#joffrey is being a piece of shit I hope we don’t have him for too long

[froginthestars]

I just started game of thrones !!! (Only two episodes in so pls no spoiler because I am going in completely blind) it is really good for now and I am looking forward to getting fully into it

[cruciology]

His and Hers

Requested by Anon: “Sandor x Pregnant! Reader”

You never enjoyed the death matches. You weren’t a fan of blood and gore, but you especially hated the “trials by combat”. You weren’t sure how exactly slicing the head off of another man proved your innocence. You sat next to your older half sister, the reigning Queen Regent, right in the front row. She was in much better spirits since her husband had died and her son crowned King. She had never been cruel to you, her attention was usually focused on Tyrion, but she had now been almost kind to you in the time since becoming widowed. 

“Lady Lannister,” You heard from your side. You couldn’t help the smile that came across your face when you looked up at the large man who had appeared at your side. His place was technically by the King, but no one would question if he stood by the Queen’s sister. He had been charged with guarding your chambers more than a few times. That’s when you had gotten to know him. But it wasn’t until last night that you had first kissed him. You smiled a bit wider remembering it. 

“Nice to see you, Hound,” You said. You saw his mouth twitch, but he kept his mask of stoicism. You couldn’t help but think what would have happened last night had you not been interrupted by your brother knocking on your door. You wondered if he would have taken you right there in your chambers. You were hoping he would. He had seemed just as disappointed as you were when he had to pull away and stand in the corner of your room, pretending he hadn’t been on top of you in your bed just moments before when Jamie entered the room. Jamie didn’t question why the Hound was there, he assumed he was doing his job and protecting you. You hoped he would be assigned to guard your room again tonight. Maybe then he would finish what you started last night. 

If it were your choice, you would grab his hand and take him back to the castle. You were sure he would rather be there too, knowing how he felt about his brother. He had told you how much he hated seeing the Mountain and he was once again the champion for the King in today’s trial against a Dornish man who was accused of stealing from the Red Keep. 

The usual cheers came for the Mountain as he entered the arena. Any hint of a smile left the Hound’s face immediately. Boos rang out over the crowd as the Dornish man was pushed into the center. He was a big man, not as tall as the Mountain but at least as wide. Maybe he would have a shot. The Mountain did his usual rounds, getting cheers louder for him. The Dornish man took the opportunity to lunge towards the Mountain, toppling him over. The Dornish man held his own for just a moment, but the Mountain flipped them over, sitting his whole weight on the man’s chest. He squeezed the man’s head with both hands. You gasped, grabbing onto the Hound’s arm in surprise as the Mountain ripped the man’s head off of his body, the spine coming with it as blood poured onto the ground. You felt sick to your stomach. The whole thing lasted less than a minute. At least it was over. 

You realized your hand was still on the Hound’s arm and you pulled away, placing your hands in your lap. 

“Well, that was quick,” Cersei said with that polite smile of hers. “The Gods must not have wanted their time wasted.” 

“Or the Mountain is just a beast,” You said. Your sister shot you a look. 

The King stood up, clapping excitedly with his wicked grin on his face, his betrothed looking as horrified as you felt next to him in her chair. “Gregor Clegane, a good show as always. How many battles have you championed for my family? Over a hundred I expect.” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” The Mountain confirmed.

“It is high time you were properly rewarded,” The King said graciously. You heard an annoyed laugh from the Hound next to you. “You are a man I would be disappointed to see be the last of his line. You may have your pick of a wife, I���ll seek out the most beautiful women in King’s Landing for you.” 

You felt sick to your stomach. Of course, Joffrey’s idea of fun was torturing some helpless woman by wedding her to the most cruel and violent man in the country. It wasn’t enough that he had that poor Stark girl torment. You had never liked your nephew. You were closer in age to him than to his mother, he had no respect for you. 

“Any woman?” The Mountain asked. 

“Be sure to pick one with some lands and a good name,” King Joffrey smirked. “Get your money’s worth, Clegane.” The Mountain’s face split into a grin as horrible as Joffrey’s. You realized he was looking right at you. 

“That one,” He said, pointing a blood stained finger at you. You saw the Hound clutch the hilt of his sword beside you. 

King Joffrey clapped again gleefully as you looked to your sister. Even her eyes were wide in fear for you, and she didn’t even like you all that much. “My son,” She said, her tone warning, but Joffrey ignored her as he came over to you, pulling you out of your seat and towards the arena. 

“My dear aunt, a wonderful choice,” He said as he nearly pulled your arm out of its socket dragging you into the arena. You could smell the death that clung to the air as the hem of your dress dragged in the blood. Joffrey shoved you into the Mountain and the beast swung you up into his arms, holding you like a prize. You stared back helplessly at the Hound as the crowd cheered.

*

His bandaged knuckles throbbed as he took a swig from his wineskin. The Hound sat on a bottom step, the noise from the feast still audible. He had to resist throwing a punch into the stone wall of the corridor. His bed chambers were still a wreck, his table in several pieces. The maids were too terrified of him to try and enter. If the Hound thought that he was angry the day after the betrothal, when he had beaten his own hands bloody on his walls, it was nothing compared to how he felt after watching you stand before the everyone in the sept, draped in the cloak of his house, declaring that you were now his brother’s property. 

He had barely seen you before the wedding and part of him felt like that was the Queen’s doing. He was sure that she knew how he felt about you. He thought that he had hidden it well, trying not to let his eyes linger on you for too long. Maybe he was always too ready to take guard duty by your chambers, or too pleased when she ordered him to walk you through the city when you asked to venture off. 

The Hound had wanted to kiss you for some time now. He had been surprised when you had done it that night, just a week ago. Gods, it felt so much longer. If he could, he would go back to that night and take you away. Or at least tell the Kingslayer to fuck off. 

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts of you, you turned the corner to the corridor he sat in. You spotted him, your face breaking into a soft smile as you walked towards him. 

“I was wondering where you had wandered off to,” You said, standing above him where he sat on the step. You weren’t used to looking down at him. “Plenty of ale in the dining hall.” 

“No offense, milady,” The Hound said, still not looking at you. “But I’d rather get my balls ripped off by a direwolf.” 

“You think it’s fun for me?” You said, anger rising in your chest. You didn’t know why he was upset at you. You didn’t want to be married to Gregor Clegane. You had no say in the goings on of your life. Your father had tried to sway the King, but Joffrey was changing his mind. You suspected Tywin hadn’t tried all that hard anyways. 

“Didn’t say it was,” The Hound said, taking another sip. “He’s going to beat you bloody.” 

“You’re being a dick,” You said, your hands on your hips. He gave a humorless laugh. “You’re acting like you don’t even care. You always act like you don’t care.” 

“You think I don’t care?” The Hound said, rising up to his full height, towering over you, but you didn’t back down. You knew he would never hurt you. He could never hurt you. “You think I don’t want to kill my brother?” 

“You always want to kill your brother, Sandor, that’s nothing new.” Any time you used his name, his real name, his jaw tensed. No one called him anything other than “hound” or “dog”. 

“He will hurt you and that little cunt Joffrey thinks it’s a game, a joke.” The Hound grabbed your arms with his large hands, startling you. “He doesn’t deserve to call you his wife.” 

“I don’t want to be his wife,” You said, reaching up to touch the burned flesh of his face and he let you. 

“You don’t want to be mine either,” He said firmly, grabbing your wrist. 

“Why not?”

“You need a good man,” He said. “And there aren’t any here.” 

You stood on your toes, lifting yourself just enough to kiss him. He stooped to pick you up, his arms wrapped around your waist. He carried you into the next corridor. You could still hear your wedding feast as you kissed your groom’s brother. He pressed you into the rough brick wall and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your wedding gown racked up to your thighs. 

“I may be his wife,” You said breathlessly as he kissed your neck. “But I’m yours. From this day until the end of my days.” You said these words earlier in the sept but now you felt the meaning of them as the Hound’s lips stilled on your neck. 

“Aye,” He said finally, kissing your lips. “You’re mine.” 

“And you’re mine.” 

“And I’m yours. Til the end of my days and all that shit.” 

You threaded your fingers through his hair, kissing him as fiercely as you could. You didn’t care that someone could easily turn the corner and find you in a very compromising position  with the king’s bodyguard. 

“I need you,” You whispered, your teeth raking his ear lobe. He groaned his hands sliding further up your legs to grab your ass.

“Here?” 

“Here.” 

His hand slid in between your legs, feeling the pooling wetness there. “You’re fucking dripping, milady,” He said, smugness edging his tone. He liked that he had that effect on you. 

“Sandor,” You begged, hitting his shoulder with your fist lightly. “We don’t-,” He cut you off, slipping two large fingers until you and making you gasp. He watched your face, a smirk playing at his lips as he rubbed you from the inside out. You bit your lip to keep from crying out when his thumb found your clit. He kissed you roughly, rubbing faster and faster until you moaned into his mouth as you came. 

He wasted no time in undoing his pants, just enough to shove his hard cock into you full hilt. You couldn’t help the near scream you let out as he filled you, your nails grabbing at his chainmail armor. He clapped his hand over your mouth as he thrust into you. 

“Keep quiet,” He warned with a grunt. The brick scraped at the skin on your back that your gown didn’t cover but even that felt good. You liked that you would be able to feel him even later. 

His fingers felt like fire across your thighs as he gripped you tightly, his thrusts becoming wilder as he got closer. You wished that you could have your wedding night with him, in a large bed where you could curl into him afterwards, but this sloppy and quick encounter would be enough. For now. 

He moved to hold you with both hands, kissing you hard. “Fuck, you feel so good,” He grunted. 

“Finish inside me,” You said, making him groan. You were trying to remember every inch of him, from the way he stretched you to the way his beard scraped at your face. “I want to feel it, Sandor.” 

You felt a shudder run through him as he released into you, holding you tight to make sure you didn’t fall to the ground. He rested his head in the crook of your neck for a brief moment. 

He finally set you back down on your feet, letting your gown fall back into place. You could feel the stickiness creep down your thighs and it almost made you want to go again, but you knew you didn’t have time. 

The Hound bent to kiss you again, his hand cupping your face. He knew what would happen later that night and he didn’t want to think of it. He wanted to just keep thinking of how good you felt around him, saying his name in that breathy moan of yours. 

“Lady Clegane,” You heard from the main corridor. You gave the Hound’s hand a gentle squeeze as you saw the look on his face. You were a Clegane now, taken under the family’s cloak. It just stung more than he ever thought it could.

You walked out, the Hound shortly behind you, finding Podrick looking around the corridor. He gave the Hound a frightened look before looking back at you. “Sorry, milady, Lord Tyrion asked me to find you.” 

“Yes, of course, thank you,” You said. With another side eyed glance at the Hound, Podrick turned back and left for the dining hall. 

You felt the Hound’s rough hand on your shoulder, fixing the back of your gown that had gotten mussed during your encounter. You looked back at him, offering him a gentle smile, but he avoided your eyes. 

“Better get back, Lady Clegane.”

*

He couldn’t stay away from you. He tried. Gods know he tried. He hated thinking about you sharing his brother’s bed, knowing exactly what Gregor would do to you. What was worse was knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. It wasn’t until nearly a fortnight after the wedding that he finally swallowed his pride and sought you out, going to the chambers you now shared with the Mountain when he knew that the Mountain would be off somewhere, killing someone in the name of the Lannisters. 

You had been so happy to see the Hound that you nearly forgot how miserable you had been since your wedding. You didn’t even speak, you just pounced on him. The arrangement wasn’t ideal, but at least you got the Hound, even if it was just stolen moments that you could sneak away. Sometimes you even got lucky, when Gregor had to go off on a task set forth by King Joffrey, you were able to spend the night with the Hound, wrapped in his arms, in his bed, sleepy and sated after he had fucked you until you screamed his name, forgetting that he wasn’t the Clegane you had married. Your husband had his whores, you had his brother.

“If we left right now,” You had said, on one of these nights, the Hound’s hand tracing circles on your back lazily as you laid your head on his broad, hairy chest. “We could make it at least to Stokeworth before anyone even realized we were gone.” 

“Is that what you want?” The Hound asked, his eyes already closed. He always fell asleep almost immediately after he finished. 

The question had thrown you. Of course it was what you wanted. You had fantasized about it every moment since you took your vows. Except it would come at a price. Yes, here, you had to be married to that awful beast of a man, but you if you ran away, you would never see your family again. Even if your sister was standoffish and her first born a spoiled shit, you still loved your brothers, and your niece and nephew. You hated to think what would happen to sweet Mrycella and Tommen if left alone here. They were good children, you didn’t want to see them grow into the same sort as their elder brother. Not to mention, you would spend the rest of your lives with a bounty on your head, living in fear of being caught. 

“I want to be on top this time,” You had said instead, rolling over onto the Hound. 

“Again?” He had chuckled under you, squeezing your hips. He had grunted when you slid his quickly hardening cock back into you. It was a good enough distraction, it kept you from having to burst your bubble. 

Until now. 

You were good at keeping the peace. It was what your father said you were best at, in fact. But even you couldn’t calm Gregor Clegane when he was in a rage. Over something stupid, as well. A lost bet. The Maester said you were lucky he hadn’t broken any bones when he had flung you across the room. Just bruised and a bit bloody, but after you were bandaged up, you were free to go back to your chambers. You were safe, as well, as Gregor had been called away by the King, yet again, sent to Harrenhal. But it wasn’t it the bruises or wounds or even your husband that weighed on you. It was the news that the Maester had for you. 

You walked in the exact opposite direction of your chambers, towards the Red Keep where you knew the Hound would be standing guard outside the King’s door. Normally, you were much more discreet, never daring to visit him when you knew your nephew could see, but you needed to see him and it needed to be now. 

You turned the corner, feeling the weight on your chest lightening just slightly when you saw him. He had heard you coming, his hand on his sword just in case you had been a threat, but when he saw it was you, his hand dropped. When he saw the bandages, he stepped away from his post. 

“What in the hells happened?” He asked, his hand on your cheek. You placed your hand over his, looking up at him. You didn’t even need to answer for his jaw to tense. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking-,”

“Sandor,” You said softly. “We need to leave, tonight.” 

The Hound stared at you, studying your face to try to tell if you were serious. “You want to leave?”

“We need to leave,” You corrected. You kept your voice low, pulling him away from the door. “Gregor won’t be back for a few days, if we leave right when your watch ends-,” 

“What happened?” The Hound asked. 

You took a deep breath. You still hadn’t quite processed what the Maester had told you just moments before, it didn’t feel real. But you needed to say it and say it now, otherwise he would overhear when the Maester no doubt told Cersei and you couldn’t think of a worse way for him to find out. “I’m pregnant,” You said, your hands placed on your still flat stomach. You don’t think you had ever seen such genuine fear on his face. “Sandor?” You asked. 

“And you don’t know if���,” He trailed off. You didn’t need to hear the rest of his question to know what it was. It had been your first thought as well. 

“There’s no way to know, not for sure,” You said. “But if you come with me, if you leave with me tonight, it doesn’t matter, not to me. You’re mine, remember? And I’m yours. I love you, with my whole heart I do, but I need to leave tonight. I’ll go with or without you, but please, don’t make me go without you.” You could feel yourself rambling, the tears starting to fall down your cheeks. He stared at you, dumbfounded. You showed him countless times how much you cared for him, but this was the first time he heard it, heard those words, I love you. You wondered if he had ever heard those words before in his life. 

“I’ll leave with you,” He said finally. You pulled him down, kissing his lips with as much force as you could. He lifted you off your feet, holding you close. “You’re mine, it’s mine.”

*

You stretched your arms high above you, feeling your sore back crack. The morning sun beamed in from the small window of the cottage. You laughed slightly as you looked at the empty side of the bed next to you. You struggled to your feet, wrapping your dressing gown around yourself. You knew exactly where to find the Hound. 

You could already hear the swing of the hammer before you walked outside. It was such a common sound now a days, it hadn’t even woken you. 

“Sandor,” You said with a laugh. “It was fine yesterday. It was fine the day before. And the day before that. If you keep fucking with it, it’ll just be a pile of kindling by the time the baby gets here.” 

The Hound didn’t even look up from the excellently built crib as he kneeled in front of it, examining it for imperfections that weren’t there but he was convinced he could find. “What do you know about crib building?”

“What do you?” 

“Exactly,” He grumbled. 

You walked over to him and patted his head as he stared at the crib. He sighed, plopping down onto the grass in front of it. You lowered yourself into his lap, with some difficulty. He placed his hand on your large stomach absently as he looked at his creation. Any time you were near him, it was like his hand was drawn to the child inside of you. He even slept with his arm tightly around you. 

“What if it breaks when she’s in there?” He asked. 

“It’s not going to break,” You said. “And I still think he’s a boy.” 

“And you’re wrong.” 

“I’m the one carrying the damned thing,” You laughed. 

“So? Doesn’t mean shit,” He said. 

“You just don’t like my name.” 

“James is a cunt name, no, I don’t like it,” The Hound said. “I’ve killed men named James, I’m not naming my son James.” 

“So you decided that means we’re having a daughter then?” 

“No, I think we’re having a daughter because we’re having a fucking daughter,” The Hound said. He finally looked away from the crib, looking back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he saw you smiling at him. “Hope to whatever stupid God is listening she gets your looks, though.” 

[madamebaggio]

Notes: So...

Let’s talk for a second.

Remember I said I was procrastinating so hard that I was considering resurrecting old works?

Yeah… This is one of them… lol

It was going to be a Sansa/Willas/Oberyn, then it became a Sansa/Willas and now I’m not so sure.

I’ve stopped quite a while back on it with just two and a half chapters done, so I’ll just post it here and you guys tell me what you think.

Sounds fair?

***

Willas Tyrell quietly chuckled as his friend Oberyn Martell kept pretending he was an innocent human being. Oberyn’s “trust-me-I’m-a-saint” face never failed to amuse Willas.

The Tyrell was about to tell his friend to cut the shit -not with these words, because Willas would never be this crass -when they heard the library door opening.

“I should give up on having a sex life.”

“I should wash your mouth with soap for even suggesting it.”

Oberyn and Willas exchanged curious looks. The first voice was clearly Sansa Stark; her charming accent was unmistakable. The second was Margaery, obviously.

The two older men were hiding in the library, escaping the party. Olenna Tyrell gave the classiest parties in King’s Landing, but they were also crowded with hopeful socialites trying to grab a husband, and Oberyn and Willas were prime game. Therefore, this was a tactical retreat, before they inevitably had to go back to the party.

The young women hadn’t seen them because the men were behind a bookcase, sitting side by side on armchairs. As a matter of fact, they also couldn’t see the two ladies, but they could hear their conversation quite clearly.

“Well, it’s been… Disastrous, for a lack of a worse word.” Sansa continued.

“I’m pretty sure ‘catastrophic’ is worse than ‘disastrous’.” Margaery informed her, quite matter-of-factly.

Willas saw Oberyn opening a grin at that.

“Marge, I’m serious.”

“I refuse to believe that. It can’t have been that bad.”

“It was.”

Willas was wondering what he should do. This was obviously a very private conversation, and they had no right to be listening to it. Sansa was a reserved person and she’d probably feel embarrassed if she knew they could hear something so personal.

“I mean, sure, there was Joffrey…” Margaery was still talking.

“Do I need to say more?”

No, she didn’t. Willas hated the little piece of shit with a passion, and so did Oberyn. It was quite clear his friend was fighting to hold in his comment.

“Selfish little prick, treated me like crap all the time, including the two times we had sex. But at least the second time made me realize I needed to get rid of him fast.” Sansa’s tone was derisive in a way Willas had never heard before. Normally she was a really sweet girl who wouldn’t use a single bad word.

Though… If anyone deserved every single bad word ever invented it was Joffrey.

“Then there was Harry, who thought that his big…”

“Cock?” Margaery offered innocently.

Oberyn pressed his lips together, now really fighting to stay quiet.

Sansa sighed. “Yes. He thought that meant he’d already done his part and everything else was up to me.” They heard Margaery making a noise of disgust. “Besides that, he never took care of me before it…” Now she was sounding really embarrassed. “So it was always painful for me.”

“What a waste.” Margaery grumbled. “Harry doesn’t deserve to have a big cock.”

Sansa’s chuckle was completely humorless. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Did you have sex with Baelish?”

Willas and Oberyn shared identical looks of complete shock. Were they really talking about Petyr Baelish?

Sansa sighed again. “Thank the Seven no. I’m grateful I was never that stupid.”

“And you escaped Bolton.” It wasn’t a question.

Willas arched an eyebrow at Oberyn, asking if he knew of that one, but his friend just shrugged, also looking confused.

“Yes. He tried to grab me, but Robb punched him on the face.”

“Your brother is so hot.” Margaery fawned.

They giggled together and Willas couldn’t hold in a smile. He liked the fact that Sansa Stark was a true friend to his baby sister. It was just one of the many things he liked about her.

“So they all sucked.” Margaery concluded.

“Well…” Sansa dragged the word and Willas could almost see her biting her lower lip as she decided if she should say something or not. “There was Jon…”

“YOU FUCKED YOUR COUSIN?” Margaery said it so loud, that it wouldn’t be shocking if Olenna came in to hear the rest of the gossip.

“Almost.” Sansa let out a long-suffering groan. “We were drunk at a family party, he was feeling shitty, I was feeling shitty… We were talking, next thing we know we were snogging…”

“Then what?” Margaery demanded and Oberyn was almost falling forward on his seat, wanting to know as well.

“He…”

“What?”

“He… Gave me… He…”

Willas furrowed his brow, wondering at what she could possibly be trying to say.

“He ate you out?” Margaery offered.

“MARGE!” Sansa screeched.

“You can just say it.” Margaery teased.

“Yes, he did and it was amazing, but… When I was about to… Reciprocate… He called me ‘Ygritte’.”

“Ouch! Talk about killing the mood fast.”

“He was feeling bad, it was the red hair. At least he said it before we actually had sex, so, there’s that.” It was easy to realize that even Sansa knew this was a weak compensation.

“And you got great oral out of it.” Margaery tried to sound cheery about it.

“Yes, but it was also the first and only time ever.”

“Wait! Are you honestly telling me…”

No, this couldn’t possibly be true. Sansa might be younger than him, but Willas wasn’t blind; she was a goddess. How could it even be possible…?

“Do any of the previous mentioned boyfriends sounded giving to you?” Sansa asked dejectedly.

Margaery’s sound of disgust was answer enough.

“Anyway. This disastrous ending is why I’ve never told you about Jon.”

“Makes sense.” Margaery conceded.

“And that’s it.” And fuck, if this was the extent of Sansa’s sex life he was angry on her behalf. 

What was wrong with the boys out there that a woman like Sansa would feel so damned unloved? Willas was quite aware she’d been a bit of a brat when she was younger, but then again, so had Margaery. Sansa was smart, charming and absolutely gorgeous; she deserved much better than that.

He didn’t even have to look at Oberyn to know he was thinking exactly the same thing.

“Don’t say that.” Margaery’s voice was gentler now. “You’ve just had rotten luck so far.”

Sansa snorted. “That’s one way of calling it.”

He heard his sister humming something. “What you need is an experienced guy to give you a few orgasms and restore your confidence.”

Oberyn was nodding along with that particular suggestion, but Willas was more interested on Sansa’s answer.

“Sure, do you keep one of those in your pocket?” She snorted, opting for sarcasm.

“There’s always Oberyn.” His sister offered.

The man in question arched an eyebrow, now clearly delighted by the turn of events even as Sansa screeched in protest.

“I’m serious.” Margaery insisted, with her musical laughter. “He has the fame of being a sex god. It can’t possibly be a lie.”

Willas wasn’t one bit amused by this whole conversation, but Oberyn was clearly having the time of his life.

“How would you know?” Sansa challenged.

It would be a terrible moment to find out his sister had slept with his best friend. There were some things he’d rather never know.

“I met Ellaria. She’s not the type of woman to pretend to have an orgasm just to spare a man’s ego.” Margaery indicated reasonably. “And she was not complaining about him at all. In fact, the things she told me…” Her voice trailed off suggestively.

“He’s older than me.” Sansa indicated, but it didn’t seem like a protest at all.

“But he’s not old.”

“I’m not considering this.” Sansa said, but it sounded like she was talking more to herself.

“You’d have to be dead not to think about it.” Margaery insisted. “Come on! If sex was a person, it’d be him.”

That got a giggle out of Sansa. “So what? Should I just walk up to him and say…” She trailed off so Margaery could complete.

And his sister didn’t disappoint. “Cure me from my orgasm deprivation.” She proclaimed dramatically.

Oberyn shrugged, seemed sold on the idea. Willas gave him a warning look.

“You’re the worst.” Sansa said, but she was laughing.

“You love me.” Margaery sang aloud.

“But… maybe you’re right.” Sansa mused. “Not about Oberyn, I think he’d see me too much as an inexperienced little girl.” Willas was the one to almost snort this time. Sansa might be younger than them, but Oberyn would not see her like a little girl in a thousand years. “But maybe I do need to find a man just to…”

“Fuck?”

“I give up on you.” She declared. “Let’s get more champagne.”

They heard the click of heels, then the door opened.

“How about Willas?” Margaery suggested, as their voices started to get farther.

Now Oberyn was giving him one hell of an annoying look.

“Marge!” Sansa barked a laughter. “Are you seriously pimping your brother out to me?”

“Are you saying my brother isn’t…” But the rest of Marge’s question was cut by the heavy door closing after them.

“Don’t.” Willas spoke immediately, because he knew Oberyn well enough to know where this was going.

“I wasn’t about to say anything.” Oberyn told him, the huge devilish smile on his lips immediately denying his words.

“Oh please.” Willas gave him a flat look. “You’re dying to make some inappropriate comment on this whole situation.”

“I resent that.” Oberyn somehow replied with a straight face. “How do you know it’d be inappropriate?” He challenged.

“Because I know you.” He replied dryly. “Besides that, what we heard was an extremely private conversation. If there was any way we could’ve revealed ourselves without embarrassing Sansa, I’d have done it.”

Oberyn sighed. “You’re right, of course. She’s quite sweet and I don’t think she’d be happy if she knew we heard that.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

“Don’t you feel like beating them all up, though?” Oberyn immediately added. “How is it possible that they all had her and managed to be so bad about the whole thing, she’s considering quitting on sex all together?”

“She’s young.” Willas said, though it sounded weak even to his own ears. “She just needs to find a better lover next time.”

“Don’t make it sound like she’s a child, Willas.” Oberyn rolled his eyes. “She’s… What? 23?”

“24.” Willas corrected.

“And these bad experiences will just make it harder for her to choose next time. She needs to know how good sex can be, so she can feel more confident about it.” Oberyn insisted.

“Oh really? So what are you saying exactly? And choose your words carefully.” Willas warned.

He realized soon enough his mistake; he’d been too vehement on his defense of Sansa’s honor, and now Oberyn was looking at him like he was a particularly interesting bug.

“Oh Willas, that’s so adorable of you.” He cooed.

“Shut up, Oberyn.” The other man grumbled.

“You’re sweet on the lady.”

“Don’t be absurd.�� Willas protested. “She’s way too young.”

“Hardly that young. You wouldn’t be taking advantage, if that’s your concern.”

“After what I just heard? I think I would.”

Oberyn let out a long-suffering sigh. “Why are you always so eager to play the martyr?” He wanted to know. “If you like the woman, ask her out.”

“No.” Willas said firmly. “Now let’s talk about something else.”

Oberyn’s look made it quite clear he knew what was going on in Willas’s head, but he humored his friend by changing the subject.

Thank the Seven.

[thebluelemontree]

Why do you think Sandor wanted that song so much? What did it mean to him? Clearly the idea of her singing to him was on his mind for awhile. The song obviously carries symbolic meanings for the reader. But what was its in-universe significance to the man who demanded it? Why was it so important to him that she sing specifically?

It’s part of his childhood idealism and the knight he wanted to be.  The kind that saves fair maidens among other heroic deeds.  The day he saved her in the bread riot was a song come alive for him.  For the first time in his life, Sandor wasn’t just doing his job guarding and carrying out the commands of terrible people.  He was protecting an honest-to-goodness innocent person in need of saving, and Sansa is straight out of central casting as a fair maiden.  From Sansa’s recollection:     

The Hound leapt at them, his sword a blur of steel that trailed a red mist as it swung. When they broke and ran before him he had laughed, his terrible burned face for a moment transformed.  – Sansa IV, ACOK.  

You could read this as nothing more than bloodlust; however, it seems to me his expression was “transformed” from his normal anger into something else.  It’s the presence of anger that Sansa admits is what makes his burned face “terrible,” not so much the scars.  Now that Sansa has a chance to really think about it after some time has passed from the harrowing event, his face was different when he saved her.  I see it as Sandor having a brief moment of elation and pride.  This is what it feels like to be a hero.  This is what his grandfather did for Tytos Lannister.  It’s not all bullshit and children’s stories.  It also tells us Sandor is capable of romanticizing a terrible event, just as Sansa.  He will later fudge the retelling of events to make it seem like the song came as a result of saving Sansa’s life in the riot:  

“… I saved your sister’s life too. The day the mob pulled her off her horse, I cut through them and brought her back to the castle, else she would have gotten what Lollys Stokeworth got. And she sang for me. You didn’t know that, did you? Your sister sang me a sweet little song.“ – Arya IX, ASOS. 

Then later at his death, he will damn himself as no true hero because he failed to protect her from Joffrey.  He botched his own rescue attempt by scaring the daylights out of her.  Because of his frailty and fuck-ups, in his mind, he abandoned her to an even worse fate with Tyrion.  He is the “gutless fraud” he is talking about.  He never deserved that song after all and the way he actually got it shames him to the point he wants to die:

“I hate liars. I hate gutless frauds even worse. Go on, do it.” When Arya did not move, he said, “I killed your butcher’s boy. I cut him near in half, and laughed about it after.” He made a queer sound, and it took her a moment to realize he was sobbing. “And the little bird, your pretty sister, I stood there in my white cloak and let them beat her. I took the bloody song, she never gave it…”

Sandor tying Sansa’s song to the riot is important, but let’s back up a bit because the seed for the song idea was planted before that.

 . . . ah, you’re still a stupid little bird, aren’t you? Singing all the songs they taught you … sing me a song, why don’t you? Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids. You like knights, don’t you?“ 

He was scaring her. "T-true knights, my lord.”

“True knights,” he mocked. “And I’m no lord, no more than I’m a knight. Do I need to beat that into you?"  Clegane reeled and almost fell.  "Gods,” he swore, “too much wine.”    – Sansa II, ACOK.  [Real smooth there, Sandor]

The dot-dot-dots usually mean a character just had a gear-shifting thought.  This is from their meeting on the serpentine steps.  He’s just noticed she’s “almost a woman” then had to remind himself that no, she’s still too young and immature for that.  Sandor’s drunken, less-inhibited brain is bouncing around like a ping-pong ball between his just-awakened attraction and frantically trying to stomp it out.  He’s over-correcting by calling her a “stupid little bird” because (as reflected in his swaying) how off-balance he is thrown by interacting with her.  Not surprisingly, it’s Sandor who is actually showing his immaturity.  Those ellipses indicate a little light bulb has just turned on and it will become an idea that he really latches on to.  Oh, but he can’t just straight up ask for a song.  No way.  Better frame it as a halfhearted dare instead so she doesn’t think he’s actually interested in something so lame, stupid, and the antithesis of everything he’s preached at her.  She reminds him that it’s true knights that she likes, which he must then beat into his own head that he isn’t even a knight, let alone a true one at this point.  He couldn’t be further from the heroes she looks up to.  The song was a dumb idea anyway, right?  So why can’t he let it go?

I would point out just before Sandor brings up the song again, it’s Sansa that has coaxed a poetic “song” about a hero out of Sandor first without him realizing it (whether he willed it or no):

As they were winding their way up the steps, she said, "Why do you let people call you a dog? You won’t let anyone call you a knight.”

“I like dogs better than knights. My father’s father was kennelmaster at the Rock. One autumn year, Lord Tytos came between a lioness and her prey. The lioness didn’t give a shit that she was Lannister’s own sigil. Bitch tore into my lord’s horse and would have done for my lord too, but my grandfather came up with the hounds. Three of his dogs died running her off. My grandfather lost a leg, so Lannister paid him for it with lands and a towerhouse, and took his son to squire. The three dogs on our banner are the three that died, in the yellow of autumn grass. A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he’ll look you straight in the face."  He cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. "And that’s more than little birds can do, isn’t it? I never got my song.”

“I … I know a song about Florian and Jonquil.“

"Florian and Jonquil? A fool and his cunt. Spare me. But one day I’ll have a song from you, whether you will it or no.”

“I will sing it for you gladly.”

Sandor Clegane snorted. “Pretty thing, and such a bad liar…”

Dot-dot-dot!!! Sansa doesn’t offer to sing about just any knight saving a maiden.  He never asked for a specific song.  It was her choice.  She offers to sing her favorite song, which makes it a deeply personal gift.  So this scene was actually about an exchange of songs, where Sandor gave one that was personal to him as well.  Sansa’s song is also a romantic one, specifically about a maiden who falls in love with an unconventional knight.  He wasn’t prepared for that, nor can he believe it, and as usual, reacts with knee-jerk cynicism.  She’s so pretty that she has to be lying that she’d ever “gladly” sing a song like that for him.  You might want to follow up with this post on those other connotations of the song too because Sansa dreaming of Sandor in her marriage bed gives another ironic twist on having a song from her whether she “wills it or no.”  Even without the sexual innuendo meaning, singing a song for a man is an intimate act which they are both aware of. It’s a piece of herself that she would give gladly to him “one day” in the future.

The problem that will prevent Sansa from being able to give the song gladly lies in Sandor’s immaturity, neediness, cynicism, and untreated PTSD.  Fast forward to the bread riot when he’s high on feeling like one of those true knights she holds in high regard.  He wanted that validation from her but feels deflated when he doesn’t get it in the way he hoped.

"The little bird still can’t bear to look at me, can she?” The Hound released her. “You were glad enough to see my face when the mob had you, though. Remember?”

…

“I … I should have come to you after,” she said haltingly. “To thank you, for … for saving me … you were so brave.”

“Brave?” His laugh was half a snarl. “A dog doesn’t need courage to chase off rats. They had me thirty to one, and not a man of them dared face me.”

So roughly two months have passed (according to the ASOIAF timeline) since the riot and this conversation.  Sansa never even attempted to thank Sandor for saving her, which she acknowledges after some thought that she should have.  For Sandor, it’s a twofold dud.  Not only does he have to remind her, but the thanks she gives is lukewarm and rote.  To be entirely fair, the riot was not a song for Sansa.  She was traumatized by it.  Even the manner in which she was rescued was rife with graphic violence that Sandor doesn’t seem to fully appreciate; however, I’m not sure Sansa would have been so negligent in thanking her rescuer if it had been Ser Loras.  In fact, her nightmare about the riot is an acknowledgment that it wasn’t one of her preferred heroes that saved her.  No one else put themselves between her and the mob.  She would not be alive if it weren’t for the rude asshole with the terrible face standing before her.  A little more gratitude was in order, but Sandor doesn’t make that easy either.  He can’t let on that he cared that much about being her hero or that he was hurt and disappointed by her oversight.  Again, he overcompensates by drastically downplaying it, acting like it’s dumb to make a big deal out of it, and just being an insufferable jerk about everything.  We can see from the way Sandor framed the story to Arya he had fantasized about Sansa reaching out to him post-riot to thank him with a song.  Florian and Jonquil, just like she promised.  It was supposed to be the icing on the cake for his very song-like heroic deed.  And maybe, just maybe, there was a little smidgeon of hope that she reciprocated his romantic feelings thrown in there as well.        

So that leads us to the Blackwater.  It’s always important to keep in mind that Sandor demanded the literal song.  He was never using the word as a euphemism.  He is also in the throes of a major PTSD episode and is not able to comprehend why his behavior is frightening to Sansa.  So why did he have to demand the song at knifepoint?  Why did he demand it at all?  Why was it that important to him at that moment?

“Why did you come here?”

“You promised me a song, little bird. Have you forgotten?”

She didn’t know what he meant. She couldn’t sing for him now, here, with the sky aswirl with fire and men dying in their hundreds and their thousands. “I can’t,” she said. “Let me go, you’re scaring me.”

…

“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. “Still can’t bear to look, can you?” she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was out, poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."  – Sansa VII, ACOK.

Sandor has deserted during the battle after he could no longer go on fighting surrounded by wildfire. He’s been labeled a craven and desertion is a crime that can be punishable by death.  When he says he’s lost “all,” he means he’s lost his entire sense of self.  Sandor Clegane doesn’t know who he is anymore.  The fearsome Hound has been (in his eyes) unmanned by a half-man without any real martial ability.  His military career and reputation have been torpedoed.  He has no home or position anymore.  Gregor already took everything else.  Everything is crashing down around him, and he’s self-medicating the tidal wave of panic and humiliation with alcohol.  The one person he can go to for comfort and validation is Sansa.  If he can pledge himself to her, abscond from the city with her, be her hero again, then he still has an identity as a warrior and a man.

Sandor had been waiting for her in her room, lying on her bed like a scared little boy seeking some maternal solace.  The way he says “Little Bird, I knew you’d come” sounds more like he had been silently praying for her to rescue him from this place rather than the other way around.  To Sansa, the song is not only an inappropriate thing to ask for at this moment with all the chaos, violence, and uncertainty.  It sounds downright crazy.  He’s covered in blood, drunk, smelling of vomit, skulking around in the dark and grabbing her, but he accuses Sansa of being irrationally afraid as if she has no cause.  He thinks she’s carelessly forgotten the promised song as if that was an obvious and sane answer to her question of why he’s there.  All this suggests how greatly Sandor is disassociating from reality at this moment.     

Offering to protect her and kill anyone that tries to hurt her is as close as Sandor can come to articulating his feelings for her.  Some call it a declaration of love, which I agree that it is, albeit it’s a very misguided expression of love entwined with violence.  He interprets her response to that declaration as her still not being able to look at his disfigurement, even after all that he has done for her and still trying to do.  It makes him furious.  This is where Sandor’s severe PTSD, his desperation to reclaim a sense of self, and his perceived wrongful rejection by her cause him to take a sharp nosedive into his darkest and most cynical beliefs:  that Sansa has finally shown her true colors and she’s proven herself to be just another highborn brat.  All he wanted was just listen to a soft, dulcet voice spinning some beautiful imagery to drown out the sounds of all those screaming, burning men.  All he demanded asked for was to hear her sing about her favorite knight and recall a day when he felt brave and on top of the world.  But damn it, she denied him this one small thing that would help him feel better right now.  Even then he offers up everything he has to take her north, and she spurns it.  No real fair maiden of the songs would ever be so ungrateful and impossible to please.  When she said she’d sing for him gladly, she lied.  She’s a liar.  She saves her songs for handsome faces.  She never intended to keep her promise.  But fuck it, that song is owed to him.  Might as well just take it.  

Sandor is, of course, completely wrong and in the wrong here.  A fact that will dawn on him as soon as the Mother’s Hymn registers in his brain and he can see himself with clarity.  He came to her like a monster, not a hero.  Sansa was right to be afraid of him and to refuse him.  By Sansa touching his face, she is saying he did have her compassion and willingness to comfort him all along.  She even has the grace in her to give it to him now when he least deserves it, which makes her even more of a true lady than she was before.  It was the Hound she rejected, not him.  His anger, fear, and cynicism caused him to see fault in her when there was none. He hurt the person he cared for most in the world and for that he tears off his white cloak, leaving disgusted and ashamed.  The song then becomes a haunting reminder of his worst self rather than his greatest glory.  This is why he finds it so necessary to confess taking the song along with his other failures and bad acts.  To him, it was just as bad as letting Sansa be beaten if that gives you any indication of how seriously Sandor actually takes the meaning of the song.  It was a piece of her that he didn’t have a right to and wasn’t worthy of.  Songs from fair maidens are for heroes and true knights.  Not for a gutless fraud like himself.

[my-personal-writing-wonderland]

You truly are something else

Part 6 

Part 5, Part 1 

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Warnings: self doubts, one or two slightly sexual references and Joffrey being Joffrey in the future chapters

Summary: You’re the younger sister of Margaery Tyrell and you accompany her to Kingslanding. Since you are a child you feel inferior to your sister and the fact that she is about to get married once again doesn’t really help to build your self-confidence. You dream of a man who loves you for who you are and makes you feel special but are you able to find love in a city reigned by a tyrant like Joffrey?

A/n: There will be one last chapter, I hope you all enjoyed the story so far. Feel free to leave a comment to tell me your personal dream ending. I also hope there aren’t too many mistakes, english isn’t my mother tongue. 

Important: Sandor didn’t leave Kingslanding during the battle of blackwater in this story.

(Pictures aren’t mine)

Your Pov: Since five days all you feel is the cold air constantly biting at your skin and the maddening hunger which rises inside of you day after day. You really don't know how much more you can take. Constantly sitting alone in the dark all day and night gives you the feeling to become crazy and the realization that there's nothing to stop your punishment nearly is enough to break you. 

The guards make sure to give you only barely enough to eat to let you survive and even something as basic as water is a seldom treat inside your cell. Some days you even have to beg before you get something to drink, if you refuse your captors will just laugh and take away your water privileges for the rest of the day. Never in your life were you this hungry, this desperate for something, anything, to eat. If you're lucky the guards will throw an old piece of bread into your cell. Otherwise, you have to survive another day without something to eat. You don't know how much time passed so far and how much more days you have to endure this until Joffrey finally lets you out again. No one visits you, not your grandmother, not your siblings, not even Sandor. If you have to guess you would say the king forbids them to see you in order to torture you even more. And it really works. You miss your family desperately and would do everything to get to see them. Right now you need their support like never before. At first you hoped your family would be able to free you somehow. Your grandmother is a clever, powerful woman after all and your sister is about to get wed with Joffrey but still, it seems like there is no use to hope they'll save you. The cell they put you in is only a few couples of feet long and maybe two or three feet wide. There is barely enough to room for you to lay down, let alone walk around a bit which causes  uncomfortable pain in your legs. Moreover, there isn't a bed in your cell, so you're forced to sleep on the floor without a blanket. Your whole back and neck hurt like hell after the second day but the guards couldn't care less. God, do you miss your soft mattress at home. There is nothing to do for you but to think about your future once you're out of your little hellhole and have to marry Euron Greyjoy. To say you're scared shitless doesn't even begin to describe what you feel when you think about your marriage. Of course it's not right to judge someone by their reputation but Joffrey wouldn't have chosen Euron to be your husband if he's a kind hearted and decent man, you're sure of that. The little brat hopes Euron will treat you with as much disrespect and brutality as he does. Why does Joffrey hate you so much? One day, you hear your thick cell door open. No one other than King Joffrey comes into your view. So many questions rises inside of you at the same time. What is he doing here? Is he going to let you out? Is he going to torture you even more? 'Well, look at you, (y/n). You look like shit, really too bad your little lover had to stand up for you back in the throne room.' Your little lover? Does Joffrey think you and Sandor have some kind of relationship? You want to tell Joffrey Sandor is only a friend but then you realize it wouldn't matter anyway. So you decide to save your little bit of power left for what is yet to come. 'This place truly is beneath my dignity, so don't worry I won't take too much of your previous time down here. I only came to discuss some wedding details with you.' Your last hope shatters. Joffrey isn't here to let you out, he's only here to verbally abuse you some more. 'You will marry Euron in 3 days, he's already on his way to Kingslanding and should arrive the morning of your wedding. I know you don't have the time to choose a wedding dress, so I made it to my mission to find something for you to wear. It didn't take much time to find a dress made of a pretty silver material, you will love it. It's a bit see-through but I'm sure you understand you have to live with that. We need to show Euron and his men what he gets for his alliance after all. But my favourite part will probably be the bedding ceremony, seeing Euron all over you. It'll be a joy to watch you getting claimed by this beast and don't worry, I'll make sure Sandor gets to watch it as well.' (Little time skip) After Joffrey's visit you feel even more despaired than before. This evil little child manages to destroy your hopes and optimism all the time and enjoys it like nothing else. You never felt his hopeless before in your life. Joffrey didn't even mention your family, so there is no way they'll manage to get you out of this wedding. Unfortunately, there is no way to escape yourself either. The door which separated you from your freedom is always locked and there is no possibility to get the key. Even if you're able to open the door somehow you would never be strong enough to get pass the guards. You assume there are at least 2, maybe even 3 guards on the other side of your cell.   The thought you really have to endure this wedding brings tears into your eyes. How could your life turn out like that? All your life you tried to avoid wedding offers to be a free, independent woman and now you'll be nothing more than a sextoy for a murderer. Sandor's POV: Sandor passes most of his free time with pacing around in his room. There isn't a second where he doesn't think about you. He has no idea how you're doing and what Joffrey does to you. The hound tried to visit you several times, he has threatened the guards and even punched one men once but he had to stop when Joffrey commanded him, otherwise you would have get hurt even more. For this reason, he can't do anything but waiting until he hears something about your wellbeing. Sandors hates how he can't do anything to help you, or at least to find out whether or not you're alright. Joffrey proved several times he's unpredictable and Sandor witnessed the kings moods before. To say he hates himself for bringing you in this situation would be an understatement. Sandor beats himself up for being stupid enough to cross Joffrey every night when he tries to sleep. If he wasn't this stupid you wouldn't have to suffer in a cell, you would be fine, or at least finer than right now. All Sandor wanted to do was helping. He couldn't see Joffrey torture you anymore like this. He was a total cunt and it was obvious how uncomfortable and humanilated you felt. He just wanted Joffrey to stop and yes, he expected the little brat to be angry at him but he didn't thought he would ever punish you, the sister of his future queen, like that. And while he just wanted to help you, he made it so much worse. But there isn't anything he can do to make it better. No matter how much he begs, Joffrey will never change his mind and possibly seems weak in the process. So what can he do? It isn't like he can just free you and steal you away before your wedding, right? Your POV: Your soon-to-be husband will arrive in a few hours at sunrise and by midday, the two of you will be married, husband and wife, bound till death do them apart. The evening after Joffrey visited you, your guards opened your cell to beat and slap your helpless form until they're bored of your cries. They punched and kicked you hard enough to leave huge, dark bruises which are still pretty hurtful as soon as you move. The bruises are still partly visible but somehow you doubt Euron will care too much. At least Joffrey definitely doesn't. Now there's only one thing you can do: Sitting on the hard floor of your cell, trying to ignore your swollen face and hurting body and waiting for the real hell to begin. The thought of your wedding night always makes you want to cry, only with much effort you're able to suppress your tears. You just want it all to stop. In the middle of the night you hear screams in front of your prison. Panic begins to flow through your veins and scared you try to hear what's going on without the chance to see something. What is happening right now? All you hear is the screaming and begging of men, it's hard to heard who they are but you recognize at least one voice. Oliver, one of the younger and newer guards, has a unforgettable high pitched voice which annoyed you since you arrived. In this moment, it seems like Oliver begs for his life before you hear more screams. Is he dead? Did someone really kill the guards who have been sitting together only a few feet away from you just minutes ago? Who killed them? And more important, why? Before you're capitale to clear your mind and to think if something to do (not that there are many options), the door of your cell opens.

[7deadlycinderellas]

If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch21

Ao3 link

The Bite

Sansa’s not overly fond of boats, but she enjoys the sight of the winter seas and the smell of the salty air. Catelyn holds up much the same, staying still and in their cabin as much as possible.The pair of guards that travel with them have both haven’t been at sea before, and their transition is not exactly smooth. Even well-behaved Lady whines and turns around constantly in the metal cage up on the dock she had to be coaxed into.

“It’s only a few days, girl,” Sansa had assured her, and you won’t have to stay in there any longer.”

The voyage is actually quite dull. None of the rest of the crew give the two of them any notice other than the occasional “milady”. And so after a day or two Sansa finally asks.

“Mother, what was Aunt Lysa like as a girl?”

Catelyn’s face is faraway, caught up in the past.

“Shy. Timid. If she was in trouble with our father, she would run and hide. Some part of me wonders if she’s still doing that, staying up here in the Vale all the time.”

She looks at Sansa’s face, seeing the pinch of her lips. She sighs.

“You can say what you’re thinking. I’ve listened to what you’ve said over the years. I know my sister isn’t well. I should have pushed more to understand her emotions when father betrothed her to Jon Arryn.”

“If you wrote to grandfather, he would probably tell you.”

Hoster Tully is still alive now, but letters have come periodically that his health is failing. Catelyn has longed to visit, but not felt she could leave Winterfell.

“Do you know?”

Sansa bites her lip before speaking.

“Petyr Baelish got her with child, and grandfather tricked her into drinking tea that bled the pregnancy. He married her off to Jon Arryn because he had no heirs and she was apparently proven fertile.”

Catelyn’s gasps don’t pause Sansa’s words. Her face is contemplative.

“I wonder if maybe that’s why she lost so many children over the years. And Robin’s so sickly...I pity Aunt Lysa, I really do, but it’s not the good kind of pity.”

“You told us…”

Sansa nods.

“She poisoned Jon Arryn on Littlefinger’s suggestion. She did it because all these years later, she was still...obsessed with him. Not that it would have mattered, he only ever had eyes for you.”

Catelyn opens her mouth as if to protest, but from all the years, she can’t fight Sansa’s take on any of her perspective. And try as she might, Sansa still can’t tell her anything. She can’t tell her mother that despite Littlefinger’s decade long obsession with her that after her death he still managed to almost immediately project his affections onto her daughter.

“And all of that, all of it caused so much of this whole damn mess. I wish Father had told you about Jon from the beginning, but I can’t even imagine the mess there would have been if you accidentally let something on to either Lysa or Petyr.”

And as so, their voyage continues in silence.

Getting off the ship in Gulltown is a relief, but as they approach the Eyrie Sansa feels her heart skip beats and catch in her throat. She remembers the last time she was here. Seeing the craggy mountains poking up out of the ground puts her right back into the young girl who was certain so recently that she was safe but was slowly coming to the realization that she was just as unsafe as before.

The snow is packed tightly enough that travel isn’t too difficult. It’s terribly cold, but the sky is quite clear.

The easiest way up is still by mule. It takes Sansa longer than she’s proud of to recognize the girl leading them up the path, to place the face of one of the friends she had made during her short stint as Alayne Stone.

“Mya,” she mutters. It must be a bit louder than she’d intended, because the guide turns her head back.

“Did you say something milady?”

Sansa quietly shakes her head.

She slows her mule so she’s beside her mother.

“I didn’t know her too well before, I knew she was a Stone, but I never saw….”

Catelyn’s face is confused. After a breath, Sansa explains.

“She looks just like Gendry.”

Maybe one of these days, she’ll be able to tell Mya how lucky she is to be out of King’s Landing. How lucky she is to be alive.

For now they have bigger fish to fry.

 Winterfell

Bran’s chest clenches every time he thinks of Septima’s journey. He had labored over the note he had tied to her leg for so long, in hopes of delaying having to send her. She’s the strongest of them, with the most stamina, but when he set her off, he still feels his gut twist in fear for her.

He’s clearly still caught up in this when Robb has to swat his hand at dinner to get his attention. He’s still got half a piece of ham stuck with his fork. He glances around and all the others have left the table already.

“Sorry. Aren’t you usually gone by now?”

Robb sits beside him backwards on the bench, stretching out and resting his shoulders against the table.

“Father’s back to doing petitions as Lord, so I’m taking advantage of the chance to not do anything.”

Bran sticks his last bit of ham in his mouth, chews and swallows.

“You should come with me out to the training yard, Arya was going to challenge Brienne now that the weather’s clear.”

Robb smiles.

“Will that be a good show?”

Bran grins in return.

“Arya just wants someone who won’t hold back on her.”

This is the truth. Most of the Free Folk favor bows and melee weapons over swords, and Robb and Theon are never going to fight her with all their strength.

Watching her get to go toe to toe with Brienne is a joy. Bran seeing her smile like she is is a very rare chance.

Her and Brienne swing and parry and the steel of their swords sings out in the winter air. They don’t fight the same at all, Brienne with solid hits and an unmoveable stance and Arya with fluidity and misdirection. By the time Arya loses grip on her sword and yields, she’s sweating and panting, and grinning like a madman.

There’s a group gathered to watch. Even Ned has taken a break from petitions to watch his youngest in her element. Once the fight is over, most of them shift around, disappointed. Shireen bursts forward to congratulate Brienne, and Robb quietly takes up his sword to ask for comments.

Bran slowly makes his way up to where his father stands and watches. They haven’t had much time to talk, alone, since the group had returned to Winterfell. Bran still sometimes wondered if he was the Stark the most distanced from Ned. Even his memory of him before had faded some, having not seen him since before his fall, and having been so much younger than the others.

“How are you holding up?”

Ned’s face is a swirl of emotions. Joy at being home, uncertainty because of what he’s missed, confusion at what he does not understand.

“Every time I turn around there’s something else. I’ve never even seen Arya fight with a full sized sword before, only than skinny one Jon gave her.”

Bran smiles. Arya had mentioned to him once that she was very glad Ned was gone when she and Meera had come back in with Osha and she’d been covered with blood. She hadn’t wanted him to see her like that.

“She still uses it sometimes. It suits her, she knows she’s not going to be stronger than most opponents, so she compensates by being faster, harder to hit and less predictable. “

There’s a pause. Bran hoists himself up to sit on one of the posts of the low fence separating the training yard from the areas around it.

“I used to take pride in knowing every member of my household,” Ned admits, “Now everywhere I go I see faces I don’t recognize.”

“I recognize most of them,” Bran comments, “You can always just ask, you’ve been gone nearly four years and we’ve taken in so many of the free folk into service.”

Ned’s eyes become nearly frightened at this moment.

“I’m worried every time we get ravens that there will be something from King’s Landing. When I was Hand I was able to keep all word of the fleeing free folk we’re sheltering from Robert’s ears, and everything about what’s happening over the wall. If anything reaches Joffrey’s ears I can’t promise I can stop us inviting his and Tywin’s wrath for doing this without consent or knowledge of the crown, ignoring what might happen if Stannis finds out.”

Shit, Bran thought. That hadn’t occurred to him. So much of this had been so much easier before, when the North had declared its independence and hadn’t had to take into account the opinions of any King other than the King in the North.

Ned shakes his head suddenly.

“Never mind that right now though, I need to go and retrieve Robb. We need to go over plans before we set out for the Dreadfort before supper comes and it begins to get dark.”

Bran nods.

“I’m heading to the smithy. Do you have anything I need to pass on to Gendry?”

“What’s he working on now?”

“The next shipment of dragon glass isn’t due for a few more days. I know he said he wanted to work on our armor supplies as well.”

“Good. Tell him to keep on it.”

When Bran enters the smithy and is hit in the face by the blast of hot air, Gendry appears to already be on it. He’s punching out a sheet of chainmail at the moment. Bran nods in greeting, and Gendry returns it silently.

Meera’s sitting on one of the benches, a pile of cut ash and oak branches at her feet. Handles for spears, axes and arrows, slowly appeared from the wood working in her hands under her knife. Lots of arrows, as many as she could cut. Gendry, she had assured Bran before, did not have the patience for woodwork, it was a slow, careful process.

He is surprised, however, to see Shireen sitting on her right side. She had been spending most of her days in the library.

She too, waves in greeting, as Bran sits on the bench to Meera’s left, feet resting beside the pile of wood.

“I was asking Gendry if he’d met anyone else in my family,” Shireen explains, her voice cracking only a little.

Gendry pauses, to nod.

“Told her I met her father only once and he was fine with letting the red woman sacrifice me the same way she did her.“

Bran cringes. Gendry seems to agree, the haunted look in his eye telling. The first time he had seen Gendry at Winterfell, the raven had summoned his vision of that night at Dragonstone. It was one of the many he wished he could wipe from his memory.

“He also told me that Ser Davos saved his life then.”

Gendry nods, and Bran becomes very glad that Davos could still be counted among their numbers.

Meera fishes around trying to find him a spare knife, but then pauses and hands him hers and stands when Gendry asks her for a favor.

“What are you doing?”

Gendry’s holding a piece of string and making marks on a piece of parchment.

“Since I’m starting with the armor stores, I wanted to make Arya a hauberk. Plate armor is better in a joust, but unless you’re going up against clubs and solid blows chainmail works fine, especially over leather, and it won’t slow her down. Meera’s close enough to her size I can use her to make the measurements before I punch out the chain.”

Bran smiles.

“So I take it you’re not going to be foolish and try to convince her not to fight this time?”

Gendry snorts.

“I know her well enough to know that that would be a pointless exercise that would just make us both angry. But I won’t send her out ill-equipped, and I would feel much better knowing I made it.”

Good, Bran thinks. That is what this whole situation has been for. None of them will be going into this ill-equipped.

Meera finds a smaller knife, and so Bran joins her in cutting down the wood, and beneath them forms a thick pile of tinder to feed the forge. Gendry and Shireen continue chatting amiably. Watching them, Bran can note the family resemblance, though it’s more in mannerisms than in their facial features.

Quietly, Meera asks him.

“Is Septima getting close?”

Bran nods.

“I let her rest until dinner time. She should go over before supper. Once that happens, I’m going to stay in her for a while.”

Meera nods. She sets down her knife briefly, and reaches out to grasp his empty hand in hers.

“I’ll stay with you.”

He slips in and out of Septima a few times throughout the afternoon. When she finally reaches Eastwatch-By-the-Sea, Shireen has quietly slipped out to return to the library.

Bran takes a deep breath.

“This might take a while.”

Gendry nods.

“I’ll bring you some supper if you’re going to stay.”

And then he leaves Bran and Meera alone.

“You’re doing fine though? You don’t want to wait until after supper?”

Bran shakes his head.

“I’d rather just get this done.”

With a smile that’s only a little sad, she leans in and softly kisses the corner of his mouth. And with a stupid grin, he leans back to the wall, and lets himself drift off.

And with that, Meera is alone. She isn’t idle though. Once she finishes splitting up the branch she’d been working on, she fishes out a paper and quill.

She hasn’t even written a single line, when the door opens. Meera is surprised to see Ned enter, holding a plate of leftover bread and fried ham.

“Lord Stark,” she addresses, standing to take the plate from him.

“Gendry said the two of you were still out here, thought I should check up.”

Meera turns to look at Bran, his eyes still all white. Ned looks discomforted, and she completely understands.

“He’s over the wall, trying to find Jon.”

Ned doesn’t know quite what to say. Meera looks him straight in the eye for a moment.

“We think that if something had happened to him, the wolves would have known. Summer knew when something happened to Gray Wind before.”

Summer, who has been dutifully following up behind Bran wherever he goes, to catch him if he trips.

Meera sets the plate beside her on top of an empty crate.

“I’m writing to my father,” she tells Ned, “To see if he thinks we have the resources to take any non combatants. We did before.”

That was what the crannogmen had spent most of the Long Night doing, sheltering those who tried to flee south and became lost.

Ned nods,

“Good. tell me what he says. Tell him just to write to me, it would be nice to hear from an old friend.”

His eyes stay on Bran and her questioningly, Meera suddenly aware of how closely together they’re sitting. Maybe she ought be a little embarrassed, but she’s not. Touching Bran has become second nature again. She remembers back in the cave, the day he had realized his hair had started to get tangled among the leaves and branches, and sheepishly asked her to cut it. And that afterwards, she had realized it hadn't felt strange at all.

Quietly, she tells Ned,

“You don’t need to worry too much about the two of us. We’re not too great putting things into words. Feels like if we do, something will come by and break it.”

The feelings are old, she thinks to herself, even if the kissing is new.

Ned smiles, and Meera recognizes the same sad smile she must have had on her own face often.

“Perhaps I should write to your father too.”

Meera feels the corner of her mouth turn up involuntarily when she recognizes his intent.

“I think he would like that.”

And with a tilt of the head in Bran’s direction.

“And don’t worry about your son, I’ll make sure he comes back.”

The first time Bran wakes up, Meera’s covered her legs with a blanket Gendry keeps stashed in the little shed behind the smithy.

Bran starts to say something, but his stomach growls before he can speak.

Meera glances up, and then points at the platter

Bran takes a piece of ham.

“I just need a break.”

“See anything interesting?”

Bran chews his piece and swallows before responding.

“Septima’s flying northwest through the haunted forest. She’s passed where Craster’s Keep was and is near the Antler River. When she gets to the Fist of the First Men, I’ll have her turn East. If she gets all the way North…”

He trails off. All the way north she’ll have to pass back down through Thenn and far too close to the Land of Always Winter.

“I haven’t seen much of anything. Snow, trees. The villages I’ve seen are empty. A couple areas look like they’ve been burned, like a fire for corpses got out of control until it burned itself out.”

“Have you seen any….”

After a long moment, he says.

“Now so far...If I’m not back by midnight, shake me until I come out. Don’t let me forget I’m actually going to need to sleep tonight.”

It’s not midnight, but it’s close when Bran suddenly shudders back to life. Meera had been one inch away from dozing off herself when his sudden movement rouses her.

“Bran! Are you alright? What did you see?”

She places a hand on each side of his face in an attempt to steady him. When he finally opens his eyes, they’re red and wet with tears. He reaches out to grasp both of her arms.

“You’re not going to believe this.”

 Over the Wall

Gilly sits with Jon and Rowan sometimes now. She makes many marks on her map now. Rowan some time ago claimed Jon knew most of the words she could teach him, and now all he could do was learn to speak them in his own voice. She seems pleased to have something useful to do, having been increasingly emotionally volatile since the revelation about the tree’s memory. Her son insists on being called Sam now, he won’t hear any different.

Once Gilly told Jon when the three of them were alone that, “Perhaps Aemon was never his name anyhow.”

Parts of Jon still desperately wants to ask Rowan what her ultimate plan for teaching him all of this is, but watching her, around the fire, beside him in the snow, he’s beginning to wonder if she even really knows.

He asks the trees about the Others now. There aren’t many wildlings left in the north, Jon discovers. Hundreds, thousands perhaps, have fled or tried to flee, and few remain. Not live ones anyway.

The villages along the far western edge of the Frostfangs have been devastated. Bodies, human and animal both, slaughtered and arranged in symbols even the trees don’t understand. Even Ygritte quakes when he tells her of what the trees have told him is happening outside, his stories of places she might have once known devastated.

And when the villages aren’t empty…

Sometimes it seems as though the white walkers appear out of the night itself, from the fog and snow. Sometimes when they appear the night seems to follow them like a perpetual cloud. Even if it’s just a few of them, they always seem a whole army. They’re ice blades cut down man and beast alike.

And as for the Night King, Jon is only somewhat to see him ride upon an undead steed. The stories that the others could raise bears and wolves and other beasts as well as men has turned out to be true. And no one mostly bothered to burn their corpses.

“Rowan,” Jon finally asks one day, “You’re so sure that the Night King is trying to lead his armies over the Wall...but nothing we are doing here seems to be something that could stop that.”

“I don’t think it is something that can be stopped.”

Jon is taken aback.

“Then what…”

Rowan’s smile is bitter.

“I am the last of my kind. All I am trying to do is pass on the knowledge I have, to try and mitigate some of the damage I know is coming. These things you are learning are very old, and I would hate to see them lost.”

Jon’s insides twist. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it. But watching Rowan, he cannot find the words to rebuke her. She reaches out and touches his hands.

“I have given you what weapons I can. Knowledge, foresight understanding. The iron and dragonglass will prevent the long dead from rising. And that sword your girl found may be valuable as well. The tunnels will allow us to flee south with ease when the time comes.”

“Flee?” Jon asks, “How will we know when it’s time.”

Rowan reaches and tucks a bit of his hair behind his ear fondly. Her skin doesn’t feel like a human’s skin, but rather like something else Jon can’t put his finger on.

“I feel that is something that we will become aware of very quickly when the time comes.”

She pauses for a long moment, her ears drooping and disappearing into her hairline.

“I’m sorry if you feel I have misled you in anyway.”

Jon’s insides settle themselves. This has not been how he expected his life to go, before or after the great revelations his siblings had hoisted upon him. But…

“Thank you,” he tells Rowan quietly, “For never mentioning my name.”

It’s a short way of saying what he means. That she never spoke of him as something he couldn’t help. He wasn’t a bastard here, or a crow, or a Stark. Nothing, perhaps, except a human. The only standard Rowan held him to was her hopes for him, and she always thought he could achieve it. Maybe that’s what Ygritte meant by this place being good for him.

After supper, he sits at the mouth of the cave, watching the sky. Ygritte quietly joins him. He looks at her, and starts to say something, but is interrupted.

“Is that...a raven?” Ygritte asks.

The large bird isn’t flying straight, but weaving back and forth. It finally settles on a branch of the illusory weirwood tree, and Jon swears it looks at him.

And then flies straight towards him.

Jon only manages to steel himself for a moment, certain he is about to feel claws dig into his face, when the bird, instead, lands neatly on his wrist, and shakes it’s foot.

There’s a paper tied to it. Jon removes it, and unrolls the letter. This doesn’t make a lick of sense, that a raven could fly this far north, that it would.

“Come home brother, if you can. The long night is coming, and we’ll need you by our side.”

Jon exchanges an astonished, emotional expression with Ygritte when he reads the words.

“I’ll show Rowan in the morning. And we’ll go from there.”

That night, Jon has another dream. It’s not symbolic. He sees his uncle Benjen, cornered on the bank of the Milkwater, of a wight raising it’s ice blade to him.

And of another shaking its head. And the rest surrounding him.

He doesn’t see his uncle fall. But he sees him overwhelmed, and carried off.

The last Jon sees before he wakes is his uncle dropped on the frozen ground, at the feet of the Night King.

[bonesgadh]

How my mom™️ reacted to every Gendrya scene from seasons 1, 2 and 3.

As requested by @stuffjusthappensworld.

Season 1

1x10

Arya meets Gendry after he defends her from hot pie.

My mom: poor Arya all alone and confused, she must be so scared. Yeah she is not going down without a fight, defend yourself and let them know you are a badass. Wait, isn’t that the King’s bastard Ned met a couple of episodes ago? They are going to travel together? No shit! I ship them, I’ve only seen them interact for 20 seconds but I saw a spark. That means he’ll probably die soon, my ships are cursed.

Season 2

2x01

That little glimpse of Gendry helping Arya getting on the wagon.

My mom: yeah, I definitely ship them.

2x02

The gold cloaks ask Yoren to give Gendry to them.

My mom: damn, so both of them are fugitives? That’s good because that way they’ll look after each other. Arya definitely needs someone she can trust.

The river scene.

(You don’t have to be a knight to buy armor, any idiot can buy armor.

How do you know?

Because I sold armor!)

My mom: aww, look at that little smile. They both know they are smarter than the rest of their companions.

(Asking me questions is bad luck, you’ll be dead soon.)

My mom: uh, I don’t think so. My guess is you are the one who’ll be dead soon.

(Did you kill someone or is it because you are a girl?)

My mom: yeah, of course he realized she is a girl. He is too smart and besides Arya is way too pretty to be a boy. And Gendry is pretty too but that’s another issue.

(Lommy and hot pie can’t know. No one can know.

They won’t, not from me.)

My mom: oh shit she is going to tell him who she is? She must trust him a lot. He won’t tell obviously but it’s risky more that one person knows her secret.

(My name’s not Arry, it’s Arya of House Stark. Yoren is taking me home to Winterfell.)

My mom: okay but she didn’t have to tell him the truth only because he discovered she is a girl. She could’ve pretended to be someone else but she told him the truth. This is fascinating.

(All that about cocks—I shouldn’t have said. And I’ve been pissing in front of you and everything!)

My mom: lol he is panicking! This is the start of something beautiful, I’m telling you. They will tell this story to their grandkids someday.

(I should be calling you ‘milady’.

Do not call me ‘milady’!

As milady commands.)

My mom: you know how couples call each other ‘sweetie’ or ‘sweetheart’? Yeah he’s totally going to call her ‘milady’.

Arya pushes him to the ground and he laughs.

My mom: *heart eyes*

2x03

Arya talks to Yoren as she cleans Needle.

My mom: love that shot of Arya because you can clearly see Gendry sleeping in the background. Coincidence? I think not.

Yoren gets shot with the crossbow.

My mom: that’s right Gendry, you protect my girl.

(You want Gendry?)

My mom: the fuck Arya what are you doing? Noooo.

(There you got him. He always loved that helmet.)

My mom: omg she is so smart!!!! She saved him, I love that.

2x04

Every scene of them in Harrenhall and watching how the Lannister soldiers torture the prisoners.

My mom: You notice how how they are always side by side? They look great together.

The scene where is seems as if the soldiers will torture Gendry to death.

My mom: no no no Gendry you can’t leave Arya alone! Oh thank god for papa Lannister.

2x05

Arya watches Gendry “practice” with the sword.

My mom: omg she totally checked him out. And not just once but like four-five times! Clever girl. Honestly Arya just shamelessly staring at Gendry’s body added years to my life. And that cute little smile good jesus.

2x08

Arya finds Gendry and hot pie and asks them if they have seen Jaqen.

My mom: well finally, there’s my boy again. Missed him last episode. 

Arya, Gendry and hot pie prepare to escape at midnight.

My mom: haha, they both shut him up. He’s a bit exasperating but I like him. Yes, they are out!!!! Go find your mother and your brother my girl, and introduce them to your new boyfriend.

Season 3

3x02

(I’m just trying to understand.

Would you please shut up about it?

Jaqen H’ghar offered you three kills.

I’m not listening.

But just explain it to me. He offered to kill any three people you wanted. Dead. All you had to do was give him the names. Anyone. You could’ve picked King Joffrey!

Shut up. 

You could’ve picked Tywin Lannister. 

Jaqen got us out of Harrenhal, why are you complaining?

You could’ve ended the war.)

My mom: I kinda get his point but dude, she saved your ass! I hope they run into Robb and Cat first because the north is not really an option for the Starks anymore, is it? I mean, Winterfell is all destroyed and there’s no one there to protect them. Their bickering is adorable by the way.

They run into the brotherhood.

My mom: oh jesus, who are those? Arya and Gendry keep jumping from one captive to the other, don’t they? Lol Gendry put that sword down, five episodes ago you showed us you can’t wield one for shit. Seriously, put it down before you hurt yourself.

Scene at the tavern.

(Gendry is a smith. He was an apprentice at the armory.

A smith, eh? Where did you train?)

My mom: adfñskjl that look they gave each other! 

Enter the Hound.

My mom: omg he is going to recognize her! Shit, they are in trouble now.

3x03

Scene outside of the crossroads inn.

My mom: okay I don’t like this. I get Gendry is helping the tipsy guy only to stay out of trouble but they gave a lot of emphasis on they guy being interested in Gendry being a smith. He is not going to stay with them, is he? Oh no, the squad is separating!  Awww he made her a wolf-shaped bread. Arya and Gendry want to laugh so hard lol. This is such a cute scene but also sad. I’m going to miss hot pie, he was an idiot but he was Arya’s friend. Now Gendry is all she has left. 

3x04

Scene in the cave where the brotherhood hides.

My mom: I just love how they always put them side by side. Yeah you bet one-eyed guy, Arya is the bravest of you all.

3x05

The Hound kills Beric.

My mom: shit he killed the cool guy. It was kind of obvious he would but it still sucks. Oh jesus Arya what are you doing? Yeah Gendry, stop her from doing something stupid. Adsklafjñfaslkj am I an idiot if that shot of he holding her is making he happy? OMFG HE BROUGHT HIM BACK?? WHAT KIND OF SORCERY IS THIS??

Gendry tells Arya he’ll stay with the brotherhood.

My mom: oh great, I knew he was going to stay with them. This is just fucking great. Yeah Arya has every right to be pissed. After everything they’ve been through he’ll just leave her? Can’t he see he is the only thing she has now?  Loosing him will destroy her.

(I never had a family.)

My mom: omg please don’t say it, Arya.

(I can be your family.)

My mom: that’s the 13-year old equivalent of an adult saying ‘I love you’. Good lord take me now, I don’t think I can watch him reject her. She is on the verge of tears, she is staring at him with so much love and she pretty much begged him to go with her. 

(You wouldn’t be my family, you’d be milady.)

My mom:  This is just heartbreaking, you can see the exact moment her heart shatters into a million pieces. She looks so hurt at what he said and he looks hurt as well, he is on the verge of tears too. 

3x06

Melisandre and the soldiers take Gendry away.

My mom: what the FUCK???? God please no someone stop them. Arya trying to get the soldiers to release Gendry is so cute. Yeah Arya, kick her ass. It’s kind of adorable how concerned she is the witch will hurt him. Hey don’t touch her with your dirty hands. Seriously, a stupid prophecy?? This is not the time for this shit. Noooooo don’t take him away! Sweet jesus look at Arya’s face, she is devastated! She is going full-dark Arya after this, isn’t she? They have taken everything away from her now. Please tell me they’ll see each other again because if they don’t I swear to god...

THE END.

Bonus: 

3x07

Arya with the brotherhood after Melisandre took Gendry away.

My mom: aww my poor baby, she is so sad because Gendry is gone. She must feel so alone. Yeah get the fuck out of there, they only care about fighting the bad guys and gold. Oh dear now what? The Hound, are you kidding me??? Told you, from one captive to another. Here here we go again.

You can read her reactions to Gendrya scenes from season 8 here:

Part one

Part two

Part three

[tigereyes45]

For @tidalwaveofcats​ Here is your request! It’s not exactly what you asked for but I hope you enjoy all the same!

As he speaks the words, Sandor feels the regret building up. The look in her eyes slowly morphs into understanding. He thinks it is the first time he ever saw that look on Arya’s face. All those lessons all those days, and never once did she ever look at him the way she was now. Even when they thought he was dying, and she had to go. Her face was never this soft.

“Then come with me.”

“That’s not how this works,” Sandor scoffs letting go of Arya’s face.

She looks at the floor and shakes her head. “You say revenge is all that’s motivated you, but you weren’t looking for vengeance when you fought for me! When you offered to take my sister away from this awful place! You can live without killing him!” Arya shouts. Pieces of the roof fall down around them, almost as if it agreed with her.

“What would I do then, girl? Live in the North? Freeze my balls off every day angry and hateful.”

“You’ve always been hateful, but if I shouldn’t die here why should you?!”

“Because he’s my brother! Yours is waiting for you back home.”

Arya shakes her head and hugs Sandor. “I can’t go back alone.” She whispers as her arms loosen around him.

Sandor sighs and bends down so he was eye-level with her. She lets go of him only for him to now hug her. She laughs, “You really must be about to die,”

“Shut up.” He growls. He watches as the dragon flies above them. It’s fire reigning down on one of the towers. “We need to go.”

Arya’s eyes squint as she looks back at the Hound. ‘“What? I said we didn’t I?” He pushes her away before grabbing her hand. He flips around and decides that the way they came would be the safest route out.

As he leads the youngest Stark daughter out of the Red Keep he couldn’t help but reflect. Ghosts were everywhere here. Around every corner, a new scene would begin to play out before them. Where Sansa had been mocked, when Joffrey had taken her to see her father’s head. Where the imp had interrupted them. Where he had watched Petyr twist her. Where the queen had mocked her. Everywhere he looked was just another reason for him to keep running. For him to return to the cursed north. Fucking hell, why did he listen to Arya?

As they make it out of the castle all hell came down on them. The Hound pulls Arya closer as he walks them through a back alley. He pulls her along as a swarm of commoners surround them. He can feel her slipping behind as she holds his hand tighter than before. When she trips Sandor almost falls with her. He pushes the people around them away. He sets his arms under her and lifts her up. Resting Arya’s bruised head under his neck. Perhaps it was a good thing he had left with her. She would be one less ghost to haunt him. Sandor runs faster as the world comes crashing down on them. He ignores the screams of the less fortunate, and his fear of the fire only allowed him to push himself further. He would get her out of this. He feels something hit his shoulder. He tucks her head back under his neck. When his head is hit next Sandor falls. He wraps his arms around Arya’s small body as his own collapses.

When next Sandor opened his eyes he was buried under rubble. A small source of light breaking in from somewhere to his right. He tries to stand but his feet were being held down. He moves his hands only to feel Arya was still in them. Her face was clear in the light. She was covered in white ash and a bit of blood from near her shoulder. Otherwise, she seemed unharmed. He rests his own forehead against hers and listens closely.

As breath escapes from her nose he could feel his heartbeat slow. She was still alive.

“Don’t die on me yet.” He asks her he tucks her deeper into himself. He pushes his back up and towards the back. Making sure that any rubble on them would fall away instead of in front of them. A fire erupts in his shoulder as he moves it. Sandor bites his lip and growls. Arya stirs as he shakes the last of the rubble off. He looks back to see why he couldn’t move his legs. There was more brick on them than anything else.

“Stay still she-wolf.” He warns her in a low growl. He wraps one hand under her body to hold her to him. His left reaches back to tear the bricks off of him.

“S-Sandor?” Arya’s voice was quiet almost inaudible as he continues to try and dig them out.

“Shush now she-wolf. Save your strength.” He advises as his knuckles break against the bricks. He ignores the blood and keeps trying. His limbs scream out at him as every move is faster than the last. He would get them out of here. He would get them back to the North!

“Jon,” Arya whispers, and for a moment Sandor stops. He looks up to see her bastard brother was indeed there. A bit of a way down the street from them. Northmen and unsullied at his back.

“Bastard!” Sandor shouts causing the man to jump. “Snow!” He calls out this time and the Jon finally looks at him. Not just in his direction. “I’ve got the she-wolf bastard!” He shouts and now Jon as running to him. The closer he got the wider his eyes got. Just like a doe who was about to be hunted down. Sandor hated these direwolves. The women were all too fierce and the men were all does, wide-eyes and never where they were needed.

“Take the she-bitch, she needs to get out of here.” Sandor orders as Jon drops to his knees on top of the rubble next to them.

“Arya! What was she doing here?” Jon asks as he takes her from the Hound.

“Nevermind what she was doing here! Get her home!” Sandor orders as he pulls himself out of the rest of the way.

Jon looks from Arya back towards the Red Keep. His eyes squint as he puts the pieces together. “Was she in the Red Keep?”

“We were. Now move you dumb cunt.” Sandor orders as he lifts Jon up by the back of his armor. “We need to get her out of here!”

“The attacks stopped. Daenerys has won.” Jon explains as he carries Arya behind the Hound. “We can get you two into the Red Keep where the Queen is staying. Your injuries can be tended to there.”

Sandor spits to the corner and ignores the amount of blood that was in his saliva. “That queen or yours is vicious.” He looks back up towards the army marching towards the demolished Red Keep. “I’ll stay near the little wolf. Less she tries to bring another building down upon her again.”

“We didn’t know you were here. You two weren’t supposed to be here.” Jon growls back.

Sandor rolls his eyes and glares down at the bastard Snow. “Does that excuse her bringing them down upon everyone else. Because they weren’t part of your little pack?”

He looks back down at Arya in Jon’s arms. If he was better he would already have taken her back. Her head was nestled comfortably in his chest. She was finally back in the arms of her favorite brother. For once Arya seemed perfectly at peace. It pissed him off, but he knew it was best. Jon could keep her safe. Get her back North where she belongs. All he was good for was guarding her, and even when he was doing that he had lost her once and she almost died the second time.

“N-no it doesn’t but,”

Sandor growls at him before snapping out. His teeth physically jump towards Jon to silence him. He was done listening. They both needed to be seen. That was most important right now. Not whatever squabbling and nitpicking the boy had for his queen’s actions.

“Keep talking and I’ll take her back from yer scrawny ass. She needs to be looked at. Now,”

Jon instinctively moves towards his sword. Even if he was unable to pull it out with his hands full. Sandor notices and only laughed. The boy thought himself such a hero that he could take him on with the she-wolf in his grip. A fool as brave as his little sister. If not as smart. Sandor turns back around and shouts for directions to the closest medic from the unsullied.

When Sansa arrived Sandor was by Arya’s side. The young she-wolf had been up and moving within hours after the city was taken, but after her brother killed his queen she was the only Stark free in the city. So Sandor was always just a few steps behind her. Making her presence known to all. Much to the annoyance of the trained killer. She had grown to enjoy living in silence and shadows. In a way, a lumbering dog could never do.

When the red wolf arrived a few cheered. All of the Targaryen forces were grim-faced. Arya stood at the top of the stairs leading to the Red Keep to meet her sister. Ready to inform her of Danerys’ death and their brother’s imprisonment. As Sansa approaches them, Bran being carried up the steps behind her, her face told them she already knew. Sandor looks at Bran to see him give a gentle nod towards Arya. The boy had strange abilities unlike those of anyone else he had ever met. It made him feel uneasy. The only comfort was knowing that he would never dare use such abilities against his sisters. That may be the only thing keeping Sandor nearby as the three Starks reunite once again.

Sandor takes note of Arya’s apparent preoccupied attention. She kept looking past her family towards the carriages. Her brother notices as well. For once he was next to her he pulls on her sleeve and whispers in her ear. Sandor tries to listen in, but Sansa steps in between him and the youngest Starks.

“It is good to see that you lived Ser Sandor. Having realized my sister’s sudden absence was concerning. When I heard you were with her down here it relieved a bit of my anxiousness.” She smiles and it causes him to pause.

“Cut the shit, you were never worried. The she-bitch is the fiercest fighter in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Sansa smiles and for a second his ear picks up on a brief laugh. It was short but oh so sweet. “That is true. Perhaps it was someone else’s absence I felt concern from then.”

He shakes his head and holds back a laugh. “Beguiling words are your new sweet song, aye Lady Stark?” He looks back up to see the shock on her face. “Weren’t expecting that were you?”

“Nor was I expecting to find you alive, or with my little sister.” Sansa retorts as the shock fades. She returns to her stony expression, but Sandor saw the little curve of her lips. There on her, hidden under cold blue eyes, and blood red hair that outlined her face was the faintest of smiles. A smile only a dog could see. A smile just for him as her song had been once.

“Sister a council will be meeting soon now that you have arrived. Uncle and the Prince of Dorne are already there.” Arya speaks looking bewilderedly at her sister.

“Indeed, come, Bran, we should make our way to the rest.”

“They will wait. Lord Baratheon is still seeing to the horses before he comes up.”

“Well, he is new to lordship while we would have no excuse.” Sansa insists. Taking the back of her brother’s chair from a Northman. As the Hound and Arya follow the she-wolf offers a questioning glare to him.

“What she-bitch?”

“I saw that.” Arya points out accusatorily.

“Yes, I have a tongue. I talk unlike you do nowadays. Been following you for weeks now and you’ve spoken less then you did in one day of our little journey together.”

Arya rolls her eyes, and Sandor thought he was looking in a mirror for a moment. She gives Sandor a look that he can only read as a warning. Then she was walking behind her siblings. Sandor was quick to follow in her footsteps.

After the meeting, he sits on the docks watching Snow being sent off. The scene would have felt heartbreaking to many. All the Starks were finally together again after all the trauma and years that had been piled onto their backs. Now they were all being torn asunder again. Snow beyond the wall where all snow belongs. The she-wolf had already made clear her intentions to leave behind Westeros. Sandor did feel a pang upon hearing this. For some reason, he knows that whether if she means it to be permanent or not that it will be. Bran was king. A fucking cripple was king. Sandor wasn’t sure if he was the first cripple to be king but he would be the first fucking Stark to rule in King’s Landing.

And then there was Sansa. As she hugs Jon he wonders if he had ever seen her so open with anyone else. So completely herself the way she was with her family. Then he remembers that there was a time she had been. Back in King’s Landing before her father died. While Ned Stark’s name alone could still protect her. When she was free before the cage fell around her. Eventually, it had collapsed in on her. Somehow the little bird had picked herself free. Now she was returning North with a crown upon her head and no family or even a knight by her side to protect her. A lone bird with the fur of a red wolf.

As Snow departs and the Starks stroll back to shore Sandor remains seated. He had found the cold stones of the wall by the docks comfortable. After so much rubble had sat on top of him it was nice to sit on top of something that would eventually be nothing but crumpled rock and rubble. He watches the ship carrying Snow sail away as the other Starks depart and separate.

“Will you be going with her?” He doesn’t jump when the voice comes from his back. Arya had jumped out of nowhere so many times by now that he had no fear left to give.

“With who?”

“Arya. Will you be sailing West with her?” Sansa asks again to his back.

“Why does the Queen of the North want to know?”

She sits next to him on the wall. For once Sandor actually notices how much taller she had become. Her height was closer to his own now. It only reaffirmed what he already knew. What he knew as soon as he heard the news of Ramsay Bolton’s cruelty.

“She may be looking for a Queen's guard,” Sansa suggests coyly.

“What about the behemoth of the woman that was with you? The blonde from Tarth?” He asks finally looking at her. Not past her, or by her, but right at her. He allows his eyes to hover on her face. On the way, her blue eyes moved with mirth. The way her lips quiver as her breath escapes with every outtake.

“She is going to stay and become commander of the Kingsguard. So will you be joining my sister?” Sansa asks again this time meeting his gaze.

“Yes, will you be joining my sister?” Arya asks as she appears besides Sansa.

Sandor looks at her dryly. “I don’t have to join anyone. I could say fuck all and leave.” He points out. It's just barking. He knows he would never abandon them both. Not again, not with a choice.

“You won’t though.” Arya smiles as she basically voices his thoughts out loud. Sansa looks to Arya before glancing back and forth between them. Confusion evident where before she had seemed accepting.

“Aye I won’t,” Sandor admits and Sansa looks at him again. Her cold face having returned. He looks to Arya and for once felt nothing but pride.

“I’m sorry Little Wolf, but what’s out there,” he stops and looks out to the sea. “What’s out there I can’t protect you from.”

“It’s fine Sandor.” He looks up to see the Little Wolf stood in front of him. Her wound already healing up. “You’ve protected me enough.” She wraps her arms around him. Without thinking he wraps his own around her and squeezes tight. “Keep her safe for me Sandor,” Arya whispers in his ear.

“Aye.” He promises, holding her tighter. “Make sure to come back alive. Or I fucking hunt you down myself!” This time he makes his promises a little louder. Earning him a firm hand on his shoulder from the other Stark.

As Arya lets him go she dashes down the docks. Not even looking back towards them. Never even bothering to go back and say goodbye to the smith before. “She’s a cold bitch.”

“Not as cold as you may think.” Sansa corrects leaning against him.

As Sandor realizes that the smith was already on her ship, Sansa kisses his cheek. “I think you’ll grow used to the cold Sandor.”

He rests his own hand on top of hers. Presses her fingers even deeper into his shoulder. “Aye, I might.”

[disregardcanon]

A decade in fanfiction

The meme template was made by me myself and I! Please, if you’re interested go ahead and do it! I would love to see other people reflecting on their writing right along with me :) 

Where can we read your fic? Please give us a link so that we can check these stories out!

my early fics can be read on my ffn The Ficsmith 

on ao3, my pseuds are sunkelles and fullmetal anime

I also have lots of short things here on tumblr. i would try searching a favorite fandom of yours and au on my blog and something might pop up. 

How many words of fanfiction have you written this decade?

On ao3, I have posted  1,031,824 words. I would bet that I posted 40k on ffn before i started posting concurrently to my ao3, and that i’ve posted maybe 80k of stuff just to tumblr? If I estimate that way and don’t think about unfinished works and wips, I’d say 1,151,824 words thereabouts. 

How many stories have you written?

I’ve posted 338 stories to ao3. I am not going to go do the math to add on my stories from ffn as well. 

Have you written on multiple websites? If so, which website is your favorite and why?

ao3 is my favorite website for fic because it’s just so EASY to search through, post to, and get your stats from. plus it’s very visually appealing. 

Have you used multiple pen names? If so, list them and tell us the story behind the name

on ffn, i used a lot of pen names over the years, but i only remember 3 of them 

1. thee sun. this was my first pen name on the internet and it was because back then, my friends and i had series of nicknames going where we were each a part of the solar system. one of my friends suggested that i should be the sun because i was happy and bouncy and the friend group “orbited” around me. it wasn’t really accurate then or now, but sun ended up sticking. 

2. sunless skies was my emo change to that pseud 

3. the ficsmith is my current name there as i thought the word “wordsmith” was badass and decided that ficsmith sounded very, very cool 

on ao3, my primary pseud has always been “sunkelles”. half of it’s the old nickname and half of it’s another nickname i won’t get into. it’s a very personal handle for me that i love dearly 

my second pseud is fullmetal anime, my anime pseud. fullmetal alchemist was one of my first anime when my old roommate got me onto my weeb phase in my twenties, and i thought that sounded too badass to pass up. 

What is the first story you posted this decade?

I Will Never Leave You Alone: this is a percy jackson fic set after the lost hero. It was my imaging of how the meeting in son of neptune might go if percy didn’t get his memories back. it’s bad, but it was my first attempt at fanfiction. i think that it could have been a lot worse. 

What is the last story that you posted this decade?

Not Willing to Wait for it: this is a tangled the series fic about cassandra. it’s not really my favorite thing i’ve ever written, but it’s not a terrible thing to end the decade on either. 

What is the longest story that you have wrote this decade?  

The Poetry of Time and Space: this is a pipabeth fic with annabeth as the doctor and piper mclean as rose tyler fic that i wrote back in 2013 at the urging of my first internet friend. coming in at 27,842 words, it’s the longest fic i have ever written. 

while i wouldn’t call it some of my best work, i’m still fairly proud of the thing. writing it helped me make a friend (even if we don’t keep in touch anymore), it helped me find some cool poetry, and i did a lot of fun historical research for it! 

i learned a loooottt about the history of spain for this fic and it was really cool. 

What is the shortest?

A Good Listener coming in at 192 words, this pipabeth fic is at the polar opposite end of the spectrum. 2013 was a wild year, my dudes. 

What’s your favorite?

I think that choosing a “favorite” would probably be too hard, but the one that I come back to the most is Over the Shadowy Hills. This fic could have been just good, but my friend was like. girl. you need to sort your shit out. and then i deleted it, worked on it with her help, and fixed it into something that i can still be really proud of. I’m glad that I decided to stick with it and give this fic the time and attention that it needed. 

What story do you feel was your biggest challenge?

I don’t have a fic in particular I would say is my biggest challenge, but one challenge has been the growing pains of becoming a better writer. I’ve moved into a point where I need to tell more thorough, longer stories, but I also don’t have the time needed to do that at the moment and my desire for instant validation is fighting against my desires to not do work and be a better writer. 

I know that right now I’m growing as a writer, but I’m not exactly sure what direction I’m growing in and how to deal with it. 

Which story was your most creative?

All Katz Go to Heaven is certainly an idea that no one but me would have come up with XD the premise is “all of hannibal’s victims from the show hannibal die and are reincarnated in brooklyn 99″ 

Which story do you think demonstrates the greatest growth?

I think that Paint a New Horizon demonstrates a lot of my progress as a writer. 

1. coming in at 23k, it’s one of my longest fics ever 

2. it has some of my best visual descriptions ever, as i decided to write sansa as a painter and it make visual descriptions a FAR bigger part of the story than they normally are when i write 

3. it handles dark subject matter, but i feel like i go into well. i’ve found myself dwelling in this universe a LOT, and i think that i might actually go back and write more of it over this next semester or summer because i just. like being in it. even though it was dark, it was also homey and lively and interesting, you know? 

4. it’s the best romance i’ve written this year, hands down. 

Here, have a snippet 

She dared a glance forward and met Margaery’s eyes- a deep, chocolate brown. They were warm and inviting and Margaery’s little curly bangs framed her face like a heart. Margaery’s head went over the back of the booth and it seemed to almost be floating against the flowery wallpaper. It looked like Margaery was lying out in a field of flowers- the Maiden gazing up at the clouds and trying to make shapes of them.

She could imagine Margaery telling her that this one is a flower, like Tyrell, and this one’s a deer, like Baratheon, and this one’s a dick, like Joffrey. She giggled nervously again and felt her cheeks flush. She’d never felt this giddy and unsteady in her whole life.

“Are you alright, Sansa?” Margaery asked cautiously. She reached across the table and laid a hand over Sansa’s own. The touch was warm and tender, and Sansa felt the blush from her toes to the tip of her head.

“I’m perfect!” Sansa nearly screeched. Margaery laughed at that, but her look was kind.

“Yes, darling,” she said with a smile that was wide and fond, “I think that you are.”

Lesbian. The word wasn’t supposed to fill her with such a warm, hopeful feeling, was it? She wiggled awkwardly in her chair, trying to get situated and stop feeling so silly and excited and vulnerable, but it didn’t fix anything. She felt Margaery’s leg brush against hers under the table. It sent a jolt through her.

Lesbian.

Sansa took a shaky breath. She thought to herself that there might be something to that.

Tell us about your writing process.

my writing process is quite frankly all over the board. sometimes, i’ll sit down and just hammer out a fic start to finish in one sitting, but when i don’t do that i’ll make the thing come together in patchwork. i’ll normally start with some vivid pieces of dialogue that i want to write and then i’ll figure out where i’m going and how. often, since i write in a nonlinear fashion i might end up having to change what i’ve written for the middle or the end, but when i get there and it doesn’t feel right for what i ended up writing, i always decide that i’m better off with what feels more natural. 

Tell us about how you come up with fic titles.

I have 3 different systems for determining fic tiles 

1. come up with a cool title to write a fic around. i wrote Chasing Annabeth solely because i thought that would be badass title 

2. try to find something external to the story, like a saying, a lyric or quote, that works with the message or mood of the story. for If You Believe in Me (I’ll Still Believe), I realized that both Memoria by Nirvana and Holland Road by Mumford and Sons shared a distinct feel with what I was doing with the fic, so I went through the lines of both and identified some possible titles. 

Then, I decided that the line “if you believe in me I’ll still believe” felt the most right. I thought that it best conveyed how much Jeyne believing that Theon could become better again contributed to him actually going through with it, whereas some of the other options didn’t have either the external influence or faint hope that I felt the fic deserved. 

3. find something from the fic itself or the source material! often times, i’ll end up with a motif in the fic that makes a perfect title, or i’ll have something to draw on from the source material. this feels different from the 2nd option because whereas that first one is going outside the world of the fic, this 3rd one is going inside the world of the fic. 

Have you ever used an epigraph? Tell us about your reasoning.

I use epigraphs for the same reason that I use outside sources for fic titles. While sometimes I have that lyric or quote in mind while I am writing the fic, like Washing Machine Heart, sometimes you get to the end of writing and realize that you’ve created something that would be enhanced if you were to have your readers mulling over the theme brought up in a song while they’re reading, like Unfinished Business. 

I don’t know, these are probably the reasons that ANYONE uses epigraphs, but it’s cool to see other people’s thought process. 

What are some of your favorite lines that you’ve ever written?

Here’s a few of my favorite exchanges from my older or more underrated fics!

She swallows the spit that has started to pool in her mouth and continues, "We'll all end up dying and meeting the void face to face and blah blah fucking blah, but the thing is that's tomorrow. This is today. You remember Thalia, so she matters. And you matter because you're alive. Your heart's still beating. You can still do shit. See shit. Be the shit. Annabeth Chase, you can still do anything."

Chasing Annabeth (2013)

Annabeth tsks as she laughs, “You’ve always got to steal the attention for yourself, don’t you?”

Piper laughs and then pretends to glare, “Borrow. I borrow things.”

“Borrowing BMWs is still frowned upon, my friend,” Annabeth says and then everything is back to normal. The future is forgotten, if only for a moment in the company of a friend.

The Fates Smiled (2014) 

“I guess,” Arya mutters, and she walks straight over to the trash. She pops the lid, and dumps the enormous plastic cock unceremoniously into it. Then she lets the lid close. She and Shireen look to the trash can in horror.

“Do you think that we should burn it?” Shireen asks.

She pauses a moment before she adds, “I’m afraid it’s going to attack us in our sleep.” Arya bursts out into laughter.

“I can hear the news anchors already,” Arya says, “women murdered in sleep by haunted dildo.” The Kids Are Alright (2015) 

"I think huckleberry just came out too," Maya stage-whispers back, "two gays for the price of one."

"Bi one get one free," Riley says with a shit-eating grin 

A Guide to Coming Out (2015) 

"Do I look like a man with a plan to you?" He tries to look as crazy as he can. Rachel isn't buying it. "You impersonated a member of the mayor's honor guard, you predetermined and informed us of every victim before you killed them. You're a planner, Joker. You're even a good one." The Joker shrugs. "I'm not a schemer, though. Don't hang my hat on whether or not things work out." In that moment, Rachel understands this man. Rachel understands why he does the things that he does, even though she thinks that he's the scum of the earth. "You wanted to let us know all our plans would fall apart. You wanted chaos." "You're a smart woman, Ms. Dawes," The Joker says, cracking a smile, "you know what I did to you and your boy toy was nothing personal. It was just to turn the schemer's plans on their toes.

The City of Bats and Clowns (2016) 

Zatanna crosses her arms over her chest as she leans against Bruce’s black SUV. The “parking lot” at this camp is a glorified field of grass. It rained last night, and there are muddy ruts left all throughout the field and little muddy puddles scattered everywhere. It’s disgusting and rundown and everywhere that Zatanna doesn’t want to spend three weeks of her summer.

“I don’t want to go to this stupid camp.” Endless Summer (2017) 

Rose feels a twist in her gut. This might be worse than finding out he wanted to desert. This is knowing the reasons behind it, having to see him as human in his mistakes and understand why he made them.

Oh how heroes fall and then stumble back up again.

The Spark That Will Light the Fire (2017)

Sloth is all the memories you have and never asked for, all the feelings you don't know what to do with.

Sloth is your feelings towards two boys who aren't your sons- can't be- because you never wanted them in the first place.

You never asked for this, to be born half-formed and hungry. To be born somewhere between not caring and caring too much, to just go along with what you were told because you don't care enough not to.

You never asked for those two boys to look at you the way they do, like you're something hideous and beautiful all at once. Like you're their sin to bury, their damsel to save. All you've ever wanted is for it all to stop.

The Seven Deadly Almost People (2018) 

What are you favorite characters to write. 

I don’t really have “favorite” characters to write because I bounce around so often. I’ll have a new favorite next year, but my favorite me character that I wrote THIS year was Dabi. 

Which story was the most fun to write.

Out of all the stories I’ve written, Dicks in the Wind comes to mind as being the most fun. The soulmate au where whatever your soulmate draws on their skin appearing on yours might not be my all time favorite, but the idea of spitefully drawing dicks on your own face to spite the soulmate who hurt you while also hurting yourself is both really fun but also really interesting? I really liked getting to explore the implications of that idea, the humor, Sabine’s relationship with Kanan, and the possibility of a reconciliation between her and Ketsu. 

If you use ao3, tell us about your fics with the most

Kudos: The Matter of Soulmates 1,049

Comments: Her Heart’s Duet 63 comment threads

Hits: Golden Cages, Silver Linings 15,272 hits

Subscriptions: The Matter of Soulmates 105 subscriptions

If you could have written one story this decade that you didn’t get around to, what would this have been?

There’s lot of fics that I wish I would have gotten written this decade. I think that if I could have written ONE fic that I didn’t get around to this decade, though, I would have turned my tucker turns ed into a chimera instead of nina tumblr post into a real fic. 

Do you write original fiction as well?

Sometimes! I don’t write it as much as I’d like, but I’ve written some short stories and I have some longer wips. 

Did you ever do nanowrimo this decade? If so, tell us about your projects.

I tried nanowrimo in both 2017 and 2018. My 2017 was a story idea about magic pirates. My 2018 was a story based on a fic idea I had where ed HAD created al like al thought he did in fma 03 for a while. it would feature prominent relationships with characters inspired by winry, wrath, and lust. both of these have about 15k to their name. 

What have you learned writing in the past decade?

I’ve learned a lot about myself as a person. For better or for worse, the easiest way to get to know me would be to go through my ao3 and just start reading. 

I also feel like I’ve learned that I CAN be a writer. While I have a long way to go if I ever want to become any good at original fiction and develop a thick enough skin to get it worked up to publishing shape, I know that I have the skills to at least give it a try.  If I don’t, I’ll always have these stories that I hold closely to my heart and this hobby that’s brought me a lot of joy. 

What are your writing goals going forward?

At the moment, I’m not entirely sure. I feel a little bit like I’ve stagnated and I need to figure out a way forward, but I’m not entirely sure what that way forward IS. I think that the way forward is longer projects (maybe even more original fiction) but I’m going to need to figure out a way to not devote all my mental energy to these projects at a time and also not let them wither and die. 

In the past, I’ve only been able to do proper, well written long fics when I had a LONG time to dedicate to getting the thing done. Like, days and days off that I could devote multiple hours to the writing project. In the future, I don’t think I’ll have that. I just need to find a way to not get SO into it that I can’t do anything else, but also maintain the energy and drive to keep coming back to it. 

Tell us about what aspect of your writing makes you the most proud.

I feel like I excel at word choice. People frequently comment on my fics that there’s something about the wording that just FLOWS, and I would have to agree. I feel like I’m good at choosing words that both sound good and hit emotionally. 

Tell us anything else that you’d like! This is your reflection post, so end on whatever bang you would like!

Thank you to everyone who has supported me over these past nine years! I haven’t been on tumblr for this whole time (i’ve only been here since 2012), but i grown a lot, both as a person and a writer, over this decade.

if you had told me when i wrote my first fanfiction that by the end of the decade i would write the order of the phoenix more than 5 times over in fanfiction, i would never have believed you. 

not every fic that i wrote was fantastic, but every fic that i wrote was MINE, and it’s a memory that i get to come back to when i’m feeling sad or lonely or like i can’t do something. so, thank you fanfiction, for always being there for me. even if you might be there for me a little too much XD

[renaroo]

SO... about that Titans Trailer...

Okay, so I wasn’t. Planning on giving this a review but then I watched it and you gave me an excuse. So. Here we are.

I hate teen drama shows but I live with my younger sister this summer so I’m constantly hearing them in the background and I know that I’ve not heard this weird song before but I also know that they allllllllllllll sound like this so there’s already. That creeping sense of 

Oh fuck it’s Riverdale isn’t it

Like. Costume design for superhero shit isn’t easy, you’ve got classic superhero looks that are purposefully garish and meant to stand out while celebrated costumes in visual mass media are toned down and realistic, fitting the style of setting. You can honor both traditions at the same time, what it requires is picking a color temperature for your set’s lights that are less noir mood piece and more lit like a musical. I actually think Moulin Rouge! is a movie where the cinematography deserves more credit for getting that mood balance because it’s definitely what I think of when I’m thinking of ideal lighting and color palettes for superhero live action. 

Marvel’s gotten a little better at figuring this out in the post-Iron Man 3 movies but they went a little too flat and bright in the first Avengers and too drab and dull in movies like the first Thor and the first Captain America.

The whole reason I’m thinking of this is because DC has never once figured this out save for Wonder Woman which had its coloring saved by choosing a sepia-esque lighting that wasn’t Sn*der-saturated so that Wondy’s costume and Themyscira in general popped while the warfront was still diferentiated but earth tones. I would actually point to DCEU movies being the pennacle of trying too hard for realism to the point of being visually embarrassed by their motifs. Which is also why the CGI rendering is always horrible in their movies. Suicide Squad was a little better but almost bipolar in how it snapped abck and forth between color saturation.

Anyway, this is a TV show and you would think that because TV shows are lower budget and more closed sets generally that this would actually be an advantage for the iconically colorful Titans teams because they’re likely to have warmer and flatter lighting choices. Except teen dramas lately haven’t been about that. They’re much darker and “more serious” and they mostly demonstrate that by darkening the lights and having everything go to dark blues with light temperature. That might work well in some places but it’s not good if you have multiple characters you want to show off with different color schemes that are wildly different from each other let alone from the blues. You can do it, but usually that involves introducing additional light sources to combat the darker lights, which is why in our Riverdale case study you have neons show up a lot, especially at Pop’s restaurant. Those neons introduce a “natural” secondary color and lighting source that helps make different hues exist more naturally in the environment without being garish and misplaced. 

I can tell that at no time is this show going to put an iota of thought into any of this sort of detail because in this BLUE ASS SHOT of this trailer they have Raven’s purple hair look like it’s been photoshopped in by me -- they managed to make an already cool color like purple look unnatural in a scene that has cool temperature lighting. This is going to be shot like complete shit isn’t it. 

What time am I at--

FIFTEEN SECONDS???

Dick’s a police officer so that’s a positive. I like the actor’s smile too, he looks just. Very Dick Grayson-- hahahahahahahahahhaahahahahahahahahahahahaha

oh my god

oh my god.  Was that supposed to be Robin jumping over rooftops in the background. Is that what that was. IT WAS AN UNMOVING BLUR. IT JUST KINDA WAS DRAGGED ACROSS THE SCREEN I CAN’T--

Oh jesus. Did Dick Grayson just step on someone’s neck and break-- FUCK BATMAN

FUCK BATMAN

HAHHAHAHA

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA

I was wrong -- all that shit I started with? Obviously I was overthinking. This is a glorious comedy.

Okay all that aside we get rapid montage which is supposed to wow us with cameos for DC diehards and impress us with the quality of composition of shots and the special effects quality for people like my sister who don’t care about Comic Con because I’m playing trailers loudly on my laptop while she’s rewatching Pretty Little Life of the Secret American Teenage Drama Queen. 

It does none of these things. It’s no longer a comedy, it’s depressing because all that shit I said about the colors and mood lighting and temperature increases rapidly when you have terrible CGI transformations Beast Boy and... fire spouting... Starfire. Hm. Someone took that name a little literally didn’t they. 

Wait

Is that Dove. From Hawk and Dove? Killing people?

Um. I mean none of these characters save for Starfire and Raven are really all that down with killing under any circumstances in comics but Dove in particular... like why have Dove as part of the team if you’re not going to bother with the Avatar of Peace part and the eternal conflict ongoing of wanting to use tremendous powers while promoting nonviolence. I know this is something I tend to care more about than most people with superheroes, but that’s literally the only reason to have Dove in anything ever. A great example would be the single Justice League Unlimited episode involving Hawk and Dove which tackles that exactly. 

Who makes these live action decisions for DC. Is it Joffrey Johns? I bet it’s him. It has to be on some level. 

Oh my god this music is so bad. I listened to nothing but emo music for a solid 18 months of my life and my favorite band to this day is Nightwish and I find this unbearable. 

I 

what

Evil inside of me I kinda like it. I mean. I guess. That is... a conflict for Raven to have sure.... But it’s also way more boring and tedious than it was in the 80s? Like. There’s five million supernatural teenage dramas that have already done that exact conflict But With Vampires or But With Werewolves. I should know! My sister watches them in the background! I know all about Diaries of the Teen Dog Vampire. 

I’m hip

Oh and that scream. Okay, so also in film there’s this thing called a sound board and there’s a lot of cheap, royalty free sound mixes and noises that if you pay attention to editing and sound design there’s some sounds that have been really overplayed in media lately because people are too cheap to have their foley artist record a sound for themselves. 

That scream that Raven just did that you know you’ve heard before is one of those and there’s nothing wrong with it I guess it just. makes everything about this feel cheap. The writing’s cheap. The characterization’s cheap. The lightning’s cheap. The character design is cheap. This god awful song is cheap. 

they broke the glass

THEY BROKE GLASS. IS THAT FOR ME? WAS THAT MEANT TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER BECAUSE THEY BROKE GLASS IN THE TRAILER. alright fine two points to Gryffindor. 

That puts them at -80 so everyone clap

Welp that was definitely a Thing I watched. Hope everyone enjoyed this educational review.

[scribomaniac]

A Rumor in Westeros (Anastasia AU)

Gendry | Winterfell

Deep within a pathetic excuse for a forge, with drafty walls, little lighting besides the struggling embers of a fire, and the frozen earth beneath him acting as the floor, a smith tried to work. Hammer met anvil again and again, a thousand times over, as it warped a slab of metal into a semblance of shape.

Winter was coming, it was almost here, and although the forge was probably the warmest place in all of Winterfell, even it couldn't ward off the chill. Another gust of wind pierced the forge’s crumbling walls with a sharpness the smith had never been able to give his blades, and made the fire, which had barely just recovered from the last gale, flicker and dim.

Cursing, the smith grabbed a pair of tongs and threw some more coal onto the fire and then snatched up a pair of bellows to breath in some life. The fire crackled and hissed, growing taller and brighter and stronger. At least until the next roar of wind came through.

He’d just picked up his hammer and shifted the piece of metal on the anvil, figuring out where he should strike it next, when the wooden door to the forge burst open, revealing a man on the other side. “Gendry,” he greeted, his tone short and clipped from the cold. His ears, unprotected by his short hair and lack of hat, burned a red brighter than the fire, and his salt and pepper beard was tangled in a web of miniature icicles.

“Davos,” Gendry nodded, then began to shiver from the chill. “Close the bloody door, yeah? It's colder than a Wildling's corpse out there.”

Davos blinked, then shook himself out of his thoughts. The movement dislodged some icicles free of his beard, sending them flying down to the ground. Hastily, he closed the door. “What's that you're working on? A piece of armor?” He asked, his tone almost hopeful.

Gendry scoffed, looking at the warped piece of metal on his anvil. “Armor? From this reused piece of shit?” He shook his head, “No metal was meant to be reused and reshaped this many times. If it were anywhere else it'd be in the rubbish.” He sighed, wondering if it wouldn't end up there regardless of his efforts, “I'm trying to shape it into a pot,” he admitted. “I just need it to bend . . . a bit more.”

Looking up at Davos, he asked, “How was town? You sell anything?”

For the past few years, ever since Davos had found Gendry in Flea Bottom and brought him up North to escape the Queen for the second time in his life, the two had been scraping by by selling products from Gendry's forge. Gendry would make the products--reforged cups, pots, kettles, the occasional horseshoe--and Davos would do his best to sell them. Easier said than done, though, when no one had any money.

“Oh, aye, I got a few copper pennies here or there. I was able to get rid of a pair of horseshoes, actually. Got a nice silver stag for them.”

That was impressive. Davos must've come across a Knight or maybe a Lord from a lesser house. Silver was hard to come by, especially with the taxes being as high as they were. The reminder made the smith wince.

“We're not going to make it through Winter are we?” Gendry sighed, his blue eyes trained onto his work. Gripping and regripping his hammer nervously, he glanced up at Davos, then back down again. “Not going on like this we're not.”

“Aye,” Davos nodded solemnly, his hands clasped together in front of him. “And half the North will be joining us in our graves by the sight of it.” Eyes darting left and right, searching for any eavesdroppers or spies--though the thought of anyone risking their balls to frostbite just to spy on them made Gendry snort--Davos stepped closer. “Right, well that's what I came to talk to you about. Our survival.”

His voice was quiet and his words crisp as he spoke quickly and with importance, “I had an idea. Now,” he said sternly, his brows furrowing and almost becoming one. “I know you won't like it, but I've had it, so just give me a moment, all right?”

Frowning, Gendry nodded. Feeling as if this conversation was about to take a turn, he placed his hammer on the ground and crossed his arms over his chest. Now that he stopped moving, stopped his work, the cold was beginning to seep into his skin. He grimaced, shifted in an attempt to ward the chill away, and hoped Davos would be quick.

“I've heard a rumour,” he said, almost awkwardly as he wrung his hands. “In town. A rumor about the Princess Arya. Now, no, no,” he held up a hand, stopping Gendry’s objections before they could start. Sighing, Gendry closed his mouth, signalling for the older man to continue.

“We both have.” He said, his accent becoming thicker with ever word. Usually Davos’ voice  reminded Gendry of the sea, of the sailors he'd known growing up in Flea Bottom. Usually the sound of it helped put the younger man at ease. This time, though, it just added to his dread.  “Heard, I mean, that she survived.”

Gendry's face darkened. Yes, he knew the rumor well. Mayhaps better than anyone. That although the Starks did not survive, one of the siblings may still be alive. Some idiot, probably a fancy poet, had gotten it into their thick skull that since the details of Arya’s disappearance were unclear, she must still be alive somewhere.

Once, not too long ago, Gendry had believed the rumors too. He'd justified it, even. He'd known more than most had, anyway. He knew that she survived King’s Landing. So, he thought, why couldn't she survive the Red Wedding?

It was a fool’s dream, though. He'd come to realize that, with time. None of the Starks survived.

Lord Stark had been the first to die, but little did anyone know at the time that he wouldn't be the last. Not long after him, just a few moons, the traitor Theon Greyjoy killed and burned the youngest boys, Bran and Rickon, and hung their bodies from the castle’s gate for all of Winterfell to see.

Next was King Robb, the savior of the North, the Young Wolf. Not even he could survive whatever curse had been placed on his family. He and his mother, the Lady Catelyn, had been brutally slain under the protection of guest right by House Frey. Their deaths had changed the country drastically. If a king couldn't feel safe in the home of their own Bannerman, what chance did the common folk have? After the Red Wedding, neighbor turned against neighbor, and the North was left defenseless.

Then the poor Lady Sansa, crushed on the rocks of Blackwater Bay. Some say the fall was an accident, some say that the late King Joffrey pushed her, and some say that, after hearing about the death of her brother and mother, she became broken hearted and jumped. The Stranger didn't care about the whys or hows, though, and neither did Gendry. Dead was dead, after all.

As for Arya, most thought she had perished at King’s Landing, not long after her Lord father, though how no one could say. All they knew was that she was in the Red Keep with her sister, Sansa, and assumed she came to the same tragic end as the rest of her family. But Gendry and a handful of people knew differently. Arya had made it out of the lion’s den, had been on her way to Castle Black to reunite with her bastard brother, Jon Snow, and had been so close to freedom. Then she met Gendry and everything turned to ruin.

Chest tightening at the thought of their meeting, Gendry had to physically shake off the guilt that had once again come so close to consuming him. Focusing back on Davos, he tried to hear what the man was saying.

“It's a lot of money, Gendry,” he was saying, “enough for both of us to live happily, if not modestly, for the rest of our days. I was thinking we'd do that somewhere a bit warmer, perhaps Lys, but--”

“Sorry, what?” Gendry interrupted, not following. “What money?”

Pursing his lips and breathing slowly out his nostrils, Davos glared at Gendry and began again, slower this time. “Prince Jon.  Arya's cousin. You remember him, yes?

Gendry did, though not many people would call them cousins. To many Northerners, Jon Snow was still Ned Stark’s bastard son. To the Southrons, he was just another usurper, vying for the throne. To Gendry though, he'd always be Arya's favorite brother.

“He’s in Mereen now, with his aunt, Queen Daenerys. He believes Arya's still alive, Gendry, and he's offering a reward to the person who can bring her back.” Davos’ brown eyes searched Gendry's, looking for any signs of anger, disbelief, maybe even grief. Gendry looked back, unsure of what emotion the older man would indeed find.

“So I thought,” Davos continued hesitantly, “that since the two of us are in an opportunistic position, that we might . . .”

“Might what?” Gendry shrugged, the action bordering on aggressive. Running a hand along his jaw, he grimaced. The small hairs there scratched at the skin of his hand even though he'd just shaved that morning, which wasn't good--he couldn't afford a beard right now--but could be dealt with later.

“Just find an Arya lookalike, teach her what to say?” His fingers twitched with the need to hit something, “Then what? Dress her up as a lady and take her to Mereen?”

“You knew her better than anyone,” Davos argued, “save for her family, and they're all gone.”

“And so is she!” Gendry bellowed, his temper flaring like his fire did earlier. His face had turned a blotchy red and the cold no longer seemed to touch him. Pacing back and forth in the small forge in an attempt to exercise away his rage, Gendry continued. “Arya's dead, Davos! And maybe Jon Snow doesn't know that yet, or hasn't accepted it yet, but she is, and he will.

“He was her favorite brother, he'll be able to spot a fake miles away, and I for one do not want to be caught in a lie by someone whose aunt can control dragons!”

“Gendry, lad, calm down,” Davos waited for Gendry's pacing to stop, for him to take in some deep breaths and cool his blood. “I know the idea doesn't sit well with you,” he took a step closer and placed both hands on the taller man's shoulders. “I don't much like it myself, but it's all we've got right now.”

Looking over his shoulder for a moment, once again keeping an eye out for any enemies, Davos sighed, “You're right, we won't make it through a Winter this far North, but we can't go south, either. I was Hand to a king that never sat on the throne, and you,” he stopped to take a breath, his dark eyes, “well, with every passing day you look more and more like the dead King Robert, especially with that beard you keep trying to keep off your face.”

He paused, then, “Someone's bound to notice, and since Winterfell is currently decorated with colors from House Bolton, well,” he grimaced, “let's just say I'd rather face a dragon than that bastard Ramsay.”

Gendry had to admit, he had a point. At least the dragon would be quick about it. Ramsay was known for dragging things out, making his victims suffer. The stories he'd heard had been enough to give him nightmares for days.

Shaking his head, Gendry took a different approach, “And how, exactly, would we get to Mereen?”

Taking a step back and crossing his arms over his chest, Davos raised a brow, “I've been able to smuggle some money away these past few years,” he chuckled. “Enough to get three people across the Narrow Sea to Mereen, and then stay a few nights at a simple inn.”

“And then what?” Gendry asked, his brows raising up to meet his hairline. “We walk up to the palace, or wherever it is royalty lives in Mereen and just, what? Ask to meet with their prince?” He shook his head, “Why would they even meet with us?”

“You forget, lad, that I knew Jon,” Davos said, his beard hiding his frown. “Back when he was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” He nodded his head confidently, “I can get us an audience.”

Eyes softening, the older man said softly, “We can't stay here anymore, Gendry. We need to start over. We need to take a chance.”

Gendry sighed, a slow acceptance rushing through his veins and loosening the tension in his neck and shoulders. Davos was right, he knew that, they couldn't stay in Westeros any longer. It was just asking for tragedy, and hadn't they both lived through enough of that?

“All right,” he nodded, rubbing a hand down his face. “All right. Well,” he said, trying not to think of how all this could go wrong. “Who else could pull it off but me and you?”

“You and me,” Davos corrected automatically, making Gendry duck his head and smile.

Cat | Braavos

Cat felt the weight of her new purse hit against the meat of her thigh as she took step after step. Part of her was tempted to pat it, like patting herself on the back, but refrained. Such an action would do nothing but bring attention to it, and after having just won it, the young woman didn't wish to part with the coins in it so quickly. Ensuring that no one would challenge her to a duel and steal her prize, Cat pulled her long coat to cover her sword and new purse.

She'd won the purse off a young, green horned fool of a boy from Salty Town. He'd most likely had never been in a real duel in his entire life before today, and it hadn't even been a challenge for Cat to disarm him and win her prize. Kids like him were always visiting the city this time of year, looking for adventure and excitement, and they always went home a few pounds lighter than they came.

Running her thumb up the length of her sword's handle, she she wondered how best to spend her winnings. Perhaps she'd buy a pomegranate, or a Myrish orange, if she could find someone who sold them. Or perhaps she'd visit some of the girls at the Happy Port. She hadn't visited them in a while, maybe she'd buy some oysters for them all to share.

There was a lot of silver there, though, she thought as the purse bounced against the fabric covering her leg again. More than she'd seen in a long while. More than enough to . . .

She stopped and shook her head, she knew where that line of thought led. To the Bay, to a ship, to her home . . . In truth it led nowhere. Cat didn't even know where home was.

North, her thoughts stubbornly answered. Her home was in the North. Westeros.

She gritted her teeth, and then what? She asked herself. Then what would she do? The purse of silver wouldn't last forever, and she couldn't even remember the last time she'd been in her native country, or why she left. There might not be anyone to return to anymore, either.

Her grip on her sword tightened, her slim fingers turning bone white beneath her skin. Looking down at the sword--at the only link to her past--Cat’s chest swelled with an unnamed emotion. She'd had the sword for as long as she could remember, before that, in fact. It had been the only thing she could truly call her own after she'd left the House of Black and White.

The sword was small, meant for a child, really, but Cat’s hands were small, too, and the Braavosi preferred to use lighter blades in duels, ones that only needed to be held in one hand, so no one ever questioned her about it.

It had a name. Cat knew it had one, long ago. She wished she could remember it, she knew it was a good one, but its name continued to elude her, just as the rest of her past did.

Every now and again she'd remember something. Nothing tangible, just small flashes that were too obscure to gain anything from them--a warm hug, a hand ruffling her hair, the taste of lemon cake on her tongue--breezed in and out of her mind, and made her ache for the life she once had.

The memories, her past, would return to her. Someday. Cat knew this to be true, knew it with every fiber of her being. It might be tomorrow, it might be a year from now, it might be more, but one day Cat would know the name of her sword, sure as she knew her own, and, more importantly, who had given it to her.

She wondered sometimes, especially at night, after having awoke from sleep, whether or not she had a family. She must have, at some point. But no, she thought, family wasn't quite right. Pack. She had a pack.

The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. The words surprised her, stopping her in her tracks. Where had they come from?Although the words felt foreign and unused, they also felt right, like they belonged to her.

Still, Cat had never thought about packs or wolves before. Braavos had no wolves, and the people here never spoke of them, so she wouldn't have heard the phrase from a stranger or a friend. In fact, no where on the Eastern continent were there wolves. But in Westeros . . .

Cat blinked and realized she'd been  standing in the same spot for far too long. Taking a look at her surroundings, her mouth dropped open as she realized where she was: Chequy Port. Her feet had led her almost all the way up to a ship without her noticing. Closing her mouth and shaking her head, Cat could take a hint.

It was time for her to take the first forward in finding out who she was, and the first step towards her future. Releasing a shaky breath, she squared her shoulders and walked up to the Harbormaster.

Swallowing down a spike of fear and pushing down on the rush of excitement buzzing in her hands, Cat voice was steeled with conviction as she announced, “I’m looking for a ship to Westeros.”

A/N: Um...yes, all the Stark's are dead except for Arya (it's like there's a curse or something)

Updates will not be too regular unfortunately. I'm already 3000 words into the next chapter, but then it has to go through edits and my friend who helps me edit these things is in a very different time zone so that can slow it down some.

I'm going to be taking things from ASOIAF, GOT, Anastasia (1997) and Anastasia the musical. So it'll be a hodgepodge but hopefully a good one.

If you liked this chapter please let me know by leaving reblogging! See you all next time!

[myrish-lace-love]

We’re in a bit of a mess

Summary: Jon Snow and Sansa Stark are strangers who somehow wake up snuggled together after a party. Neither of them can remember a thing. Awkwardness ensues, until Theon shows up and acts like an ass. Jon sets him straight, and Sansa works up the courage to ask for Jon’s number.

A/N: Based on a tumblr prompt from @amymel86 of a similar description. This got deeper into consent issues than I planned, but then again, I’m kind of obsessed with that stuff, so here we are :)

***

Jon”s warm - that delicious sort of warm he gets when he’s wrapped in his winter blanket. His head’s aching, but that’s normal after one of Theon’s Parties That Start Well Before Everyone Gets Trashed. He opens one bleary eye, expecting to see the grey walls of his bedroom.

His whole world suddenly shifts and skews sideways. Because he’s not in his bedroom, he’s sitting on Theon’s overstuffed blue futon. And it’s not a blanket draped around him, it’s a woman. She’s snug against his chest and his arm’s draped over her shoulder. Her hair tickles his nose.

His mouth tastes like that god-awful punch Theon served, but the woman’s hair smells clean, like citrus, and he almost sniffs it before he stops. He tries to disentangle himself but she only murmurs and snuggles closer, which sets his pulse racing.

They fit together like puzzle pieces - her head’s tucked under his chin and her hand’s resting on his thigh. There’s a corner of his mind that wants to relish how glorious she feels pressed against him, how right. But he swats the impulse away, and assesses the situation.

She’s gorgeous, all long legs and silken red hair. She has a smattering of freckles on her nose and her eyelashes are long enough to brush her cheeks. She’s curled up tight enough that her breath ghosts over his neck.

They’re both fully clothed, and she seems peaceful in his arms.

He has no clue who she is.

He doesn’t know what’s going on here, but Theon’s probably behind it. And if he can’t remember her - and it’s pretty hard to believe he wouldn’t, she’s stunning, even in the dim basement light - she might not remember who he is, and he definitely doesn’t want to be the perv at the party.

But every time he tries to carefully extricate himself, she keeps cuddling up to him, like he’s her favorite stuffed toy, until he doesn’t have anywhere to put his hands that wouldn’t be blatantly inappropriate.

If he’s going to retain any semblance of being a gentleman, he needs to wake her up.

So he gently shakes her. She stiffens, then jerks. Sudden they’re whirling like two alarmed monkeys as they break apart.

“Sorry-”

“No really I-”

“My fault-”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I never do this,” they finish in unison, as they each shoot to opposite sides of the futon.

Read more below or continue on AO3

She’s clutching a couch cushion to her chest. Her blue eyes are wide.

She’s nervous. Say something. “I’m sorry, I tried to - I’m sure it’s really uncomfortable to wake up with someone you don’t know…”

“I’m Sansa,” she says softly, though she keeps her grip on the pillow.

“I’m Jon. I promise I tried to scoot out but-“

“I held onto you, didn’t I.” Sansa sighs. “I do that, my last boyfriend hated it.”

Jon’s poleaxed at the thought of a boyfriend who wouldn’t count himself lucky to have Sansa wrapped around him at night.

“You were very…warm,” she says, and blushes. It’s the prettiest sight Jon’s seen all year. It’s been a rough year, admittedly, but it would be one of the prettiest sights in any year.

Then she blinks rapidly and presses her wrist to her temple. She probably has the same blinding headache he does.

“Would you like some aspirin?” She nods gratefully. Jon braces himself. Hopefully he won’t fall over when he stands up.

“You two dating yet?” Theon’s standing in front of him with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “C’mon, you’re available, she’s hot…” Theon wets his lips as he glances at Sansa. “You both passed out, figured I’d do you a favor and stack her on top of you.”

Sansa shrinks into the couch. She looks back and forth between Jon and Theon. Jon’s stomach sinks.

She’s stuck in a room with two guys she doesn’t know.

He hopes to God a friend brought Sansa to the party. Because Jon wouldn’t hurt Sansa, and neither would Theon. But there’s no reason Sansa should believe that, especially given Theon’s shenanigans.

Jon glares at Theon, then turns back to Sansa. “Did you come with someone?”

“My friend Marg. Here, let me see where she is.”

Jon almost sags with relief when Sansa finds her phone next to the futon and starts texting with Marg. At least there’s one person in this house she feels safe with.

“She’s on her way down in a minute,” Sansa says.

“Okay. That’s – that’s great. Theon and I are going to search for some aspirin.”

Jon grabs Theon’s shoulder, harder than he needs to probably, and yanks him towards the bathroom.

“You’d better have a goddammed explanation, Greyjoy,” he hisses. Theon’s giving him his best who, me? expression when Jon slams the flimsy door shut. He corners in the tiny space, shoving him against the basin sink.

“What the fuck, man? You can’t just do that to people! Did you see her? She’s scared, she doesn’t know me!”

“Hey, you’re a decent bloke,” Theon protests.

“And how’s she supposed to know that? Huh? How could she? Am I wearing decent bloke flannel?”

Theon smirks. “No need to shout, mate. Besides…” He pokes Jon’s shirt. “They are nice reds and greens, Snow.”

“Don’t ever do that again. Ever. Again. Got it?”

“Fine, fine, stop shoving, I won’t, I promise.” Theon digs out the aspirin and fills a cup with water. When they step back into the basement, a brunette who must be Marg is sitting next to Sansa, chatting with her. Theon takes the opportunity to scurry up the stairs.

Marg pats Sansa on the shoulder and murmurs that she’ll pull the car around to the front door. “I don’t want you walking far when you’re in this state, dear. And it’s freezing outside.”

She points at Jon. “Are you comfortable here with him?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Jon lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He hands Sansa the aspirin and water.

They make a few minutes of halting conversation while Marg gets the car.

He confesses he shouldn’t really be here tonight. He’s taking a chemistry exam tomorrow.

She confides she shouldn’t have come either. She had only planned to stop by after dance class with Marg for a few drinks. She’s got a dress rehearsal tomorrow.

Jon rubs the back of his neck. “Guess we’re both in a bit of a mess.”

The corner of Sansa’s mouth quirks up. “Seems like it. Hey, by the way, I…heard you, with Theon. Thanks. For being that way. Most guys wouldn’t give it a second thought. It was sweet. It was sweet of you to be so protective.”

Jon’s not sure what to say. He figures it’s basic human decency to get riled up about two unconscious people getting thrown together.

Sansa sets down her water and takes a deep breath. “So, um, would you like to get coffee with me? When we’ve both slept it off I mean?“ She glances at her clothes, twists her hands together. “I promise I clean up well.”

She’s in black yoga pants and a stretchy purple top. She’s perfect. Jon’s heart might stop if he sees her in a dress.

He clears his throat. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. Besides.” She reaches over tentatively and fingers the hem of his shirt. “Decent bloke flannel.”

She breaks into a small smile. Jon knows he’s well and truly in it now, because he’d happily drown in her blue eyes. He smiles back.

His head’s pounding, but his heart’s pounding harder as he gives her his number.

He doesn’t ask for hers. She’s had enough of him thrust on her for one night. He walks her up the stairs and gives her an awkward wave as she pulls on her coat and white knit hat.  She waves too. He stands in the doorway, until Marg’s taillights are gone.

***

Theon’s staring at his linoleum kitchen floor the next morning, trying to decide whether it’s worth it to rummage around for an ice pack in the freezer. He rubs his shoulder.  Christ, Jon’s strong when he’s fired up.

Then Marg finally calls.

"Where the hell were you? You were supposed to ring last night!”

“Cheer up Theon, it worked.” Margaery sounds downright chipper over the phone.  Then again, his improv class partner always sounds chipper.

“Is your friend all right?”

“She’s fine. Sleeping it off.”

“Probably bloody well hates me,” he grumbles.

“You were perfect,” she gushes. “Sansa filled me in. Just the right amount of skeeviness.”

Theon rolls his eyes. “Thanks for that. Look,  I’ve had my shady moments, but even I wouldnt toss two drunk strangers on top of each other and call it a night.” He opens the freezer door.

“But they weren’t strangers because we knew them. I know Sansa’s a sweet girl who’s had bad luck, and you know Jon’s a stand-up guy who wouldn’t take advantage.”

“Remind me why we didn’t just set them up on, oh, you know, a date?”

“How many dates has Jon cancelled at the last minute the past year?”

Theon sighs. “A dozen. At least. Every one I’ve set him up on.” He sinks heavily into a chair and drapes the ice pack on his tender muscles.

“And Sansa won’t even consider dating. Took all my cajoling to persuade her to show up tonight. Nevermind the pep talk I had to give her so she’d ask for Jon’s number. Now Sansa knows that Jon is the kind of guy who’d get furious and defend her honor when she’s in a bad spot.”

Theon grits his teeth. “That we put her in. Mostly me.”

“Exactly!” Marg trills.

Again, positively chipper.

Theon runs a hand over his face. “I’m not sure why I thought this was a good idea.”

Marg huffs. “Jon was never going to get over Ygritte, and Sansa was never going to get over Joffrey. Okay, maybe we crossed a line or two, but they can thank us at their wedding.”

***

It’s not quite a thank you, but Jon and Sansa do laugh when Marg works the story into her maid of honor speech (she glosses over the elaborate setup, much to Theon’s relief). They even ham it up once Marg is finished, by leaning on each other, pretending to fall blissfully asleep in each other’s arms. Theon claps along with the rest of the crowd. He’s definitely not tearing up. Just has something manly in his eye.

Okay, fine, maybe it’s thanks enough.

[jerepars]

The Con Extended Chapter Notes

Hyperlinks appear in blue (underlined on mobile). The story is posted here. Direct link to this chapter is here.

> “Well, is this a new thing or an old thing?” Veronica supplied a starter question.

> “A bit of both, I guess. I had a huge crush on him when I left Riverdale. And then this summer, when I saw him, all those crush feelings came rushing back.” I got the floaty fluttering of butterflies in my stomach just speaking of my feelings out loud. “Then I found out he was moving here. Then I found out he was moving into my building. It all just kind of encircled me.”

I don't think I've made any reference to "The Con", the song by Tegan and Sara, since Chapter 2 ("The Plan"). We're now at the point in the story where the parts of the song that inspired me to name the story after it will begin to pop up more. One of the lines that's repeated several times in the latter part of the song is encircle me, I need to be taken down.

I do understand the context that the line is being used in within the song, and that might come back around later in the story. But for now, we've got Betty admitting to being encircled by her feelings. Tegan and Sara have mentioned a bunch of different times that the original name for the song was actually "Encircle Me" and was later re-named as the title track for the album The Con.

> “Oh my God, swoon. You just got Disney Princess heart eyes,” Veronica cooed. “You are so smitten. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this about anyone.”

> “I’ve known him for so long and I do feel like I really know him,” I said. “Lately it feels like…like maybe he could have some of the same feelings. And maybe we could have something that I thought would never happen.”

Here's an instance when I realized I was making a reference to a song literally as I was writing the sentence. Part of the chorus in "Attention" by The Academy Is... goes: Oh, did I mention when I see you it stings like hell? To the fact that we could have something that'll never happen.

Back in the notes for Chapter 5 ("The Sleepover") I said that I was hoping I'd get to reference Academy somehow, someway during the story, because they were a Chicago band. This time I wasn't even thinking about any of their songs, it just happened. I inadvertently put myself on a total nostalgia trip, too, because I remember referencing the same song--much more directly, actually--in a story I wrote over ten years ago. Wild.

> “Oh, Betty.” Veronica shook her head pensively. “As much as I love the idea of you pulling one over on him, and as much as it sounds like he’s got some seriously repressed feelings for you, I don’t want you to end up hurt if this goes badly. Please be careful.”

> Be careful. Those were the same precautionary words Jellybean had warned me with when the con was in its infancy, before I’d gotten in so deep.

I'm always going to back-reference to things that happened earlier in the story. In Chapter 3 ("The Fireworks"), when Jellybean revealed to Betty that she knew what was going on, she warned Betty to be careful. Even in Chapter 4 ("The Robots"), when Betty and Jughead have breakfast together, the chapter ends with him warning her about whatever game she's playing.

> For Trev and myself, preparation for the holiday shows would be grueling just as the preparation for the autumn program had been. The year before, for the inaugural season with the new Nutcracker, the company had begun the piece from scratch, with only a one-page synopsis of the story and our choreographer’s vision. We’d worked on The Nutcracker from the very start of dance season in August through December. Since it was no longer rubbing two sticks together and hoping they caught fire, and haven taken the time to premiere Giselle for the autumn program, it was back to the usual approach of rehearsing The Nutcracker from November until the first performance in December, with few full-on rehearsals through December. I was thrilled about the parts I’d been cast for; a pas de deux in the Spanish Dance, one of four dancers in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, as an understudy for the Arabian Dance and a Snow soloist, and corps roles as a Snowflake (of course) and fair worker. But it would be no easy feat. For most dance companies, Nutcracker time was (maybe ironically) crunch time. We never worked harder under such unforgiving time constraints than during the holidays.

In the chapter notes for Chapter 6 ("The Minutes"), I talked about the Joffrey Ballet's "new" Nutcracker and linked a few articles about how it was reimagined and how it's different from a classic Nutcracker, so maybe check that out. If you want.

When I was doing my research, looking through the program for Giselle, I noticed that one of the pages was an advertisement for a documentary on Joffrey's new Nutcracker to air on WTTW, the local PBS affiliate in Chicago. Knowing that this chapter was coming up, I thought to myself that I might as well wait to see the documentary. So I did! I even took notes so I could write the paragraph quoted above. And you can watch it too if for some reason you want to spend an hour learning about the new production. The documentary is called Making a New American Nutcracker and it's streaming on the WTTW website. Want to make a Riverdale connection? For all the Skeet Ulrich fans out there, it's narrated by Neve Campbell, who played Skeet's/Billy's girlfriend in Scream. Six degrees of separation with Skeet? You bet.

I found the casting sheets from 2016 and, oh boy, it was really hard to decide what roles to put Betty in beyond the corps roles. But I definitely wanted her to be in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show (one male dancer is Buffalo Bill and the three other dancers are women). As described in the documentary, it replaces what is usually the Russian Dance, but it's danced to Tchaikovsky's score that is used for the Russian Dance. There's some kind of humor in there, man. I like it.

> As for Kevin, he would be on the earliest non-red eye flight back to LA in the morning. He had a master class to teach that same day and rehearsal for a performance at the American Music Awards after that. He was just as busy as a dancer in a company, if not even busier. I was thankful that Kevin still managed to make time for me when he was in town and that our close friendship continued beyond our adolescence. There were no hard feelings that he never made it to any of the Giselle performances because he had his own life and success to tend to, and I was so proud of him.

This is Kevin's second appearance in the story, and his last. I wish he could have been in it more but it was more important to me not to relegate his role as just the gay best friend who occassionally provides comic relief. The comic relief he provides on Riverdale is great, yes, but we're now six episodes into the second season and I'm still wondering where Kevin's major arc is. I don't think he should be just a placeholder.

That's exactly why when he was introduced in Chapter 3 ("The Fireworks"), Betty spent some time talking about him--his life, his career, his success--rather than just the role he plays in her life. Keeping that in mind, I did want Kevin to make one more appearance in the story, briefly, squeezing a little bit of time for Betty into his schedule (and not the other way around), amidst all the good things that are happening in his busy life.

> “Thanks. You’re the best, Arch. I know you’ll be great tonight.” I leaned in and shifted onto my toes so that I could kiss him on the cheek. As was customary in ballet, I whispered my good luck wish to him, “Merde.”

I came across this quite a few times while doing research for the story. It's bad luck to say "good luck", and because breaking a leg is a possibility during ballet performance, ballet dancers don't wish each other well by saying "break a leg" either. The term merde, the French word for 'shit', is what dancers say before a performance instead. There are differing views on why that slang is used.

> I grabbed my coat off the back of my chair to shield me from the early November evening and slid my phone and card case into one of the pockets—I’d need my ID to get back into the bar after. I turned back to my friends and mouthed a ‘sorry’ as Jughead and I walked toward the door. Trev merely shrugged but Kevin gave me goofy grin and added a wink for good measure.

> I followed Jughead outside and we didn’t stop until we were standing in the doorway of the storefront across from the bar. It was a hair salon that, according to the hours listed in the window, closed at five every afternoon. The salon had bay windows, which made for a wide doorway that was lit by a solitary fluorescent motion-detecting light.

There is, in fact, a salon across the street from Schubas. And if you enlarged the image of the storefront using Google Maps, you'd see that the bay windows create a wide entryway in the shape of a trapezoid. What am I doing with my life looking this stuff up?

> It felt good to insult him to his face after finding out just what he thought about me liking him. I’d really started to believe that he might have a thing for me, too. At the very least I thought he genuinely cared about my well-being. But none of it was true. And once again my crystal vision was so wrong. My fate with him wasn’t like those girls like Sabrina. It was worse—it was nonexistent—and he had made sure of it. As quickly as he’d made my heart swell, he yanked it out of my chest, threw it on the ground, and stomped all over it with his combat boots.

The line about Betty's crystal vision is a quick little back-reference to her mention of crystal vision in Chapter 6 ("The Minutes"), which as I mentioned in the notes for that chapter, is actually a reference to Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams".

> Oh, I was counting on it. I was absolutely livid. There would be no complaints on my part if Chic wanted to use his overprotective older brother card for justice against his beanie-wearing cad of a best friend. In fact, I would gladly help him. Chic could pour the gasoline and I would light the match.

I debated with myself whether or not this was the right moment to use some of Alice's lines from 2x01. I wondered if using the "beanie-wearing cad" term was too distracting here, if it brought humor into an otherwise serious and tense moment. But then I thought...Betty's definitely got some of Alice's fiery spirit in her. So when she's livid? Well, that probably comes out, with Alice's terminology, too.

[thebluelemontree]

Hi, this is lyastark (i changed blogs), you responded to my ask here: /post/175700394682/. i wanted to say that i loved your meta! i was thinking more of their relationship in the purpose of the story. for me, no one knowing about this interaction has to serve some plot purpose. b/c of this, i think that sandor is going to be the one to tell her about LF shitty behavior towards her. her relationship with him is the ONLY one that LF doesn't know about. we know he doesn't b/c he NEVER mentions (1)

sandor to sansa. he was quick to dismiss tyrion, loras, wilas, margaery, etc but he said nothing about sandor. i also believe that sansa has gotten to the point where there’s no one “new” she has met that she would 100% trust with something this big. sandor is someone she explicitly trusts not to lie to her, and is someone she associates with safety and her old life. he’s her hidden dagger, if you will

Hey, glad you liked it.  

Yeah, I’m in agreement that Sandor will be crucial to Sansa reclaiming her identity in a few ways, and it will pay off that their relationship has flown under the radar for all this time.  While Jeyne Poole is also an alternate possibility or an addition to that, I think Jeyne is on course to meet with (perhaps travel with) Arya first.  It may take all of TWOW, maybe to the beginning to ADOS, for Arya and Sansa to reconnect.  One thing I’m reasonably sure of is that things will start happening pretty quickly in TWOW for wrapping up Sansa’s training arc.  With only two books left, it’s time to start moving all the remaining characters into the final act.  

I’m just going to put the rest under the cut.  This isn’t so much a coherent meta, but me just riffing because I have a lot of feelings about this topic XD

Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King’s Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she’d hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. – Sansa I, AFFC.  

“She would have fled them both…” if she had another option available to her.  If she had another friend nearby, but in her mind, she doesn’t.   

For Sansa’s training arc to end, her sense of isolation and dependence on Littlefinger have to be overpowered.  It is a psychological obstacle as much as it is a physical one.  Sansa has seen Littlefinger literally get away with murder and come out in a stronger position than he was before.  He seems to always be a step ahead of his enemies.  He has already bribed and extorted his way to power among the Vale lords.  He’s iced Yohn Royce out of political influence.  He’s planted seeds of doubt in Sansa toward Myranda Royce before she even met her.  (On a side note, Myranda does know Sansa’s real identity, but has never confronted her about it and nor has she used that information against her).  So LF’s locked down all the potential allies or troublemakers that he can see.  But we know there are things he can’t see, like the possibility of Sansa winning Lothor Brune’s loyalty from him.  Nor does he seem to be aware of Lyn Corbray’s seething resentment over being ousted as his brother’s heir thanks to Littlefinger’s marriage brokering.  Not to mention he’s hired a bunch of hedge knights for his household guard not suspecting for a moment that they are there to steal Sansa from him.  Littlefinger’s hubris has made him blind to things that are right in his own backyard.          

While I’m 95% sure Sandor will be at the center of Sansa reclaiming her identity, I definitely don’t think he will be her only trusted ally or source of support before it’s over.  That comes from Sansa herself in doing what she does best:  being kind and empathetic to win people over.  I see her cultivating her own little band of helpers to escape rather than (as some speculations suggest) Sansa simply name-dropping at the tourney and all the Vale lords instantly pledging their swords to her as their new regent/leader/whatever.  That makes for a dramatic turn of events but is also pretty unrealistic as I see it.  I think she will eventually be in a position to receive Yohn Royce’s military support, but I strongly disagree that it’s going to be as easy as name-dropping.  Littlefinger has too much backing of his leadership right now.  The Vale lords at the tourney are already on board that gravy train of gifts, gold, and glory.  He has custody of Robert Arryn.  No one really gives a shit about Lysa’s murder and everyone is looking toward the future with the more robust young falcon, Harrold Hardyng.  IMO, Sansa needs to get with Yohn Royce before the rest of the Vale falls in line.  He’s against the ropes right now (and being kept far from the tourney for a good reason I think), but he is the one that is most likely to wrest back political power from Littlefinger once Sansa is no longer his pawn.  Then she would have powerful backing of her own.  The trick is getting her to Yohn Royce and for that, she needs a persuasive reason and the confidence to flee from LF.                      

Where Sansa is in the story right now, I think she already possesses most of the individual puzzle pieces to what Littlefinger has done.  She just hasn’t been able to bring herself to put all those pieces together into one complete, horrifying picture.  There’s a lot of trauma and suppression of painful thoughts wrapped up in the things she’s seen and experienced.  Things part of being Sansa Stark that will shatter the tenuous safety she finds in being Alayne Stone.  She knows on one level that Littlefinger did something with Jeyne.  She’s buried that memory and thinks about Jeyne only in more innocent times.  She hasn’t dared to ask probably for fear of the answer and for fear of the repercussions from asking.  And there’s the fact that she’s trapped with her abuser, who has muddled help and safety with exploitation and pushing her moral boundaries.  She’s under a lot of pressure to marry HtH, which has been framed as her best and only chance to go home, even if it comes at Robert Arryn’s expense.  All she has to do is let go of her empathy and see people as objects she can use to further her interests, and then she can not only feel safe but powerful and untouchable as well.  No one will ever hurt her again.  Littlefinger’s philosophy is terrifying, but there are parts of it that are very seductive to someone who has been made to feel powerless, stupid, and vulnerable.  In a way, Sansa is being tempted with adopting a cynical worldview similar to what the Hound was for Sandor. Narratively speaking, what better person to bring her back from the edge of losing her humanity than by the person she inspired to reclaim his own?  Sandor and Sansa have been saving each other all throughout their story.  The first moment they met was defined by Sansa looking Ilyn Payne, the persona of death, in the face and falling backward into Sandor’s hands (ugh, my heart!).  Many times he just seems to appear out of nowhere to catch her.  So yeah, Sandor as a “hidden dagger” works really well not only for literally saving her life, but saving Sansa Stark’s identity and her core values.  But that also comes with unpacking a lot of unpleasant things.                   

The missing piece of the puzzle and the one thing that will be the final straw should be learning that her father’s arrest and execution was orchestrated by Littlefinger.  Sandor was a present for all that.  He’s the best person to tell her, and yes, she would believe him.  That forces Sansa to start looking at all puzzle pieces she has avoided putting together.  Turning against LF will not just be a triumphant moment, but it’s probably going to be ugly and painful.  Sansa has a lot of suppressed guilt and shame over what LF has made her complicit in.  While she was never a willing participant and shifting responsibility on to her was a key feature of LF’s abuse strategy, Sansa has played a role to some degree in the cover-ups of LF’s crimes.  Some people think the unkiss is a symptom of PTSD.  Nope.  This situation right here puts Sansa at risk for PTSD.  It will be shattering to know she ever called Petyr a friend, trusted him, and sometimes helped him while he did awful things.  There’s your dark night of the soul that a few people reasonably predict for each of our major POVs in TWOW, especially if an innocent like Robert Arryn dies (I’m 50/50 on that).  She’ll need someone who can relate (think of Sandor’s dying anguished confessions of his sins), someone who won’t judge, and someone that can help guide her back to being Sansa Stark because right now, that identity comes with a lot of traumatic baggage.  Just as being Sandor Clegane did.  (UGH, MY HEART!) 

I could go on about how similar both Petyr and Sandor’s backgrounds and origins are, how cynism plays into their world views, and the divergent paths they took.  They don’t have to speak of each other or share a scene together, but they have always been opposing philosophical forces with Sansa between them.  One embodying sweet lies and the other blunt honesty.  But I think the most telling passage about these three is in Eddard VII:

Sansa said, "I knew the Hound would win."

Littlefinger overheard. "If you know who's going to win the second match, speak up now before Lord Renly plucks me clean," he called to her. Ned smiled.

Littlefinger bet against Sandor and lost.  Daddy approved. 

[my-personal-writing-wonderland]

You truly are something else

Part 7 

Part 6 Part 1

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Warnings: self doubts, one or two slightly sexual references and Joffrey being Joffrey in the future chapters

Summary: You’re the younger sister of Margaery Tyrell and you accompany her to Kingslanding. Since you are a child you feel inferior to your sister and the fact that she is about to get married once again doesn’t really help to build your self-confidence. You dream of a man who loves you for who you are and makes you feel special but are you able to find love in a city reigned by a tyrant like Joffrey?

A/n: This is the last chapter of my little series and I’m so proud I actually finished this story. I really hope you enjoyed the story as much as I did. 

Important: Sandor didn’t leave Kingslanding during the battle of blackwater in this story.

(Pictures aren’t mine)

Your POV:

All you hear is the screaming and begging of men, it's hard to heard who they are but you recognize at least one voice. Oliver, one of the younger and newer guards, has a unforgettable high pitched voice which annoyed you since you arrived. In this moment, it seems like Oliver begs for his life before you hear more screams. Is he dead? Did someone really kill the guards who have been sitting together only a few feet away from you just minutes ago? Who killed them? And more important, why? Before you're capitale to clear your mind and to think of something to do (not that there are many options), the door of your cell opens. - On the other side you can see Sandor standing in front of you, his amour is bloodied and his face looks distressed but he's actually here. 'Are you alright, girl?' 

The youngest Clegane makes his way towards you to examine your wounds. There is no way to not notice the bruises on your arms and legs, as well as your split up lip and your deeply violet and green bruised left cheek. You can witness the range raising inside of Sandor when he sees what the guards have done to you. He's angry at them for hurting you, at Joffrey for allowing this and himself for not coming sooner to stop this from happening to you. 'I'm fine. What are you doing here? If Joffrey sees you-...' 'Fuck Joffrey. Fuck the Kings guard. Fuck the King. I get you out of here,' he states matter of factly without being able to hide his aggressiveness. 'But if you get caught-...' 'It's a bit too late for that now, little rose. Come on. We need to get out of Kingslanding now!' With that he takes your arm in his large hand and leads you outside, pass the dead guards, always cautious someone will see you. You can begin to describe how glad you are that Sandor is with you, right now all you're able to hear is your heart beating like crazy in your ears.   What if Joffrey finds you? What if other guards find you? Surely, Sandor could fight off quite a few of them but even he has his limits. And what if the sound of his fighting attracts more guards? By the gods, there is no way this is going to work. You try so hard not to start panicking. What will Joffrey do to you when he finds out you tried to escape? Will he kill you? Marry you off to a even more brutal man? Will he kill Sandor? You really hope you don't have to find out because no matter what punishment Joffrey will choose you know he'll make sure the two of you suffer. As fast and quietly as you can you two make your way out of the castle. You two have already left the castle and jog to the stalls where two horses are waiting for you when three guards suddenly spot you. 'Hey, Clegane! Stop, stop immediately!' Without wasting a second Sandor grabs his sword, walks vastly to the men and begin to fight them. You never saw him fight before and you honestly don't want to see it again. The whole time you're scared he'll get hurt or even worse, killed. The first guard is down easily, he clearly hadn't the chance to gain much fighting experience but the other two seem more skilled. You can't even decide where to look. At Sandor, trying to fight off the other men or at you surrondings in case more guards appear? But even when others notice the fight, what could you do? After all, you don't know how to fight and don't even have a weapon. In this exact moment (maybe it's faith or maybe your bad luck finally comes to an end) you see a huge dagger on the dead guards waitstbelt. Suddenly, you hear a small, deep scream-like growl.  When you look up to see Sandor holding his bloodied arm. Shit! Without a second thought you run to the corpse to grab the dagger before making your way to one of the guards who stands with his back to you. All you can think of is preventing Sandor from getting hurt worse. After taking one last deep breath you collect all your power to stab the dagger into the guard's neck. This shocked the other guard enough for Sandor to kill him without more troubles. For a few seconds you can only stare at the man you just killed. You murdered another person just like that, you never thought you would be able to end a life like this.   '(Y/n), we need to go. Are you alright?' Finally able to look away from the dead man, you give Sandor a small nod before you eyes fill with concern again. 'You're hurt. We need to stop the bleeding somehow.' 'It's only a scratch and we don't have time for that shit. Others will come soon. We need to leave before more fuckers get what's going on.' Sandor doesn't even wait for an answer before he grabs your arm once more to finally reach the stables. In there, two light brown horses are already waiting saddled up for you. Sandor really thought of everything. After helping you mounting your horse, he leads you both through a secret passage the hound discovered years ago, thankfully without another encounter with Joffrey's people. For hours you ride through the woods before Sandor decides it's save enough to build a camp for the night. Finally you're able to treat his wound and to your surprise it's indeed nothing more but a scratch. After sterilizing his wound the best you can you carefully bandage the wound with a piece of fabric you cut out from your tunic. After a little 'thank you' from Sandor which sounded more like a grunt than an actually thank you, he tends to treat your own wounds as best as possible.  Only when the last bit of adrenaline leaves your body you realize what just happened. You fled from Kingslanding, people will search for you and either try to kill you or want to bring you back to Joffrey and Euron. Now you'll never see your family again. Of course you would have been forced to leave your them after your wedding anyway but you wished you could have said your good bye before leaving them forever. Without even noticing it, tears begin to fall down your cheeks. It's all just too much for you in this moment. 

Sandor’s POV: When Sandor notice you're crying he's obviously overchallenged. He isn't sure why you're crying and doesn't know what to do to make you stop. Hesitantly, he decides to make his way towards but to sit down on the ground next to you. 'It's okay, little rose,' he says in a surprisingly soft voice while laying his hand over yours. Sandor doesn't even know what's okay but he hopes knowing he's there for you will help you somehow. To his surprise you hug him as tightly as you can as a respons and start sobbing into his shoulder. With a shaking voice you tell him everything that makes you cry and he listens patiently while he awkwardly pets your back with his right hand. What seems like an eternity later, you haven't anymore tears to cry and slowly look up at him with big eyes. 'Thank you so much for saving me, Sandor. You didn't need to do that.' 'It was nothing, no need to thank me.' 'It was not nothing. You risked your life to save me. I mean, why would you do that for me?' Shit, Sandor was afraid you would ask him that sooner or later. It's not like he can tell you he can't stand the thought of you suffering or that he wants to see you happy, no matter the costs. He cares too much for you, it nearly scares him but he knows he can never tell you this. You would laugh at him, no one can love a dog after all. 'No one deserve the treatment this little cunt put you through,' he tries to avoid the question, even through he knows you probably won't be satisfied by his weak attempt of an answer. To avoid any further uncomfortable questions,  he begins to stand up in order to make his way as far away from you as possible but much to his dismay, you grab his arm to stop him. 'You know what I think? I think you saved me because you truly care for me.'

Your POV: You don't know where your sudden bust of confidence comes from, maybe it's caused by the events of the last days and hours but in this moment you know it's now or never. You hid your feelings way too long. 'And you now what? I care for you too. I know you probably don't feel the same but I just have to tell you. I fell in love with you, Sandor.' Without giving him much time to process what you just said (and according to his shocked face he could have used it) you lean in to softly press a short kiss on his lips. You never kissed a man before. Therefore, the kiss is very shy and innocent but you hope Sandor gets the message nevertheless. After you end the kiss Sandor's face still shows nothing like shock and confusion, like he couldn't believe you just kissed him.  Immediately, panic rises inside you. What did you do? How could you thought that's a good idea. 'I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have kissed you without your permission...' 'You're just tired, you can't think straight, girl.' Wait, does he think you didn't mean it? How can he not see how serious you are. 'Of course I can think straight! In fact I wanted to kiss you since a while now, I just were too shy and then Joffrey imprisoned me before I was able to tell you,' you confess with bright red cheeks. 'Are you serious? Is this some kind of sick joke? Why would a pretty, little noble lady like you ever love a monster like me.' 'What are you talking about, Sandor? You're not a monster and I could never see you as such. You just saved me from Joffrey and my marriage with Euron. I won't ever be able to thank you enough for that. A monster would've never risked his life and left everything just to help me. You're a good man, Sandor. Believe me in that. And I love you more than you can imagine.' You're so nervous to hear his respons you even begin to unconsciously hold your breath. 'Oh little rose, I love you too, so much. Of course I do, how could I not? But I don't deserve you. You should marry a wealthy lord, I can't give you anything.' 'Sandor, stop it. I don't want anyone else and certainly not some wealthly lord who is no different than Joffrey or Euron. I only want you, I only need you, please.' With that you kiss him again and thankfully  this time he actually respons to it. It's all you have ever imagined of a kiss and so much more. Even through he's still hesitant, he brings so much softness and love in the kiss, it melts your heart. From this moment you know everything will be fine somehow. Maybe the two of you are able to find a small village and build a new life there. But no matter where you go you know you will be happier and safer than you have ever been in Kingslanding. As long as Sandor is with you know everything will be alright somehow. After all, this man isn't Joffrey or Euron. This man truly is something else.

- The End - 

[elenatria]

Tormund’s Wedding XV

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10614180/chapters/26854533

“Wake up, bitch.”

Brienne had barely opened her eyes when she felt a boot poking her ribs. She could have easily grabbed the man by the foot and thrown him to the ground; the only thing stopping her was the steely shine of Finbarre’s blade hanging inches from her nose. He wouldn’t kill her, no; he would maim her, probably attack the parts she wouldn’t need in battle – or in rape; teeth, nose, ears, fingers, a whole arm maybe if they made sure she didn’t bleed to death. Just enough to make her look pitiful and ridiculous.

She forced herself up.

“Walk,” she heard the man say, “They will soon be here.” She looked around; Tormund was already outside his cell, two men holding him by each arm, a knife pressed against the back of his neck.

“Who will be here?” she demanded.

“Don’t be curious,” the bald man spat. “You will soon find out.”

The guards pushed her and Tormund towards the staircase. When they finally reached the surface the sunlight hurt their eyes. Lord Glover was already there, waiting for them with Sansa on his side and two men guarding her.

“Where is Lord Royce, Aedan?” he asked the bald man.

“He’s with the boy, your lordship,” he croaked.

“What do you mean he’s with the boy?” Glover said impatiently.

“Pardon me, m’lord, he refused to leave his bedside during the night.”

Sansa’s pale lips trembled but she didn’t utter a word.

“He’d better join us soon,” Glover snarled. “Our guests could be here any minute now.”

Brienne sneaked a glance at Sansa who looked back at her; she had sickly black circles under her blue eyes.

“Open the gates!” someone barked from the other side of the Dreadfort’s walls. Two men rode into the yard, two northern lords. Their cloaks had furs and they had four silver chains drawn on their chestplates. Brienne couldn’t recognize the sigils but she could tell the men were related, they were both tall with strong jaws, pale cold eyes and long black hair. The older one took a look around before greeting Lord Glover, and then his tiny eyes settled on Tormund. He turned to the man on his side who seemed younger but had the same resentful look on his face.

“Look at that, Leecan,” he said with a jerk of his bearded chin. “That him, you think?

Leecan didn’t answer. He dismounted keeping his eyes fixed on the person his brother showed him.

“My lords,” Glover rushed to greet them. “I hope you had a safe journey. We need to finish this as soon as we can, before word gets out.”

“What, you plan on sending crows, Glover?” the bearded man quipped. “Or are you going to keep the women alive to spread the news?”

“No, Lord Ven. Lady Sansa will be sent to the Queen for killing king Joffrey, her beloved son. I don’t think she’ll have the chance to contact the King in the North ever again. As for Lady Brienne, that’s for you to decide what to do with her, my lords.”

“I’m sure their cocks can decide what to do with her,” Ven chuckled as he nodded towards Finbarre, Aedan and the rest of Littlefinger’s men. Finbarre smirked.

“We’re not here for pleasantries, brother,” Leecan snapped and crossed the yard hastily towards the group of men standing next to Brienne and her captors.

“You’re right,” Ven agreed. “But first let’s thank Lord Glover before the festivities begin, after all he was the one to message us about this great find. Your letter was most unexpected and most elevating, dear Robett, and we thank you for letting us know of his whereabouts,” he bowed to Glover.

“We’re lucky this fool followed Lady Sansa’s party cutting himself off Jon Snow’s protective entourage. I don’t know what he was thinking but all the better for us, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” the bearded man nodded and walked to his brother who was already glaring at Lord Glover’s “find”. “So we meet at last,” Ven said resting his hands on his belt. “Tormund. Is that right? The infamous Tormund Giantsbane.” He tilted his head back in fake admiration. “The bear fucker. The leader of the wildlings. Or should I call you Lord Karstark now?”

Tormund frowned. These men looked horribly familiar but he just couldn’t put names to faces. The squinty eyes, the square jaws, the narrow noses, the cold stare. He had never seen those faces before, yet they seemed to know him. And he certainly knew them.

“It must feel good to be one of us now, eh?” Ven sniggered. “Look at your clothes, look at you.” He pulled at Tormund’s collar. “I imagine the lands you and your people will now feast upon like locusts, the warm walls to keep you safe from the coming winter, those same walls our ancestors built with their blood.” He placed his hand on Tormund’s shoulder squeezing hard and brought his face closer. “And of course little Alys’ sweet cunt,” he whispered dropping his head on the side. “The biggest prize of them all for serving the bastard so loyally. Was she sweet like butter when you split her pussy open? She must be real progress for you considering you only had bears to fuck beyond the Wall.” He hit Tormund’s shoulder mockingly. “Come on, what was she like? You can tell us.”

Tormund winced and gnashed his teeth. He tried to escape but Glover’s men were holding him by both arms.

“I’m sure you wasted no time tasting that minge and it felt good, eh wildling? I’m sure you fucked her good before she could even get out of her wedding dress, fucked her till she bled. Poor girl.  Isn’t that how you goat fuckers do it, you steal and fuck little girls in the ass, don’t you? But her cunt is too good for the likes of you, you dog. I mean, can you believe it? The women, the lands, the castles, the riches, all yours for the taking. But you know, Lord Karstark, we still own the north...”

Tormund froze; he had heard those words before. He had seen eyes like them before. He now recognized them despite the thick streams of blood that were running down his face choking him, blinding him, his own blood as well as that of the enemy. The enemy whose throat he had just ripped out with a wild triumphant howl.

Finally he knew who they were…

“You really thought we wouldn’t get to you in the end?” Leecan hissed pulling Tormund’s hair and making him grunt in pain, their eyes locked in a hateful stare. “You really thought that marriage of yours would protect you and we wouldn’t hunt you down after you slaughtered our brother?”

Brienne held her breath, her mouth hanging open.

It was them.

The remaining Umbers.

Seven help us.

She knew what Tormund had done to Smalljon Umber during the battle against the Boltons. “Always believe the stories about me, always,” he had told her the night before. Apparently those stories couldn’t be confined within the ranks of Jon Snow’s men. Bad news travelled fast, gruesome stories of hated blood thirsty enemies even faster.

“We knew you wildlings are animals who eat human flesh but you chose the wrong man to chew on, you smelly fucker,” Ven Umber spat. “You must be really proud of those strong teeth of yours, aren’t you?” he gloated pushing Tormund’s mouth open and shoving his thumb into his throat while he grabbed him by his messy ginger hair with the other hand to stop him from struggling. Tormund tried to bite down but Leecan swiftly pulled out his dagger and poked his throat, forcing him to stand still. “Your rich clothes won’t save you,” Ven continued. “That silver sun on your chest won’t save you. That jest of a marriage won’t save you. We’ll take our time pulling those wretched teeth one by one, the teeth that savaged our poor brother. And then we’ll ass-fuck you with them like you ass-fucked the Karstark girl. We’ll sit back to watch you shit blood and teeth, bastard.”

Once again at the mere mention of his wife Tormund struggled furiously, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Brienne, but Ven’s strong thumb in his throat kept holding him down and so did Leecan’s dagger. Glover’s men tightened their grip on Tormund’s arms not letting him move one inch against his enemies.

“But we’re at the Dreadfort, and no festivity is complete without some flaying,” Ven Umber kept taunting him and looked around. “It’s traditional and we northerners respect our customs, right, boys? Who knows, taking part in this age-old tradition of house Bolton might make a northerner out of you yet, Giantsbane! We all look the same under our skin after all.”

“Take my dagger, brother,” Leecan exhaled eagerly.

“I’m not so sure I want to start with the flaying, Lee,” Ven Umber said and took a step back pulling his thumb out of Tormund’s throat letting him breathe and cough at the same time. “I want him alive. Let him ponder a little longer on the thought of being flayed, I’d love to see the fear in his eyes. And who knows, by the time we get to use your dagger he might even beg us to kill him.”

Finbarre scoffed. “Have you ever done that, wildling? Have you ever begged?”

“No,” Tormund growled hoarsely, his glaring eyes dark and menacing like those of a caged wolf. “But you will.”

Ven Umber guffawed and turned to Glover. “Did you hear that, Robett? The filthy animal hasn’t learned manners yet, and he wants to be a northern lord.”

“Gag him,” Glover said and threw a piece of dirty cloth for Umber to catch. “Maybe you should start by chopping off an arm, or a foot, immobilize him first. He’s dangerous.”

“I might just do that,” Ven said and began to draw his sword as his brother gagged Tormund with the cloth.

“No, use that one,” Glover said and held up a big sword with a lion on its pommel. “It belonged to her but I don’t think she will be needing it anymore,” he said looking at Brienne. “It’s only fitting.”

“Don’t you dare…” Brienne growled through gritted teeth.

“What was that?” Glover began but the fearful glimpse in her eyes made him stop in his tracks. He saw the worry and the desperation. He saw everything. The feelings she had be trying to hide all this time were now plain as day.

“Oh. Ooooh,” he smiled as the realization hit him. “I understand now. I understand why the wildling left his newlywed wife to follow them into the wilderness. He followed her.” He pointed at Brienne who was now covered in cold sweat. “Lord Umber, it seems we hit two birds with one stone here. Torture one and you’re torturing both. She doesn’t want us to use her precious sword on her precious wilding. Do you, Lady Brienne?”

“Glover, you traitorous sadistic bastard…” Brienne hissed as she tried to escape the men holding her.

“Stay put and you might spend a little more time with your loved one before Finbarre and the rest take care of you too.”

Finbarre jolted joyously at the mention of his name; this is what he’d been waiting for since he saw her the previous night lying face down on the floor of her cell helpless and unconscious, her long legs spread open, the lower part of her gambeson folded up on her back and revealing her delicious behind to him. Soon there would be nothing between him and her ass, and it was about time he and his companions got paid for all their efforts.

“Are you getting wet, bitch?” Finbarre jeered. “I’ll get you wet I promise. I sure am getting hard for you right now.” He grabbed his crotch and rubbed it up and down causing the rest of the men to burst in laughter.

That was the straw that broke the horse’s back. No gag could silence Tormund’s wrath now, no dagger in his throat could keep him down. With a fearful roar he pulled his arm trying to get rid of one of his captors but he only managed to drag the man in front of him. Ven Umber immediately punched Tormund in the stomach making him fall on his knees.

“Not so fast, lovebird.”

Tormund gasped desperately for air, blood dripping from his lips. Ven had hit him so hard that Tormund barely felt or heard the ripping of his clothes as Leecan tore the back of his tattered tunic with the dagger.

“Time to see if you’re just like us under that thick skin of yours, wildling,” Lord Glover said. “Time to see if… Royce. Finally you’re here. What’s wrong?”

The grizzly man had just appeared in the courtyard, pale as a ghost, lips trembling.

“You’re shaking, my lord, what’s happening?” Glover insisted.

“Dead…” Lord Royce whispered. “He’s… he’s dead…”

“Who is dead?”

“Lord Arryn... Robin… Robin’s dead. My sweet sweet boy.”

Nobody spoke. Sansa was hardly breathing. The Umbers were too busy kicking Tormund and ripping the remains of his tunic. For a moment there the men’s grip on Brienne felt loose; it was now or never, she would escape them while they were distracted, but Sansa was far from her and standing too close to Glover. Brienne might not get a chance to grab a weapon before Glover used Oathkeeper to threaten Catelyn Stark’s daughter.

Tears were running down Yohn Royce’s cheeks.

“He was mine to protect after Lady Lysa died and I… I couldn’t save him.  I couldn’t save Lord Arryn. That arrow… it must have been poisoned. The Vale… the Vale is doomed.”

He was stuttering now, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Pull yourself together, man!” Glover urged him grabbing his shoulder and trying to steady him with one hand, the other still holding on to Oathkeeper. “Nothing’s lost. Lord Baelish will be the lord of the Eyrie now, calm down!”

“Lord Baelish…!” Royce lifted his head in a moment of clarity, tears still welling up in his eyes.

Robett Glover let go of Royce’s shoulder taking a step back. It was too late now, he had to speak. His eyes were cold as ice.

“You didn’t expect Lord Baelish to let the boy live, did you?” he said in a low dark voice. “He would never let a weakling stand in his way to become lord of the Vale.”

“You… knew?!... And you let it happen?”

Glover blinked.

“I didn’t let it happen. I ordered it.”

Lord Royce was too dumbfounded to utter a single word. Sansa was shedding silent tears. Even the Umbers stopped beating Tormund and lifted him up grabbing him by both arms as they watched the exchange between the two lords. Tormund was coughing out blood, his brow split open, his face and naked torso badly bruised. He was too weak to resist them anymore.

Brienne felt her heart miss a beat.

She had failed the lady she had sworn to protect.

She had failed the man she loved.

“You… ordered it…!” Royce muttered.

“It had to be done. Ever since those wildling bastards invaded our lands nothing was the same. I'm glad we'll get rid of them at last and I can only thank Lord Baelish for that. It was his idea to capture Tormund after he sent Robin and Sansa to the Eyrie for their supposed marriage. Littlefinger would never give up the Eyrie to a retarded little boy.”

“That little boy was my lord! He could have let him live!” Royce barked.

“No he couldn’t, you know it as well as I. That was the price we had to pay to get rid of the wildling leader, my lord. It was a fair trade. He didn’t tell you because he knew you would back down, but he told me. I instructed his men to use the poisoned arrow. It’s all for the best, now calm down!”

A dark crazy laughter filled the air, a chilling barking sound. Everyone turned to Tormund. His face was a bloody bruised mess but he could still laugh. The Umbers held him tight but they didn’t dare stop him. He was cackling uncontrollably and spitting blood at the same time.

“You fucking kneelers,” he roared trying not to choke on his own blood. “You fucking stupid kneelers. Finding new lords and kings to kneel to every single time. How does it feel now, Royce? How does it feel to bend the knee to Littlepecker of all people? He tricked you well, didn’t he?”

Royce stopped weeping. His eyes were fixed on Tormund.

“You’ll be fine serving that smirking little weasel now. You deserve each other, you know,” Tormund nodded. “Come to think of it, it could be an improvement from that dim-witted runt you had for a lord. I wonder if he would ever manage to wield a sword or hit a target with an arrow. I doubt it but I’m sure you’d urge him to try, if he ever let go of his feeding bottle that is. But I guess we’ll never know, will we? I’m sure he couldn’t even take a piss without you.”

Royce’s eyes widened as all rational thought left him.

“Songs will be written about you, old man, wait and see,” Tormund giggled. “The Wet Nurse and the Halfwit. I’m sure you’d even breastfeed him if you could, that does sound like something you-“

Not a second passed and Oathkeeper was no longer in Glover’s hand. It was in Royce’s furious grip as he pushed back Glover stealing the sword from him, marching frantically towards Tormund. Brienne yanked at her captors instinctively, tightening her right fist but grabbing nothing but air, as if trying to control Oathkeeper from a distance. What was this madman thinking? Was this his ultimate attempt at a petty triumph over his tormentors, his final insult? What a fool, what a STUPID fool!

“You shut your mouth, you filthy-“ Royce hissed.

“Or what?” Tormund mocked him with a mad desperate grin on his face. “Will you help me piss as well, Royce? Will you hold my pecker for me? You’ll need both hands, old man, it’s quite heavy…”

With a horrible cry Royce lifted Oathkeeper over Tormund’s head but Tormund was quicker; and stronger. At the very last minute he pulled his left arm in front of him with a beastly growl dragging Leecan between him and Royce’s sword, shielding himself against the aged knight’s rage. Oathkeeper landed on Leecan’s neck half-beheading him, blood squirting everywhere. As soon as his left arm was released Tormund turned the other way and clobbered Ven Umber’s face until it was a mass of blood and broken bones. Before Royce could pull Oathkeeper out of Leecan’s neck Tormund grabbed Ven’s sword and chopped off Royce’s hand. Oathkeeper fell on the ground with a clang. The aged lord was screaming.

Tormund’s distraction was enough; for a split second Brienne felt her captors’ grip loosen up. Now was the time. She head-butted one of them and pushed the other to the ground, kicking him until he was unconscious. She then took his sword and pierced his chest through and through before finishing off the other man as well.

As soon as they saw what was happening, Finbarre, Aedan and the others grabbed their swords and circled the pair. Brienne was quick enough to grab Sansa, drag her away from Glover and place her behind her. She had her back turned on Tormund and couldn’t see his watchful eyes, his tense muscles or his head crouching like a predator, and as the adrenaline set her pulse racing with deafening violence she could hardly hear his quick breathing.  But for the first time in her life she had the weirdest feeling: she felt as if she was in two places at once. Their hearts beat as one, their breathing was synchronized. And even with her back turned on him it was like she was looking in a mirror.

That moment they were one. And they had only one thing in their minds: escape.

Tormund didn’t wait for Littlefinger’s men, he attacked first. They thought they had him at a disadvantage but the beating he took from the Umber brothers did nothing to soothe his rage. In a matter of minutes he eliminated all his opponents. Except one.

Finbarre was crawling on the ground trying to escape Tormund but his leg was broken. He was sniveling like a baby as he turned on his back, raising his hands in a hopeless attempt to protect himself from the wild monster with the flaming hair.

“Don’t… Don’t kill me!” he begged. “Please…”

“What did you say to my woman?” Tormund growled.

“Please! Oh please don’t..!”

“What. Did you say. To my woman.”

Tormund grabbed him by the hair and Finbarre cried in pain. “Are you wet enough for me, blondie?” he whispered. “Are you? Oh I forgot, you don’t have a pussy. Well, let me carve one for you.”

He raised Oathkeeper and shoved it into Finbarre’s groin. The young man squealed like a pig. Tormund stabbed him again and again until his crotch was covered by a glistening pool of blood.

The half-naked madman smiled coldly as drops of Finbarre’s blood were running down his forehead. “Seems wet enough to me now,” he chuckled.

He turned to Brienne and Sansa. The last man standing was Glover. He was in a bad state and weaponless with Brienne’s sword pointing at his neck but he was still looking her in the eye. Yohn Royce was sitting on the ground next to him. He was dying, the loss of his hand had drained him.  Tormund almost pitied the old man.

“Go on,” Glover muttered. “You might as well kill me.”

“I might,” Brienne quipped with a steely voice.

Glover didn’t expect that answer. For a moment there he thought of surrendering but he knew it was too late to beg. “You can tell the King in the North,” he said decisively “What I did, I did it for my people. I did it for my Erena.”

“It is quite unfortunate then that you won’t be there to tell her,” Sansa murmured calmly and her eyes were darker than the rain clouds that were gathering in the sky. She slowly turned to Brienne and nodded. Brienne nodded back. Without hesitation the warrior woman swang her sword and beheaded Robett Glover, the lord of Deepwood Motte. His lifeless body collapsed on the ground in front of Yohn Royce who was now too weak to even sit up.

The Knight of the Vale tried to lift his head and face the people he had persecuted. He struggled to lean on his elbow but he had lost too much blood. He lied back down.

“Lady Stark, I’m so sorry,” he wheezed. “So very sorry. I don’t deserve to live as I don’t deserve to find peace in death either.”

Sansa kneeled beside him and brushed his hair back wiping away the sweat from his feverish forehead. He was pale as death but his grey eyes were full of regret and sorrow.

“You brought the Knights of the Vale to the north, Lord Royce,” Sansa said as she tried to smile. “You helped my brother. You deserve Mother’s mercy.”

“I betrayed you...” Royce whimpered. He had lost too much blood now, and there were no tears left in his eyes. Only pain.

“I’m so sorry, Lady Stark, I’m so…”

Sansa knew he was a traitor but couldn’t hold back her tears. “Give my greetings to Sweetrobin when you see him. I know you will.”

“I’m so sorry, my lady, I’m… So….” He stopped struggling. He was finally at peace.

He wasn’t a lord, or a knight, or a traitor anymore.

He was nothing.

Sansa wiped her tears as the first raindrops started falling.

“Time to go,” Tormund said dryly and he turned his back on the bodies of the northern lords and Littlefinger’s men. “I’ll get the horses.”

“Lady Sans-“ Brienne said.

“I’m alright,” Sansa interrupted her. “Let’s go.”

Brienne took a deep breath – she knew Sansa was suffering even if she was too proud to show it. The last few days had been horrifying to her.

“I promise you as soon as we’re able to send a raven I’ll ask for men to come here and burry the bodies of Lord Arryn and Lord Royce.”

“I wish their bodies could be taken back to the Vale,” Sansa replied. “Sweetrobin would like to be with his mother.”

“I know,” Brienne said taking a small bow.

“The horses are ready, come on,” Tormund barked.

Brienne gave him a scornful look. “Can you wait? Lady Sansa needs a bit of a rest. Just a little longer.”

“She can rest,” Tormund answered. “On her horse. Soon it will be pouring down and we do not want to stay anywhere near the Dreadfort. We don’t know if Lord Littlepecker has sent any more men.”

“Lady Sansa is mourning. She just lost her cousin. That ‘dim-witted runt’. I think Lord Arryn deserves your respect – and your patience.”

Tormund pulled the straps of his saddle and looked at her. Headstrong to the end.

He shrugged tilting his head.

“So be it. The rain can wait for us I guess. Although you shouldn’t take my words about the boy so seriously.”

“Perhaps I should,” Brienne snapped. “Was that the great plan you came up with yesterday after I… after we… talked?

Tormund let out a snicker but Brienne ignored him.

“Did you have to offend Lord Arryn’s memory so much in front of Lady Sansa?”

Tormund gave her a look of disbelief. “He’s dead. We’re alive,” he said and without warning he threw Oathkeeper for Brienne to catch. It would have hit her in the face if not for her impeccable reflexes. It almost did. “I hope you’re happy we are,” he continued icily as he turned his back on her.

“I am happy.”

“You don’t look happy to me, Lady Brienne.”

“I am happy… you are… not dead.”

The change in her tone made him turn. She was looking down embarrassed, her cheeks, spilled with blood just like his, blushing like a little girl’s. Tormund smiled.

“Is this the closest to a love confession I’ll ever get from you?” he sighed. His heart was already racing but if she kept being stubborn as a mule he wouldn’t take a single step towards her. He only wished they were alone.

“No. But this is.”

Without letting go of Oathkeeper, Brienne walked towards him, put her hand on his cheek and placed a light kiss on his lips. She sure knew how to surprise him. His lips parted as he closed his eyes and tasted the sweat and the blood and the sweetness of her mouth. Gods, this was heavenly. Her tongue dominated his and then it dawned on him: they had never kissed before. They had done lots of things to each other but this was their first kiss. And he wasn’t dreaming, it was real.

He let his hand slide around her waist and he gently pressed her against his naked torso. He heard her moan. Just a tiny moan, meant only for him to hear. And there was nothing he could do about his erection now. He wondered if she was as excited as he was, if there was another way to tell. He was dying to feel her ass, make her feel his hard-on but he didn’t want to offend Sansa, or Brienne would take his head. But she was still holding back, still hugging him with only one hand. The other was holding Oathkeeper, never letting it go.

Tormund pulled back and smiled as their lips glistened with saliva and drops of rain. Their hair was getting more and more wet but none of them seemed too eager to leave now.

“Is this another distraction to make us stay longer under the pouring rain?” he joked. “Do you have an ulterior motive again?”

“No,” Brienne smiled back beaming with joy. She was the most charming creature in the world.

“In that case…” Tormund took her hand gently by the wrist, held Oathkeeper by the hilt and made her loosen her grip. He put down the blade slowly, carefully, without ever letting her go of his sight, smiling as he rose again to hold her with both hands. He couldn’t help noticing her biting her lip ever so slightly, lustfully, as her gaze travelled down his round belly and even lower than that. She wanted to see him. With a deep sigh he pressed her against him and was happy to feel both her hands caressing his back, his ribs, his waist, her fingers sneakily reaching into the back of his trousers as she lost herself in his mouth, and tried to steady herself while he gave in to his uncontrollable desire for her. And since he couldn’t feel her generous curves or dive into her pants just yet he simply stood there, waiting for the hot wave of desire to retreat and his heart to calm down.

Finally they pulled away from each other.

“Let’s go,” Brienne whispered in his ear.

“Yes, it’s time,” Tormund agreed and smiled back. “Or you’ll finish me in front of Sansa, and I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it.”