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rise-my-angel · 2 months

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Heart of the Great Wolf

58 - One Whirlwind to the Next

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 20.2k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mental duress, references to cheating/infidelity, past rape and sexual assault, self harming behavior, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v

Notes: Good news the smut drought is over, finally. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Steady footstep were all which were heard for sometime. The walls around dark as the gentle whistling of wind through the stone walls the only accompanying sound. At least aside from the crackling of fire. One figure against the torch flames stationary along the path. Still so late, or perhaps early being the word more appropriate. Awake for now the betterment of nearing two hours and still your brain went in too many directions to settle.

Having walked Sansa back to her chambers, you found yourself standing alone in the corridor. Hands together as your fingertips toyed with one another trying to consider it all. Eyes wide as you glanced down, you considered someone else you had yet to see upon your return. One which you had only been told about when asking your mother in a moment alone the afternoon previous. It was smart, her idea.

Quick and clever knowing that with who was here, there were few which should never have their paths crossed from what was known. Few knew, but she had moved quickly considering that it was impossible to know what the man would do should he find him so directly. Hidden away, no doubt much to his dismay and you considered that in the early hours you could make your way and few would make notice of it.

A stretch of rooms within the castle that were seldom used but doors locked when not used, none would consider it odd. Arrangements had been made to handle the small details of being in the room for some length of time, but still captivity would it feel like. He may or may not be happy to see you, knowing you were not there to simply tell him he could be free to walk about but this was more important then appeasing someone’s wishes.

Only to make your presence known did you knock gentle on the door, “It’s me.” Slipping in only enough as you unlocked it, did he switch from what looked apprehensive and defensive to a sudden slouch in his shoulders. Moving to where he had gotten up from his bed, sitting horizontal across the way with his back against the wall as you approached.

Looking down to him, it was so question he was playing a game of who would speak first. His expression flat and agitated behind it’s tensity, you did not blame him but you tested the waters of his patience all the same. “Dare I ask how you are fairing?”

Gendry’s response, was precisely what you expected. Dripping in a dryness. “Great. Never better.”

Voice flat as you gently made your way to sit beside him, your feet barley reaching over the side as you let them outstretch, one ankle resting over the other, the lack of dryness by the skirt of your dress’s very edge showcasing how even in such hours you had been outside for some time before now. “You do understand you aren’t being kept here as a prisoner?”

The lack of inflection was indicative of both his irritated state and no doubt, his own amusement. “Of course not, I just can’t leave. Can’t go anywhere. Can’t do anything or interact with anyone except for the two people who bring me food. One of which is your mother. All the freedoms I could ask for.”

Hardly a sigh left you. “There is a difference between being held prisoner, and being hidden away for your own safety.” When he as dryly, asked what, you only raised an eyebrow glancing to him from the side. “Prisoners are revoked their freedom due to the unsafe nature of their presence within a place. You are being kept hidden away so that those same sorts of people, cannot get their hands on you for their own purposes.” His glance met yours as you waited for him to either grasp that or not.

“And Lord Baelish is one of those people?”

You did not hesitate, nor did your voice continue so passively. Dropping down to something much more serious as was the flashing glint behind your eyes. “The gold cloaks did not come looking for you on their own. Joffery had every bastard of Roberts hunted down and slaughtered in Kings Landing.” Only a twitch in his jaw showcased any reaction, not that you blamed him. You scarcely had known how to feel about such information when you learned it. “Who they were and where was not publicly common knowledge. They had to be told names and where to find them.” Gendry only asked if it was him who told Joffery. “He was one of them. He had spies everywhere. He was the reason Lord Stark and myself had found you in the first place. Someone who already knew told Lord Arryn, one of Petyr Baelish’s spies saw, and thus he later knew that you were there, and who you were.”

Shaking his head mostly to himself, you could still sympathize with such a struggle in his mind. The acceptance of being an unknown role in such a game you had no interest in. “What’s a man like him even going to do if he finds out?”

Perhaps that was the worst answer. That you did not quite know. What use he would be, was something only Littlefinger would understand and nor did you think it would be wise to attempt learning it. “For over five years men have been fighting over the Iron Throne. And killing those who get in their way. For all we know, you’re Robert Baratheon’s last living son. The Lannisters would love to see you dead, and Petyr Baelish would sell you to them, walk you himself to your death just for a single chance of gaining some form of power from it. And trust me, your death that time would come far quicker then the last time you were taken prisoner by a royal family.”

From your position, his head dropped as did the weight in his shoulders. Voice it was evident, that was lightened a bit too from the breathlessness of the words. “So, they want to kill me for something I didn’t even know I had something to do with until two years ago.” Answering much more in his fashion, a single word of agreement. His hands wrung together as his forearms hung over his bent knees, your own fingertips begging to dig into the others skin from behind your gloves. “We’re not really people to you, are we? Just a million different ways to get what you want.”

You took no offence personally, nor did you think he intended it towards you as such. Inhaling, your voice steady moreso then his, but not quite as affirmative as he may have needed. “Petyr Baelish doesn’t see anyone as equal to him. Which means not you at the lowest, nor highborns such as myself are people. Not to him. No one here knows who you are. I am attempting to keep it that way, because I’d rather see you alive then in danger known out in the open.”

Sensing his gaze on you more questioningly, you allowed that silence between until he found the correct words in his mind to get it across out loud. “I’m starting to think maybe I should’ve kept my fake name. Make it less obvious I’m here, or that I have anything to do with whatever you highborns are always up to.”

The smirk was small, but it passed over your features. “If you don’t trust highborns, why did you reach out to me?”

On his own, a smirk identically matching fell over his expression. “Couldn’t tell you.” Your brows narrowed in question, but you needed not ask he elaborate. “I was alone, didn’t know where to go, and was too paranoid to stay in one place too long. Everything the way Arya talked about you, you didn’t sound like you were like your father, so I just did it. And spent months after feeling stupid for thinking you’d care.”

Both smirks grew as did your jest. “My apologies for showing up and ruining that neglectful image.”

The quiet was actually, for a while, quite comfortable. Neither needing to fill the air, content just in that night darkness without interruption needlessly. Though, questions no doubt rolled through his head as by the time either spoke again he had breached the subject most obvious between you. “So, what was it like? Out north of the Wall?”

A deep sigh left you, the feeling of uncertainty of much, or nearly all passing through. Neither you nor Jon had spoken much of it, but you did not need too. Speaking such things in a way that made sense, was another issue. Thus, a non answer was your choice of path. “It’s a long story.”

Dismissive as he was sarcastic, your eyes rolled over to his in a glare he knew you didn’t mean. “Best not then. I’m a bit busy.” Both your glare and his amusement held at a stand off until he found a better directional leading question. “Alright, I’ll start over. How are you?” The tone was immense to the degree one would need scale a mountain to see the tops of it’s reach in mocking.

You however, took the path least antagonizing thus far. “Well, I was thrown down a hill in an explosion, kidnapped, travelled in the middle of the night trying to fight for my life to return to Jon, jumped in a freezing river to escape being attacked by the dead, and to top all of that off, I gave birth a little over a week ago.” You could see the dramatic head turn as he asked in clarification that you gave birth. Staring forward towards the small candle lighting the other side of the room in the middle of a table, you felt your eyes blur unfocused. “And I don’t suppose saying I almost bled to death during it makes any of that sound much better, does it?”

Only you could hear the surprise if not confusion in his voice. “I’ve been alone in here a few days, but I haven’t gone mad enough to think you were gone that long.” Shaking your head no, did he lead himself to further conclusions. “Nine moons, meaning you were passed three when you went out there, how did you not know? You didn’t know, right?” Adding onto your silence and you dared not see his face.

“I was only two. I went into labour a full month early.” Asking if you meant out there and you nodded once more but slowly. “We both knew, Jon and I when we left. We had no choice.”

Returning to neither of you saying much, Gendry sighed deeply before finding his voice once more. “And no one else-” Only did you get as far as opening your mouth before closing it again but he caught it. “Who knew and let you go out there? Other then the bloody King in the North apparently.”

He had caught your attempt to speak and hesitation, but he also caught your dragging eyes to the side to glare at him before looking back to the candle at nothing. “Maester Wolkan knew, or, he figured it out. I’m not sure which. Arya knew.” Words were not needed, your smirk to his open mouthed near offence said it all on his end. “Don’t get mad at her, it wasn’t her secret to tell.”

Had Gendry not said it so quickly and so passingly, you might have had the time to feel your heart and stomach lurch forward. “You know you’re the only thing like a sister I’ve ever had, you don’t think knowing you walked up North to your death while pregnant isn’t something someone should’ve told me about?”

If not mercy for yourself but him, you pushed passed the wording as in the moment. “Have you told Arya who you are yet?” His silence once more, was something you read with ease as you tilted your head somewhat to the side as if to put emphasis on your point. “Then why would she know you’d want to know that?”

By the time you dragged your feet to the floor, some time and conversation passed which was much needed for your anxiously riddled mind. You looked back to him as you grasped the door handle. “Why haven’t you told her yet?” Clarifying at his narrowed brows to the question. “Arya. You mean a lot to her, and her you. Why not tell her the truth?”

Honesty was not what you were expecting in a raw fashion, but the manner which he dropped his head to his lap showed it all. “When we met, we thought the other were a couple of no one’s. Low life’s on the road to the Wall but we got along all the same. Then she told me who she was, and I can’t really tell even now if she regrets it.” You didn’t ask, but he still answered with a non meaning shrug of his shoulders. “Suddenly I was the no one and she was a highborn lady. I think part of her misses when neither of us had to worry about that stuff.”

You did not say anything further to ask his side, it was right out in the open. It was something you never had quite been able to understand, the life you had led but you could only say what you did, as someone who knew both parties. “You should trust her more.”

Gendrys brows narrowed, but you didn’t elaborate nor give him the chance to ask, before you left.

Of course as the sun begun to arise, the Stark in question made themselves known. As if there were one which being out so early had an advantage, it was certainly Arya. The degree to which all formality left as she finally spotted you since your arrival back was quite amusing to all who had a chance to notice it. Nearly knocking you over in a hug, forgetting clearly what she knew Jon had told her that you still had other injuries to recover from. The wince in your face as you hugged her followed by a breathless laughter had her come to her senses, backing up properly.

At that point, others doing the same was inevitable and thus your intent to start the day quietly was no longer an achievable goal. Trapped between one conversation and the next, you felt almost on the edge of lightheaded. Barley seeing her turn the corner did you see Maege in the distance, clearly debating with herself if interrupting to save you was better, or if watching you squirm for a little longer was more appealing. No amount of time had changed that she saw you as much a Queen, as she did a friend to endlessly find amusement in watching the suffering of.

Mostly Lords and Ladies whom you had known, jokes that the King in the North was hiding you away all to himself, after having you to himself for months. Only a tiny light within you was amused, the other majority begun to feel trapped. Suffocating as words and people stood all around you. The nerves mostly from so much talk and questions, you had a whirlwind getting through. Certainly in more then one way, but despite that, for once the sudden turns of formal greetings of “Your grace,” had ticked it in your mind that of gratitude.

Jon making his way to your side, pulling you more into him with an arm wrapping around your waist before leading you away saying you were needed elsewhere right now. Slipping it to your lower back he pushed you forward gently and had yet to move it by the time he could speak without listening ears. Muttering low but more rough then you expected so close to your ear as he leaned into you. “I was wondering where you ran off too.”

If he believed you, Jon did not make that known one way or another. “Woke up a bit early. I thought I’d stretch my legs a little, ran into Arya and that was that.” You did catch the deep chuckle, and the proceeding knowledge that he had yet to move far from you. “I was trying to make my way back, I know need to take- “

The hand on your back ran a bit higher up your spine, then back down and again. A repeating but almost soothing manner as was his voice, despite the roughness behind it. “Already brought him to Maester Wolkan, told him to start checking up on how the baby is doing while I came and found you.” Your eyes flickered somewhat to him, but not committing to the point you could properly see his face. “I told you, I’m making sure you’re alright too. You went through more then you should’ve had to out there.”

If Jon also saw the harsh swallow in your throat, he too, said nothing about it. Arguing to yourself, you were simply matching his low tone, and it was not in fact nerves which strained your own words coming out to the air. “He said I was fine when we first arrived. I’m sure I don’t need to take up his time-”

Cutting you off, Jon was not angry but there was a firmness in the manner which he spoke it. “Your well being isn’t a waste of time.” He hadn’t stopped you both walking, and thus the hesitation had to be in your words not your stance, thinking if you stop in place, did he’d merely tug you back along with him like you were a child. But when you protested that wasn’t what you said, he dug deeper. “It’s what you meant.”

You weren’t really sure what you were expected to say, it was true but Jon wasn’t supposed to pick up on it. The thought came before you could shove it ill from your stomach, that perhaps he only picked up on it, because he wasn’t actually at ease yet. If he just let you- if he had simply done it and let you get over any pain, he’d be more relaxed by now. But he wasn’t. Marred in a thick insecurity you were desperate to hide away, you attempted to steer him from the tense discussion brewing. “There isn’t much more he can do, then what you’re already telling me to do.”

Quick Jon was that morning it seemed. “Darling, if you were resting like you’re supposed to, you wouldn’t have run off in the night for nearly three hours and not come back.” Your heart skipped a beat, you had no idea he had actually noticed.

“Did the baby wake-”

Shutting down the out you were trying to serve him, Jon let the hand on your back drift back down to your waist before gripping a bit tighter, matching the edge in his words as well. “The baby was asleep the whole time. I know you left, because I sensed you weren’t beside me. I woke up and had no idea where you were.” Waiting but a moment passing to add, “You should’ve woken me up if you were having trouble sleeping.”

The flatness in you could’ve been mistaken for a time not anything was wrong around you both, the dry slight raise of your eyebrow towards him. “Waking up somebody else, because I cannot sleep does not seem reasonable.”

You truly had not at all seen coming what Jon had to say next. Your breath nearly ceasing to function temporarily as did your heart. “Neither is tricking me into making you do something against your will, because you think it’ll please me.”

Eyes tearing themselves up and to the side to look at Jon, but his eyes were not his voice. The greys wide and gentle as he only nodded for you to the door you had not realized you both had reached by that point. His lack of words after only made you feel on edge beyond what you had even previously understood what you felt. The anxieties rippling through your blood evident as you stepped into Wolkans study, almost catching the Maester off guard by your demeanour.

“Your Grace.” As if in a brief daze you hadn’t even registered he was speaking to you, and not Jon considering the later had only left the study to find you.

A tear came through that you were hoping the early hours of the morning still could cover up the feeling inside of you growing as deeply upset as it was dark and festering. “Is he alright?” Coming right up to where he had little Eddard laid out, limbs begun to wave and kick briefly as the baby happily reached out to you. The laugh leaving you was as breathless as before but much more genuine. “Now, now, behave for Maester Wolkan. He’s making sure you’re in proper form.”

A hand reaching to yours, only a finger he was barley able to hold onto, but it seemed enough to direct his focus to calm down as Wolkan begun to elaborate. The sudden feeling of Jons hand pressing against your back, followed by his warmth indicated he had no problem coming up close to you still. But for once, you had no idea in what context did his normally comforting touch meant this time.

“I can safely assure both of you that any immediate risk he could have found himself in has passed. By the new moon I expect he will be caught right up in the growth a normal infant his age should be.” Your eyes had yet to look away from the baby, whose eyes now swapped between all three adults hovering by him. “You two have done a fine job.”

If it was said or meant as a jest, you did not hear it nor take it that way as it left murmuring beside your ear from Jons lips. “She’s the one whose done all the work, believe me.”

He had taken you off guard earlier, and now it had been your turn for him. It came out short, and almost dismissively angry the way you hardly turned to look at him as it hissed out. “Jon.” You could only feel the frustration that he would so easily put the credit onto you, when for the first few hours of his life, all he had to protect him was Jon alone.

You saw neither of the mens reactions. Wolkan had taken a moment to clear his throat, you still oblivious to the tension you had put forth in the room. “Regardless, continue caring for him as you are, and we will soon scarcely be able to remember we were worried about him health at all.” Looking in a gesture to Jon towards the baby, “Would you be alright with him while we examine the Queen here?”

Just as Jon easily confirmed he would, you had looked up to Wolkan with a hesitation. “Is this really necessary-”

“Yes.”

Wolkan it seemed, took Jons answer as the correct one and gently guided you to a different side room, “Let’s start with the easy ones.” First your visible injuries, then the more subtle ones, and finishing off with the remainder as questions flew through you head. Jon had not invaded the space, you could somewhat see peeks of him holding the baby, talking quietly and sweetly at him like he was born for all of this.

Laying there, your mind hoping you’d be able to come up with something to defend yourself with against whatever it was you did last night to make him mad. When everything you did was for such an opposite reaction. By trying to please him, you somehow made him even more mad at you. But, did ever really doing things of your own idea make it any easier when it was Ramsay trying to teach you those lessons?

No, no it was not any better. The less you fought Ramsay back, the less violent his subsequent punishments would be. Perhaps you thought to yourself, you needed to actually remember that lesson for once. Listen to what Jon was mad about, agree and do whatever he wanted to salvage the problem and you could pretend for one more day that the darkness in your head wasn’t consuming you with what you struggled to see, were lies.

You had not a clue what it was Jon spoke to Wolkan about alone once it was all said and done, but only that you wait outside the room for him while he talked to the Maester in private. Hovering by the opposite wall, you seemed to rock little Eddard in your arm as if the motion would soothe your anxiety instead of calm his already comfortable state.

But when he emerged, he said nothing of what they spoke of, or of what he had said before you both walked inside. Leading you down the hall, he kept you close once more to his side. “You can say no, but I’d like for you to join me downstairs to eat this morning.” He breezed passed your pause, lips parted as if to say something unsure but nothing had come out. “Most of them have met the baby by now, and the rest know not to hound you like earlier.”

He wanted you with him to eat? Publicly? That dark fog told you that you did not understand it, and it was so painfully easy to listen to it. But you nodded your head, adjusting your hold on the baby as if to fidget. Your voice little more then a mutter for Jons ears only. “That depends, will eating upstairs stop you from watching my progress at meals more then Maege and my mother?” Jon hummed a laugh in your ear, so warm his breath against your skin as he said no. Your mutter that time a little more playfully dry. “Then downstairs it is, I suppose.”

Sometimes you truly felt so out of place. Coming into the main hall things set out, and it was almost strange. Seeing so many people around it naturally as if it were the busy mornings in Winterfell in such easy, innocent times. Faces were different and some were older and changed, but there was an energy around the table that at the very least, had settled in a little. Luckily, your morose attitude was briefly lifted almost soon as you walked in.

Arya near the edge of one side of the long table, Meera opposite her on the other and by the end where normally nothing stood, sat Bran. Glancing down to it, your smile went from non existent to something bright as you looked at him. “What’s this?”

A smile so boyish came over Brans face, one looking as if he had not worn it in too long. Gesturing down, “Do you like it?” Explaining as Jon guided you over, nudging you to one side where he’d sit beside you. “Maester Wolkan had it made, said he had known others who couldn’t walk anymore so he had the instructions all prepared.”

Still you felt Jons hand on your back as you slowly sat down, shifting the baby in your arms without moving to any food. Once Jon sat, he wasted not a moment doing it for both of you. Meera looked to Bran and then you, a brightness a little more returned to her own face thankfully. “It has wheels, so all he needs is someone to push. It’s a lot easier then having to pull him around everyday, all that weight.”

Bran instantly screwing his face up in protest, “I’m not that heavy-”

Meera didn’t hesitate to interrupt him saying he was. With Arya piping up and little hesitation to join their banter. “If you could stand on two feet, you’d be taller then both of us. You’re heavy.”

The three teenagers all seemed to get along in the days since you all had returned. It was some consolation, that through the horror, perhaps not all of a childhood was stolen just yet. As Jon murmured your name, as soon as your eyes met his grey ones he nodded to the food he put in front of you. Before you could say anything, Bran spoke up easily. “Do you want us to hold him for now? Give you a chance to eat properly?”

Arya jumped at the opportunity before you had really said yes. “I get him first, I’m the only one here who hasn’t met my nephew yet.” As a small laugh left you, a brighter smile watching from Jon grew more as he watched you ensure Arya was holding him properly. Looking down at him in her arms, he once more was calm as if all he needed was to be around Starks to be happy. Arya’s smile was as wide and childlike as you suspect she’d had since you were together in Kings Landing. “Look at you. I’m Jons sister, Arya. Don’t worry, I’m going to be your favourite.”

Bran argued he’s known him for the whole time he’s been born, starting a trading of jokes between the three of them. Your attention finally back down to the food Jon put in front of you. You had not said it, but you suspected he had chosen what to put on your plate specifically instead of letting you pick at whatever you’d find on occasion.

You hated that the thought came right to you the moment you took your first bite. That you weren’t getting any smaller eating like this. But, you said nothing. Not to yourself on the matter but also not to anyone out loud, no matter how often the present company directed the conversation into matters you could easily jump in on. You simply ate quietly, and let them all enjoy the morning.

For now, things were easy. People had to get settled in, and much had to be done to bring Jon up to speed and he had much work atop that to tackle before anyone did anything. Still to the people you and the baby had not been brought out from the main halls of the castle in any way, Jons insistence that you are properly healed first, despite you not really understanding why he cared about that.

None of your injuries would be visible to the people by now under your clothes. But why Jon cared, you didn’t grasp still. A lot you didn’t grasp, some days were foggier then others but Jon had not yet brought up what he had said in the corridor the other day. And you didn’t know if that meant he was still mad at you, despite you not really understanding what you did to make him mad in the first place.

The thing was, Jon knew you didn’t understand. For more then one reason. His discussion with Maester Wolkan had been quite eye opening, even on top of what Yara had described. Jon had first tried to talk around certain things, bringing up your general mood and your ability to bond with the baby. Luckily both coming to the conclusion that the later was not a problem, considering the manner which Wolkan had huffed out a laugh as Jon described, “She doesn’t even want the wet nurse anywhere near him.”

But he seemed to understand what Jon wasn’t saying. How the biggest sign Jon knew something was wrong was not one he was so easily comfortable with describing, as he dodged the leading questions to answer it in a different way. Being back in Winterfell was helping, being around people who could help you was aiding in your mood and day by day thus far you had looked with a little more life in your eyes but you still struggled to sleep, and you also still struggled with eating. Moreso then ever before.

Jon knew you understood you had to eat, because you were feeding the baby from your own breast. Your health was important to his health and development, but were if not for that Jon guessed you would hardly be ending the day with a full meal in you. If nothing else, Jon was grateful that when Wolkan asked if Jon ever feared you were unstable around the baby, it was a firm no, and Wolkan too, seemed relieved.

But then there was little left to say, other then what Jon hadn’t been comfortable yet bringing up. Thus, Wolkan took the plunge and asked the most direct leading question he could provide if not asking outright. “And how would you say she is, when with you? In your time alone together, does she seem to struggle then?”

Jaw clenched, he had crossed his arms over his chest as if containing the increase beating of his heart from bursting out with the same nerves. It also, simply hurt a significant amount to say out loud. “She’s the worst when she’s alone with me.” Wolkan nodded, but said nothing, only indicating he was listening intently for Jon to continue. Sighing deeply, Jon paced along the room suddenly unable to stand in one spot as he attempted to conjure up the correct way to phrase it. “She-”

Running a hand over his mouth, the awkward agitation was noticeable, Jon knew. Once more, Maester Wolkan prompted him without judgment. “A question a tad on the personal side, your Grace, but may I inquire as to if these issues are intimate in nature?” Jon hesitated, but nodded. Giving Wolkan the direction he needed to start putting the final idea together. “I would not ask for more information to put you at unease, but a bit more of a description of the behaviour you’ve noticed would go a long manner.”

Jon did not want to go into this, but in truth, it was the clearest indicator he had of a much bigger problem going on inside your head. How other men so easily went into detail about their escapades with women, Jon had no idea. But by the time he relayed what had occurred, there was no longer a point of hiding away his thoughts on the matter. “It felt like she wanted me to not give her a choice. Like she didn’t understand why I wouldn’t..” The lurch in his stomach felt sickening, but his voice was gruff pushing through it. “Why I wouldn’t force myself on her.”

Wolkan was rather silent, but Jon could see deep thought swirling behind his eyes. “Has she exhibited this sort of inclination before?”

Nodding, Jon returned to pacing as his eyes briefly closed as he shook his head almost to himself. “At the very start, but it was never this bad. For some reason she’s convinced if she’s not letting me just use her like a whore, then I’ll find someone else.” The idea was so vastly uncomfortable to him, that Jon had been shocked the feeling didn't bleed out into the room and reach you waiting for him in the hall out the door.

Taking a seat at his desk, he prompted Jon to follow suit. Taking a moment, as the man already begun to speak before Jon did, sitting across from him. “I suspect there are a few factors at play here. Though, I do not think I need elaborate much on one of the likely most difficult influences here.” If Jon wasn’t so on edge with worry, he’d feel that rage all over again. The man was dead so long there would be nothing let of him but bones and still he haunted over you like a phantom. But Wolkan wasn’t done. “I fear, Ramsay Bolton’s influence is being mixed abhorrently with a rather harmful mindset I have seen in countless new mothers. The fear that now their only use is to breed sons for their husbands, and thus he will move on to younger and prettier prospects to bed instead. Some women's fears come true, and I also would count on the fact that she likely has seen that occur more often then not. Leading her to believe she is foolish for thinking she would be the exception.”

Jon didn’t need the final conclusion spelled out for him, he got it perfectly fine. He scarcely felt his heart tear away at him quite that way. The wide, bright look in his eyes emphasized by the fact that the greys in them were painted over with something as devastated as he was lost. The realization that this sickness in your head had convinced you that all of the horrible things people taught you were true. That the only way you knew to make Jon happy, was to try and get him to treat you the way you knew Ramsay had enjoyed treating you.

But the thing was, you had not a clue what this had done on the opposite end. And he hated himself for not picking up on it that night. You were genuinely enjoying yourself enough that when you begun to lie and pretend, Jon was fooled. Were he to have not put his foot down, you’d have put yourself in pain just to let him fuck you, because you had begun thinking he’d find it elsewhere if you didn’t give yourself over to him for too long.

So instead, you promised him you wanted to take him in your mouth, and tricked him into forcing you past your limits that night and pretended you wanted it for his sake. You just did what you thought he wanted not to risk him being mad at you or tossing you aside.

You didn’t know it, but the reason the past days Jon had not let you come close to anything remotely sexual in nature, was partially for your well being, and another part because you hadn’t realized, you had essentially turned Jon into her. Into Ygritte.

Pushing yourself passed your limits, your needs, what you felt safe doing, just to please him as to not set off a worse or volatile reaction against you. She thought Jon was willing when he forced himself to do the same, and now you were doing it to Jon thinking he wanted things just as Ramsay had.

Truthfully, Jon had no idea how you hadn’t woken up these past nights at how tightly he held you after you fell asleep. Trying to almost convey to himself and you in your most vulnerable state, that you two were more then that, that he was there to protect you not use you. Wolkan had given him advice on what to do, but Jon had yet to tackle the what to say. He needed to address this to you directly, he couldn’t let this fester between any longer.

But by seeing yourself as little more then a pleasure toy for him, you had accidentally put Jon in the exact position he was scared he had done after your very first night together. That he had forced you with him thinking you wanted it when you didn’t. That time, he was mistaken about it. This time, he wasn’t, but you had tricked him into it thinking it would make him happy.

With everything Jon had piling up getting in the way of being able to just take care of you, he had not expected it.

Jon had only just been left alone one afternoon in the meeting hall. Back leaned up against the main table, his hand running over his face with a deep sigh from what felt like the fifth meeting he had that day alone. The room having just emptied out as he remained to collect his thoughts before simply jumping into another.

The sound from the other side of the room indicated the door had been opened, just as quiet footsteps filled the echo of the empty space. Whatever it was, Jon had waited for them to speak first but the voice had sounded distant even beyond the meters between each of them. As if they hadn’t known what to say, and it only came off as stilted. “When you left for the Nights Watch, I never quite thought this was how we’d all see you back here again.”

As it turned out, she looked as distant as she sounded. It appeared that the gap between them was as if Sansa stood alone by the door refusing to come closer. Her face even harder to read, two of his younger siblings had been so easy to reunite with. Yet the look on hers now was as if she did not know what sort of reunion she wanted to have either. “I didn’t know I was coming back.”

The silence was distinct, and Jon finally realized how Arya must have felt. In another life, they’d be happy to see each other again. But Jon only stood straighter without moving, as Sansa barley stepped further into the main hall closer to where he was. What was the use of pretending this was a reunion when they both knew thus far Jon had been the one she was avoiding the most. Inhaling almost in preparation for whatever this was going to be, Jon attempted to mend the bridge before they both acknowledged how broken it already was. “Sansa-”

She however, came with questions quicker then what she once used to speak up like. “How did they let you leave?” Her eyes barley shifted, nor did she move much. Frozen in place like a statue that Jon hardly recognized. Dressed in clothes and cloaks dark and almost as if wanting to appear intimidating as opposed to the naive girl she left home as.

“It’s complicated.” What could he even say to her? How he was elected Lord Commander, what came of it, going after you, death, returning to life and everything since then to now? That was not a story most knew even close to him but you in full. It was only a joke, something to ease the heavy tension between them but he suspected Sansa had not taken it well once he said it. “Harder to execute me for desertion now that I’m a King, probably.”

For only a moment did her eyes flicker to the side with something a little more tight and on the edge of frustrated, but had covered it up with a half baked smile when she looked back. He too, was not sure if it was meant as a joke what she said. “So you can get away with whatever you want?”

In truth, it was difficult to see the joke in there the way he could’ve easily detected it were that to come out of Arya’s mouth. “There’s a difference between a King and a tyrant, Sansa.”

A tilt of her head came as she once more, said it both passingly and yet with a weight he had no idea what the intention was behind the words. “Joffery was a King, and he always did whatever he wanted no matter what it was.”

Her face was still and yet slipped into something taken back as Jons expression turned to a much quicker offence as his tone dropped. Pushing from the table more a step towards her but she didn’t move or blink as he slightly rose his voice. “Do you think I’m Joffery?”

The lightness in her face was only meant for her, an amusement in her thoughts Jon was not privy too whatsoever, only adding to the tension. “No. You’re probably as far from Joffery then anyone I’ve ever met.” He’d say thank you, if he could yet figure out what this was. And her next question only served to add to that doubt.

“Will you start wearing a crown?” If his little sister was trying to come off as patronizing, it was working. Asking shortly why he’d do that, she almost gave what looked like a shrug. “I thought Kings wore crowns.”

If Jon took the time to consider the manner which she phrased that, he may decide he would not like what conclusion he came too, so he moved passed it with something hopefully a little less stilted. “Robb was King for longer then I’ve been, if he never wore a crown then I don’t see why I would.” Or maybe, Jon realized what should’ve been an easier subject if moving towards others in their family would’ve gone over better had it been anyone but Robb. As a look came over her eyes that seemed a but more unreadable and more on the edge of unpleasant then he’d expect from her and once more attempted a different direction, as your name came from his lips in a more fondly amused manner. “Not sure if she’d appreciate having to start wearing a crown anyways.”

There was where he spotted it. A little light in her eyes as he brought you up. Jon didn’t even know how much she’d remember just how attached to your side she was when she was a very young girl. Something warm came over him, the relief that even in such a small way, there was still somewhere in there, the sister Jon remembered. Instead of this near stranger he didn’t know how to talk to.

Looking away for a moment, Jon’s eyes drifted down enough to see as she wrung her hands together only as long as it took for her to return to the present with a much more reserved state again. “When did you two marry?” Answering two months before you got pregnant. Sansa thought for a long moment. “So you were King for months before you married. Why wait?”

His voice low and a bit rough, he dared not step on your toes from your own hurt prior. “I didn’t care about rushing into anything, we took our time.”

Now it felt as if she was digging at him for something he wasn’t quite catching, her tone a little more short as if pretending she wasn’t offended by something. “If she was Queen for years beforehand, what’s the point in waiting to marry her? Why not do it right away and seal that power for you then?”

No, he thought to himself. Don’t consider that she is implying what he seemed to suspect she was implying. Instead he took another step towards her with a much more stern tone that time. He didn’t even address the second part of her question. “She’d been through a lot. I wasn’t going to rush her into something just because I wanted it.”

Sansa was far to quick, and bordering too close on accusatory. “So you wanted to marry her in general.” It wasn’t even a question, nothing curious was there except for an agenda he did not appreciate. Only affirming that of course he did, but Sansa did not seem to find that answer either convincing or satisfactory. Her tone that like a question but dripping with a lecture. “Isn’t it standard practice historically, that a King and Queen marry and have a child right away to ensure the King’s blood line with an heir?”

It was, but not this time. Jons silence was as difficult for her to read as her doubt for him. There was something she was not saying that was being attempted to dig into, but Jon was not in the mood to handle it here and now. “We had a child together because we wanted to.”

“So she wanted to get pregnant?”

The last person he wanted to feel this rising anger towards was his little sister, but Sansa had not a clue what a line she was trying to cross here. Not with you, not now of all times. His voice was noticeably rougher then it was before and both were beginning to realize he was not hiding that rising anger. “I thought you said I wasn’t Joffery.”

Oh the swiftness of what she said only made Jon that much more tense. “You aren’t. I wasn’t here, I’m only asking questions. The last time I saw you, you left to join the Nights Watch and she was married to Robb.” Jon let her deal with the quiet air, he had nothing to say to that or whatever which was hidden in something like that. Or whomever those thoughts actually came from. “You named him after father.”

A hint of a smile appeared in his eyes. “I did.”

If for just a moment, did finally a crack appear as something soft came over her too. “I- could I see him?”

That he would never deny. No matter what he and her had to sort out, little Eddard was her nephew. The last thing he’d want was to deny any of his family from being in his sons life. Nodding as your name was voiced out Jon explained, “She’s in my chambers with him resting right now, but anytime this evening. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you no matter what.”

There it was, the bright shine ever so briefly of a what was once just a little girl who looked to you like the big sister she’d always wanted. Nodding, she opened her mouth only to close it as she looked down in thought, coming back to say something now she knew was out of left field. “You didn’t take the Lord’s chambers for yourself?”

Raising an eyebrow, Jon didn’t quite see any thought process behind that. “No. It didn’t even occur to me. I don’t need a fancy room just because I’m King, that wasn’t why I took back Winterfell.” No, he had done it so what remained of his family could have a home again, but he did not know why Sansa still did not seem to grasp that included her. “If you want it, you should take it.”

Jon had a feeling he’d have to have a word with Arya about Sansa taking it, knowing letting her have their fathers chambers would be a bit of a contentious choice, but he’d have given it to Arya if she said she had wanted it first. That and he was sure that Bran still quite liked his chambers, alone up at the top of the stairs. She didn’t quite say anything further, but she nodded and begun to leave the way she came.

Calling out to her once more, something much more full and genuine came through the quieter tone which followed. “Sansa, I’m happy you came home. We’re family, all of us. We need to stick together. Protect each other. Now more then ever.”

What she’d take from that, was up to her. But once more she nodded before Jon was alone in the hall again. A pressing question remained however, how much of what she had said was of her own conclusions and how much had been the words of Littlefinger in her ear for years now? Whatever he promised her had led her to return home strained towards Jon more then she’d ever been.

The fact that Jon couldn’t even be the one bringing up Robb to her, stung something inside him. The last thing he wanted was for his brothers memory to be something tainted to her because of what Littlefinger had said and done.

Which was something Littlefinger was rather good at that. Slinking between one to another with the hopes he could wound himself around their heads until they were twisted to his will one way or another. The Starks were a target he had been looking towards a very long time. Since the day you suspected, it was arranged that a young and beautiful Catelyn Tully was to be wed to Brandon Stark. It had begun then and never ceased, only he sought to drag those around each wolf he encountered with him.

Never had he failed to make his attempts to each new wolf within his passing. You had scarcely emerged to the world since arriving back in Winterfell, and you expected that the image painted for him was that you were too weak, too ill to know of his presence, if only not caring. For a man with so many eyes around the realm watching for him, he did not quite realize the blatant ones both right in front of him, nor boring into his back.

“I’ve heard much about you, more then you might think.” The knowing in his voice always dripping in something condescending. He had approached him while he was alone, taking advantage of the quiet he sat in to spin his tales and lies.

Bran however, was not the foolish boy Petyr Baelish likely thought he must be. Even though as his brows narrowed in a doubtful confusion, you read it perfectly fine. “Strange, I haven’t heard anything about you.”

You could hear the smile on his face. “Not so strange. I am a man of business, not adventure like yourself.” Repeating the word adventure in a question, Littlefinger came forward more with a hand outstretched in question asking for permission to sit. Doing so as he continued, now sitting across the table Bran had been working away at. “I imagine you have many adventures, my lord. For years the realm thought you were dead. Being on the run in such trying times in your condition must be a fascinating sort of challenge.”

Bran however, did not take it the same way he had as a boy of ten insecure and heartbroken by his new change in life. “If by condition you mean I’ve lost the use of my legs, then yes. But we ran away all the same, just slower.”

For a moment, you nearly invaded your own plan. The moment Littlefinger spoke you felt something in your heart you were certain little Eddard could feel through the soft layers between you as he stayed held against your front. “You fled the Greyjoys with your younger brother. Rickon, was it?”

The image still was something you felt ill recalling. The utter horror of watching how close Jon had gotten, how he could almost reach out to grab his hand and pull him up to safety before Ramsay stopped toying with them both. An arrow slamming right into him from behind as he collapsed on the spot in front of Jons horse. The way in which Jon was frozen for a moment before you had felt that call to command knowing Jon was going to need men at arms beside him faster then they could run to him first.

The way Benjen spoke about it, made it seem as if he knew the story. It only made sense, if he knew because of Bran, since Bran it seemed was the one who knew about Euron. Jon wouldn’t let you wander outside in the cold until you were considered in full health by Maester Wolkan, but you knew the moment you could, you will learn a lot of why he knows these things.

But now, he did not play any role beside young, traumatized, angry teenage boy. “I did. But we got...separated.” The audacity of the man before him to say that at least his killer was brought to justice, and Bran felt the same as you. “Do you really think that the person who killed someone you love, being dead, makes that feel any better?”

“Not exactly, but vengeance is a powerful motivator.”

The air sat silent for nearly five painfully long seconds before Bran muttered out more roughly, “My brother is still dead, and so is the man who killed him. What vengeance?”

Littlefinger seemed to find something amusing, but you stood in silence doubting what it really was he picked up on. Bran asking him what, he seemed to silently agree. Littlefinger played the charm as much as he could, “It is merely interesting this is how we meet, considering where we started.” When Bran spoke none, he continued. “It is simply strange that I finally meet the boy I heard so much about, only after the ones who I heard of you through are gone. Life has unique ways of bringing people together.”

Looking him over closer, Bran narrowed his eyes but little more then a the sound of the very start of a word had been cut off. “Is that why you’re here, Lord Baelish? You simply enjoy bringing people together?” The man stood abruptly, a bow as if nothing was wrong.

“You’re grace.”

You didn’t blink, watching with sharp eyes tinged in a distinct lack of trust. “How about you walk with me, leave Brandon here to his work?” Looking to you now with Littlefinger’s back to him he gave a single nod, small and slow with eyes wider speaking of something the man between had no idea was being communicated.

The smile was fake, but he knew you didn’t buy it regardless. “I couldn’t very well refuse a royal escort.”

Raising your eyebrows, you merely stated rather flatly. “You could. But we both know you won’t.” That was far closer to the truth, you were certain a myriad of things were flowing through his mind as you motioned for him to follow you first. Looking behind, you knew he seemed surprised no guards had accompanied you, but certainly you thought, he knew better. Or he should know better. His threats were not such physical ones and you both were too aware.

Quickly eyes glanced down to the small bundle hidden away in your arms and you could practically write word for word what he could possibly say to start off as formally polite as he knew you didn’t care about. “A beautiful boy, your Grace.” Only a thank you dry and short, you walked slowly through the corridor down a stretch of hall you knew to have few currently around in, forcing him to keep up any conversation. “Have you revealed him to the court yet?” Once more, your answer was short, only the word no and the ensuing awkwardness forced him to be at the verbal disadvantage. “Any plans on doing so soon?”

“When the King decides it is appropriate.”

Stretching thin what small talk he could engage in before you left him with nothing but what you approached for initially, he once more filled the air with a tone akin to questioning as if unsure as to the purpose of your lack of reciprocation. “And how does the King in the North deem it appropriate when to reveal his newborn Prince to his people?”

He no doubt caught the small smirk adorning one side of your mouth for merely a moment. “I’m not sure, my lord. I am not the King, therefore I do not know what a Kings criteria for such an event would be. Why do you ask, plans on staying long enough to attend are you?”

Should you have looked his way, the curious gaze he had begun directing towards you would’ve elicited a much less subtle knowing smirk. He was not a clever as he once was, not here and now. “I aided the Lady Sansa in getting here safely, I felt it only fair to her that I stay here a while and ensure she settles in comfortably.”

Eyes looking nowhere but forward, your tone dry did you let it come into the world more mocking towards him then not. “This was her home for thirteen years. I presume she will settle in just fine without you.” Asking you if this was your way of suggesting he leave, you turned your head just enough to indicate a shift in your demeanour, as your tone dropped. “I am asking why you’re here, why you felt you had the right to come here after everything you’ve done.”

Littlefinger had always spoken to you a bit like you were a child, and now was no different. “We have had our disagreements, your Grace, but I’ve only ever done what the crown I serve bids me. I never set out to hurt your family, I assure you. As I did your husband the other day, though he seemed no more willing to trust in me then you are.”

Your hum was as close to a laugh as one could possibly create. “I cannot possibly imagine why that may be.” Whatever he said, you cut him off as you turned in place to look up at him. Eyes narrowed as the rest of your expression was tense matching the degree in your voice. “I don’t know if you think I am forgetful, Lord Baelish. Or foolish, even perhaps just an idiot. Tell me, in which possible world is there a chance I put even an ounce of trust within you after you broke the last one.”

Neither of you said or asked for details, he would not want you to elaborate as much as you would gladly. “In matters of life and loyalty, your Grace, I simply chose the path which allowed me to keep my head.”

But the way neither of you said it, neither of you also said whom you had referred to. “Yes, you did. Just as you watched Joffery take Lord Starks for a crime we both know he did not commit.”

That smile, truly you hated it from the first moment you met this wretched man. “My trust was not going to be enough to spare you nor Ned Stark’s life, but it has spared his daughters. Sansa would have been tried for murder had I not gotten her out of the capitol.”

Not seconds had passed when you said it, but the process which got you there was not as quick or simple. It was a difficult place. Cersei no doubt would have executed her for murder, thus she was not safe in Kings Landing. So indeed, he had saved her life, but then hid her away for years under his sole protection when you knew too well what those results could create. “And for that you have my gratitude. Truly, Jon and I both. But one good deed does not wash out the bad. Nor a bad, the good.”

Glimmering a flash in his own eyes, there it sat. His words were drenched in an irony which his eyes gave the secret away. “Surrounded by Starks, one could forgive not remembering right away that you are no doubt, Stannis Baratheon’s daughter.”

Does that alarm you, Lord Baelish? Does that remind you that you are not safe and protected by your spies and power and brothels of Kings Landing? He was a mockingbird, and you a nonthreatening doe, but he had walked into the den of wolves. He lacked every understanding that he was not safe here, but his greed and lust for power blinded him.

But, still, you dangled him over an edge he was not yet made aware of. Let him think he still had a modicum of control. “And yet you watched the Starks father lose his head in Kings Landing. I thank you for delivering Sansa home safe, and for arranging the bones of Ned Stark to be returned here as well. But that does not make you a guest here, it does not make you welcome.”

Were your son not with you, you may have had a very different reaction. “Here I thought certain tragedies would have made yourself more sensitive to honouring guest rights.”

The world grew dark as a lightheaded feeling kicked in, your heart screaming at you in a pain you refused to recall on top of the rest haunting you of now. If Littlefinger was not the smartest man here, the tightness in your airless lungs told a story that he was still certainly one of the cruellest. He had never even met Robb. He had no right.

Your slow shift to an upset shock said plenty it seemed, a bow as he looked towards the door to the courtyard you led him to. “Your Grace.” And out he went back to whatever hole he had crawled up from this time. Looking down to your son, you felt a breath finding its way inside. Lungs inflating once more as his large, bright eyes shined up at you now that he had awoken. One hand moved, running over the top of his head, distracting yourself you wished, with the thought of when his hair no doubt was to grow identical to Jons black, thick curls.

The man was here and you all had to deal with it, but he had no right digging up the remains of a love you were taken from. Not when you were terrified that you were soon to watch the one intense and present before you, break apart on it’s very own.

Failing Robb and driving away Jon. It felt as if Littlefinger knew right where to twist a knife to attack the agony in both. One already lost and the other crumbling before you from your own worthlessness.

But you had known you were to protect the Starks from him. But you were not a Stark in any manner of real. Your well being in protecting them against him, was not to be taken into consideration. You would protect the girls, Bran, Jon and your son, but you stood alone. Looking down to the precious bundle so new to the world, and hoped whatever cost you were paying to do so was worth it in their eyes.

Littlefinger mentioned the past of Robb once, and you stood there, feeling yourself spiral so fast from it, even the present was not safe from your destruction. But you couldn’t focus on that. Not tonight at least.

You had to pull yourself together before the moon fell over the sky.

It was a strange moment of something feeling of so genuine and true as you both sat by the edge of the bed. The baby finally sleeping soundly after another new face to meet, leaving you to look over what it was Sansa had brought. She had gone over the details of all them, and thus far each and every small article of clothing had something unique to it. “I can always make more when he starts growing, he’ll still be small for a while so it’ll be easy.”

Looking at them one by one, it was clear she had put time and care into it. Had made clothes herself for her new nephew despite such a difficult place she stood within her home as. But there was something so much more natural in her ways as she merely sat with you explaining each one with a pride and an excitement you’d last seen before she first left these walls.

For the third eldest of her family, she was so far the most nervous to hold him. Hardly moved as she never risked carrying him in a careless way. But she took to him well, spoke gentle with almost a teasing laugh on her tongue as he got used to her, and by the time his eyes were in need of proper sleep, helped ease him down into his new bed before you secured him for the night. For a little while, she was just a girl in your presence, nothing more or less complicated.

“Don’t feel obligated too. The way my mother has spoken, it sounds like there is a fair plenty of people all around who have things they’d like to gift.” Your own wider look of exasperation made her laugh lightly, if not just at you alone, which you could accept. Asking gently when she had begun staying here, you knew it was merely an attempt to pry for information in curiosity, but that perhaps she struggled to come off as such anymore. “A little while before we left for Dragonstone. I’m the only daughter she has left, and we never had a strong relationship before. She decided she wanted to start trying to mend that now.”

Commenting that she seemed much like you, you only rose your eyebrows for a moment in dramatic fashion. “You must not have met most of my fathers side of the my family. In comparison to them, I have nearly nothing in common with my mother. Or my father in some respects.”

You felt her watching you, but allowed any questions to form at her own pace. “You had been out there the entire time you were pregnant?” A slow, single nod was all which you gave, making her face scrunch up in something unpleasant for a moment. The disapproval now much more distinct as she spoke. “I don’t understand, how could he bring you out there for so long if you were pregnant? Anything could have happened to you.”

Eyes softening a little, your head tilted as you met hers. “We both did what we had to do. Jon of all people didn’t want me out there, but there was no choice.” A feeling brewing within told you that there was something she was not saying, nor did you quite catch it when she asked you something strange and yet out of nowhere.

“How quickly did Jon want to marry you?” Your head jolted back, something blatantly confused washing over it. “From what you told me, everything around here happened so fast. I’m assuming when he became King, marrying a highborn wasn’t a big problem. Did he want to right away and everything else just got in the way of it happening?”

You honestly had not a clue where that came from, nor what she was even implying. Truth be told, you had not picked up there was anything to be implied quite then. If you looked back far enough though, not much time had truly passed when the subject was first broached even in teasing terms.

The night before the battle against Ramsay’s forces, Jon had found himself standing behind you, a hand covering your scar over your clothes asking for the first time about the son you lost. The manner the more you spoke, the easier it became. And how when you had amusingly eluded to the fact that Robb had suggested naming your second son together after Jon, he had turned you to face him. Crowding you with bright teasing eyes and a confidence you hadn’t seen on him in such a way ever before.

“Well, when we get to our second boy, we’re sure as hell not naming him Jon.”

You knew had you found yourself with child from the throes of a desperate passion the night you brought him back, what he would have done. Based on timing alone, likely you’d have been on Bear Island by the time you would find out, and you knew Jon would have organized it then and there. Bring you to the heart tree on the island and marry you then, ensure his child never had the risk of life he had grown up enduring.

If you asked her, Maege no doubt would say she wished it had worked out that way. From what you had met of her other daughters, Alysane in particular would likely have given you grief in teasing for worrying about that sort of thing at all. Maege had five daughters all recognized from birth as Mormonts, and she had never been married. Alysane had two currently, and she too had never been married.

When you married Robb, it was not what either of you had expected but you both did not shy away from embracing it. Despite being forced to set your unspoken love for Jon aside, you had known Robb was the future given to you and everything between you both after was easy. One night together and it took months for you to get back to him, and it was as if you two had been married and together that entire time you were in Kings Landing.

The very moment you had become his wife, everything else just became normal. But with Jon, it was different. As your time together had been in secret, to all others it looked as if Jon had never had any kind of a romantic relationship with a girl, nor expressed interest in one. Joining the Nights Watch it appeared as if he simply did not care about that sort of thing but you knew better. He had never said your arranged marriage to Robb was part of that choice, but it was.

He’d likely been thinking about it for some time, and then you had simply been his final push. And now that the world had not protested you both being together in both your new lives, you knew marriage was still not as easy for him. In truth the fact that he had wanted to bed you outside of marrying you at all was still surprising. Only in the freedom of marriage had Jon been truly comfortable being physical with you.

Yes he wanted to marry you because you both truly loved one another, but you also knew marrying you was his only true way of being able to have you. To him, if he married you, he could just have you the way he wanted without fear. So in a way, yes. He did want to marry you right away and everything else did get in the way, but you did not know how much of such a complicated plight Sansa could understand.

As gentle as you could put it, you met her gaze with an ask akin to patience as you were clear with your manner of speaking. “It wasn’t a rash decision in the heat of the moment. He considered a lot of things beforehand, but yes, wars and battles do tend to get in the way of such things.”

But there still was something in the way she looked at you that you could not decipher. Nor did you immediately grasp the meaning of why she would ask you what she did. “Do you love him?”

Lips parted in question, but the door opened to the room and her narrow eyed demeanour stiffened up as much as the honesty in her expression had closed off. Turning in place though you could see Jon had matched her in just as much a purposely closed off manner. “Sansa.”

Almost a question in his tone, but she instead looked to you as you stood as well. “I should go, I didn’t mean to stay so long or interrupt.” Assuring her it was all perfectly fine, she glanced down to the clothes she had brought with a more bright look once again. “When he outgrows those, probably rather quickly, I’d love to make more.”

Nodding with a softer smile, she hesitated to do anything else. Before glancing between you and Jon. A more stiff goodnight she gave before exiting the room without further delay. Jon had turned to watch with a narrowed expression as you gathered the clothes she brought to set them aside. “She wanted to bring the baby some clothes she made for him.”

Coming closer to you, the moment Jons hands went to the belt around his waist you met him in the middle. Your hands almost moving quicker, and more efficient then doing it himself. His voice a murmuring rasp watching you turn from him to properly put the weapons on him away though you weren’t quite expecting the question attached. “Did you see Maester Wolkan this morning?”

Returning to him, you undid everything of his warmer outer layers with something more picking up in your heart. He hadn’t broached the subject since what he said the other day, and so this time you knew you needed to ease into it far more subtle then last time. “I did. He wanted to see how I was healing.” More of a concern on his voice asking what he told you and only as you worked more behind him presently could you see his shoulders deflate from their tension. “He said that everything has healed almost entirely, save for some of the marks.” Inhaling silently, you refused to put emphasis on the subject as you said it. “He also said that since I no longer have any pain, I would be safe to engage in more physical activities once more.”

He hadn’t quite stiffened up, but you felt his breath hitch a little once you got him in his soft single layers, even moreso when you ran your hands up over his shoulders behind him, the massaging motion also digging into the muscle there as his head almost dropped. Murmuring your name, you merely muttered back in a tender manner. “I don’t want to talk about that, not now while I had a bath drawn up for you. The water too as scolding hot as you like it.”

Chuckling deep, he rasped in just as much amusement, “Would it be unfair then to ask you to join me?” Your smile was not forced as neither your words were too, answering that you would love too. Turning in spot, Jon grasped your hips suddenly as he looked down at you, lips parted wanting to speak before changing his mind with a deeper sigh in his chest. Instead, his hands moved up to your shoulders, toying with the fabric there. “Can I take all of this off you?”

Jon spared no time when you nodded. Draping the material down your arms before undoing the belt holding it to your front. Pooling to your waist and down to the floor with nothing to hold it up. Grey eyes darkening as his jaw clenched looking you over. “Jon?”

Not realizing he was silent for far longer then he realized, his eyes burning into your now bare frame he muttered out with something heavy behind it. “I know these dresses are to make feeding the baby easier, but I didn’t think it meant you wore so little under it all.” Asking hesitantly if that was alright, Jons eyes closed, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours, he nodded against it before finding his voice again as he suddenly turned you in his arms. “Come on.”

Stepping from the pile of your dress on the floor, you were bare as Jon still clothed, led you into the room. The steaming water begging for him to be in it when he turned you back around to face him. No words needed, you knew the routine still. Placing what was left of his clothes carefully to the side before letting his curls down and loose for the night.

Moving passed, Jons hand drifted along your hip before pulling you to the side with him, but Jon climbed in first. Settling his back to the edge as he grabbed your hand, guiding you carefully with his other at your waist. Silently insisting you turn to face him, moving you himself to sit comfortably in his lap as your hands found home resting on his shoulders. Under the water, one of his hands ran along your hip while he other drifted from the depths. Running along to cup your cheek and pull you just a tad closer to his face.

Always needing to adjust to the hot water his preferred, once your lungs could breathe again did you sit up straighter. Reaching for the cloth hanging by the edge only to be stopped by Jon snatching your hand. “Leave it for now.” Brows narrowing mostly in question, Jon did not spare any second longer jumping into what was on his mind. “When I tell you I love you, do you believe me?”

Eyes widened, you barley breathed out a “Pardon?”

Jon did not waver, but he did not look angry or anything close of. Almost with his eyes bright and shining on their own as he repeated with something so soothing. “This isn’t a trick. I need you to tell me the truth, when I tell you I love you, I need to know if you believe I’m being honest.” Only confused and taken back you muttered that of course you did. “I don’t know. If I said it to you right now, would you be able to even hide that worried look on your face you’ve worn for days?”

Heart lurching in your chest, you felt as if you had been a child caught in trouble. “Jon... I don’t..what are you..”

Leaning up, Jon let his hand on your cheek drift back to run through the long strands of your hair. Fingers raking through before settling to pull your head closer to his, nudging his nose against yours gently, keeping you right there. “I have one more question, and this time, I need you to answer yes or no. Am I right for saying you’ve spent the passed few days afraid that I’ve wanted to fuck other women?”

You said nothing, but Jon more firmly prompted that he expected a yes or no. You nodded, but he needed you to say it. You felt your heart and lungs floating with a sickening fear that you were about to be in even more trouble if you lied. “I have.” Asking why, you felt something as if illness come up but instead a cracking whisper of a truth you had tried to hide, only you didn’t expect the unpleasant warmth behind your face to sting your eyes as you said it. “Just because I’m your wife doesn’t mean you have to enjoy me being in your bed.” Jon didn’t say a word, and something stinging you more begun to ramble as if needing to explain yourself. “I gave birth, I don’t look good, I’ve been all over the place, and since we married this had been the longest you haven’t been able to do what you want. Of course I think it would be reasonable you find it somewhere else. Someone better.”

Jons jaw was clenched hard, but he managed to grit out “Why in seven hells would I want someone that isn’t you?” Asking almost confused if he heard what you had just said, Jon pulled you back gently by your hair to make you meet his eyes, now dark and difficult to read. “I did, and there wasn’t a single thing you got right. So I’ll ask you again. Why do you think I’d ever want someone other then you?”

The hands on his shoulders, dug your nails in but had the distinct movement or increase of fidgeting as the nerves ran through you as the stinging in your eyes increased. Shrugging a shoulder, his grip on your hip was tight to keep you straddling his lap in the hot water. “I look worse then I ever have, you couldn’t have sex like you wanted, and even if you did we both know I’m not good at it. I don’t really understand why you would think I would want you to only be with me and be miserable.”

If you could have felt the shattering in Jons heart, it may have also done the same to you. And if you could have been able to feel the few tears already escaping down your cheeks you would’ve understood why he looked at you in something as devastated as it was angry. “When did you start thinking this way?” Apprehensive you simply said the truth, after you had given birth and Jons eyes narrowed even more. “Why would you ever think after you’ve given birth to my child, is when I’d want you less, let alone not want you anymore at all? Do you have a single idea how you make me feel knowing you’re the mother of my child?”

The manner which you bit down on your tongue and shook your head was almost in a childlike innocence. As was the whisper that followed, dripping in an insecurity. “I don’t know why it started now, but I didn’t...I wasn’t blaming you for any of it Jon.”

Were he not handling you so gently in his touch, he may have raised his voice. “You should’ve. If I had been unfaithful to you, I’d want you to blame me. I’d want you to be angry that I’d ever treat you that way. But ever since that night, something in your head’s been lying to you and saying all these things that aren’t true and you’re breaking your own heart by believing them.”

You felt the muscles in your neck almost shivering as you held back that growing feeling in your chest of something too upset to handle, as if you were doused in ice cold water and the intensity of the manner which Jon spoke the truth to you was overwhelming to take in. “I only thought-”

“You thought I didn’t want you anymore, and you were willing to put your well being in danger just to try and convince me to stay. And when that didn’t work, you tricked me into forcing you to go way past your limits that night because you thought thats all you were good for.” He was angry. He was clearly quite angry and you felt those tears falling that time not knowing how to fix it.

But his touch on you was still so confusing, warm and gentle and soothing when his tone, his voice and words were all mad. Yours just a mutter against him, though he heard you perfectly. “I wanted to make you happy, it had been so long...and I know you like-”

Jon was not having it. “What I like, is you. Being with you, sharing myself with you. I don’t fuck you just because I can, I do it because you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to be with. I never had a crush before you, and I never did after or since. You gave birth to my child, I’ve never wanted you more then knowing you and I have a son together, but I was scared of putting you at risk before it was safe. But then you did what you did the other night, and now I’m terrified.”

You knew he was not really expecting you to say anything until he was done, but winding down from the anger, Jon pulled you by the hip closer to his front as he pulled you back down to press a kiss to your forehead, down to your hair and just below your ear as he ran his fingers through the locks gently.

“You cannot do that to me again. You can’t force yourself to do things you don’t want just because you don’t want to make me mad.” Pulling you to look you in the eyes, finally a brightness shined with something just as raw as your current heart. “I’ve only ever loved you, only ever wanted you. You were brought into this world to be with me, and we both had to die before we could get there. So don’t ever put me in that position again. By doing what you did to please me, you just turned me into her.” Your eyes widened, as did your lips part to your now much more erratic heartbeat. “I know something inside you is struggling, but this isn’t the answer. I will get you through this, but you have to promise me you’ll be honest. If you don’t want something you need to tell me. Don’t force yourself to do things like that just for my sake. Ever.”

He was firm, but the anger had dissipated. He was almost commanding you, but he didn’t bombard you aggressively about it. His eyes looked as upset as yours did about it, but the touch of his hands against you was still somehow so gentle and so loving. Your voice barley muttering out, “I’m so sorry.”

Nudging your nose with his, Jon hesitated. But in your clearing mind you recognized it as him asking if you were alright with it, and you gave a single nod before he gently captured your lips in a kiss. Pulling you down and more close to his front, Jon kept you in his chaste kiss deeply and long before not even parting far enough that you still felt his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Don’t be sorry, darling. I only need you to be honest with me. We’ll get you passed this feeling, but you need to let me help you.”

That time, you closed the gap and Jon sat up straighter. His arms coming up to wrap more around your back and up your spine as yours came more over his shoulders. His lips soft against yours, and he deepened it each single chance you had of breathe. Moving to tilt your head himself, Jon held you against him tighter as a small sound of need came from you. Only pulling away enough to rasp against your gasping lips, “Why did you tell me you were completely healed?”

He refused to let you leave, pressing his lips once more in a harsh kiss and giving little room for you to explain yourself. Which for once, you did genuinely as the feeling tingling against your own lips from his had your buzzing heart beg for more. “I wanted to make it up to you for the other night. I wanted to set things right.” All but in a demanding fashion he asked if you were being honest with him. “I am, I promise. I know it’s hard to believe me now, but I miss you too, Jon..I miss being with you.”

“Did you only want to do this earlier for my sake?” You nodded. “So why should I believe you changed your mind now?”

Backing from his lips, did a flustering feeling begin to grow. You didn’t really know how to say it, but something about how rough his kiss was, now he nibbled at your lips more roughly then he seemed to sense had awoken something inside you that begged for him to stay close. Looking partially down to most of his lower torso and all his bottom half hidden under the waters, you bit your tongue again.

How did women ever do this as a living? Talk this way to men day and night?

Instead you grasped the hand behind at your spine. Pulling it between you, raising it enough to press a kiss to his hand before gently uncurling the tense fingertips free. “Maybe you shouldn’t blindly trust me..” Trailing off, your eyes bright looked at him with an unasked question. Tilting his head, Jons jaw clenched as he exhaled again.

Pressing the hand now against your stomach, down until it was hidden under the water not yet breached beyond to anything indecent, but you certainly both knew you felt his cock twitch between you, and his grey eyes seep into something darker. Dragging them down what of your figure he could see and back up. Running his other hand free along your cheek and jaw. “Promise me you want this.”

“I want this, I want you. I promise.”

The second two of his fingers slid down, he found your clit with ease, pressing them against it as a spark flew between your legs into your heart and back. Eyes watching so close to yours, telling you silently not to look away from him. An experimental rub against your clit had to nearly jump with a gasp into his arms more, but Jon embraced it. Pulling you against him before threading his fingers through your hair and turning to rasp roughly into your ear as he found a pattern of tight circles to rub into your overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves. “Gods, you’re still this sensitive..”

Almost in wonder, and it was certainly true. Something powerful had overtaken you when you were with child, but you felt so utterly worked up as your hands tightened around his shoulders as he kept your face tucked in his neck enough he could growl in your ear. The pressure of his fingers at your clit drawing such easy cries, but when such a pattern you got used too, he changed it to something new and worked you up all the way over again without ever committing to one.

Desperately grasping at him, did you feel lightheaded as your core burned and twisted each time he ran his touch over your clit in a new way. “Jon I-” Muttering to let go, you hid in him more as Jon instead yanked your head away enough he pulled you lips to kiss.

Biting down at the same time his touch on your clit grew rougher, your gasp gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Brushing along yours, and your moan gifted into his mouth had him rub tighter and rougher just to be gifted more sounds. Had he given you air, you’d beg his name but he kept you at bay with his kiss. Surrendering to him as you could barley explore him back before Jon took charge. Kissing you deeper each time his fingers on your clit went rougher.

The coil inside you twisting and each pass growing white hot until you felt yourself let go. But refusing to let you away from his kiss, you moaned desperately against his mouth. A hot wave of pleasure soaking into your blood stream and vibrating through your entire body, you shook as it made you nearly lightheaded. Hips almost writhing to the touch while you felt his cock harden completely between you, and his grasp at your hair grow tighter.

Before you even could come down from your sudden orgasm, Jon yanked you from his kiss and tilted you to look in his eyes. The same instance, did he slide those same two fingers down and he certainly knew the difference even in such warm water. Tilting his head almost exhaling through gritting teeth at what he found, Jon did not do it until you nodded. But the second you did, Jon slid those same two fingers deep inside of you as that time you cried out loud into the air. But you had nowhere to hide amongst such a feeling.

Shaking, he dragged them along such a sensitive wall already you begged his name but with heavy eyes he refused to let you break eye contact. Your mouth parting open, but with no words Jon spoke roughly for you. “If it’s too much,” Shaking your head desperately no, he insisted. “No, if this gets to be too much, darling-”

Fingers entangling in his thick curls, you had little breath to even speak through as he steadily slid those fingers in and out of you, as each drag you felt yourself grow that much more wet. “It’s not please don’t stop, please..” Increasing the pace, your insides were so tight as well as you new the water hid how much you had begun to grace him with your own wetness. Jons cock throbbing feeling how soaked you kept growing inside, but almost not even as worked up as he felt watching the pure beg in your eyes relying on him for you.

He hadn’t even taken you and already he felt out of his mind.

A slow pace but every push of his fingers deep inside you did it have your nails digging into his shoulders, head dropping down with a cry wanting to move with him but needing to just trust him. Jon muttered your name, stern and commanding. Gaze rising back up and you could read the look on his face without any question. You were not allowed to look away.

Mouth dropping as a moan was silent coming through, your thighs shaking around him as the feeling warm inside you grew hotter and hotter and Jons eyes were so dark and so much of his expression was stern and unblinking you felt another wave of pleasure burn as he dragged against you each slow steady push and pull. Eyes hooded trying to stay on his lap straight enough you wouldn’t look away, but it was almost a fight as his eyes on you so intently as he thrusted his fingers deep inside of you was too much to handle. “Jon..”

Pulling you to meet his lips, only short and chaste as he murmured against them as he moved faster and faster to your crying end. “Do you want to do this here, or on our bed?” The quickness you nearly begged to do it here was far more of an indicator of how genuinely you wanted him them before, as if you’d let tears fall should he stop now. “Alright, one more. Give me one more first.”

Hurling you towards an end there was only a twisting in your gut before it snapped. Jons other hand rose up to grasp the back of your neck, forcing your eyes up to meet his gaze as you came. Never stopping, but a slow decrease in his pace as he guided you through it. Pulling out you whimpered, but it only made his cock throb between you.

Grasping both sides of your face, Jon pulled you back to his lips roughly, your hands wrapped around his shoulders and back before he tore away from you with a heaving breath and gritted teeth. “I’m going to ask you one more time, are you sure you want this? We can wait however long you need-”

Shaking your head you almost moved to perch more in his lap with a gentle beg. “No, I want this, I promise.” Almost as if watching for lies, this time you felt none within you and hoped Jon could see the same. If judging by the clench in his jaw or the way his hands were tight as he guided your hips, he was desperately hoping you were being honest with him. He had made it clear, lying to him about the other night was one thing, but lying about this would be far worse.

The fog in your head was so confusing, but the more you felt his rough touch bruising already into your skin, the way water ran from you down hitting the scars on his chest and down to where his cock was impressively hard, you felt as if the fog had been burned away each time he guided you to your end. But you didn’t want to lie about this, and what you knew was true was how much you could feel your wetness building as your eyes trailed down once more.

Hands perched on his shoulders, chest visibly breathing harshly as you considered it. Your first time, you didn’t have to think about it. Robb refused you to look to until he had you worked up right to the point you would nearly beg for what you had yet to even have. He was rough and incredibly dominating about it and it worked for your vastly more unsure mind to let him control it all.

With Jon, it was very similar but overwhelming in such a vast new array of burning need. He had kissed you and all you could do was hand yourself over to however he wanted as if that was why you were born into the world. He had slid deep inside of you before you could think about it. The first time you had actually seen his cock, he had twisted to lay you out on the ground to take you a second time. It had been difficult to be intimidated by what you already had seconds before.

But now? It felt nothing like that. You could see all of him, how he somehow looked even longer then normal, considering it was not as if what was already there wasn’t intimidating. But gods protect you, the weeks passed and you were not sure how you had ever taken his size before. Muttering your name roughly, your eyes peeked up to his as he rasped out, “Talk to me.”

Biting your lip as your eyes fluttered shut to collect yourself, you were distinctly worked up considering you had not noticed the truly pure and innocent way you had said it. “I just..you’re somehow..bigger then I remembered..”

Jons eyes few shut as he exhaled a rough warning of your name. Meeting your eyes only to find you truly meant it without any other implication or tease, you were just intimidated by how thick his cock truly was. His voice was nearly a growl as he ran his hand behind your head through your hair. “You’ve taken all of me before, darling. Many times.”

Gods it truly felt like you were an innocent maiden all over again. The thought of taking him something that seemed so daunting and yet the deeper part of you knew that he felt so good inside of you. Prompting you as he nudged your nose gently with his, a more subtle sounding command. “Wrap your hand around me. Just like that.” His muscles tensing and releasing almost a shiver as you did so, not even able to hold all of him in your hand he was so thick. “You can tell me to stop at any time. I’ll guide you, you guide me, alright?”

He accepted your nod that time, your breath trapped in your lungs the moment you felt the tip of his cock slip inside of you. Holding you in place, you shook your head with something clawing in your voice for him. “I just..could we go slow?”

In truth, Jon almost laughed, he would have smiled gently at least were he not so focused on paying attention. Needing to see the very moment you may try to hide if you were genuinely uncomfortable from him. His voice barley a husk beyond his accent slurring thick at the feeling already. “We are, I promise. Do you want to keep going?”

A genuine ask, and again your wordless nod was taken for now. Inch by inch did you sink down onto him, your hands now both grasping at his shoulders. Face tight in half a wince and begging to cry out, you soaked his cock the deeper you sank, making it easier for his thickness to slide into you. There was not no resistance though. Jons hands on your hips were tighter then he’d ever held you there, to him, this was almost cruel. You weren’t even this tight around him your first night together. It was as if the time you took to heal had given you your maidenhood back.

This was the sort of warm, soaking tightness around his cock that he’d be desperate to pound inside of you with to surpass. But he took it slow, the only harsh treatment being the bruises on your hips. The tear in your throat barley letting a meek whine leave, but as soon as you were fully sat on him, his entire length throbbing inside of you did your head drop with a much more desperate moan, unable to leave his shoulder, your hands held to his shoulders and the black curls now dancing along your bare skin. That time, the small beg was certainly you, and there was not a hint of how unsure you had been mere seconds ago. “Please, Jon, please..I want to feel you so much..”

Wrapping one arm up around your neck and keeping you hidden in his neck gripping your hair, Jons eyes fluttered shut at how your walls still somehow clenched tightly around him more. “You have me..you have me right here. All of me, I promise.” You nodded, and he seemed to take that for what he needed, free hand grasping at your hip again, just barley moving. Murmuring in your ear, “Come on, darling..”

Finally moving along with the slow pull of his cock barley out of you, but meeting his thrust deep back inside as you lowered yourself to meet him. Nails digging tightly into him as you gasped, the stretch something genuinely painful and yet as your hips followed his again, and again, you almost felt delirious thinking he may stop. His cock dragged along your walls, drawing pleasure from deep within your core to burn out like a star and flood your veins with nothing but a beg for him. As his other hand moved to your other hip, you nearly didn’t have to do any work.

Such shallow thrusts in and out so deep inside of you, Jon also moved your hips to follow in perfect harmony as your name growled from his mouth. Lips finding his neck, not even sinking your teeth into his skin on purpose, but each slow thrust filling you over and over with something so bright and perfect you felt things lose any meaning that was not existing for him for exactly this.

The gentle sloshing of the hot water between you was nothing to his warmth so close to your bare skin, and yet you cried more into his neck. Held the back of his neck and hair even tighter as you clenched around him each slow sink back inside. Your grip around him tightened, and as he thrusted a little rougher back inside of you, did you find yourself moving without him to meet that heavily feeling together. Jons own arms wrapped more around your back, one tightening in your hair as you both sat up more pressed against the other.

Each time he slid back up inside of you, did you sink down to meet faster as if you existed for him, as if all you suddenly knew was the sparks of something burning you alive as Jon filled you over and over that had you desperate to feel his every inch stretching your walls. Growls and grunts deep in Jons chest vibrated through your front and down between your legs as you cried out like a siren in his ear meant to tempt him into a world of sin, and each time he thrusted rougher inside of your cunt did he decide falling for that trap was worth it.

Faster he moved and faster did you meet his thrusts that water splashed across your skin and splattered down onto the floor without a single care. Jon almost sat back a bit more, keeping you laid on his front at more of an angle as he grasped at both of your hips, refusing you to even leave his cock as much as he had been doing himself before. Slowing you down, one hand of yours holding steady at his waist, the other pressed along his chest as you once again hid in his neck.

Not for a single second did he stop, or wait for drag a moment out too long. The motions of him dragging you up and down his cock were more as waves then any waters you had sailed in your entire life, the waves moving together deep inside your cunt creating such a heavy haze in your head that you didn’t know any words which were not mindless begging of his name.

His rasp was nearly a death sentence in your ear, husking out so roughly you almost couldn’t understand him, but his hands were tight just as his breathing turned heavy. “I’m close, darling, tell me what you need.” But you held onto him tighter, a high pitched cry invaded your speech as you pleaded nothing, you needed him without any other specifications. But you truly didn’t, soaking around him you felt Jons cock thick and throbbing inside of you and that hot coil twisting in your spun out out control and you nearly fell into his firm front with nothing but his name clawing from your singing cries.

Rough thrusts far more pounding did Jon fuck up into you, once, twice nearing six times. Each rougher thrust of his cock he still moved you with him, clenching and cumming around him before finally all which left him was a grunt, bleeding into a growl of words not even you could catch. Forcing your cunt to take his every inch, did Jon throb inside of you before finally he came. Thick, hot spurts of his seed spilled inside of you as you fell into his neck as much as Jon wrapped one hand around to your hair, turning you enough to hide his growling need in your hair as he filled you again and again. As if in the weeks he hadn’t had you, it was as spilling inside of you at once. Never did he stop moving your hips as he filled you, and only did you both slow to a stop as every bit of his seed had nowhere to go but stay inside you the way you both wanted.

It was a good while he kept you there, on top of his cock just like that as your breathing both heaved before, Jon sat up. Guiding you with him, he cupped your cheek as both your needing heavy set eyes looked to the other just as ruined too. Rasping out so low and so thick accented it made you clench around him again. “If I tell you I love you now, are you going to believe me?”

And somehow still, your nod was almost innocent as was your voice. “I do, I promise.” Meeting your lips with his, it was deep and with a sloppiness neither of you cared to correct did he keep you sat deep on his cock in the water as your hearts both calmed down.

Slowly did Jon eventually take his time lifting you off of him, standing you both up in the water but neither of you were fooled by the fact that as soon as he could watch the water now run down your bare frame, did once again his already half hard cock grow more and more. The grey in his eyes had hardly been visible for long by the time you met them, and watched the black take over with a lust one not you, could mistaken for anger.

But once your feet hit the floor, Jons hands careful with you, murmuring in your ear he pulled you into his side to guide you to where water was not a hazard. “Careful now, come on.” Looking you over, Jon grasped the side of your jaw to tilt you up to meet his eyeline before he leaned down to once more kiss you.

Life was cruel sometimes though, and just as you could feel his breath hot on your skin did a knock at the door call from a guard to Jons attention. You were fairly certain were he a man in less control, he might have yelled for them to fuck off at that point. Instead, he looked you over once more before moving passed you. “Stay there.”

Returning to you, Jon had gone to where you took his clothes off, yanked on his breeches barley managing to find the patience to tie the laces enough to keep them up, barley concealing how desperately hard he was. But this time, Jon muttered for you to raise your arms for him. Pulling something very soft over your front, you could feel it sit just low enough that it would cover your front but truly nothing to hide your ass.

Looking down to the light grey, you felt something almost warm in your cheeks realizing Jon had simply put you in his shirt. Guiding you to the main room, the door knocked again and Jon kissed the spot below your ear before giving you a push. “Lay down for me, I’ll be right there.”

Truthfully you nodded in a daze, sitting back against the fur on his bed before laying out, one knee bending naturally to put your foot flat on the soft surface. A hand over top your head against where your hair splayed out wet against a pillow, the other resting comfortably against your stomach over his shirt. Your eyes closed, trying to breath deeply to will your heart to come down, but refused as the feeling of pain between your legs was finally one you recognized as shamelessly addicting.

Who was even a the door, or what they wanted was utterly lost on you. Your mind unaware of any passage of time as the fog had been replaced with both a clarity and yet a haze of need dominated by Jons very existence. By the time he had returned to you, already taken everything back off of him, Jon crawled up onto the bed. Nudging your inner thigh wider almost in the manner Ghost would bump someone out of his way gently before meeting you. Hands braced at both sides of your waist Jon leaned down to finally finish the job, capturing your lips greedily. Biting down to make you let his tongue slip inside once more as he pulled your legs apart kneeling before you. Trailing down to your neck, Jon muttered, “I need to taste you..”

It wasn’t an ask, or a request. Jons need was very heavy between you as he skipped passed what of your skin was now hidden by his shirt. Grasping your leg around your calf to steady, Jon slowly pressed his lips from where he met just there. Lips along your calf before widening you leg more and more, giving him access to run his lips long your inner thigh. Keeping you wide on one side, Jon slunk down to do exactly the same with the other, but instead placing that thigh hooked over his shoulder.

In truth he cared not about slowly working you up this time, fuelled by something desperate Jon pulled your other thigh up to sink his mouth down to your cunt. His tongue fat and wide as he licked along your soaking folds, groaning shamelessly as he sunk his tongue deep inside of you. Your back arched up in a high needy cry but Jons hands always kept you in place.

Licking and tasting you as if he was a man dying of thirst, and you were the offering from the gods sent to save his life. That was the utterly greedy manner in which he ran his mouth and tongue over your soaking folds. He drank what you gifted him with a purposeful sloppiness as if you were a meal and your cries only spurned him on more.

His facial hair scratching raw against your inner thighs, but your hand grasping gently in his hair pulled a growl more. Soaking you as much as you soaked him, Jon did not waste any of it. Running his tongue again flat along all of you before sinking back up and pulling every bit of a moan and cry out of you, in the form of what you could coat his tongue with.

You truly were hurled into an orgasm before you knew it was coming, but Jon spread your other leg wide as you did so, keeping you posed for him perfect as he grunted into you to drink all of your wetness as if you only could do so for him. Which by this point, you felt as if you might have.

Only pulling away as your hips jolted from such direct pleasure, Jon muttered into your soaked cunt with as much need as he tasted you with. “I want you one more time, darling. Will you let me have you?”

Truly your only answer was that of a breathless beg, “Jon, please...”

Surging upward, Jon pulled you by the back of your head up to meet his lips, not asking permission to slip his tongue deep into your mouth and make you taste what you had caused him to be a desperate animal of an addict for. As your arms wrapped around his neck. Jon hitched your thigh up to his hip and pulled your other back wide. Barley tearing from your lips to meet your eyes as Jon sunk inside of you that time still just as unbelievably tight around him but much more smooth as you took every inch as deep as you could. One single thrust Jon gave before he slid almost all the way out, leaving just the leaking tip of his cock inside before another smooth thrust back as deep.

That time, Jon kept your eyes each moment. Pulling out slowly so you felt his every inch thick drag along your sensitive, soaking walls but did not ever waver in keeping your eyes. A burning in your face of how embarrassed it felt that he watched your every moan and cry of his cock thrusting in and out of you, but he didn’t feel that way back. His eyes still dark, and his face almost unchanging in how serious they looked down to you as if he could not afford to miss a second of it.

His voice was rough, the rasp forming into an alluring, seducing husk drenched in an animalistic need as he groaned over himself pushing deep inside, his hand pulling your other leg even wider to sink somehow deeper, even faster. “I’ll never want anyone else, you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Almost a ramble but he kept your eyes, your own lips parted in a cry but small breathless sounds could not drown out how gruff he spoke to you still without needing any reply. “Don’t ever think I’d get this from anyone else, it’s you. Only you.” Closing his eyes through a growling groan in his chest he moved a bit faster, perhaps a hair touch rougher but certainly faster as he looked down at your near innocent wide eyes, relying on only him to get you there again. “You belong to me, you always have, you always will. Nothing can change that, I won’t let it.”

Faster and faster he fucked you, so smooth inside your tight walls soaking him enough he almost wanted to stop talking just to make you hear how thrusting deep into your cunt, you could hear how wet you were. “I never thought..I’m sorry..” Your hands grasping around his shoulders and waist, or smoothing along his scarred chest like it was home but you moved as much with him as you could from his strength keeping you pinned to the bed.

Neither of you even truly knew if Jon was aware of what he was saying the closer he dragged you to your burning end as much as his cock could throb inside of you. “I love you, more then anything in this bloody world I love you, don’t you dare forget that.” Nearly growling out the last as if a command you nodded as you arched up into his touch, your core burning in need begging his name as he followed suit with yours. Dropping his forehead to yours as he fucked you faster and faster, the sound of his hips against yours finally filling the room. Skin slapping against skin in a way that made him go even faster to keep the sound in his hearing over his voice calling your name sternly. “Tell me you understand, that you’ll never doubt this again. Never.”

Nodding, you begged his name almost too sweetly for how much he was fucking you deep on the furs of his bed. “I promise, Jon, never. Please, I love you so much..”

Capturing your lips, Jon pulled back to look you in the eye, his voice much more soothing. Feeling your end crash closer and closer. “I’m sorry darling, but you’ll never love me as much as I do you. It’s impossible..you have me addicted..obsessed with you so much you make me mad.”

Guiding you to your end, you merely begged his name trying to move with him as much as you could against his strength forcing your hips to just take him as he smoothly gave. “Jon, I want..please cum inside me.”

Jon barley reacted as his eyes were wide and dark as you clenched around his cock. Your core bursting as if a star in the sky exploding into a shimmering green, but he never let you look away. His cock pushing deep in and out of you as each wave of your orgasm had you grasping at him with tears forming overwhelmed in your eyes.

Grasping the leg by his hip, Jon pushed it up against your chest as much as he could stretch you, the other grasping your free leg, and letting it on his other side take it’s place on his hip. Keeping you balanced so relying on him as Jon groaned as he finally followed. Once more spilling inside of you as if you were born for this.

Collapsing on top of you, you wrapped your arms around his back and shoulders, bit never did his hips stop. He kept thrusting inside of you, capturing your lips desperately with his, muttering things possessive and bewitched in need as he filled you. At some point your eyes slipped closed, and Jon had yet to pull out of you, and his cock had yet to reach it’s filling need of your cunt.

Jon fucked you deeply far later into the night then he wanted to admit, but he refused to cum each time until he pulled your sleeping self along with him. By the time sleep found him too, he still hadn’t pulled out. Only turning you to hide in his front, his cock inside you soaked with your wetness and his cum, but his muscles still finally relaxed for the first time in weeks.

He knew tonight wouldn’t fix the darkness wrong in your head, but it was a step.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine

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welldonebeca · 2 years

Text

The Finger Situation

Summary: Jon catches Sansa masturbating and gives her a hand. Pairing: Jonsa Warnings: Porn watch. Masturbation. Dirty talk. Smut.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Keeping Up With the Targaryens - Masterlist

Sansa pulled the curtains of the little guest room she'd been stored in.

Robb was out with his girlfriend, Jon was off with Theon and she finally - finally - had their house to herself.

After the Joffrey mess and the stress of trying to get into UNI, she deserved this break.

Their home was always so busy, she never had a single moment to herself! Everyone was always all around, the walls were paper thin, and maybe father was the only one in her family who actively respected a closed door.

Coming to stay with them for a few weeks was bliss.

It wasn't all easy - she still had to deal with Jon, which was pretty much like having Arya - but being with the boys meant she had a little bit of freedom.

Still, Robb wasn't living alone, but with his best friends, Jon and Theon. A pair of pricks who were always all around her house growing up.

Theon was pretty crude, although he tried to be respectable when her parents were around and teased Sansa a bit less when she threatened to tattle on him. But Jon was different.

He was Robb’s best friend since, like… forever,

He was too hot for his own good, and an emo prick.

Well... not emo.

But he always wore black and always looked like he was sulking on some bad feeling no one could see, all pouty.

It was way worse when they were younger. Jon was always a loner - especially in contrast with Sansa, who was prom queen twice! - but he had grown out of his awkwardness, and was...

Nice.

Charming.

And he knew it, he fucking had to know.

Jon would walk around without his shirt, have his hair all pretty around his face and pout when she was looking at him, all fucking stupid!

So maybe she had an itsy bitsy tiny little small crush on him.

And what was the big deal?

As long as he didn't know it was alright.

All Sansa had to do was get it out of her system!

And now she finally had time and the house for herself.

Back home, getting off really was always the same thing. A little clit rubbing, a few open bookmarks, a pillow on her mouth to muffle any sound, and that was it.

But she wasn't home. And she was all alone.

Sansa sat on her bed all naked and pulled up a video on how to actually do it right.

Get herself off, of course.

It wasn't like she could have a toy for herself or anything, it was just herself. And now was the best moment to do it, because when else would she have the chance?

The video was simple enough. A woman with her legs all spread, her bald pussy in full view, but instead of her own hand, it was another. Bigger. Veinier.

A man's hand.

Well... she could still follow along.

So, she placed the phone on the desk by the side of her bed, and then lied down, turning her head to the side to watch it.

"First, you spread her," the man hummed, voice deep and slow with a very distant accent to it. "You see how my sweet girl is all wet? Glistening?"

Sansa nodded. Yes, she was very wet.

"She gets like this when I kiss her silly," he purred, sounding proud. "And I've made it very special today because she wanted to be part of this little tutorial so badly."

The woman giggled.

"Now, you must know," he continued. "You have to be sweet with your girl. Kiss her and play with her... I pinch and play with her nipples to make her like this... of course, you can always do this..."

He moved his fingers to her cunt, spreading her folds, touching her around her clit and then on it, rubbing it slowly, and Sansa followed obediently.

"This will always, always make her all wet," he affirmed. "Every girl... well, everyone with a clit, but let's focus our language here. Every girl has a sensitive clit, but you have to touch it the way they like it. Some feel a little more sensitive on a special side, some can't have direct stimulation... my sweet girl here can't cum if I play with the left side because it's not sensitive enough. It's the perfect edging partner."

To prove it, he moved his finger to circle just the said side of her clit, and the girl squirmed.

"See how she drools?" he hummed. "You want her very, very wet, very sloppy."

Sansa squirmed.

Sloppy. Stupid word.

Stupid word that made her all stupid wet.

"Once she is like this, and only once she is like this, you can put your finger in," he instructed. "Slowly, very gently. Let her relax and accept it."

Sansa moved around to get her finger in, and huffed at the stretch.

Oh, no one told her that fingering herself was an ab workout!

Maybe that was why the girl wasn't touching herself on camera. She would have to be very bendy to look sexy while doing it.

Still, Sansa tried her best, and if felt better than she thought it would.

It did. It really did.

Her finger was touching some place she really hadn't touched before - even when she had actually tried a while ago.

It was new, it was good, and it was hard to do.

"Now pull slowly," the man commanded. "And push... fuck her slowly, give her time."

She complied and whined in pleasure at the same time the woman let out a very little sound.

"You'll know she is enjoying it when you feel her cunt fluttering your finger... my pretty girl here will moan sweetly, but some girls are shy. You really need to coax the moans out of their lips."

Sansa wasn't shy. Well, she was, but she was home alone, and it felt so stupidly good, she wasn't even caring about being quiet.

"Don't give her more than she can fit," he instructed. "Especially if she hasn't taken any cock before."

Sansa squirmed.

"Sweet little virgins need time," he cooed.

Suddenly, her door opened.

"Sansa, are you-"

"Oh my God!" she screamed, reaching for the sheets.

Jon stopped, frozen by the door.

"Get out!" she screamed, trying to cover herself up.

He didn't fucking move.

She was going to die. That was it.

Sansa was going to die by embarrassment.

The woman moaned randomly from her phone, and she felt her whole face and neck just burning deeply.

"Curl your fingers," the man instructed. "Just like that, good girl."

She pulled the sheets up, covering her face with the thick covers.

"Sansa," he spoke slowly.

The sounds of the video stopped.

"What are you doing?" he asked, almost accusatory.

“None of your business!” she screeched.

This was just like one of their arguments back home. So childish!

"Sansa..." he stepped closer.

She covered her head, not wanting to be seen.

"Can you just leave?" she begged. "And put my phone now. Please."

She wasn't in the mood nor had the patience to fight with him now.

"What are you watching?" he asked.

Sansa didn't answer, and she could see him sitting on her bed.

"How to finger a pussy," he read the title. "By... dragonrider?"

She whined, closing her eyes.

"Jon, please," she begged. "Just let that go."

Great, now he was going to rub that on her face.

He moved, but instead of leaving her, he closed her door and walked back to her bed, sitting down.

"Don't you know how to finger yourself?" he asked, voice too casual for the question he was asking her.

She covered her face with a hand.

"Jon..."

"I'm just asking," he shrugged. "You're 18 now."

"I've never done that before!" she huffed. "I'm not like Theon."

He didn't move.

"So you're a virgin?"

"No," she stomped her foot. "I dated, remember? Harry? I started dating before you even had a girlfriend!"

Jon scoffed sounding.

"So you had a boyfriend, and he never fingered you?" he asked. "He must not have been good enough, then. I fingered Ygritte good before I even knew what I was doing."

She rolled her eyes.

"I make her cum," he told her. "I did all the time. Did your sweet Harry do that for you?"

Sansa just pouted, uncovering her head to glare at him.

"Haha," she rolled her eyes. "Is that all you meant to do? Rub it on my face how you could make your girlfriend cum and how I have to get myself off if I want it?"

He shrugged, and she crossed her arms.

"We didn't... do that," she huffed. "Just so you know."

Jon looked at her, unaffected by her state.

"So you are still a virgin?" he asked.

She looked away from him, burning red, and just wanted to yell at him, but Jon shrugged, very comfortable on her bed.

"I'm not making fun of you," he assured her. "But you shouldn't learn how to pleasure yourself with porn. That's doomed to fail."

Sansa rolled her eyes.

"I know how to pleasure myself!" she argued. "I just... I didn't know how to finger myself. It's different."

Jon looked back at her and sighed.

Shamelessly, he tapped on the bed with his hand.

"Come here," he instructed her. "You're not gonna learn from a video."

Sansa eyed him suspiciously, but walked to the bed anyway, holding her sheets close to her body before sitting down by his side.

"Well, what do you suggest?" she pouted. "That I read an article?"

He straight up chuckled, and then looked at her, licking his lips, and his eyes were tainted with something more.

"You need a teacher to help you. Show you," he said simply, leaning closer to her. "I could be your teacher."

Her whole face burned, and her eyes widened in shock.

"Jon..."

He leaned closer to her.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

But she shook her head.

"Please," Sansa exhaled. "Don't."

He kissed her, and she was eager to take it and kiss him back, and just let him when he moved his hand to her blanket and pulled it off before pulling her closer by her waist.

She understood now, what it meant, to be kissed silly and made wet and needy.

Harry and Joffrey had never kissed her like that.

Slowly, as if not to startle her, Jon moved her, laying her on the back and climbing up and up until her head was on her pillow, and his hand moved slowly to between her legs, caressing her knee and her thigh.

She gasped when he pushed a single finger into her easily. His finger was too thick, almost like two of hers, but he was so delicate it didn't even hurt.

"So warm, Sansa," he whispered, biting her lower lip. "You got yourself all wet, didn't you?"

She nodded, whining a little.

"Poor girl," he cooed. "Never had a boyfriend nice enough to show you how good-"

He curled his finger and she gasped when she felt him brushing against a sensitive pot in her.

"-it can be to have a finger in her cunt."

"Was too scared," she whimpered.

Jon sighed, shaking his head.

"Poor, poor girl," he hummed, kissing her neck.

He moved down slowly, and she gasped when she felt him kissing her chest, licking her nipple before sucking it into his lips, pulling his finger out and pushing it back into her.

"Look at you," he cooed, letting it go. "Those tiny little tits..."

Sansa whined, though arching her chest to him.

Her tits weren't tiny!

They were just a little small.

"Do you think I could suck fit one whole into my mouth?" he looked at her. "Think your little tit can fit all into my lips while I finger your virgin cunt?"

His words, dear Lord...

Suddenly, Jon moved to his statement, spreading his lips, and she gasped when his teeth grazed against the top and bottom of her breast, and she moaned when he sucked it all into his lips.

Sansa arched her hips, and moaned loudly when he slipped a second finger into her.

"Jon," she grabbed his hair, not knowing what to even do with her hands.

His hair was so nice, soft and curly and pretty.

"Sweet little Sansa," he moved back, kissing her skin slowly to her other breast. "Squeezing me sweetly on your cunt."

She arched her hips to him, needy.

"Jon," she moaned.

"Feels good, sweet Sansa?" he licked the underside of her breast. "To have my fingers in your cunt?"

She nodded, ad tried to get closer to his hand when he pulled away slowly, fucking her with his palm far, far away from her.

"Please, Jon," she pleaded. "My clit."

Jon hummed a little.

"I don't know, Sansa," he curled his fingers, tickling her sensitive walls and she moaned. "You only asked me to finger you, and I am fingering you."

She whined, raising her hips, trying to chase him.

"I can't cum like this!" she argued. "Please, Jon."

"You're right," he used a hand to spread her legs more. "You can't, right? It doesn't matter how much I finger your sweet cunt and don't play with your clit, I'll only be edging you."

And he kept fingering her as if he hadn't heard his own words.

"Jon," she protested.

He moved back to look at her, and she could finally see it in his eyes.

"Yes, sweet girl?"

"Please," she pleaded with him. "Please, play with my clit? Please?"

Jon licked his lips.

"And why would I do that?" he teased her, his voice and face mocking her.

Sansa just wanted to smack that smug look out of his face.

"Cause you're good?" she tried to argue. "A good lover?"

He just moved faster, and she could hear the sounds of her cunt taking his fingers, already feeling herself all infected with arousal.

"That is true," he agreed. "But I like being mean to you so, so much."

Jon pulled his fingers again, and she was about to protest when he just grabbed her and manhandled her to lay on her stomach and raise her ass, pushing now what felt like three fingers into her.

"And I think you like it too, don't you, sweet girl," he cooed.

Sansa moaned, half her face smashed on her pillow.

"Fuck, Jon," she yelped.

He fucked her fast, rough and with no mercy.

"Yes, Sansa?" he asked.

He changed the motion of his fingers out of a sudden, and she cried out when he touched something especially sensitive in her.

"Jon!" she screamed.

"Stupid sweet Sansa," he slapped her ass. "Look at your cunt. So sloppy."

Her pussy squeezed around his fingers more.

That word, that stupid word.

She could cum right now. Just a little rub, and she would cum.

"Please," she cried on the bed. "Please, I need to cum, please."

She felt him before she realised he had moved. His tongue on her cunt, around her hole, just taking her wetness.

"Please," she cried, trembling already. "I need- please."

And then, suddenly, he wrapped his lips around her clit, fucking her hard with his fingers and sucking her in a never-ending grasp.

And Sansa came.

Loud, shaking and crying.

"There you go," he hummed, tongue licking her clit softly. "Was this what you needed, Sansa?"

"Yes," she cried.

He continued to move his fingers.

"How do you say, then, sweet girl?" he asked.

Sansa whined into her pillow, sensitive.

"Thank you," she moved her hips. "Thank you, Jon, thank you, thank you."

He pulled his fingers away, and she was about to turn around when his tongue moved a little more daringly, licking her cunt clean, licking and tasting her up hungrily.

Sansa was shaking and moaning, oversensitive and overwhelmed.

Before she could cum again - or beg to cum - the sound of the door opening made her stop, and Jon stopped quickly.

"Guys?" Robb called. "We're home."

She gasped, but Jon moved quicker than she could think.

"We can finish this when we have privacy, sweet girl," he caressed her ass.

He left, and she watched him go, panting.

Oh, they sure would.

. . .

"The Fingers Situation" was posted in my Patreon in the 12th of January. To read its sequel "The TV Show" before anyone else, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and I post every day.

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth @amythyststorm33 @shaelyn102 @yknott81 @maximofftrash @kgbrenner @thefridgeismybestie @magpiegirl80 @mogaruke @shadowhunter7 @musicalcoffeebean @megasimpleplan4ever @deemoriarty @05spn18 @malindacath @kdcollinsauthor @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @widowsfics @frozenhuntress67 @averyrogers83 @notyourtypicalrose @nerdypinupcrystal @giruvega

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa smut #jonsa fluff #jonsa series #jon snow #jon snow fanfiction #jonsa fic #jon snow smut #sansa stark #sansa stark fanfiction #sansa stark fanfic #sansa stark fic #sansa stark smut #jon snow x sansa stark #jon snow x sansa stark fanfic #jon snow x sansa stark smut #keeping up with the targaryens series

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sailorshadzter · 10 months

Text

somewhat inspired by @taylorswift "head on the pillow i can feel you sneaking in"

willow is so jonsa coded that naturally every time i hear it i think of them.

anyways.

here you go!

In the darkness of her own rooms, she feels alone.

It is quiet and still, the only sound that of the howling wind outside her window; once, she’d have shuddered at the sound. Now it just feels like home. Sighing, she rolls onto her side, hand tucked beneath her cheek, legs curled up beneath the heavy furs. Winterfell had gone off to bed some hours before, but she still lays awake there in her bed, in the room her parents once shared, kept awake by more than just memories. In truth, she’s kept awake this night by one thing and one thing alone.

And what she doesn’t know is that one thing is walking down the hall towards her rooms.

Jon knows he’s stupid to do this, to come to her rooms so late into the night. But, he’s lost without her tonight, his need to see her, to feel her, to be with her outweighs every other thought and feeling. So, he creeps along the darkened corridors, his footsteps the only sound in the silence, until finally he stands at her door, torn between what was right and what he wanted.

But, again, his own selfish needs win and he pushes open her door without a knock; they haven’t knocked in ages. Her room is dark and quiet, making him wonder if she sleeps peacefully there in her bed, but, as he approaches, he can hear the shifting of her mattress, can see the twist of her body as she rolls over to peer up at him in the darkness. No words are needed as he slips between the furs, just as she has done a thousand times or more, the warmth of her skin ghosting against his own. “I wondered when you might come,” she whispers as his head hits her pillow and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he admits softly and she’s laughing, the sound like music to his ears. Once he had wondered if he would ever hear that sound again, now, he hears it often. Wordlessly she inches closer until he can wrap her in his arms, drawing her in so she might press her ear to his chest, to listen to the sound of his strong heartbeat. She thinks back to all the other nights they’ve shared like this, when that sound had been the only thing to bring her any comfort at all. “I needed to hold you like this,” his arms had felt empty without her, his bed cold without her in it. She feels the touch of his lips to the top of her head, soft and slow, but it ignites a fire within her that she feels all the way down to the tips of her toes. For a single moment, she wonders how she’s ever lived without knowing his touch like this, without knowing his warmth as she does now. To live a life without it, without him… It was almost too painful to think of. “Where have you gone, sweetheart…?” His voice traces along the outline of her jaw, lips to skin, a gesture which still yet sends shivers down her spine.

“I was only thinking of how I could not bear to lose you,” she says as his teeth gently sink into the soft, ivory skin of her throat, uncaring of the tiny bruises he will leave behind. One of his hands has tangled itself into the long, unbound locks of her hair, the other placed upon her hip, keeping her there, as if she were to ever slip away.

“You will never,” he reminds her, serious now, gray eyes finding her blue ones in the dark. “Never, Sansa.” He means it and she knows it. Her lips curve with a small smile and she leans in, forehead to forehead, her hands slipping into place against his cheeks. She could stay right here forever, if only time would allow it. “I am yours forever, no matter the cost.” He would fight any battle, face any foe, do anything and everything for her, no matter what it took. “You believe me, don’t you?”

Once, she might not have.

She remembers who she was when she first came to him in Castle Black, broken and helpless, tormented by those she once trusted and hurt by those who should have loved her. Life was not kind to her in the time since she left home all those years ago, though, she supposes it was not kind to any of the Stark family. She thinks of what they’ve lost, who they’ve lost, and she wonders, if just for a moment, if in the end it would all be worth it. But then Jon squeezes her hand and she knows, she believes, that it would all turn out as it should. He would keep her safe and they would be happy. Happier than they’ve ever been. Happier than they ever thought they could be.

“I do,” she whispers back and his lips find hers, strong and true, full of unspoken things.

Full of everything she needs and wants.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #taylor swift lyrics #my writing #i wrote this

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aegor-bamfsteel · 2 years

Note

Sometimes I feel like so many book fans are unable to see Dany atrocities in Slavers Bay. It's because they think Dany is removing slavery and the characters are either causing problems to Dany or some are plain cruel. Do you think the writing has sone flaws regarding Essos chapter?

I think you’re right regarding the Slaver’s Bay atrocities, although a few people have pointed out this is likely intentional. Making the Slavers so one-dimensionally evil—crucifying 163 slave children as a challenge to Dæny, brainwashing slave boys into super soldiers, condemning innocent people to getting mauled by animals because they want to see death—is so Dæny’s actions against them seem not as bad by comparison, or even “karmic justice”. I mean, how many times have you seen the defense of the crucifixion of 163 Meereenese Masters as “they were slavers and probably involved in killing them anyway” when Dæny had them killed without an investigation? Even though the motivation of the slavers is similar to that of Tywin Lannister—pride in their heritage and the system they’ve profited off of, to the point of considering those outside the clan inferior which justifies all sorts of atrocities against them—you never get an Essosi villain with Tywin’s sort of backstory or sense of grandeur (let alone that of his children, but at least they’re POVs).

I’m hardly alone thinking the Essosi characters are poorly developed. It’s pretty telling that the show—otherwise criticized for flattening characters, for its racist imagery, for softening the blow of dark!Dæny—actually did better than the books with them in a few places. They gave Missandei and Grey Worm a romantic plot that didn’t involve Dæny (and considering Missandei was supposed to survive the finale, maybe signified them growing apart from her). They made it obvious that Dæny crucifying the 163 Great Masters without a trial was reckless, because she killed Hizdahr’s father and he’d spoken against killing the children. Hizdahr himself got more sympathetic characterization, going from an opportunistic lobbyist who wanted to open up the fighting pits to essentially being the Sansa to her Joffrey and pointing out her hypocrisy when she vows to destroy Meereen if they keep rebelling (“So your reasons are true and theirs are false?”) Then there’s a character Mossador, a former slave who she kills for killing a Son of the Harpy without trial, thus causing a riot, and he’s not in the books.

GRRM, as the first linked post points out, has a talent for creating well fleshed out minor characters in little narrative space (citing Small Paul, though there are many other examples), which helps make Westeros feel more dynamic. By contrast, Dæny’s main cast in Essos is mostly one dimensional. It’s not really fair to compare Pyp, Grenn, and Dolorous Edd (not counting Sam because he’s a POV) to Irri, Jhiqui, Rakharo, and Jhogo, but both of groups have been with POV Jon or Dæny for most of their journey, and see how easy it is to think of the first group’s character traits (Pyp’s the funny mummer, Grenn is a gentle giant, Dolorous Edd is Eeyore giving a Shakespeare monologue) whereas the second group has little characterization (GRRM differentiates them by body type, with Irri as slender, Jhiqui as busty, Jhogo is young, Rakharo has a mustache) This got so bad in ADWD that GRRM had to invent a character Rommo as part of Dæny’s khalasar because her bloodriders weren’t available to represent the Dothraki in council. We have an oily suck up to the ruling power in Reznak and Pycelle, but we understand Pycelle’s motivations due to a monologue with Jaime (he admires authoritarian rulers since surviving a plague that killed 3/4 of the Citadel), whereas Reznak doesn’t get that revealing backstory moment. Basically GRRM shows he’s plenty capable of creating interesting side characters and antagonists, he just rarely does so during the Essosi chapters.

(Incidentally, this is part of the reason why I hate the theory that Melisandre is of magical Westerosi origin. She’s 1 of 2 indigenous Essosi and ex-slave POVs and a well rounded character with development over 3 books who drives part of the plot. Making her Westerosi magic really takes away from her origin story that led her to devote her life to Rhllor.)

#ask #grrm criticism #anti daenerys #opinion

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mags-writes · 3 months

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Part 3: Meet Me In The Woods - Gendrya

Summary: Gendry will not be hurt and Arya makes sure Jon knows it.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, canon-level angst, canon-level swearing

Pairing: Gendry Waters/Baratheon x Arya Stark

Length: 1.5k words

Masterlist || The Night We Met || Frozen Pines || Meet Me In The Woods || Love Like Ghosts

how long, baby, have I been away? oh, it feels like ages, though you say it's only days there ain't language for the things I've seen, yeah and the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams

"Can I speak with you?" Was the first thing Arya said to Jon as she rounded the corner into his room.

Ser Davos and Sansa were also in the room which was a surprise but Arya looked past it and put her steely gaze to her brother.

"What do you need?" Jon asks, strapping up his last belt.

"Alone." She specified drawing a frown from her sister.

"Arya," Jon scoffed, smiling wide. "You can say anything in front of them."

Her nostrils flared slightly and she didn't break eye contact.

"It's about Gendry." She went to say something further but Sansa's scoff and eye roll stopped her.

"Seven hells, don't tell me he's asked for your hand in marriage already." She joked.

Arya spluttered, her eyes wide as she completely froze.

"No!" She exclaimed, her cheeks gaining a rosy tint.

"He better not have," Jon mumbled to himself, finally facing his angry little sister. "What is it, Arya?"

Arya, furiously, let out a huff. "I know who his father is."

Jon and Ser Davos looked at one another in confusion.

"How do you know that? Did he tell you?" Jon asks, looking back at her.

"Of course he told me!" Sansa watched silently with a frown, deciding not to intervene with this conversation. "Listen, Daenerys can't find out."

"Arya-"

"No, Jon," Arya said a bit more harshly but much more evenly, looking him dead in the eyes. "If she finds out, she'll kill him. And before she gets the chance he and I will disappear for the rest of your lives and her army will wake up to a dead Queen."

The room went still at her threat. Jon didn't break eye contact with her and Arya could see him understanding how serious she was. He tried to reach out for her but stopped halfway, looking down and thinking for a moment longer.

"She wouldn't do that, I can promise you." He finally said.

"I don't care, Jon." She countered and this time he did reach out, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"It would be in her best interest to keep him alive. Trust me."

There was something in the way he was speaking to her. The way his eyes and voice were begging her for something. Arya's eyes widened, shifting between his before she sucked in a quiet gasp of air and stepped away from him.

"You already told her." She turned from him, ready to make a mad dash out of the door but Jon got hold of her again.

"Arya, you have to trust me." Arya's eyes were wide as she shook her head.

"I just got him back." The crack in her voice broke Jon's heart and he brought up a hand to craddle the side of her face.

"I told her before we got here. She's known for weeks now." He brought her in closer but she was trying to get out of his grip. "Listen to me. Danny is not going to-"

"Oh! She's Danny now, is she?" Arya finally got free of him and stood back. Sansa had stood up now, trying to get closer to comfort her sister even if she didn't know what it was all about. "I swear on our father's tomb, a silver hair out of line in regards to Gendry and I'll slit her throat."

She spent the rest of the morning avoiding her family, seeing to the guards, and making sure they were doing their rounds as they were supposed to. When it was lunchtime, Arya did as she had done the night before, loading up two plates and a big cup of mead, and making her way to the forge. She didn't even bother waiting for Gendry to stop what he was doing outside of the forge and just went straight in, setting it down and getting the chairs, knowing that he would follow her.

"You know," He said, walking in and sitting down heavily beside her. "I was actually going to get some food this time."

"Sure you were," Arya replied sarcastically before smiling cheekily. He smiled back before digging into the food and Arya let out a little noise, suddenly remembering the parchment in her coat. "Can I make a request?"

"Anything for you, Lady Stark." He smiled wide at her eye roll and bit into some bread keeping his eyes on her as she moved around. She took out the parchment, unfolded it, and gave it to him, and watched as his eyes roamed the page. "I can do this."

"Can you do it before anything else?" She asked, a hopeful tilt in her tone making him smile at her again.

"I can make this a high priority on my list of things to do." They both smiled at one another, eating away at their lunch and sharing the mead.

When they were done and in the middle of reminiscing their horrible time in Harrenhall, Arya heard Jon speaking and the Queen answering. Arya shot up straight like an arrow shaft in her seat, turning her body to see them both walking towards the forge with Sansa on the other side of Jon. Jon looked up just in time to see Arya before they went past a beam and she gave him the meanest glare she could muster.

"What is it?" Gendry asked, completely unaware.

Arya turned back to him and started whispering lowly to him. "The Queen knows whose bastard you are. Just act normal. She won't do anything to you."

"How the fuck do you know that?" He whispered back ferociously, looking up to the door and then back down to her in a panic.

"Because if she tries anything I'll slit her throat!" She whispered back like it was obvious and like he should know that already. He just looked at her completely flabbergasted.

"Arry!"

"Gendry?" Jon called out making both of them jump up from their positions on their chairs, only just realising now how close their faces were to one another.

"M'lord, m'lady, your grace." Gendry greeted politely, bowing his head at them and not daring to look up again.

"Your grace." Arya greeted as well with a bow of her head, trying to act completely normal and completely unlike what she was feeling.

"We haven't interrupted anything, have we?" Daenerys asks, noticing the plates between them.

"Just a bit of lunch, your grace." Gendry supplied, his head still bowed.

"He tends to forget about the outside world when working in the forges, your grace," Arya said. "We don't want our best talent to drop from exhaustion."

"No, we certainly do not." Daenerys agreed with that politician's smile she was always wearing. "I didn't get the chance to thank you for all you've done so far, Gendry. Going North of the wall that is. You were very brave in volunteering and we wouldn't have gotten this far afterwards without your help."

Gendry was intent on keeping his eyes on the ground and he bowed slightly again. "Thank you, your grace, but I was only doing the right thing."

"Yes, and as Lady Arya pointed out, the right thing just happened to be the noble thing." Daenerys sounded very sincere and maybe if Arya wasn't so on edge right now she would be able to tell that she actually was being sincere. "I hope you know that your good deeds won't go unrewarded."

"I'm not doing any of this for a reward, your grace, I promise." Arya could tell Gendry was getting more and more nervous. He couldn't keep his hands still and he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Arya could hear all of that and she knew without looking at him that his eyes would be darting around everywhere but the Queen.

"I know. You're far too honourable." Daenerys took a step forward making Arya flinch. "I want you to know that when we win this great war, you will be richly rewarded for all that you have done not just for the crown but also for the Stark family. We all owe you a debt."

Gendry nodded his head and swallowed hard. "Thank you, your grace."

Daenerys sent Arya one last smile, that Arya returned before walking out. Sansa gave her sister a look that Arya knew was Sansa letting her decide for herself what to do about Jon before also turning and walking out. Ser Davos was waiting patiently by the door and turned his head to make it look like he wasn't listening in. Jon came up to her and took hold of her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles affectionately.

"Please," He begged gently. "Please, trust me."

Arya let his words sit in the air between them for a long pause, waiting for him to look up at her.

"So long as you also trust me." She squeezed his hand tightly.

Jon nodded, she would say in a desperate way, and she hugged him quickly.

I have seen what the darkness does say goodbye to who I was I ain't never been away so long don't look back, them days are gone

#gendrya #gendry x arya #gendry waters x arya stark #gendry baratheon x arya stark #lord gendry baratheon x lady arya stark #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfic #got fic #got fanfic #gendrya fic #gandrya fanfic

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asoiafdrabbles · 2 years

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Potentiality Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Overall Content: Trans Jon Snow, Genderqueer Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Gender Dysphoria, Deadnaming, Misgendering, Abusive Relationship, Stark Bashing, Targaryen Restoration, Implied Suicide, Stereotypical Gendered Expectations, Canon-Typical Incest

Summary: Daenerys died with her love's lips against hers and his blade in her darkened heart. Jon died alone in the cold with his guilt. That is not their end.

They both wake up years earlier, in a world that is nearly the same...but with two differences that greatly affect them. Jon and Daenerys must navigate the future they know is coming from the bodies of Joanna Snow and Daeron Targaryen, with all that entails.

Ship: Daenerys/Jon, other background/past/minor ships

XxXxX

Winterfell | Pentos

Jon startled awake, hands gripping the blankets around him as he sat. He remembered death, cold and unforgiving, welcome by the second time it came to him. And yet...here he was. He did not feel dead--his breath shuddered through his chest, his heart beat pumped in his ears.

He glanced around, seeing a small, tidy room in what could only be Winterfell. His room, his old childhood room. The same and yet...different. There were tapestries and sundries he was unfamiliar with, not just because he hadn't seen them in years, but because he'd never seen them.

Standing, he wobbled for a moment, the balance of his body unexpected, and when he looked down he gasped. Small breasts appeared in his view and the body that went along with them was more slender and effeminate than he had ever seen.

There was a mirror of polished silver sitting on a table and he grabbed it, staring at himself in the early light of dawn--he had the same hair, though far longer, the same eyes, a long face and pale, pale skin, and yet...and yet he appeared to be a girl.

A girl, not even a full-grown woman.

He searched through his things, finding clothing for a girl, finer than the clothing he'd worn as a bastard boy was, though still nothing like what Sansa might have worn. There were tunics and trousers, as well, worn enough that he knew they'd been used. The sort of things Arya always tried to wear. Something told him she'd made them, this girl he now was.

Hesitating over the clothing, he finally decided on one of the plainer dresses with a huff. He'd come back from the dead (twice, now, if this could be called such), fought White Walkers, ridden dragons, he refused to be afraid of wearing girl's clothing.

His hands moved automatically once he started, falling into a pattern that seemed long-practiced of putting on all that he needed, even of braiding back his unruly curls. The less time he spent actively thinking of things, the more this girl's life seemed to come to him.

Joanna Snow, bastard daughter of Lord Eddard Stark (who still did not know of her mother, which to Jon meant she, too, must truly be the daughter of Lyanna and Rhaegar). She was close to her brother Robb, but closest to her sisters Sansa and Arya, though in different ways. She was the bridge between the two, the peacemaker, and it made Jon's heart ache to realize that in this world they were both better off, both happier, because he was a she.

Shaking himself off, he diligently started through the doors, ready to perform the chores Joanna had before breaking her fast. There was a lot he didn't know, yet, and playing along in this...whatever it was would be necessary until he knew how to escape.

***

Daenerys woke up with a gasp, hands flying to her heart. They felt wrong, as did her chest, and when she looked down...it was all wrong. Too flat, too broad, her hands far too large. Masculine.

She glanced around her, panic flaring before she could start to pull herself together.

The last thing she remembered was Jon kissing her...and stabbing her. The tears in his eyes, the fury in her mind.

She'd heard his story of coming back to life. It was nothing like this.

The room was different than her memories, but still recognizable--she was in Illyrio's manse. That meant...Viserys was down the hall. As soon as she thought it, she knew it to be true.

And once she started thinking through that, more came to her. She was still trying to work through the jumble of thoughts and memories as servants came into the room to prepare her for the day.

It was odd, having men helping her, but her body knew what to do. They bowed and were as respectful as expected, asking "Prince Daeron" if he required anymore from them before she waved them off and settled back into her own mind.

Somehow, she was alive. In the past. Though she was not fully herself. The youngest son of Aerys and Rhaella instead of their only daughter, the girl born too late.

Thinking of her family made her think of Jon again. He had looked miserable, she remembered. Hesitant. Had someone threatened him? Tyrion could have, perhaps, or one of the others who worked against her. Threatened the treacherous Starks that Jon had been so attached to.

She would need to find him earlier in this timeline. The Starks had already sunk their claws deep within him, but she could show him the truth of himself and teach him how to be a Targaryen instead.

As a man, as a prince, she would not be sold off to the Khal. She was trained as a warrior as Viserys never had been, had dabbled in becoming a sellsword once she was a little older and if she could escape his dreams of a throne. She would be no one's victim.

Now she knew that Viserys' fantasies were not so impossible. All she needed to do was find a way to bring the dragons back in this world and the chaos Westeros would fall into because of Cersei Lannister would pave the way to the throne.

The only thing she had to decide on was whether to allow Viserys to take it as her puppet or to get rid of him. He might cause more trouble than he was worth, but he was still her brother. And in this world Daenerys had grown fast enough, large enough, that Viserys hadn't dared touch her as he had in the other. She could be a little more forgiving.

After all, she'd have enough enemies when she abolished slavery among the Free Cities and wiped out the remaining Starks before they could move against her.

XxXxX

Notes:

So as a non-binary person genderswap fics both fascinate me and often feel super awkward. It's worse in stuff set in the modern day or cultures with some level of third gender, but it's awkward regardless, really, even as I like the exploration of how being a different gender might change a character.

I was thinking of time travel fix-it fics for Game of Thrones, though, and it made me wonder...what would have happened if Jon had been a woman and Dany a man? Dany would have been able to get away with a lot more and had much more support to begin with...but both of them would still have much different lives and still need to get to that point. So, I decided to do a time travel fix-it with a "genderswap" of their bodies/the versions of them they're replacing, but the minds of their previous life. The two of them will deal in different ways with this, their histories and culture playing a role in it.

It's Dark Daenerys as she's not far from the mindset she had at the end of the series, though dying (and waking up in a body with a penis) sort of shocked her into a calmer approach to it. It's mostly Game of Thrones canon, with just a little of the books throne in here and there.

#series: potentiality #character: jon snow #ship: daenerys/jon #character: daenerys targaryen #verse: genderswap #verse: time travel #will make a post with links to all of these chapters once i'm done posting them

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winterreigned · 2 months

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❛ please don't go, i can't handle losing you too. ❜ @theyoungwclf

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 , 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗸𝘀. a litter of pups once so large , now dwindled down to two. arya was gone , bran and rickon burnt by theon , jon beyond the wall. robb and sansa stark remained , the last living proof of ned stark's legacy. he was king in the north , but what good was it? they had no true home anymore , not when iron born littered the north. war camps became their haven , the nomadic life of the road , setting up and dismantling on an almost weekly basis. war was no place for a lady , catelyn told her. sansa had to agree , though she felt safer here than she ever had in king's landing , and selfishly , she didn't wish to leave robb once again. fear convinced her leaving would result in his death , then she truly would be alone in this world.

the three starks dined together in robb's tent , as they often had. though an argument came to a head once more when sansa's adamant refusal to leave the camp angered catelyn. it was no use , her mother had already concocted a plan. sansa was to remain in riverrun under the protection of the tullys. she had little interest in this , in fact she had told her mother as such , which resulted in the argument that followed. sansa had stormed off , seeking solace in her tent. she knew there was no use in fighting it , when catelyn stark made up her mind , there was no changing it. in this regard (among many others) , sansa was her spitting image.

robb's entrance causes her to look up , though she doesn't move from her spot , curled up in a blanket large enough to drown her. she's silent for a moment , struggling to find proper words that don't make her sound like she's having a childlike tantrum ( shouting it's not fair for all the northern troops to hear surely is not a good look for a princess of the north )

❝ i do not wish to leave , though i do understand mother's worries. ❞ catelyn had two children left to her , it is of course reasonable she'd wish to do what it takes to guarantee their safety. ❝ yet , i feel safest here. with you , with the army. ❞ sansa pauses for a moment , preparing herself for an admission that bares a heavy weight. ❝ i fear that if i leave , i will never see you again. you are all i have left in this world. i would rather die here with you than endure a lifetime without you. not when we've lost everyone else. ❞ their father had always warned , the lone wolf dies. it's the pack who survives , robb was her pack. the two of them , even jon too , if he ever wished to break his vows.

❝ you are king , robb , ❞ sansa begins , and it is moments like these that remind her , despite all that she has endured , she is still a young girl. there are still whims of childhood desperation lingering behind the solemn and broken face of a teenager who had grown too fast to survive. ❝ your word is final. if you will it , i beg of you. tell mother i am to remain here with you. i promise i will be of use. if mother gets to remain , then i wish the same for myself. ❞

#i remembered our au where he rescued her from kl #and i adore it #so let's pretend it's here #theyoungwclf #dyn | robb & sansa | theyoungwclf #03. answered | a raven from the north.

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ofprevioustimes · 1 year

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[ @ofimaginarybeings ]

Catelyn Stark (or whatever was left of her) had waited long enough.

Her wounds had turned to scars; her grief went from an unwelcome visitor into her closest friend, the one thing that gave her strength: she’d wept and suffered and raged, and now it was time to act. Her enemies had taken everything away except her life.. and her daughters. Since Bran had fallen from that tower her days had been an endless succession of grief and loss: Ned, then Bran and Rickon, now Robb and all the rest. It ought to have been more than she could take, and yet she endured it for Arya and Sansa. Her girls were alive and they needed her. It was not even strength that kept her alive at this point, no, Catelyn was past feeling strong now… it was nothing more than motherly love.

Which meant that she would have to swallow her pride. Not that there was much of it left.

It was a hard journey. Day and night, night and day she crossed from the Twins through the Riverlands, through forests and hills all the way North, never once going near the kingsroad, relying solely on Brienne of Tarth’s protection from bandits, or worse. She needed information and they had to be inconspicuous. Brienne would have to leave her alone at times to go into taverns and hear what was being said about the current state of affairs while Catelyn hid in the woods. She hadn’t liked the idea, but it was the safest option. Even the slightest slip in discretion could cost their lives. Cat often dyed her hair with whatever she could find along the way: berries, leaves, roots… the color never lasted long, and she didn’t always find them. The closer they got to the North, the higher the risk of her being recognized.

Her faith in the gods had long begun to slip away, and yet she still felt that they must have played a part in keeping the two women alive until they finally reached Castle Black. Many times she’d feared they wouldn’t. It still didn’t make the ordeal ahead of her any easier: all her life Catelyn had held Jon Snow in contempt for his father’s choices, and now she had to come to him in the Night’s Watch to ask him to betray his vows and help her save his sister from the Boltons. He could so easily say no: as much as she hated to admit it, the boy was every bit like Ned. But when she asked herself if Ned would choose Arya over honor… she liked to imagine that he would, so perhaps Jon might say yes.

It can’t have been for nothing, she thought to herself. Gods, don’t let it be for nothing…

And then he entered the empty hall. When she stared at him, Catelyn was speechless. She always knew the right thing to say to her children, but he was not one of them, and for a moment she couldn’t find the words to even greet him. “Jon”, she said at last, standing up politely. There was no hostility in her eyes this time: her gaze was guarded, silently humbled by the plea she’d bring to him, yet still too mournful to be proud. “Thank you for receiving me.”

#catelyn: ofimaginarybeings [jon]#ofimaginarybeings #catelyn: threads.#[seven times damned she-wolf]: catelyn stark

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carbonitekisses · 5 years

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IV: Trust and Promises

In which Jon and Sansa finally have a moment alone after his return to Winterfell. Also on AO3

Her hand trembles slightly but the key turns the lock and the door swings in.

No.

I can't do this. Sansa takes a step back into the hallway. Not right now.

"Stay," he asks of her. Loud enough that she hears him, quiet enough that she is sure Brienne knows nothing of his presence in her rooms. She could leave and none would be the wiser.

Sansa was a lady at the age of three. A lady's courtesy is the only reason she takes one last painful draw of free air, steps into her room, and seals the exit.

Discreetly, she tries to steady her breathing though her lungs beg her to gasp and heave. Jon is here and Sansa will not show herself as weak in front of him. She thought she knew him, at least a little. She knew him as a king, a partner, and family. But then he left for Dragonstone against all counsel, and came back changed. He's still Jon. She still trusts him. And yet, Sansa's heart stutters in her chest and there is so little room, so little air, He left and came back as someone who's actions I do not understand...perhaps someone I did not ever really know. Jon remains standing, waiting for her to make the first move. Caught unawares and unprepared, it is an ambush she has walked into. Sooner or later a confrontation between them had to pass. She had rhetorically hoped it would never come. Pretend, that is all I can do for now. Pretend I am everything I am not—calm and indifferent. Varys and his little birds will have to wait. First, this.

The lady of WInterfell confidently walks around Jon Snow and takes her place behind the great oak desk. I made the first move, let him be the first to break the silence and speak.

He hears her before he sees her.

“...only be a minute in my own rooms.”

Jon rises from the chair set before the desk just as she opens the door. He can tell she's been outside. The wind has played with her hair though the braids have done their duty in keeping it in place. Although she has been in the cold her cheeks lack the red that normally colors them after being in the winter wind. Jon would think her unwell but she shows no discomfort or uneasiness. Her left foot takes a backstep, ready to retreat into the hall. She can't leave. He can't let her.

“Stay,” he whispers.

And she does. Reluctantly, he knows, but she stays.

She calmly closes the door behind her. He thinks of what to say to break the silence but Sansa's gaze passes over him. If Jon hadn't spoken and witnessed her surprise at seeing him in her rooms, he would think himself invisible. He watches her as she strides to sit behind her desk. Sansa blankly looks at him as he remains standing. She will not speak, fine. Then he will.

"Are you well?"

"Yes."

"Any news of import?"

"A lot has happened since you left the North."

The window behind her does little in keeping out the gales that push back against the castle walls. He is glad for it. The wind makes the silence between words slightly more bearable.

"And will you not tell me of this news?"

"First: how did you get in? I'm assuming Arya was involved?"

“Aye.” It took her less than a minute to pick the lock.

"Thank you."

Arya shakes her head as she works the metal pick into the lock. "Don't thank me. I'm not doing this for you." A final twist and the door unlocks. "I have my own reasons."

His little sister is harsher and sharper-edged but the sweet girl he remembers is still there. He wonders what else besides lock-picking she's learned during her time away from home.

"I don't trust her."

"Arya, she's your sis—"

"Our sister." She pushes the door open and steps aside so he can go in. "And I wasn't talking about Sansa; I've played the game with her. I have yet to play it with Daenerys Targaryen. Or with you."

"What game?"

She gives him a smile instead of an answer, and leaves.

“Where is she?” Sansa asks him. “Arya? I need to speak with her.”

Arya had mentioned going to the forges. The blacksmiths are hard at work, laboring day and night to make dragonglass weapons. Something tells him that if he told Sansa where Arya is she would leave in search of her. “I don't know,” he lies.

She says nothing, her eyes flicking to the closed door behind him. Yes, she would have left him to search for Arya.

Jon had arrived at Winterfell yesterday but right now is the first time Sansa and him are truly alone. Their reunion had been confined to their embrace in the courtyard. From there onwards, aside from the assembly in the hall, they spent the rest of the day in different parts of the keep, with different people, and different tasks. He knows his own reasons for avoiding her...what he doesn't know is why she avoided him. Since Castle Black, Jon has come to understand a little of what makes the woman that stands before him. She's strong-willed, persuasive, and unafraid to speak her mind. Jon had expected her to hunt him down like a she-wolf and bring him to heel, demand answers to the questions he knows have been simmering ever since he signed as 'Warden of the North' on that damned scroll.

She never came.

“You've been avoiding me.” He knows she had avoided him. She must know he had avoided her.

“And you, me,” she confirms. “We've been avoiding each other. Now we're not. Is that all you came here for?”

Her lack of feeling or care needles him.

“No. It's not. We need to talk.”

Without warning or apparent cause, placidness seems to replace her discordance. "Very well, then. What news do you want to hear of first?" She leans back and lays her arms on the chair's armrests. He sits, cautious and wary of her change in tone. "The food shortage, the fickleness of the northern lords, the tension between the Free Folk and northmen, Arya and Bran? Or perhaps we should discuss the newer concerns that arrived with Daenerys Targaryen. Varys' little birds, the hatred the north holds against Targaryens and Lannisters, the wight dragon, and, again, the food shortage."

"Little birds?" It's a term he hasn't heard of and the first topic that tumbles out of his mouth.

"Varys is called Master of Whispers for a reason," she replies drily, "Little birds, he calls them. Spies. Eyes and ears that report back to him, and often spread secrets and lies of their own. No conversation, secret, plan, or information is safe with them here. There is a reason Varys has survived three regencies. He's a dangerous man."

And you brought him here, is left unsaid.

Jon swallows and tries to bring some moisture to his drying mouth. Spies in Winterfell that report to Varys and, by extension, to Daenerys. Daenerys who is quick to anger and impulsive. Northerners are not known for their tact or minding their tongues. If the assembly in the hall is anything to go by, Jon is sure these little birds will have an easy job of reporting how unwanted Daenerys is in the North. It is a problem he is not sure he can solve. It is a problem he didn't even know existed. How private is this conversation? Could there be a little bird in this very room? At least he knows Brienne is standing guard right outside.

Speaking of dangerous men, "What of Baelish? I have yet to see him following you around the halls." He tries for humor in order to not betray his preoccupation, "Did Ghost frighten him away?"

There is a shift in her demeanor. Minutely, her hands tighten around the armrests. Her nostrils flare while she takes in a drag of air. Something happened between Baelish and her. "I love Sansa, as I loved her mother," Baelish had said. Jon should have killed the beady-eyed man when he had the chance. Instead, Jon left Sansa unprotected and alone with a man whose hungry stare never wavered from her.

"Don't worry. He's no longer your concern. Or a threat. Arya, Bran and I saw to that."

Unbidden, his gloved hand tightens. Muscle memory. Tendons and muscle move as he tries to choke a neck that is no longer there. "What happened? He made his intentions towards you very clear to me before I left."

"I don't want to talk about Littlefinger right now."

"Sansa." He says her name like a challenge. He doesn't know why he is so intent on this. He feels almost childish, fixated on a topic he can see she holds no love for. However, it is the first time that she has shown any matter of feeling or investment in this...conversation. And there is something dark and viscid within him that needs to know—that wants to break the veil of ice she is wearing. "I need to know," Sansa stiffens. "Did he—did he cross any boundaries he shouldn't have?"

"You 'need to know'?" Her head lowers, shaking humorlessly, until he can only see the braided rose that crowns her hair. Words are slow and pointed in coming out of her mouth. Her tongue seems to savor each syllable. "Funny, that, how you demand answers and explanations from me. How, suddenly, 'we need to talk'. We needed to talk several moons past, what use is talking now? My counsel and opinion doesn’t matter to you."

You're wrong. There are few people he can and does trust. He left the North in her steady and capable hands. He entrusted the safety of their people to her. She...she came into his life unexpectedly but he now finds himself unable to fathom a future without her—and the rest of his family. How can you doubt your importance to me? Or believe that your counsel and opinion doesn't matter? “It does matter—”

Her chair scrapes against the floor as she abruptly stands, and her hands grip the edge of the desk. “No, it doesn’t." As if surprised by the vehemency that coats her words, she blinks rapidly, and twists her face away from him. "One raven, Jon. That is all you cared to send." Her voice is hoarse; he surmises it is probably from anger. "You left our home and a kingdom we just reclaimed, to leave on a mission everyone advised you against because we couldn’t risk losing you. Moons without a single word, or scroll to at least let me know you were alive and well." She lifts a hand to wipe away a strand of auburn that escaped her braid. "And then when I do receive a raven it’s to let me know—not confer with or discuss—but to let me know that you bent the knee. Brienne told me of how you publicly pledged yourself to Daenerys at the Dragon Pit. No one aside from you and the Targaryen queen, not even Ser Davos, your hand, knew."

He mimics her and stands just as harshly. Jon thought she trusted him. 'We need to trust each other'. They had promised atop Winterfell's battlements, hadn't they? "You weren't the one that had to negotiate with Daenerys. I was." Anger at her mistrust worms into his throat. Sansa wasn't kept prisoner with no access to her ship and weapons. She doesn't know of how tense the situation was. She doesn't know how volatile Daenerys' temper is. She criticizes him without knowing exactly what transpired on that thrice-damned island. "You have no idea what it was like, you only believe what you want to believe and accuse me of—of I don't know what."

"That's the problem! I have no idea because you refuse to confide in me!" Her gloveless hands release their grip on the desk. The lady of Winterfell draws her shoulders back and circles the desk to stand before him. The barrier between them is gone and at this close distance Jon can see a faint redness lining the white of her eyes. "You act like a lone wolf without thinking of the consequences. With the stroke of a quill, you sent a scroll renouncing a crown voluntarily given and voluntarily accepted," a breath shudders past the belt that tightly winds around her waist, "and it fell upon me to try and explain a situation I knew nothing of to the people that put their trust in the Stark name. Thrice now, a Stark king has lost the north. Did you believe the lords would accept a Targaryen queen as easily as you did? You know what the North has suffered at the hands of southern rulers—especially Targaryens. I'd almost wager many of them would rather die in the Long Night than submit once more to 'Fire and Blood'."

"Then they're fools," he says through clenched teeth. We're really all just Northern fools in the end. "Do you think the Night King cares about who holds what title? Titles don't matter—"

"Oh, yes they do," she cuts in, "What will happen after the war? After the Night King is defeated? You say you fight for the living but it seems you don't care or understand that life, the very thing you are fighting for, will continue on afterwards and the promises and pledges you have sworn will matter. Who rules over us, over the North, will matter. That you pledged northern men to fight for a bloody throne in the south will matter." Her volley of attacks leaves her winded and gasping. "You're a fool if you don't understand this."

"She has dragons, armies, and dragonglass. We need Daenerys, what don't you understand about that?" He isn't wearing the cloak Sansa made for him yet he feels himself warming underneath Sansa's clear disapproval. Sansa always gets under his skin. What does he have to do to gain her trust? "Without her we will not win this war. I've seen the Army of the Dead. I've fought them. Not even her dragons are safe. You heard Bran, the Night King now has a dragon of his own." Guilt at agreeing to go beyond the Wall for Daenerys' truce, the loss of Uncle Benjen, guides his eyes away from Sansa's penetrating gaze. "You have no idea what we're up against. If I hadn't gone to Dragonstone...there is no doubt in my mind the Night King would kill every single northern man, woman, and child before making his way south. You must know," he takes a single step forward, tries to make her understand. "All I care about is protecting the North. I promised to protect you, remember? I could never forgive myself if I hadn't done everything possible to protect you, Arya, and Bran."

The braziers and sconces mounted around the room crackle, and cast her face in orange light. He feels like she's ripped from him an unknown truth he himself is blind to. She looks at him, unblinking. He stares back, waiting. His eyes start to burn but he will not yield. Sansa's veneer of ice seems to thaw. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her thumb worry her palm. Quietly, she asks him a question that tears open the wounds on his chest, “Was it duty to the North or love for her that made you bend the knee?"

#in which Jon and Sansa finally have a moment alone #and many things are discussed but also left unsaid #unreliable narrator #jon x sansa #jonsa #jonsa fic #jonsaff #trust and promises #players & pieces

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cellsshapedlikestars · 2 years

Note

Prompt: Dany and Drogo at bachelor in paradise. Shit gets MESSY :D

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME. (but also thank you, this was very fun to write)

First, this is set in the same universe as the last BiP prompt fic that I wrote YESTERDAY because I have no chill and haven't stopped thinking about this prompt since you sent it.

Second... this is from Jon's POV, because there is no way I have the voice down for either Dany or Drogo.

Third, oops Jonsa slipped in there

Fourth, this is much shorter than the other one and I wrote it in like an hour so please ignore any typos I barely edited this

...

read it on ao3 here:

ephemera, chapter 31

...

Jon lounges back on the cabana bed and stares off at the ocean and sips idly at his tequila soda. He almost asked for a beer, which is what he really wanted, but he'd have to chug it, or it would be warm in no time in this heat.

So far, Paradise is pretty much exactly what he expected.

He's not really a fan of the beach. He grew up in Boston and he's much more inclined towards raging snowstorms than this oppressive heat.

Well, he says that now. He knows he'll think differently in the winter, when he's back in Boston and freezing his ass off trying to get to work on roads that aren't safe to drive. But for now he swears heat is worse.

Off in the distance, he can hear shrieks of laughter, and he hopes everyone else is having fun. It's not that he's having a bad time, it's just... exactly what he expected. A beach. A bunch of people he doesn't really have much in common with. Cameras. At least he's getting paid to be here, this time.

The only thing that had thrown him off was their host, but he tries not to think about how he made an absolute ass out of himself when he first arrived. He's almost dreading seeing her again, even though he swears by the end of it, she was flirting back. But if he's being honest, he's terrible at knowing when women are flirting with him. That's why he got along so well with Ygritte – she was direct. She came up to him, told him she wanted him, and that was it. And Alys in high school was mostly the same.

He thinks the host – Sansa, god but her name is pretty – is the first girl he's ever asked out. Every other time, it's been someone asking him. Jon's never put much effort into pursuing anyone before.

He groans and grabs a pillow and plops it over his face, hoping it will block out the glaring sun and maybe he can actually get a nap in. He didn't sleep well - this place doesn't have air conditioning, and he'd tossed and turned all night.

He's just – finally – dozing off when he hears voices. Two of them, male and female, and he wants to groan into the pillow when he realizes they've taken the cabana bed next to his. That means there's cameras here now. They've mostly left him alone while he's been relaxing by himself, but they're always around when there's more than one person. He sort of wishes he'd left his t-shirt on. He's been trying to keep it on as much as possible because he doesn't need more people on the internet talking about him, but he'd taken it off because it's just so fucking hot.

Hopefully the cameras don't see him. He's fairly certain the couple hasn't, considering the tipsy giggle coming from the girl and the wet sounds of kissing.

“You have so many muscles,” the girl says, and Jon can feel his face twist into a grimace. He knows that voice.

When he'd come down yesterday with his date card, he'd done exactly what Sansa told him to and talked to everyone before finally asking Dany. She was gorgeous and not at all subtle about being interested in going on the date with him, which he liked. But on the date itself, he'd watched her get bored of him.

It happens sometimes. Jon's a... well, he feels like maybe he's too normal for a lot of people. Too boring. He remembers one date trying to ease the sting by calling him quiet. And he'd seen it happen with Dany, the moment she realized he wasn't as exciting as the internet tried to make him out to be, though it didn't surprise him. It's exactly what he expected to happen here. By the end of the date, they both agreed they'd had a good time, but there was no romantic spark. And if he's being honest, he's not interested in any of the others romantically, either.

He should leave.

He will at the elimination ceremony, he decides. He'll cut his losses and leave on his own terms. And at least if he makes it to the elimination ceremony, he can see a certain red-headed host again...

“You must work out all the time,” Dany continues, and Jon can tell she's definitely day drunk. He's not surprised – the free sugary drinks combined with the unrelenting sun means everyone's drunk most of the time.

“I have to,” comes a deep voice, and Jon realizes she's with Drogo. Huh. Good for her. Jon can't even blame her for being mesmerized by Drogo's muscles. Jon had been, himself, when they first met. Drogo's one of those people you swear can't be real until you actually see them in person. “I'm the King of the Ring,” Drogo says, like he's quite proud of himself.

Right, Jon remembers. Drogo is a professional wrestler.

And then, with his somehow deep voice dropping even lower, Drogo murmurs, “you could be my Queen.”

Jon tries very hard not to gag behind the pillow that is still covering his face, and he tries to stay as still as possible because he really doesn't want them noticing him now. Dany lets out a happy moan and then there's more wet sounds and Jon would really like it if the earth could open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

He can hear them moving and he wants to remind them that they're on camera. He can't even see them and he knows, somehow, that there's a very heavy makeout session going on in the bed next to him.

This is fucking awkward.

Jon wonders if - while they're distracted - he could roll off the other side of the bed and then crawl his way to freedom. Undignified, maybe, but surely better than staying here.

“What the fuck,” a new voice chimes in, that Jon recognizes as Daario.

“Go away,” Drogo grunts, clearly annoyed.

“So one minute you're with me, then you're with him?” Daario asks, and Jon knows he's talking to Dany, not Drogo. “It's bad enough you went on the date with that mechanic.”

Jon rolls his eyes beneath the pillow at the weak insult. Daario obviously hasn't seen Jon on the next cabana bed over, either.

“I can do what I want,” Dany snaps, and the tone sends a shiver down Jon's spine. He remembers hearing some of the girls say that Dany has a temper, though Jon hadn't seen it on their date.

“She's mine,” Drogo grunts again. It's the best way Jon can describe the way he talks. Grunts and short sentences.

“Excuse me?” Dany seethes, and it takes all of Jon's willpower not to react – he's decided he's going to pretend he slept through this whole thing, so he tries to keep himself still.

“My sun and stars-” Drogo starts, but Jon can hear the other cabana bed creaking as someone stands.

“I don't belong to either of you,” Dany bites out, and then Jon can hear her footsteps retreating.

“Look what you did,” Daario huffs.

“What I did?” Drogo scoffs.

Jon resigns himself to laying here on this bed for a while longer, because the two men devolve into petty macho bullshit that he just knows is going to go on forever.

…

At the next rose ceremony, Dany gives her rose to Drogo and they seem cuddly and sweet together again and Jon has no idea when that happened, though Daario is pouting in the corner.

Mya gives Jon a rose and he debates turning it down – he swore he'd leave – but, well... Sansa's here, and his desire to go home is suddenly a distant memory. She's wearing a blue sundress that's really doing it for him. He knows he's staring at her – hell, he's pretty sure she knows he's staring at her, if the way she keeps glancing over at him and then quickly looking away means anything.

At the end, he manages to slip by all the crew and he steps up next to Sansa as production starts to shut down, and he says, “it's a shame you're off limits.” She turns to face him, eyes wide, lips parted in surprise. “I just think you would've really enjoyed that date, is all,” he shrugs.

God, he probably sounds as cringey as Dany and Drogo had.

Sansa's face flushes red and her eyes dart around, but then he watches her tongue dart out to wet her lips and he thinks – oh.

Maybe she really is into this.

Hope flares painfully in his chest as she turns to look at him again and says, “talking to me is against the rules.”

He deflates a little, and he says, “I can stop, if it's making you uncomfortable?”

It's back, the hope ballooning again as she hesitates, looks around again. “No,” she finally says, it comes out as a shaky whisper, “it doesn't make me uncomfortable.”

Jon can feel himself grin, and he takes a step back and says, “alright. I'll see you next time, then.”

He guesses he's not leaving after all.

…

Jon watches the finale from backstage.

All Sansa had to do was bat her eyes and give him a pout and here he was, agreeing to come out to LA for the live finale. She'd even gotten him to agree to go on stage for a one-on-one interview. She didn't do it to benefit the show, he's pretty sure – no, he's almost certain she wheedled him into doing this simply because she wanted to see him, even if she won't admit it.

It's fine. He'll admit it for the both of them. In fact, he'd admitted it on stage, in front of a live audience.

Either way, he's here, his time on camera is done and over with, and he's watching the final proposals, absolutely baffled as Drogo slips a ring onto Dany's finger.

When Jon left Paradise, they had been fighting again, just like they had been almost the entire time – fighting one minute, dry humping in a cabana the next. And now they're getting engaged, and Jon... well, he has no idea what to think about it. In an odd way, they do compliment each other.

He thinks it could go either way – either they're one of those couples that lasts, or they'll have an explosive breakup in three weeks.

But honestly, he sort of hopes they make it.

#prompt fic #jonsa #technically it's still jonsa #i cannot believe i have written yet ANOTHER bachelor fic #what is wrong with me

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une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 3 years

Text

The Dragon has Three Heads

"Three heads of the dragon... yes... but the third will not necessarily BE a Targaryen..."

~ GRRM @ at some convention

The conclusion is simple. The heads of the dragon refer to people and while the two are Targaryens, the third might not be one.

We can ignore anything that says this group of things are of different things (for example, I've seen "two Targaryens plus a concept"), as that makes no narrative sense. The key is exactly that last sentence, the third one may not be a Targaryen, which implies the three heads are all people and that two are Targaryens and the third is not quite one. Therefore, these three dragon heads must refer to people associated with dragon, with two of them being Targaryens but the last one not necessarily being one.

The most popular theory is that the two Targaryens are Danerys Targaryen and Jon Snow, with the third being the youngster that claims to be Aegon VI Targaryen and appears first in ADWD. This identification ignores the narrative framework for both Aegon VI Targareyn and Jon Snow.

On one hand, Aegon is often associated with kingly imagery (for example, the chapter he's introduced starts with six chests, the kid himself is introduced as standing at a higher ground than the rest, and ends with a turtle who is said to witness the birth of kings), he's accompanied by a lot associated with his parents such as Jon Connington (his father's hand of the kind) and some dornish / royne people (his mother's land and culture). Another thing to note is that Varys introduces him as the real thing to a dying man.

Moreover, there is at least one "baby switch" story that shadows this one, a prince baby being switched with a nobody, sent away to protect against a Baratheon. In specific, Mance Rayder's son (the wildling "king") being switched with Gilly's son, then sent South for protection against another Baratheon, which is notably a plan concocted by Jon Snow (another of Rhaegar's kids, as if preparing him and the reader to "believe" such a scenario is possible).

On the other hand, Jon Snow's core character revolves around two facts, that he is a bastard and that he loves his Stark family. The reveal that he's not Eddard Stark's bastard but Lyanna Stark's child doesn't erase the latter, as he's a Stark through his mother. Still, the nature of Rhaegar and Lyanna's relationship may erase the former. If Jon is illegitimate, that doesn't erase the former, but if he's legitimate somehow (Targaryens are said to take multiple wives), that erases the former and replaces it another. It can go either way.

Moreover, there is at least one "legitimized bastard" story that shadows this one. In specific, Jon Snow is offered to be legitimised both by Stannis Baratheon (something that is a true temptation, as it would give him everything he secretely longed for all his life), but also by Robb's will as it names Jon Snow as his heir over sisters and that's only possible through legitimising him. It's my conviction that "the rule of three" applies, therefore that Jon will reject Robb's will like he rejected Stannis' offer, but will have a third legitimization opportunity and that this time around he'll acept.

To be more specific and in contrast with Aegon, who's introduced with kingly imagery, Jon is introduced with bastardy imagery. Bran introduces him into the narratve as his bastard brother, while Jon's first POV chapter starts with him musing that he's a bastard. While Jon has "kingly" imagery, it doesn't come associated with imagery from his father's side, and seems to be self-contained to the North (for example, the first inside joke is "kings hiding under the snow" or Mormont's crow calling him king while he's at the wall). Jon's hidden parentage comes along with prince imagery instead (for example, the anti-parallel with bastard prince Joffrey). With my conviction explained above, I do believe it will come to Aegon legitimising Jon as his heir until he has kids (a parallel to Robb's will). Most (if not all) foreshadowing falls into place. Aegon VI is king, Jon is the (bastard) prince. An example would be Sansa's "Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. (...) "He is the dragon's heir." which fits with Jon as Aegon's heir.

Combined, this interpreation suggests that the popular theory is actually backwards: Aegon VI is the real thing while Jon Snow is the Blackfyre (bastard Targaryen). This is in accordance to the way the text is presented.

House of Undying

"THe dragon has three heads" is referenced for the first time to Danerys Targaryen in a prophetic inducing Shade of the Evening tripping out at the House of Undying.

The man had her brother's hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. "Aegon," he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. "What better name for a king?"

"Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked.

"He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany's, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. "There must be one more," he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. "The dragon has three heads." He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way.

I'll say that whatever the House of Undying shows, may not be reality. Rhaegar wanting to fulfill some prophecy with three kids is not referenced anywhere else, except this moment which is the equivalent of a very bad drug trip. It's worth mentioning though, Ratgar saw a comet in the sky and thought he should impregnate his wife, against medical advice because she who was recovering from giving birth his first child. It could be, but it could not be.

Regardless, what's important to note is what's being prophetized. Much like GRRM's convention remark, Rhaegar identifies the three heads as people. So far so good. However, he also gives us an order: omitted Rhaenys as she was born already, Aegon in mother's lap, Danerys when Rhaegar looks up to "see" her at the door, then finally Jon when he says "there must be one more". On one hand, Rhaenys was murdered and Danerys is in this as well, so the conclusion is that the former "replaced" the latter in the prophecy. On the other hand, if this had been a real memory, than Rhaegar would have two legitimate kids at the time (Rhaenys and Aegon) such saying "there must be one more" suggests a third child (Jon), which goes well with GRRM saying "the third may not be a Targaryen". So in order, we have Aegon, Danerys, Jon.

Danerys later reflects upon what this prophecy means and comes the conclusion that these heads are supposed to be people. This is because the Targaryen coat-of-arms is a dragon with three heads, each head representing three Targaryens.

"The dragon has three heads," she sighed. "Do you know what that means, Jorah?"

"Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black."

"I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons."

"The three heads were Aegon and his sisters."

(...)

"Prince Aegon was Rhaegar's heir by Elia of Dorne," Ser Jorah said. "But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall."

"I remember," Dany said sadly. "They murdered Rhaegar's daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon's sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?"

(...)

"Your Grace," he conceded, "the dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here's your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders."

(...)

When Brown Ben left, she lay back on her cushions. "If you were grown," she told Drogon, scratching him between the horns, "I'd fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag." But it would be years before her dragons were large enough to ride. And when they are, who shall ride them? The dragon has three heads, but I have only one.

(...)

"No dragon has ever had three heads except on shields and banners," Armen the Acolyte said firmly. "That was a heraldic charge, no more. Furthermore, the Targaryens are all dead."

"Not all," said Alleras. "The Beggar King had a sister."

(...)

"The dragon must have three heads," he wailed, "but I am too old and frail to be one of them. I should be with her, showing her the way, but my body has betrayed me."

The prophecies in ASOIAF are always misunderstood. Danerys is no exception, as she's wrongly identifing people and their motives. One thing is for sure in all these mentions though, the "dragon heads" are meant to be people and one of them is Danerys.

Danerys thinks these three dragons are supposed to mimic the original trio, with herself as Aegon and two men she'll take as lovers as the two sister wives. This is where the misunderstanding is, because it's obvious from the framework that is backwards.

These at least she could rely on, or so she hoped . . . and Brown Ben Plumm as well, solid Ben with his grey-white hair and weathered face, so beloved of her dragons. And Daario beside him, glittering in gold. Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei . . . as she looked at them Dany found herself wondering which of them would betray her next.

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.

Danerys is a dumb bitch and the text shows us exactly how. The idea of Danerys being betrayed comes together with the other two heads. They're not lovers, they're betrayers. It occurs again in ADWD as she's in the Dothraki Sea, contemplentanting if the "king" betrayed her and a wolf answers in the distance.

The framework fits this foiled scenario. The original trio was a man married to both his sisters, but only he became king (later, only the man could rule according to Targaryen law). In contrast, Danerys is a woman (foil) and both her brothers are dead (foil), whom are replaced with nephews that have a bigger claim than her (foil) and whom will not be involved / married with her (foil).

It's also thematically relevant and poignant for the trios to be foiled. The Targaryen king dynasty started with an alliance between three dragons, it's fitting that it ends with a war between three dragons. It's what they've been threatening all along with the Dance of the Dragons after all.

#anti daenerys targaryen #queue

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a-libra-writes · 4 years

Text

How the GoT Characters React To You Being Very Affectionate

So the original request was “HCs for characters being touch starved” and I dont think all of them would be necessarily so I kinda just did this? Sorry to that anon lol I did my best. we are slooowly working through the GoT request pile

In this preference, you’ll be doting on: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane, Theon Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Podrick Payne, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion, Gendry

NED STARK

Initially, your affections and sweetness were a little overwhelming for him. He wasn’t used to such attention, but he really didn’t mind them. Even when he teased you about being so close and touchy in front of all his bannermen, he wouldn’t change it about you. Ned’s favorite thing is when you’d find him in the middle of the day and touch his face to reassure him, he liked to lean into your hand and enjoy your touch before he had to return to his duties. You had a feeling that Ned was only nervous about it at first because he was being bashful, but once he was comfortable, he loved the evenings when you sat in his lap and freely kissed and touched him.

ROBB STARK

Robb loves how open you are about affection and he feels so, so lucky that the gods gave him such a sweet wife. While he has to maintain his "strict" lordly facade when speaking to his men and other lords, he's more than relieved to melt into your touch at the end of the day. Whenever you’re by his side, holding his arm and beaming, he’s so proud and in love that he doesn’t even notice the eye rolling whenever you kiss his cheek or his hand. It honestly helps Robb get through the weight of the war and he sees you as a source of strength, rather than a weakness, as many less worthy lords would think.

SANSA STARK

Back when she first met you, Sansa loved how unashamed you were of affection. Some in court may see it as weakness, but still today she sees it as proof of your great compassion. Your touches and hugs comforted her greatly when you were friends, and when you became lovers, your soft words and kisses are just what she needed to bolster her spirit and be strong. Sansa takes great amusement in the fact you both can hold hands, sit close and whisper to each other and the court writes it off as "just close friends". She's happy and grateful to have such an affectionate, romantic partner, and she tells you often. Sometimes it’s difficult for her to return those honest gestures, but she knows you understand.

JON SNOW

Jon was completely flustered at first; even if it was a quick hug and kiss, he’d get red and stumble out whatever he was saying. At first he thought it was just because you were a girl, and he didn’t have much experience with those, but even just simple touches like holding his hand or brushing his messy hair out of his face would get his heart beating. Jon would realize that he’d never had so much attention and concern before, and while he liked it very much, he’d have a few moments of total surprise before happily returning the affection, albeit clumsily. Sometimes when you’re just holding his hand while talking, he’ll get distracted and grin at your connected hands, amazed he’s so lucky to have found someone like you at a place like this.

BENJEN STARK

Benjen adores this part of your personality, and he always takes it a step further just to tease you. Other times he’ll hold you close and not want to let you, giving you a taste of his own naturally affectionate nature. He’s glad you both are compatible like this, since there are times when you can’t see each other for a long time, and he loves that you’re just as willing to make up for lost time. Whenever you both have a long time alone, good luck being apart from him - aside from intimacy, he likes just having you in his lap or leaning on him. Tease him for being clingy all you want, he just gestures to your arms around him and says, “Well, that makes us a perfect match, doesn’t it?”

JORY CASSEL

While it initially flustered him to no end and took him off guard more than once, Jory easily adapted to your touches. He was glad you loved him that much, and you weren’t afraid to show it. Sometimes … okay, really often, he’s gently teased for it by his uncle and the other guards, but he wouldn’t change you at all. When Jory is feeling more bold he’ll return the light kisses, regardless of whose around. He’ll let you hug and touch and kiss to your heart’s content when you both are alone, and before long he’s total putty in your hands and will do whatever you please.

EDDISON TOLLETT

It always made him nervous when you’d take his hand to get his attention, or when you stood so close, which was often. Edd used to chalk it up to you being a girl, and from a better family, besides… But once you two were alone more and spent time together, he realized you were just a naturally touchy, affectionate person. Eventually he realized his nerves were from a damn crush. Before you were officially together, he watched you carefully, hoping you weren’t giving so many sweet touches to your other friends (you weren’t, and that’s what gave him the courage to talk with you about his feelings… that, and Sam all but shoved him to do it). Edd totally relishes in your affection, as he’s been lacking it in for years.

MANCE RAYDER

Mance enjoys how sweet you are, and thinks it’s amusing that such a young woman would want to lavish her kisses and touches on an old former crow like him. He always indulges you and even during meetings, he’ll let you sit as close as you want. Once you both are alone, he takes comfort in how easily you fit in his lap and how you rest your head against his chest. It gives him a warm feeling, one that feels like home … Something he hadn’t felt so strongly in a while. His favorite thing is when you doze off next to him, as nothing helps him think through his plans better than your scent and softness.

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

Oh, Tormund can’t get enough of you, and he’s delighted that you’re just the same. He thinks this just further proves how perfect you are for each other, and he’ll say it loud and proud as he holds you up in his arms and spins you around. Yes, the other tribes are exhausted with you two and find you nauseating … but the last man who complained had two punches to dodge. Tormund especially likes that it isn’t just lustful touches and looks; he adores that you’ll kiss and hold him just because you want to, for no reason other than you’re in love. Everyone knows when he’s thinking about it because he grins like a dork and seems lost in his own world.

THEON GREYJOY

At first, he’d always use your frequent touches as a way to brag to Robb and Jon about how you prefer him. You were flirting, obviously, and you must have wanted to be with him. The thing he didn’t tell them is how much you puzzled him, because your touches were so … kind. Gentle, even, when you brushed a leaf out of his hair or took his hand to look at a cut. He didn’t know what to do, and his usual ego was no help. He’d never been cared for so gently like that. Your kisses were worse because they gave him such a foreign, fluttery feeling, he thought he was getting sick, yet he kept yearning for it. You’d be able to get past Theon’s usual bragging and discover an amusing, needy side as he’d follow you around, almost waiting for you to hug or touch him again.

YARA GREYJOY

On one hand, Yara has her tough captain’s reputation to maintain, so she has little patience if you have a need for her while she’s working. She can’t be seen accepting your kisses and hugs, no matter how much she yearns for them. She understands you might be hurt by this, but she’d hope you’d understand. Besides, she more than makes up for it later in the evening. Even if Yara might consider you needy, there is a comfort in how readily you give your affection and how much you enjoy touching her. She can’t remember having a partner who kissed her so sweetly, not just lustfully, and of course her family didn’t give her so much reassurance. Her appreciation for it only increases when she’s drunk, because you’re going to sit in her lap and there will be no escape, so touch and kiss however you like, she’ll just laugh and go along with it.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

When she was in the throne room, carrying her heavy queenly persona, Daenerys couldn’t afford to glance your way and seem distracted. Once there was finally a chance to be alone together, Daenerys just soaked up the affection you gave her. She loved that no matter what terrible thing happened to you, your nature stayed loving and doting. She admired that. When her duties felt like too much, she relished in being able to curl up in your arms and feeling your fingers run through her hair. She makes sure you feel loved too, of course, but she’s so grateful you let her be selfish now and again and just take up all your attention. She often tells you what you mean to her, and anyone can see the way she looks at you.

JORAH MORMONT

Oh, poor sweet Jorah. He’s so overwhelmed by the affection at first, it completely distracts him from what he’s doing, even if all you’re doing is coming up behind him for a surprise hug and kiss. He leans into your touches so eagerly and it confuses you, because wasn’t he married once or twice? Still, it’s cute how weak you can get him, and you definitely take advantage when you’re teasing him or trying to get his attention. In the evenings, Jorah will waste little time in pulling you into his lap and muttering how sweet you are and how much he adores you, usually making the affection lead into something more. More than once you two end up getting lost in your own world and forget who's around you; only to be reminded by the Dothraki whooping and laughing. Truthfully, Jorah is very happy that you’re just as doting in public are you are in private.

MISSANDEI

Your closeness and touches made her heart flutter and her hands get clammy, and it confused her at first. She’d be touched inappropriately, always against her will, but you always asked before you held her hand or hugged her. You were always so warm, and you smelled nice, and why were you hugging her, anyway? Missandei liked it more than she wanted to admit, but she wondered why. Once Jorah and Daenerys gave her enough hints, and you finally gave your confession, she realized she hadn’t been touched so sweetly and innocently before. Even after you’ve been together for a while, it’s the gentle cuddles and chaste touches that Missandei likes best. You don’t miss how she nuzzles against you when you cradle her against your chest.

GREY WORM

When you first took his hand as he escorted you through the market, you thought you overstepped your bounds. He just stared at your entwined hands, not even noticing the bustling activity around him. There were other times when you’d hold his face while cleaning a wound on his cheek, or sit close to him at a meeting table, and you could swear he stopped breathing. Grey Worm never told you to keep away, but he also looked so much like a caught animal that you felt bad. In truth it made Grey Worm so nervous when you touched him, and he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to react. No one else did this to him, and you rarely did the same to others as far as he observed. Finally Missandei noticed his palpable confusion and helped him work out his feelings. When you two are together, Grey Worm never denies the affection you want to give, though sometimes he’s clearly startled or confused by it. He slowly begins to return it on his own terms, squeezing your hand back, resting against your shoulder, or gently touching your back as you two walk. It takes time, but you slowly get to see his shoulders relax and a soft smile appear on his face.

TYWIN LANNISTER

As anyone would have expected of this man, he’s clearly proud to have you on his arm during social gatherings. You’ll sit close at the dais, sometimes leaning in closer to whisper something to him. The whole of the court gossips about your relationship enough, and you give them plenty of material with your affections. Tywin stays passive, although after a while he began to brush your hair aside and stroke your hand. Privately he continues to tell himself it’s for show and means nothing. That works until you both are intimate or enjoying a rare moment of peace together and he finds himself wanting you to stay close. He lets you cuddle close and kiss and touch, denying how much it affects him to the very end. It’s bad enough he has to contend with your wit and schemes during the day, he doesn’t need more reasons to become attached to you.

TYRION LANNISTER

Tyrion drinks in your affection like a man crawling in a desert; you figured that out quickly. You figured he was a naturally kind and loving person, and he was clearly taken with you, and you wouldn’t deny him the affection that came naturally to you. After a while you began to see how much he depended on it, how much he needed it. In private you gave him all he wanted - sometimes he still struggled to ask for it openly, you so took the lead - and in public you had to be careful. Not just because the court found your marriage a great joke and it was exhausting to deal with their gossip, but because it distracted Tyrion so much when you held his hand and gave him a simple kiss during a feast. He’d never grow tired of your attention and would tell you again and again how much he adored you for it.

JAIME LANNISTER

He relishes how affectionate you are and returns it tenfold, and more often than not ends up getting turned on and wants to take it further. While you’re fine with that, sometimes you just want to express your love. It doesn’t have to lead to anything more. Jaime was confused by this when you explained it - he tried to think back when someone kissed his cheek, stroked his hair or hugged him … just because they loved him. He especially needed that love and attention when he came back from the Dreadfort, and didn’t feel at all foolish asking for it, but he rarely needed you. You just always knew when to hold him, as if he needed more reasons to love you even more.

SANDOR CLEGANE

The first time you held his face to bring him closer, he flinched like it hurt. You noticed he was more willing to accept your touches when you were in bed together, and even then, his rough pace would slow and falter as you kissed him and brought him closer. To say Sandor was unused to affection is an understatement; he hated the panicky, anxious feeling it gave him, and his instant thought was to push you away when it happened. The feeling wasn’t a welcome one, but your touch and warmth was, so needless to say just simple touches gave him a mix of feelings. He tries to be gruff, but as time goes on he starts to just lean and melt into you, especially when you both are alone. He doesn’t want to ask for it, but you can tell he’s yearning when he sits around just staring and sulking at you.

BRONN OF BLACKWATER

At first he brushed it off as you just being one of those silly women, and you’d get tired of doting on him eventually. He thought you were trying to get something from him, but he didn’t have much to offer a lady besides the bed, which you weren’t always trying to get in. It confused Bronn when you kept doing this, and he denied himself how much the attention began to affect him. He started to get used to them, to want them, and he overcame these weird feelings by pulling you to his lap and trying to initiate something deeper. Pretty soon Bronn couldn’t deny what your affection meant, and began working out a way to tell you that you ought to do better than him. It was for himself as much as you, he wasn’t ready for this, but then you’d wrap your arms around him and the thoughts quickly left his head.

PODRICK PAYNE

You had to be careful when you were sweet on him and where, because the poor boy would redden to his ears and try to stammer something, if he could manage words at all. You thought it was cute that even after knowing each other for so long, Pod never got used to your affectionate nature. Sometimes when he’s working he gets distracted thinking about you, leading to him spacing out or making mistakes. Once you’re together, he begins to slowly gain confidence, although you’re still the one who usually initiates things first. Holding your hand or arm while you two take walks is his favorite, he feels all his anxiety slowly melt away.

PETYR BAELISH

Oh, he can’t hide how much he adores your attention. He tries to keep his cool, but the more you lean on him and look up through those pretty lashes, the less Petyr can resist giving you whatever you please. In private, he can’t keep himself from pulling you closer to keep encouraging you. All you need to do is act your usual, sweet self and you have him wrapped around your finger. When you both are intimate, his greediness is even more evident, he wants your hands on him and sometimes he even trembles from all the attention. Sometimes he breathlessly asks you not to tease him so much, but you know he wouldn’t have it any other way.

STANNIS BARATHEON

He hadn’t the slightest idea of what to do. You noticed that right away when he flinched anytime you expressed your affection. You outright asked Stannis if you should stop, and it’s not that he hated it, it was just… It was so new, he wasn’t sure how to react. It was difficult to dial back your naturally affectionate nature, but you did, taking things slower. Gradually Stannis began to enjoy the attention and return it in his own way, and he let you be as clingy and sweet as you wanted when you were intimate. He couldn't express it well with words, but he began to look forward to your embrace and anxiously yearn for your presence whenever he had to travel. Whenever you stood by his side during meetings, close enough that your shoulders brushed and he could feel your warmth, he’d feel a distinct sense of security and confidence.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

Davos finds you incredibly endearing, and he’s always considered himself lucky to have you, but he’s not always sure if he deserves your affections. You have so much of it, and he often wonders if you ought to be giving it to a younger man of a better station. Of course anytime he has these thoughts, you’re right there to reassure him and make sure he knows there’s no one else for you. He “scolds” you for being cheeky whenever you show affection in public, but in private he lets you do whatever you please. He can’t get enough of your cuddles in the evening and how you just curl under his touch, he thinks he might be the luckiest man alive.

MARGAERY TYRELL

Oh, Margaery thinks you’re just a doll. She loves teasing you about it, but she’s the one who pushes things and sees how much you two can get away with. The court assumes you’re just “good friends”, although her grandmother has given her plenty of scoldings about the rumors floating around Highgarden. Margaery loves being spoiled by your attention and often waits expectantly for a kiss or hug - you can get back at her by “forgetting” and walking past her. If she had her way, you’d be draped around her all day, fawning over her and she’d give you sweet praises and pets in return. No, this mental image is not awakening anything in her, don’t ask.

BRYNDEN TULLY

The old knight thought he was too old for things like this, which is to say, a beautiful lady doting on him and wanting his affection. For a short while he thought you should give your attention to someone else, but as the relationship went on, he felt like an idiot for thinking that at all. When you hold and kiss him, Brynden just melts into the warmth and comfort. He loves the more gentle touches you have, like when you hold his face as you kiss him or rest against his chest and curl up in his lap. Half the time he can’t even make a jap about your neediness, because he feels he needs it just as much. He loves feeling your warm skin under his rough hands and it’s even better if you start getting hot and bothered from all his touching.

EDMURE TULLY

Edmure loves it because he’s just as absurdly affectionate and touchy feely, and it makes him giddy with happiness when you take his face in your hands and just hold him like that, you don’t even have to kiss him. All of Riverrun knows how sappy you both are and it’s both sweet and just sickening. Brynden can’t decide if he’s amused or annoyed by it and Catlyn just dies inside at the ‘impropriety’ of you two mooning over each other at dinner. You two have quite a reputation in the Riverlands for being such a loving couple, and the smallfolk adore you.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

Your knight had such a strong reaction to your touches that you thought she hated it at first. You’d do something simple, like brush her hair out of her face to better see a bruise or hold her hand when speaking to her, and her face would go red as an apple. With great difficulty, Brienne finally explained that she didn’t hate it, she just … Well, she trailed off, but you could tell she felt like she didn’t deserve such attention. It’s worse once she realizes her feelings, she gets so flustered and starts to read into every action you take, wanting it to mean something, but positive that she was just projecting. You’d have to take the first step in confessing and reassuring her.

RAMSAY BOLTON

He used to take advantage of this, grasping you when you came close to brush something off his tunic or fix his hair. As much as Ramsay’s clingy nature could be suffocating, you were always an affectionate person, and you felt it was all you’d get in the Dreadfort. However, you began to notice that he’d be off-put by your genuine concern and softer touches. Sometimes he’d just stare at you, trying to puzzle out why you were doing it. He didn’t think he disliked it, he wanted your attention all the time, it just gave him such a startling feeling. After a while you were able to calm Ramsay’s more unstable moods by just keeping hold on him and distracting him with touches. Whenever something pulled him away from the Dreadfort, he'd grow antsy with each passing day, both from wanting to be back in your arms and not understanding why he wanted it.

ROOSE BOLTON

Even if you weren’t pleased with the arranged marriage, you couldn’t help but hold Roose’s arm as you both walked, or gently touch him to get his attention. You steadily got a little bolder, because you noticed there was a brief, strange look in his cold eyes anytime you touched him. You knew he didn’t dislike it because when you slept together, he’d almost shudder as you ran your hands along his body. You began to figure out what made him pause the most, what he responded best to, and that’s how you could sway him - just by being considerate, comforting, and a little needy. It was always a surprise how such a cold man began to expect and want the attention, although Roose pretended he didn’t care. He was more honest about his feelings in private, expecting you to give him even more.

OBERYN MARTELL

Oberyn adores that you’re such a sweet and needy thing, and he teases you about it all the time - but you know he’s the same and he wouldn’t change you for anything. He doesn’t care whose in the room, he wants you in his lap and just beams with happiness when you lay your head on his chest or wrap your arms around him. Eventually Doran will please ask you two to reign yourselves in, at least during important dinners and meetings. It’d be up to you to dial it down, because Oberyn will stubbornly want to keep you on his lap or right by his side.

BERIC DONDARRION

While he was initially bashful, Beric quickly began to relish in your affection and seek it out, especially when the day’s events were hard on him. In the evening he loves nothing more than resting next to you, his arm around your waist or letting you sit in his lap. When it’s time to sleep, he feels so much more peaceful when your head is on his chest and he can pet your hair as he slowly dozes off. Beric tells you many times that he’s grateful for your sweetness and warmth, and he gets plenty of it, quietly worrying he’ll forget something one day.

GENDRY

The first time you took his hand to pull him back from running into someone, he nearly dropped what he was holding. You kept holding it as you two walked home, and he was praying you didn’t notice how sweaty his palm was. You were like this as long as he could remember, always giving him hugs and standing so close and holding his hand far beyond the age when you two should’ve stopped. It was never really anything you two discussed, because it was just who you were, and as much as it made him blush, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones preferences #game of thrones imagines #got x reader #got imagines #god its been more than a month since the last GoT pref im so sorry lol

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cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 5: Reunion

Here we go! The big one! Honestly I feel like this chapter might be even more emotional than chapter 65 when they finally get together. I hope you enjoy and are now forgiving me for that last cliffhanger!

(and also disclaimer i do NOT ship jon/sansa, that photo was just the right Vibe™ so please no one come for me)

word count: 5956

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan tensed, the blood in his veins spiking with apprehension. The laughing group was just down the street, only a few blocks away from him. But they were hidden from his sight by a thick blanket of fog.

However, that meant that he was also hidden - so Rowan could take his time.

His senses strained as every sound, sight, and smell from within a quarter mile came streaming into him. He could hear everything, from the drops of fetid rainwater off a nearby gutter, to the whipping of the wind around a sharp corner, the pattering of rats’ paws in the alleyways, the snoring of an old man, warm in his bed, and the giggling of his daughter as she stayed up well past her bedtime, her soft hands rifling through a well-worn book.

Then there were the scents of the city. Rancid and foul place that it was, there were still some pleasant things to be found – such as the soft clouds of flour from a corner bakery just beginning to wake for the morning rush, burning sage and melting candlewax, a lavender sprig wilting in a nearby window, and –

And then he tasted it. The barest hint of jasmine, lemon verbena, and flickering embers. The scent of home.

The oath in his chest seemed to purr with delight.

Aelin was here. She was right here –

But she wasn’t alone.

Rowan could hear the quiet steps of one– no, two others. The first was small and light-footed, probably a young mortal woman, who smelled of mint and some kind of southern spice…almost like pepper and fig leaves. The other was a male, perhaps a young demi-Fae. Though his movements were quiet, his steps were far heavier, marking him at over 6 feet.

There was also the scent of blood about the male, which had Rowan’s hackles rising. But it was old and sour – likely an old wound whose infection had only just begun to heal over. And as their movements were light and unhindered, their conversation free and open, Rowan wasn’t particularly worried that a fight was brewing. But still, his guard stayed up.

The man’s true scent spoke of warm furs and roasting chestnuts and…and something else, something almost…familiar.

His thoughts distracted, trying to place the strange smell, Rowan unthinkingly shifted his stance, causing the soft scrape of leather on stone to echo through the fog.

And the tension in his body ratcheted to new heights as he felt the group fall abruptly silent.

All was still. Rowan’s hands began to sweat.

What if she wasn’t happy to see him? What if she ordered him back to Wendlyn?

Rowan did his best to rally his thoughts, as he slowly made his way forwards through the mist. Making sure that each of his movements were choreographed far in advance. He didn’t want to surprise them, particularly that strange male, whose scent he still could not place…

And then Rowan was breaking through the fog, and he could finally see them, could finally see her. Vaguely he heard the male and the young woman say something to each other, but Rowan couldn’t tear his eyes or ears away from the cloaked woman standing stock-still barely a dozen feet from him, her lovely scent billowing with shock.

Aelin’s face was covered with a hood, so he couldn’t see her reaction to him, couldn’t know if she recognized him. But then she was taking a hesitant step forwards and loosing a shuddering breath and a small, whimpering noise that was almost a sob. And suddenly, Rowan felt all of his worries disappear as easily as the morning snow beneath the midday sun.

It was Aelin. And of course she didn’t hate him, of course she was as relieved to see him as he was to see her.

And then she was running, running straight into his arms and Rowan could feel his every muscle, his every bone all the way through to his soul, sighing in relief. Relief that she was here, that they were together again. Relief that he was touching her once more.

Rowan grabbed Aelin and pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping completely around her small frame as she buried her head into his neck. He curled around her, breathing in her scent as if it were the last drops of water in a blistering desert, as if it were a life-saving elixir. As if her scent alone would take him from the brink of hell.

Rowan didn’t realize truly how much he’d missed her until that moment.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rowan registered that she was crying.

“How did you get here? How did you find me?” Aelin pulled just far enough away that he could see the edges of her face beneath the hooded cloak; the pointed chin, the delicate nose, those beautiful, upturned lips –

Rowan slowly found his voice. “You made it clear my kind wouldn’t be welcome on your continent. So I stowed away on a ship. You’d mentioned a home in the slums, so when I arrived this evening, I wandered until I picked up your scent.”

As he spoke, his eyes scanned over her, carefully assessing.

She was changed. Even though only a month or so had passed since he last held her, Aelin seemed different. Older. She carried herself with more weight, more authority.

His mouth tightened. “You have a lot to tell me.”

She only nodded, gripping his shoulders even harder. And Rowan couldn’t say he was displeased with that.

Rowan carefully raised his right hand, and brushed it against the softness of her cheek, tucking a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “But you’re not hurt,” he said softly, needing to make absolutely sure. “You’re safe?”

Aelin just nodded again, burying her face in his chest.

Rowan felt as though the city could fall apart around them, and he would not move one inch. He would never be able to hold her for long enough.

“I thought I gave you an order to stay in Wendlyn.” It was almost a tease.

“I had my reasons, best spoken somewhere secure.” He didn’t like to evade the question, but he couldn’t speak of Lorcan in such an exposed place. So instead he changed the subject, “Your friends at the fortress say hello, by the way. I think they miss having an extra scullery maid. Especially Luca – especially in the mornings.”

Aelin laughed lightly, squeezing him once again. As if making sure he was real.

But tears still streamed down her cheeks, and Rowan found that he couldn’t keep his worry down any longer. Perhaps she was injured, and was keeping the truth from him, trying to keep him from worrying –

“Why are you crying?” he asked, trying and failing to push her back far enough so he could read her face.

She refused to move a single inch.

“I’m crying,” she sniffled, “because you smell so rutting bad my eyes are watering.”

Rowan let out a roar of laughter, the sound so wild that he heard the vermin in the alleys go silent. And the gaze of Aelin’s two companions really started bore into him.

But Rowan payed them no heed as Aelin finally pulled away from him, a wry smile curving her lips. “Bathing isn’t an option for a stowaway,” he said, finally letting her go, but flicking her nose before she could sidle out of his reach.

Aelin shoved him right back.

All Rowan wanted was to push her in return – to touch her, poke her, prod her, until she was snarling and writhing and snapping her teeth.

But the demi-Fae male at the other end of the alley was eyeing him carefully, his scent a potent mix of worry and aggression and protectiveness. And Rowan knew that he wouldn’t be patient for much longer.

“Are you just going to make them stand there all night?” Rowan asked.

“Since when are you a stickler for manners?” Aelin slung an arm around his waist, as if she was worried he would disappear on her. Neglecting, of course, to remember that it was she who disappeared on him, and not the other way around.

But instead of fighting the point, Rowan just put his arm around her shoulders as together, they turned and walked back to where her companions were waiting for them.

As they approached, Rowan fully turned over his attention to the two strangers, carefully cataloguing their every move, scent, and sound. Taking note of the muscles they favored, each blade hidden beneath their clothes.

The woman, an archer if ever he’d seen one, looked out of place. As if she were desperate to get out of their hair. The male, however, looked as though he wouldn’t move for all the world.

His every gesture thrilled towards Rowan, his instincts screaming at him challenge him, to measure himself against him. And as Rowan drew closer, he finally placed that familiar piece in his scent – or at least he thought he did.

The demi-Fae smelled of Aelin, the scent layered and complex. His first thought was that they were sharing a bed, an idea that clanged through him, uncomfortably. But the scent was too old, too deep – and once Rowan spotted that golden hair, that fair skin, he knew that he must be looking at the face of Aedion Ashryver.

Aelin’s cousin.

His face was mostly covered, but from what Rowan could see, the bones were strong and sharp. Unforgiving. But the male was young, barely into his twenties, and he was still coming into his power.

The Fae blood in his veins was strong, stronger even than Aelin’s in some ways. Rowan couldn’t tell if he could shift – but if he could, Aedion Ashryver might even be strong enough to rival any in Maeve’s court. Perhaps strong enough to rival even him.

And Rowan knew that Aedion wanted to find out. Wanted to challenge him. To prove himself, to Rowan, to their queen.

Rank would have to be established.

No matter the male’s strength, he was still but a boy. And though he was reportedly a fine warrior, Rowan was one of Maeve’s war-torn lieutenants, was Aelin’s bloodsworn. Her Second.

Aedion would have to find his place. Rowan could only hope that he would do so gracefully, without bloodshed. He doubted it would much endear him to Aelin if he killed her cousin in some ill-begotten contest.

Aelin pinched Rowan’s side, and as he hissed in response, Rowan realized that the two of them had been locked in a stare. So Rowan casually broke their gaze and pinched Aelin’s shoulder right back.

He had been playing these games for a long time, had been playing them well before Aedion’s grandfather, and his father, and his father before him, had been more than a flicker in his mother’s womb. Touching Aelin so informally, refusing to acknowledge that challenge burning in Aedion’s eyes – they were signs of dominance, attempts to put the boy in his place.

And Aedion knew that. But he didn’t say anything as Aelin turned back towards the group, saying, “Let’s get inside.”

But the other woman, the archer, was edging away from the group, her eyes flickering between him and Aedion. “I’ll see you later,” she said, not seeming to refer to anyone in particular. And she barely waited a moment for a reaction before sidling into the shadows and out of sight.

Rowan stored his curiosity away for another time as Aelin pulled him forwards through the mist, and they headed deeper into the slums. Aedion fell carefully into step behind them, and Rowan could sense that the male hadn’t given up. Far from avoided, their confrontation had been delayed, allowing the roiling tension between them to build and build and build.

Rowan tried to keep himself from looking forwards to it. To ridding the boy of his arrogance, and cementing his own place with their queen. He didn’t succeed.

Together, the three of them walked through the night, Rowan keeping careful note of every sound, every flicker of movement, every strange scent. And this far into the slums, there were many of those. He did his best to ignore the rot and filth and vomit.

He also tried to keep himself from focusing too much on that empty space between his body and Aelin’s, the way that it seemed to crackle with energy. The way that he wanted to make it disappear.

No matter how many resolutions he made, how many times he told himself that he couldn’t pursue her, that it would be a mistake to let themselves get any closer, it all seemed to go up in flames the second her eyes locked with his. The second her scent curled in his nostrils.

But he didn’t have a choice – he had to keep control of himself.

They walked together until they came upon an unremarkable wooden warehouse, and Aelin fell to a stop. For a moment, they paused while Rowan examined it – making note of every entrance and exit, every window, every dimension. Only once he was absolutely sure the building was empty did Rowan step aside, allowing Aelin to unlock the rolling metal door and enter.

Tugging him by the hand, she led him through a large storeroom, mostly empty besides a few stacks of wooden crates that smelled of ink, and towards a wooden staircase that led to the second level, where Rowan guessed they would find her apartment.

But whatever expectations he had unconsciously formed, once Aelin turned the lock on that bright green door and revealed her home to him, Rowan knew that there was no way he could have ever anticipated this.

The apartment was fit for a king. Plush, luscious couches, mahogany furniture, hardwood floors topped with soft woolen rugs, a carved marble fireplace, and just so many books. They were everywhere, on the large dining table at one side of the room, stacked on the floor by the couch, on shelves framing the fireplace, atop the mantelpiece – even piled high on one of the soft armchairs.

Aelin had carved out an oasis for herself, right in the middle of the least likely place imaginable.

While Rowan examined the apartment, Aedion had moved in from behind them and was now standing beside the fireplace, his hood still up, hands within easy reach of his weapons. Not that it would make a difference.

From what Rowan could see, there were at least two bedrooms and a kitchen in addition to this larger, shared space. But before he could make a thorough survey of the building, Aelin was tightening her grip on his arm and saying, “Aedion, meet Rowan. Rowan, meet Aedion. His Highness needs a bath or I’ll vomit if I have to sit next to him for more than a minute.” Then she was dragging him into the next room and shutting the door behind them.

For the life of him, Rowan didn’t know why it made a difference, this being alone with her. A simple closed door. But it did.

They were now in what Rowan could only suppose was her bedroom. Aelin was leaning against the closed door, and he could feel her studying him.

Rowan turned, studying her right back. Her lithe body was clothed in some tight-fitting material, though much of her silhouette was still obscured by that damned cloak. Along with most of her face.

But he didn’t miss it as Aelin bit her lip.

Against his will, Rowan’s eyes slid to her mouth, his blood running hot as the space between them went taut.

“Take off your hood,” Rowan said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Aelin crossed her arms. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine, Prince.”

He pursed his lips, then yanked back his hood. “From tears to sass in a few minutes. I’m glad the month apart hasn’t dimmed your usual good spirits.”

“Your hair! You cut it all off!” She rushed towards him, pulling off her own hood as the distance between them closed. And it took all of Rowan’s self-control not to reach out and touch her again.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Rowan didn’t know if that was due to a fault of memory, or if she actually had become more stunning during the month separating them, but he didn’t much care.

Her gold-and-turquoise eyes still pierced him through, and even though she no longer had her magic, they still seemed just as molten. But for some strange reason, she had decided to dye her hair a flat, uninteresting shade of red. It was dull, and did nothing for her pretty skin.

He wanted to scowl at it.

“Since you seemed to think that we would be doing a good amount of fighting here, shorter hair is more useful. Though I can’t say that your hair might be considered the same. You might as well have dyed it blue.”

“Hush. Your hair was so pretty. I was hoping you’d let me braid it one day. I suppose I’ll have to buy a pony instead.” She cocked her head, her eyes dangerous. “When you shift, will your hawk form be plucked, then?”

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. Aelin barely kept her laugh in.

Rowan tried to change the subject, turning to look over the lavish bedroom. “You weren’t lying about your taste for luxury.”

That was an understatement. The space was beautiful and warm and welcoming – and not only because it was filled to the brim with her scent.

Candles dotted every surface, casting a soft warm light. The bed was in the corner, beside the entrance to an attached bathroom. And Rowan was sure that it would be more comfortable than any bed he had ever slept in. Across the room was another marble fireplace, the door to a very large closet, and a window gracing the adjacent wall. Along with yet more books.

“Not all of us enjoy living in warrior-squalor,” she said, grabbing his hand again. Rowan gave up on conversation and instead closed his fingers around hers. Another moment passed while they just looked at each other.

Those eyes – they were full of secrets. Of stories.

Rowan opened his mouth to demand that she explain everything, to explain why her cousin was here, why she seemed so heavy with worry, why the city was teeming with Valg – but Aelin cut him off before he could speak, pulling them into the bathroom.

She flitted about the room, lighting a few candles by the sink and on the ledge above the tub, saying, “I meant it about the bath.” She twisted the faucets and plugged the drain. “You stink.” She bent to grab a towel from the small cabinet by the toilet.

Rowan was starting to worry that she was purposely avoiding telling him what had happened this past month. His voice was flat as he said, “Tell me everything.”

Aelin was silent, grabbing a green vial of some gritty power and another of what he thought was an oil, and dumping generous amounts of each into the rising bathwater, turning it milky and opaque.

“I will, when you’re soaking in the bath and don’t smell like a vagrant.”

“If memory serves, you smelled even worse when we first met. And I didn’t shove you into the nearest trough in Varese.”

She just glared at him. “Funny.”

Rowan’s face almost split into a grin. “You made my eyes water for the entire damn journey to Mistward.”

“Just get in.”

Chuckling, Rowan obeyed her, and began the long process of undressing. Before he could wonder whether she would be staying to watch him strip, Aelin turned from the room, shrugging off her cloak and unstrapping her various weapons. But she neglected to shut the door behind her.

Rowan stripped anyways, discarding his clothes carelessly on the floor and placing his weapons atop the cabinet, next to all those mysterious bottles and vials. By the time she was done with him, she’d probably have him smelling the like a gods-damned flower shop.

Rowan just sighed, lowering himself carefully in the tub and shutting off the faucets. He had to keep himself from groaning at the delectable warmth – the hot bathwater was almost as pleasant as the relief of holding Aelin had been.

But only almost.

A few moments passed as Rowan began the sorry task of scrubbing away at the thick layer of dirt and grime covering him. All the while trying desperately to keep himself from listening too closely to the sounds of cloth on skin coming from the bedroom, as Aelin pulled off that tight black suit of hers and changed into something more comfortable.

It made Rowan wish that Aelin had drawn a colder bath.

By the time Aelin returned, the water was so clouded by soap and dirt that he doubted she could see anything beneath.

He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, her eyes flowing over all his exposed skin. But Rowan didn’t acknowledge her, instead continuing to scrub at his check and shoulders, splashing water on his face.

She only handed him a washcloth, saying, “Here.” And he wasn’t sure, but her voice almost seemed rougher than usual. Rowan just dunked the cloth in the water and began rubbing it over his face, his neck, his chest.

Aelin was still looking at him.

Another moment passed, and then she mutely handed him some lavender soap. Rowan sighed in resignation, accepting his fate. He would just have to smell like a flower shop – Lorcan would be shocked to see him now.

Then Aelin sat on the curved lip of the porcelain tub and began to speak.

She told him of her journey across the ocean, of the plans she had made and of losing her magic. Of arriving in Rifthold and immediately setting after Arobynn, and learning of what had happened here through the spring – of Dorian and Chaol and Aedion, and what they’d lost in the wake of the king’s wrath. How she’d discovered that Dorian was now possessed by a Valg. How she’d failed to kill him, but managed to save Aedion from certain death. She told him of meeting Nesryn, the woman from earlier, who was a pretty great shot. And of getting to know Lysandra and Evangeline, who were still trapped under Arobynn’s thumb.

She spoke very little of Chaol, and whether she had let him back into her life. And she said nothing at all of her plans for the future. But Rowan knew that he would have to be satisfied with what she did tell him. At least for now.

By the time her story of demons and danger and deceit was done, Rowan was nearly finished washing himself, and the bathwater was considerably less warm. Once again, Rowan found himself mourning their missing magics. Aelin would be able to keep the bath warm with less than half a thought.

Rowan absentmindedly raised the soap to his head, thinking to wash his hair with it, when Aelin squeaked. “You don’t use that in your hair!” she hissed, quickly standing up and rifling through the cabinet of bottles and vials.

Rowan scowled, seriously considering dolloping the lavender soap on his hair while she wasn’t looking. But patience won out.

“Rose, lemon verbena, or …” Aelin sniffed at the glass bottle. “Jasmine.” She squinted down at him.

Rowan just looked back up at her. Do I look like I care what you pick?

She clicked her tongue. “Jasmine it is, you buzzard.” She moved to stand just out of sight at the head of the bathtub, and before he really realized what was happening, Aelin had already dumped some of the sweet-smelling tonic on his head and her hands were brushing the top of his head, rubbing in the soap.

Rowan knew that he was supposed to stop this, knew that this was far, far too intimate. Knew that this was coming very close to breaking all of those careful rules he had set for himself.

But the second he felt her touch, all his resistance crumbled to dust.

Her fingers weren’t rough, but they weren’t too gentle, either. Aelin found exactly the right amount of pressure as she massaged the soap into his scalp, moving from his hairline to his ears to his neck and back again.

The scent of the oil wafted down towards him, mixed in with her own scent. And without thinking, Rowan took in a slow breath, luxuriating in the scent. It felt as though his face was being caressed with the taste of night-kissed jasmine.

Aelin’s fingers began playing with his hair. “I could still probably braid this,” she teased. “Very teensy-tiny braids, so – ”

Rowan growled, more out of habit than real irritation. He couldn’t help but lean into her touch, closing his eyes as he felt his whole body relax.

“You’re no better than a house cat.”

Rowan couldn’t even summon the will for a rebuttal. Instead, he let out a low noise in his throat, a sound of pure pleasure. It might as well have been a purr.

Rowan hardly cared.

He knew he’d probably yell at himself for this later. But Rowan also knew that he wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything. And no matter how upset he might be in a few hours, he knew he would never regret it.

Just as Rowan was beginning to wonder whether Aelin’s fingers were starting to prune, she spoke up. “You haven’t said anything about your magic.”

He tensed, and Aelin’s hands stilled. “What about it?”

Rowan felt her lean down to peer at his face, her hair sliding from behind her shoulders to stroke the back of his neck. It sent a warm shiver down his spine.

“I take it it’s gone,” she said. “How does it feel to be as powerless as a mortal?”

He opened his eyes, his brow falling into a scowl. “It’s not funny.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“I spent the first few days sick to my stomach and barely able to move. It was like having a blanket thrown over my senses.”

“And now?”

“And now I’m dealing with it.”

She poked him in the shoulder. “Grumpy, grumpy.”

Rowan snarled in annoyance – but it was more at the fact that she had removed her hands from his scalp than because of her teasing. Aelin only pursed her lips and pushed down on his shoulders, silently asking him to dunk his head underwater.

He did so, and by the time he emerged, Aelin was standing and holding out a bath towel for him to use. “I’m going to find you some clothes.”

“I have – ”

“Oh, no. Those are going right to the laundress. And you’ll get them back only if she can make them smell decent again. Until then, you’ll wear whatever I give you.”

“You’ve become a tyrant, Princess,” he said, taking the towel from her.

Aelin just rolled her eyes, turning away from the bathtub just as Rowan stood up, water sloshing everywhere. She didn’t look back at him, moving straight across the bedroom and directly into the huge closet.

Rowan was somehow simultaneously disappointed and very, very relieved. He didn’t know if he would be able to control himself if she saw him – her long looks were already heavy enough as it was.

But still, there was that other voice. The one that wanted her to see all of him. Just as he had already seen all of her.

Rowan shook himself slightly, then began toweling off. Thinking cold thoughts.

Once he was mostly dry, Rowan wrapped the towel tightly around his waist and walked through the bedroom, and into the absolutely massive closet. Only to find Aelin crouched on the floor, staring at the open drawer in front of her.

For a moment, Rowan just looked at her in confusion. But then he remembered.

All those years ago, before the king, before Endovier, Aelin had lived in this apartment with Sam. Right before he had been killed.

These must be his clothes.

“You don’t have to give those to me,” Rowan said, soft as he could.

Aelin started anyways, twisting in place to face him. For a moment, she only stared at him. And Rowan wasn’t sure if it was because of the scent of the dead boy swirling around them, escaping from the dresser full of his old clothing, or because Rowan had taken her off guard, but Aelin’s look was dazed. She looked completely at a loss for words.

She swallowed, then finally spoke. “Clean clothes are scarce in the house right now, and these are of no use sitting here.” She pulled out a pale shirt and held it up. “I hope it fits.”

Rowan looked at it apprehensively, then took it. Sam had been an eighteen-year-old mortal when he died, and his clothes definitely reflected that. Rowan had his doubts about ‘fit.’

Aelin quickly looked away from him, her face carefully blank as she rifled through the drawer for undershorts and pants. “I’ll get you proper clothes tomorrow. I’m pretty sure you’ll start a riot if the women of Rifthold see you walking down the streets in nothing but a towel.”

Rowan huffed a laugh that he hoped didn’t sound forced. He knew that Aelin would never stop mourning that boy, no matter how long she lived. But it was different now, being here. Where she had last seen him living and breathing.

It made it so much more real. That she had loved, and lost. Just as he had.

And Rowan couldn’t help but feel as though he were intruding.

But instead of pulling away, and leaving Aelin to wallow in that guilt and sadness alone, he stepped forwards, under the pretense of examining the contents of the closet. Thinking to help her the only way he knew how – with distraction.

But soon, he found himself entranced by them. So many luscious fabrics, exquisite embroideries, soft furs… “You wore all this?” He looked at her with wonder.

She nodded, quietly getting to her feet. Rowan flicked through a few of the garments, eyeing the tunics and dresses and shirts – some of which were the finest he had ever seen. “These are … very beautiful,” he admitted.

Aelin’s voice was soft. “I would have pegged you for a proud member of the anti-finery crowd.”

“Clothes are weapons, too,” he said, remembering all those times he had been stuck at court dinners, parties, festivals – with all that careful maneuvering. Fae playing games with each other for centuries, whole generations.

He continued searching through the closet, but then paused when he glanced a luxurious gown of pure black velvet. Its sleeves were made of tight, sheer silk, the neckline skimming just below the collarbones. And while the font was completely unadorned, the back nearly took his breath away.

A great, golden dragon roared down the spine of the garment, rendered perfectly in glittering metallic threads. Spraying a torrent of golden fire up to the neckline where it poured over the dress’ shoulders. It was so detailed that each scale was perfectly visible, as the serpentine dragon curled down the skirt of the dress to rest on the hemline, where the tail swung around the edge of the garment, as if lazily brushing the floor.

Rowan loosed a breath. “I like this one best.”

Aelin reach out a hand to brush to soft velvet sleeve. “I saw it in a shop when I was sixteen and bought it immediately. But when the dress was delivered a few weeks later, it seemed too…old. It overpowered the girl I was. So I never wore it, and it’s hung here for three years.”

As she spoke, Rowan ran a finger down the golden spine of the roaring, furious dragon, marveling at the rippling texture. “You’re not that girl anymore,” he said softly. “Someday, I want to see you wear this.”

Aelin looked up at him, meeting his gaze. The gold in her eyes just as molten and burning as the flames of that golden dragon.

“I missed you,” she breathed.

And the vulnerability, the pure openness he could see in her eyes made something in his gut clench tight. This was exactly what he was afraid of. Why he made all those gods-damned rules in the first place.

“We weren’t apart that long.” His voice was cold as ice.

Aelin scowled. “So? Am I not allowed to miss you?”

Rowan’s jaw clenched, and guilt was already swirling in his stomach for the lie he knew he had to tell. “I once told you that the people you care about are weapons to be used against you. Missing me was a foolish distraction.”

Aelin’s face darkened. “You’re a real charmer, you know that?”

When Rowan didn’t say anything, Aelin swallowed and pushed the clothes into his arms. “You can get dressed in here,” she tossed the words at him like a blade, walking out of the closet without another word.

Rowan made sure she didn’t see the way her tone had cut into him.

He breathed deep, shoving away those emotions to deal with them later. It didn’t matter if she thought him cold, or heartless. Not if it kept her safe.

So Rowan breathed again, and began trying to worm his way into a dead man’s clothes. Trying not to let that bother him too.

As practical as he was, the last thing Rowan wanted to do was put on the clothes of the mortal man Aelin’s had loved, and who loved her. It was like forcing himself into someone else’s love story, the unwelcome addition. The replacement that nobody wanted.

He stretched the undershorts over his thighs, and then carefully shrugged his way into the pants. They were too short, but they fit. Barely.

The shirt however was another story. Just looking at it Rowan knew that it would be too tight. So instead of risking tearing it, Rowan figured it would be better to go barechested.

He walked back into the bedroom to find that Aelin had gone into the bathroom. From the sound of it, she was washing her face. But this time, she had closed the door.

Rowan tried not to read too much into that gesture.

When she returned, her face darkening at the sight of him in the comically-small pants, he held the shirt out to her, saying, “The shirt is too small. I didn’t want to rip it.”

Aelin took it from him gingerly, then just looked at it for a moment, her expression unreadable. “I’ll go out first thing,” she said softly, then breathed in through her nose, quick and sharp. “Well, if you don’t mind meeting Aedion shirtless, I suppose we should go say hello.”

Rowan shook his head ever so slightly. “We need to talk.”

Aelin’s hackles instantly rose. “Good talk or bad talk?”

“The kind that will make me glad you don’t have access to your power so you don’t spew flames everywhere.”

“That was one incident, and if you ask me, your absolutely wonderful former lover deserved it.”

Rowan’s lips twitched, remembering. Remelle had certainly deserved it. And if Aelin hadn’t intervened, Rowan might have ended up doing something he would have regretted. Like murdering Remelle.

On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t have regretted it so much.

Aelin just sighed, “Now or later?”

“Later. It can wait a bit.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded, turning towards the door to the great room. Where Aedion was waiting for them.

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