It did not matter that Jon was his cousin in truth. They were brothers in every way that mattered and they would not separate with a bitter taste lingering in their mouths. Jon moved to Bran and Rickon next, embracing them both and assuring them that he would tell them of all his adventures when he returned.

Then Arya, who threw herself into his arms and gripped him tightly. They did not say a word to one another. They did not need to. An unspoken agreement passed between them. That they would see each other again. Then he moved away, walking to his uncle with his head held high. Jon would not cower. Not even as he accepted his punishment.

“My lord,” he said, bowing low.

Ned reached out, clasping an hand on his shoulder once he rose.

“Care for yourself, Jon,” he said, staring into his eyes. “No matter what, you are my blood. You will return here one day.”

Jon swallowed his anger and nodded, pulling away and turning his eyes upon the last person that he had to bid goodbye. Sansa looked as if she’d run any second, if only to keep from watching him leave. Yet she allowed him to approach her, her shoulders shaking and her breaths quickening as she blinked against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

“We will see each other again,” Jon promised in a soft voice meant only for her, reaching up to cup her cheek. “I promise, my little wife.”

Sansa nodded, pressing her lips together as she kept her sobs at bay.

“Father-” she managed, shuddering at the high, reedy sound of her own voice. “Father says that I-I will be permitted to write to you.”

Jon nodded, forcing a smile upon his face.

“I will treasure every word and respond when I can, though I cannot promise that mine will be as fair as yours,” he assured her.

Sansa did not smile, squeezing her eyes shut and inhaling deeply to calm herself. Jon took the chance to press a kiss to her forehead, knowing that he could not do anything more. He lingered far longer than he should have but a part of him dared any man to pull him away. When he finally stepped back, Sanas opened her eyes and fixed him with a pleading look.

As much as Jon wished that he could submit to her and stay, there was no true choice. He might not have been Ned Stark’s son, but the man was still his liege lord and he was duty bound to obey him. Taking his last look at his family and his home, he nodded to himself before mounting his horse, ready to be escorted by the younger Jon Umber himself.

Jon tried not to look back as they rode through the gates but it felt far too impossible to restrain himself. As he glanced over his shoulder, a cool wind whipped Sansa’s hair from her shoulders, giving him one last look at his beautiful wife. Then the gates shut behind them and he continued on, not knowing that the Stark family stood fixed in their spots long after his departure.

Sansa did not look at a single one of them, drawing the cloak that Jon left behind tighter around her shoulders as she stared at the gates. Robb drew Bran into his side and Arya hid her face from the rest of them, refusing to let them see her tears. Catelyn lifted Rickon into her arms as she walked to her husband’s side.

“What will we do?” she asked, knowing that this was another trial they would have to face together, no matter how furious she was with him. “When he returns?”

Ned did not so much as move for several long moments before finally looking her way.

“I do not know,” he admitted, glancing past her at Sansa before meeting her eyes again. “I will need help.”

Catelyn stared at him for a long stretch of time before nodding her head.

“Yes, I suppose you will.”

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

                                          THE WHITE FAWN

                                                          ao3

What Arya wants it to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. And maybe, just maybe, Sansa's songs are no so stupid after all. // What if Arya and Gendry would never part?

Arya is, as more often than not lately, awaken by the high-pitch shrill of a newborn babe piercing her ears and immediately making her breasts fill up. With a pained groan, she untangles herself from her sleeping husband’s arms and tumbles off the cot; it’s still dark outside, so early, that the birds are still quiet, but late enough that the embers in the fireplace have already gone cold. Her breath forms a mist in the air when she exhales.

Winter is coming.

The new babe is a girl, which makes her head spin a little bit. She has only ever carried boys and took care of boys; boys, in her mind, are a simpler breed, easier to understand. She has never been that good at talking with other girls or making friends among them, even when she was just a lass and that remains one of the very few things that haven’t changed upon her flowering and marriage. But her little girl is cute beyond measure, with her button-like nose and beautiful eyes, blue and round as a doe’s. Gendry adores the very sight of her, cradling her in his arms for hours and skipping work just to stare at her in awe. After weeks of deliberations, they have decided to name her Alysanne and began calling her Aly, which, Arya reasons in her head, is a good enough compromise between going with something too fancy and attention-catching and completely forgetting any high-born connotation.

True, Arya is no lady now and Alysanne will never be a lady anyway. But she is of North still, with Stark blood running in her veins and she deserves a name to reflect this. A name carried by Good Queen Alysanne and Black Aly, wife of Lord Cregan Stark who gave her maidenhead to a horse and who ranked amongst Arya’s favorite characters in Old Nan’s bedtime stories.

‘’Shhhh, sweetling, don’t cry.’’ – Arya reaches inside the wicker basket set next to the dark fireplace and swiftly raises her daughter up, cradling her to her chest. – ‘’Shhh, we don’t want to wake your father up, do we?’’

For a second or two Arya tries to remember times when she did not know how to nurse a babe, how to lull it to sleep with a song or shush its fussing, but it seems a lifetime away. She recalls though, how miserable she was when Jory was born, how helpless she felt. Gendry would come back from the forge and find her sitting on the floor, crying alongside their newborn boy. Her nipples cracked so that it was too painful for her to nurse and she would stain all her shirts with blood and milk. And Jory would sob and sob, for hours with no end; his little body squirming in her arms and his little face turning all purple.

She recalls wishing desperately for her mother, for Sansa, for any woman really to just appear out of thin air and teach her what she never wanted to learn until it was too late to find any teacher.

How they survived those first few months – her and Gendry, barely grown themselves and with no one to guide them – she has no idea, but in time they have learned. Slowly and painfully, but they did. And now she is left thinking how unfair it was for poor Jory to suffer her unsteady hands and Gendry’s too rough grip, when his brothers and sister had it so much easier.

Funny enough, she has never understood why her mother wanted so many children in the first place, but she understands it now so perfectly, as she sits down on the threshold, wrapping a blanket around her daughter and herself and watching  Aly suckling, all content and calm. It gets easier. It gets addicting. It wrecks her heart every time in the most wonderful way to bear yet another child and watch them grow.

From their little hut up on the hill, she can see the pink stone walls of Maidenpool, strangely ethereal while surrounded by the early morning mist. The sun’s barely up, but she knows that the silver waters of Bay of Crabs are somewhere beyond it. The fisherman must get be getting ready to sail, if they are not aboard already.

And behind her, inside the house, there is a quiet gruff and then the sound of the heavy footsteps, before a pair of lips is pressed to Arya’s cheek, warming her up better than any blanket could.

‘’Well, good morning, m’lady. Seems someone broke their fast early today.’’

*

Autumn sun does not color her skin, but instead makes it all spotty, scattering little brown freckles across her nose and cheekbones.

They lay together on the sweet-smelling grass and Gendry attempts to count them all, except either he is worse with sums than she though he is, or he makes mistakes just to start over again. She just stays still with her eyes closed and savors the moment; it’s rare now, that they have an afternoon like that all to themselves. It’s getting colder and colder, and their house is far from finished. Between slaving in the forge in the Maidenpool and constructions in every free time he has, Gendry falls asleep the moment his head rests on the flat surface. And she’s so tired now also, straight to her bones. She has taken to tending to horses in the local minor lord’s stables and that might be quite much more work than she thought it would be.

But Gendry is not sleeping now. And she is not tired.

‘’Leave ‘em be, they will fade soon enough.’’

‘’I don’t want them to fade. Look at you.’’ She feels the tip of his nose pressing against hers  ‘’You have spots like a fawn.’’

I could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs. Isn’t that what I used to imagine?

‘’M’lady.’’ He kisses her jaw.

‘’My forest lass.’’ He kisses her neck.

‘’Mind your words, Waters.’’ She growls, but there is no bite in her voice, no heat. Hard to be angry, when the sun is so warm and the grass is so soft, and Gendry puts his hand on her barely swollen belly oh-so-gently and kisses it also, through layers upon layers of clothing but still somehow managing to make her shiver.

‘’My love, then.’’

She opens her eyes slowly and his face is right above hers, blue eyes sparkling. And so, she smiles, as widely as she can, because why shouldn’t she? This is hers. All this happiness is hers. She can as well own it.

‘’This one I can approve of.’’

*

They are married on her ten and sixth name day, Brotherhood in a half-circle around them chanting ‘’Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” to the rhythm of the stomping boots and whistling sharply when they do.

She has a crown of wildflowers on her head – forget-me-nots, poppies, pennyroyal and hellebores entwined with weeds and wheat, and tied with white ribbons.  Jeyne and Willow presented it to her as a wedding gift, along with a maiden cloak. No sigil on it, but its grey trimmed with white and makes her choke on tears when she looks at it.

(These are poisonous, y’know?-  he asks her in their marriage bed on the Crossroads Inn, lazily playing with the strands of her hair and a few flowers still left tangled in them.

Fitting for me. - she only mumbles in response, tired and content, her eyelids heavy.

He chuckles quietly and it’s such a joyful sound that her heart clenches in her chest.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, Arya. – comes his whisper and then he caresses her bare thigh with a blade of pennyroyal until blood rushes back to her head, until her breath catches; with this, all the conversations and her tiredness are forgotten.

Later, she thinks the girls might have tried to suggest something with their choice of flowers. But, ironically or not, her crown stays discarded into parts on the inn’s floors and she does not drink moon tea after that night or ever, for that matter. Heddle sisters subtle offer is declined before it could be even considered)

Her dress – because she actually dons a dress, to surprise of everyone – is bought with blood money Arya had taken from the raper whom she had killed a fortnight before.  After she left him choking on blood on the King’s Road, she was unsure what she should do with the heavy sack. She couldn’t give it back to the lass he abused and robbed, for she was gone along her parents, so she kept it in her pocket for a day or two and then slipped away to the marketplace nearby.  The dress has short sleeves and is made from simple yellow silk, which makes Tom Sevenstrings lets out a bark of laughter and plays Forest Love all night long… which he would do regardless, but maybe, just maybe, this one time Arya does not mind.

The flower crown, the yellow dress, her dark hair washed and combed; it is all worth it, just to see the sun in Gendry’s eyes when he is looking at her.

She loves him, she loves him, she loves him. She says her vows with all the conviction, all the sweetness she can manage to put in speech and she watches as he blooms with happiness when hers ‘’I take this man’’ rings loud and clear. He kisses her as if it was their last night and not the first of many and, in between kisses, promises to let her guard him with her sword, which makes her laugh breathlessly against his lips.

I wish Jon could be here. – crosses her mind briefly, but then there is dancing and singing and bedding, and she refuses to think of past long gone anymore.

*

‘’The Brotherhood is going North, to fight the dead. ‘’ he pauses for a second, his eyes glued to his hands. “You can go home. You know Bolton’s are gone – I heard your brother Jon is the new King in the North. You are a Northern princess again, Arya.’’

Home.

Her heart beats in her chest painfully fast.

Home.

What does it mean now?

She hasn’t seen Winterfell since she was a child, since she was nine. She barely remembers it now; the summer snows, the Godswood, her father’s laughter, her mother’s gentle smile. Jon’s smile.

She could take it back, have it back. But then she couldn’t.

Home.

Unwillingly, the thoughts of Gendry’s eyes and greenery of Riverland’s forests cross her mind.

“A princess. Do you think this is what I’m fit for, Gendry?’’

Back to Winterfell, to her remaining siblings; back to the life of highborn lady with servants and manners, who is not supposed to associate with smallfolk. Who is not supposed to fall in love with bastard base-born blacksmiths, even if her bastard base-born blacksmith is a knight. Even if he is a good person, a good man, the best one she has ever met.

The one who saw her starving and desperate, and hopeless. The one who would wash the blood off her skin and guard her against cold.

Gendry chuckles at that, reaching out to take her hand in his. His skin is rough, but his touch is delicate; he is always delicate with her, even when he tries not to be. Gently, he runs his thumb across her knuckles.

‘’Those little things – but not so soft anymore, huh. Suppose you don’t want to trade your Needle for a regular one still?

She lets out a bark of laughter. Why do you know me so well? Why are you like this?

‘’Yes, I’m dreaming of becoming a master embroiderer indeed.”

Gendry’s smile is a rare thing, but he has always gifted her with it generously and freely. I would make her stomach feel funny even before she flowered and now it has a dangerous power over her; she can never get enough of it, she can never stop mourning how short are those moments of happiness painted on his face. It’s like seeing the sky clear up for a moment before storm clouds cover it again. And this time too, soon enough the corners of his lips drop.

‘’But you miss your family, right? You belong with them.’’ – there is tightness in his voice, as if he was stopping himself from saying something.

She takes a deep breath, bracing herself. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Stop being a coward, Arya.

‘’I don’t know,’’ she answers quietly, putting her other hand on top of his. ‘’I don’t know if I belong with them anymore.’’

Winterfell would not be like in her rainbow-colored memories. Jon would be a stranger to her now, Sansa too. And she would be a stranger to them, after everything she went through. She could go North and be a highborn lady again, if she couldn’t ride with Brotherhood anymore. She could learn how to love her siblings again.

Until they would marry me off to some lesser bannerman just to forge an alliance. – voice cold as a winter wind hisses inside her head

Jon wouldn’t do it!

The Jon you knew wouldn’t. But he is a King now. – she thinks of Robb, how easily he traded her hand for a godsdamned bridge, how he sold her without a second thought but married for love himself. – You will never be free in Winterfell. You have never been free there.

You will marry a high lord and rule his castle.

Do you want that, Arya?

What do I want, really?

What she wants it to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. And maybe, just maybe, Sansa's songs are no so stupid after all, for she supposes she could forget Riverlands, mud on her face and wind in her hair. She could forget Brotherhood and Heddle sisters and Hot Pie. She could put Needle down and never mention being an outlaw again.

But there is one thing she refuses to sacrifice.

She raises her head, until her eyes found Gendry’s stare. His eyebrows are furrowed with concern, his lips pressed tightly together. Oh, how she loves his face. How she loves his heart.  How much she wished to never part with him. She cannot even recall how it was to be on her own, without him.

Father is dead. Mother is dead. Robb is dead. Bran and Rickon are dead.  There is nothing waiting for her in the Winterfell, not anymore.  But maybe, just maybe, she can have something here.

‘’I don’t think my family is in the North.’’ – she says slowly and then waits patiently, watching Gendry eyes widening as the meaning of her words unfolded in his head.

‘’Arya-‘’

‘’Could you be my family, Gendry? If Brotherhood leaves… could you stay with me?’’ – she blurts out hastily, before she can stop herself, before she can cage her heart in her chest as she did ever since she saw Gendry slow dancing with Jeyne Heddle and bitter jealousy almost choke her, he’s mine, mine, mine stuck in her throat.

For a second or two he remains silent, still holding her hand and staring at her face as if he was trying to read it. And then, apparently getting his fill,  he swiftly pulls her closer, so that her body is flush against his. He cups her cheeks, letting his forehead rest on hers.

She feels as if she was on fire, her whole skin tingling head-to-toe, trembling in anticipation. Her lips part slightly and she can see his eyes darkening.

‘’Aye, Arya. I will be your family.’’ He says quietly, his voice low and solemn.

“Even when the dead come down South and kill us all?’’

It’s a far more serious question than she intended it to be, but she’s still rewarded by his smile for asking it.

‘’Well, I hope you will protect me then.’’

Arya seals her fate with a kiss; her fingers carding through Gendry’s hair and the light of the setting sun warming her cheeks.

*

She doesn’t wonder about her siblings very often, to be honest.

But sometimes, in rare moments of calm and solitude, those thoughts just creep on her. What would her younger brother, Lord Bran Stark do, if she knew who she became? What would her favorite brother, King Jon Targaryen do?  What would her little brother, Sir Rickon Stark do? More interestingly, would her sister, lady Sansa Clegane, gasp at Arya’s choices considering her own?

These are just fantasies she indulges in, nothing that breaks her internal conviction that where she is, is precisely where she is supposed to be.  All of her surviving boys rose so terribly high. She must seem like a fuzzy memory right now, just like they are to her.  As happy as she was when she learned that Bran and Rick turned out to be fine and whole after all, it did not change her mind, so she supposes nothing will. The Stark Pack is no longer and she has a new pack now. Four boys for four brothers; one girl for one sister.

But sometimes, just sometimes, at the dead of the night, she lays with her cheek pressed to Gendry’s chest and tries to recall her parents' faces and voices.  She wonders how outraged Mother would be to see her living under the Tully dominium but not in the fine castle but in one of the huts on the rolling hills near Maidenpool. And then she would inevitably ponder on if her Father would be disappointed to see whom she decided to spend her life with.

There are tales of her, endless speculation how and when she disappeared from the history scrolls into the dark. She became quite a story. Arya Stark, Lost Princess of the Realm. Who would have thought that in the world of Undead and dragons and hidden Targaryen heirs, she is now Arya, blacksmith’s wife with no surname at all and a litter of children around her, equally nameless; no princes nor knights, but well-fed and well-loved they are. Happy.

I am no lady, but I am well-loved also. If Sansa or Jon or Bran or Rick really love me... If Father and Mother really wanted me to be happy… That should be enough for them. – she reasons in her head those nights, pressing herself closer to Gendry until he tightens his hold of her. Listening to her children steady breathing and her husband’s heartbeat, she drifts into dreams of snow and blood and wolves.

*

White linen is billowing on the wind, drying on the clothesline. Her sons are running up the hill; Arya watches their four dark heads as they meet with Gendry halfway; he leans down, somehow scoops them all at once into his open arms and spins around. Their shrieks of joy are so loud that Aly wakes up in her wicker basket and coos, waving her little hands to have her picked up.

There is sweetness in the air; it tastes like summer, summer that never ends.

Arya inhales deeply and kneels on the ground, letting baby grab her long dark hair. Her husband is almost home, their boys in tow.

I need no songs, my brothers can keep them, my sister can keep them; this is enough.