#jon snow x sansa stark fanfiction

[thebiggerbear]

Jonsa Fic Recs List

Rec list under Read More:

Teeth by @orangeflavoryawp - Jon and Sansa. How wolves lay claim.

they tumble down by thimbleful - When Sansa suggests it's time for her and Jon to marry, she means they should make marriage alliances with the other Northern houses. Jon, though, assumes she means they should marry each other. A post s7 story where Jon and Sansa struggle to navigate their new political landscape while suppressing their feelings for one another, Arya does everything in her power to protect her pack, and Bran and Sam try to figure out how to kill the Night King.

Aragorn married Arwen, though. by @reginarubie

*I will add more as I go

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[lumillsie]

ೃ⁀➷ all my life. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

jon snow x f!arryn!reader headcanons

╰┈➤ in which lady catelyn's niece is brought to winterfell as a ward, and grows to care for her misliked stepson.

a/n : I put jon's birth year as 283 ac, whereas in the show he was born in 281ac - so I struggled a bit on which to choose, but ultimately 283ac suited my outline for the story a bit better. the characters are still aged up as per their show versions. I've also aged down robin arryn, implying that both jon and reader would be in their adolescence during his birth, whereas in the source material, jon is only a few years older than robin.

massive, massive shoutout to @angelseraphines for being my greatest support as always, and I'm not sure if I would've gone ahead and published this if not for her encouragement 🩷

╰┈➤ in 285ac, lord jon arryn and his lady wife lysa welcomed the first of their living children.

╰┈➤ you were a beautiful babe, bright-eyed with a lovely smile, truly the apple of the hand's eye. lord arryn had been married three times in his lifetime, and you were the first of his children to live to term. the graying man was enamored with your newborn-self, and he wished for nothing but your safety and joy.

╰┈➤ for all his love for you, the hand of the king knew how venomous the environment of the royal court to be. the halls were dripping with the schemes of those who wished to advance their positions, and a man of his position knew that the only living child, let alone a girl, of his would be treated as no more than a tool of the court's most cunning.

╰┈➤ your father wished to see you happy and contented, and he wished to keep you safe from the treachery of red keep. and so, on the eve of your sixth nameday, your father wrote to the boy he once fostered in the vale, now a lord paramount in his own right. eddard stark was possibly the only man jon arryn trusted to the same extent he trusted his grace, the king. it was a difficult decision to make, but he was acting in your best interests. life at winterfell would suit his little falcon better, for you would grow strong and you'd be well-looked after. you'd be far away from the glances of power-hungry, lecherous men who wished for nothing but power. you would be with family as well, as the lady catelyn was your mother's only sister - and her children your closest blood. it was a great honour in westeros, to be trusted with the upbringing of one's child, and it was an honour lord arryn would bestow upon lord stark.

╰┈➤ lysa was resistant to the idea of sending away her only living child - the years of losing babe after babe had taken their toll on her, but she eventually relented. you would be safer in winterfell, and catelyn was still her sister - for all the distance between them.

╰┈➤ mere days after lord stark accepted your father's offer, you were sent to winterfell as a ward with a kiss on the forehead from your mother and an unusually tight hug from your father.

╰┈➤ the first couple of weeks were rough - for you were often coddled by your parents. you missed tugging on your mother's skirts and resting in your father's arms. you weren't used to the absence of them, and while you tried not to cause trouble for your caretakers - they could tell you had a hard time adjusting.

╰┈➤ there were two people in winterfell whose presence brought you comfort during that trying time. the first was your aunt, lady catelyn stark, your mother's only sister. you knew little else of winterfell, but you were comforted by the familiar shade of auburn that cascaded down her shoulders and the unique cadence to her voice that could only be ascribed to a woman born of riverrun. she wasn't your mother, but she was the closest to her anyone could get. she sung you lullabies only your mother knew, and the gentle manner in which she treated you was that of a mother towards her child. the second was the boy named after your father, jon snow. you latched onto him early on in your stay in winterfell, and nobody was quite sure as to why. perhaps it was for his name, for you often called for him - at first you were calling for your father, but jon always answered. he was two years your senior and still a boy unsure of his place in his own home - for all the love of his father and the acceptance of his siblings was matched evenly with pointed looks and whispers of bastardy, as well as lady catelyn's cold distance and her decision to ignore his existence the best he could. some would say that it was your insistence on seeking him out that helped reassure the dark-haired boy of his place. of all the nobles and commonfolk at winterfell, you gravitated towards him.

╰┈➤ at first you were content to spend your time with him in silence, and he never appeared opposed to that. within a few weeks, you were talking to him about your life back in the crownlands. you talked about your mother, and her watchful, protecting eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. you talked about your father, and his insistence on making time for your regardless of how pertinent his responsibilities may have been at any given point. you talked about the king too, and his tales of the valour and glory he experienced side by side with jon's own father. he spoke to you too, of how lovely his father and siblings were, of winterfell's hidden gems and it's most well-known attractions. he promised to take you to the weirwood tree in the godswood when the opportunity arose, and he followed through on his promise. jon snow had become, aside for the lady catelyn whom you'd grown to love as you loved your mother, your dearest person.

╰┈➤ your aunt catelyn was not fond of your budding friendship with the reminder of her husband's indiscretion - that much was plain to see by the harsh manner in which her brows furrowed and frown of her lips, and yet she made no move to disallow it. she could see that his presence helped you get used to your new home, and soon enough you were playing with sansa, teaching arya and bran how to say your name and often fetching robb to speak with him on the way to break your fast. it pleased to see your aunt to see you and her own children bond so quickly, and she kept her dissatisfaction of your bond with jon to herself.

╰┈➤ jon was there for many of the major moments of your life, with the most notable being the first letter you'd written your parents. you had just started learning how to read in the red keep, but lord stark made sure to place you with septa mordane alongside his daughters and he kept an eye on you to make sure your education was advancing. not to mention, lord and lady stark were adamant in ensuring that you remained in touch with your parents - making sure you became literate was the most important factor in that. early on, you would ask jon to re-read your letters before you were to show them to lord stark, and your friend was always glad to do it. the faint red hue that enveloped his cheeks as he read the parts where you mentioned him to your father went unnoticed by you, too focused on making sure that your letter was presentable to lord eddard.

╰┈➤ you remained close through your childhood and closer into adolescence, but it wasn't until one fateful evening that somebody changed between the two of you.

╰┈➤ the letter you received from your parents was unlike any other you had received in the past. the words seemed to swirl on the yellowed paper, and you could feel a headache in coming. your mother had given birth to a son - a proper heir to the vale. you should have felt happy, overjoyed even. a part of you, unfortunately, felt overwhelmed by misery and you could not quite understand why. you were content in winterfell, loved even - and you knew you were never to be heir to begin with, for you were a daughter and your father had plenty of nephews to choose from. so, why did you feel so unhappy? you couldn't quite figure it out, at least not until you spoke to the one person who understood why you felt the way you did, even when you yourself could not.

╰┈➤ you'd skipped supper in favor of spending the evening by the godswood, and truthfully, you expected aunt catelyn to send robb to retrieve you when it was due time for you to return to your chambers. instead, you were surprised to see that jon came for you instead. as you rose from beneath the weirwood tree, red leaves giving way to a darkened sky, you walked side by side with jon towards the great keep. he spoke to you quietly then, of things you never dared ask and he never dared to say outloud. he spoke to you of the mystery of his mother, of wanting to know who she was and if she had wanted him, of wanting to know what kind of person she was. it was only then that the truth of your misery dawned on you. you wished to truly know your parents, and your brother - but you never truly could. for all the letters in the world cannot bring you the closeness of having your family near. robin would know your parents in the ways that you never would, and they would know him in ways that they never knew you. it was a bitter pill to swallow, but you felt as if you could breathe easier - with the realisation clear in your mind.

╰┈➤ you were grateful to jon as well, for his vulnerability with you and for his kindness. you thanked him for walking you back to your chambers, and left a chaste peck on his cheek before retreating. "I am grateful... for you, and all that you are" were the words you spoke to him. a silent acknowledgement hung in the air between the two of you. he was still your dearest friend, and you were his - but something had changed. the way in which you regarded one another had changed.

╰┈➤ it was as if the wall that you two had carefully placed between yourselves had found itself with holes in it. you were still careful, chaste even - but it was apparent to those around you that you two loved eachother. you'd make handkerchiefs for him in your embroidery classes and he'd gently hold onto your hand in the privacy of the godswood.

╰┈➤ none were truly aware of the extent of your affections for one-another, for you were both aware of your positions. you were a noble-man's daughter, entrusted in the care of jon's father who was meant to find you a suitable match and marry you off well. you were considered a bride for theon greyjoy or willas tyrell, but not jon. not a baseborn son of your noble caretaker, with no titles to his name and no inheritance to claim. furthermore, were you to rebel and marry jon without anyone's knowledge - you would soil not only the reputations of your fathers, but the goodwill and bond they shared, for lord arryn entrusted lord stark with your upbringing.

╰┈➤ you two grew closer over the following year, and it was apparent to both of you that you would not have the time to properly court one another before pursuing a way to convince your fathers to allow marriage. you were a woman grown, of marrying age. not to mention, you were lord arryn's only daughter, and a marriage to you was the most effective manner in which a noble house could strengthen its ties to the vale. lord and lady stark, with minor interference from your parents, were close to making their decision - and your aunt made sure to consult you often in subtle manners, asking whether you'd prefer to remain in winterfell when you marry, asking if you'd like to return to the red keep once you are to have a family of your own. you could not avoid your fates any longer.

╰┈➤ you pondered over what to do for a couple of days, but you knew you had no time to wait. without informing jon, you decided to plea your case to your aunt catelyn - the person you'd always felt closest to in winterfell, from the day you arrived to the present. you knew of her mislike for jon, there wasn't a singular person in winterfell who wasn't aware of it - and yet, during all these years, she hadn't said a word to you of your closeness. you asked for an audience with her in the evening, and you told her everything as you sat with your hands in hers atop the fur carpets by the roar of the fire. you confided in her about how precious jon had always been to you, of how you felt the evening of robin's birth and of how you had love for jon in a way a lady should only have love for her husband. your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you spoke to her of how you feared a betrothal, as you didn't think you could bare being married to anyone else. she listened to you as you spoke. when you finished, she leaned down to give you a kiss on the forehead and exited the room. you never got an answer from her.

╰┈➤ lady catelyn's heart ached from the weight of what she had to do. she resented jon, but she could never truly hate him as a person. she feared what his existence, and the way he looked, may mean for her own children but she could never begrudge you for befriending him. this, however, could be disastrous for all of you - and she needed to put a stop to it. she sought jon out the following morning, before it was time for the family to break their fast. she warned him of what his involvement with you could do to your reputation, and of how marrying him would cause you to lose all that you were born with. a woman has little choice in this world but to marry well, and your singular status as lord arryn's only daughter provided you with a privilege not many women could afford - a privilege you would lose were you to marry him. she urged him to put distance between the two of you, if he cared for you as you claimed he did. it was the first time she'd really acknowledged him, and her words stung - perhaps nearly as deep as her resentment and distance once did.

╰┈➤ you were unaware of the fact that this conversation had even taken place to begin with, and jon's insistence on ignoring you came as a shock. you couldn't tell what you had done wrong and you were unsure of how to reason with him.

╰┈➤ it wasn't easy for him to keep his distance from you either, but he took lady catelyn's words to heart. he truly believed that if he kept his distance from you, then you would have an easier time accepting a potential betrothal - as you were always meant to do. now that he was at a distance from you, he was free to confide in robb - and he found comfort in his brother. it was difficult, keeping his feelings from the man he trusted most to begin with and robb's brotherly teasing, as well as his unspoken understanding helped him cope with his decision. for a time at least.

╰┈➤ this tense situation and the distance between you was broken by the most tragic news of your life - your father and the hand of the king, lord jon arryn, had passed away. in addition to your grief, added pressure was placed upon your shoulders as the news of the royal family's impending visit to winterfell reached you. all of this proved to be too much for you, and you crumbled once again, for the first time since your arrival to the north. it was jon whom you turned to once again, and he couldn't find it in him to turn you down. he held you in his arms as you wept, and as you turned to look to him - you made the bold move you'd never dared to make. you leaned upwards and planted a kiss upon his lips, the salty taste of tears staining both of you. he gave in for a split second, before pulling away - remembering lady catelyn's words. "I intend to promise myself to the night's watch. I've already made my father aware of my decision" he confessed to you, his tone gentle yet final. it was then that you asked him why, your voice on the brink of shattering. he spoke to you of his conversation with lady catelyn, and of the steps he took to make sure your reputation wasn't soiled - of the steps he took to make sure you could still have a good life.

╰┈➤ you left him wordlessly then, anger coursing through every inch of your body. you were angry for a multitude of reason - at your father, for sending you to winterfell to begin with. at the world, for taking your father from you before you'd had the chance to see him once more. at your aunt catelyn and jon, for making decisions that concerned you without even thinking to consult you.

╰┈➤ you withdrew to yourself, simply going through the motions as you prepared for the king and his family to arrive at winterfell. you felt no joy at the prospect of seeing him once again, and the thought of his visit served as nothing more than a reminder that you were truly never going to see your father again. you were courteous but curt in all your exchanges, but you exchanged nothing more than pleasantries with all those around you. jon tried to speak with you often, to ensure that you two weren't going to go your separate ways on such poor terms - but he was unsuccessful. you had switched places, with you now ignoring his attempts to speak with you as he had done weeks before.

╰┈➤ the issues between you two and your pointed attempts to ignore him are once again put on hold with all the madness that follows the royal family's visit - bran's accident, your mother's letter to catelyn and the king's offer to lord stark all become topics much more pertinent than jon's upcoming departure and your potential betrothals, and the two of you settle into a peaceful coexistence within the last few days of his stay at winterfell. in truth, as you came to accept your father's death and the unfortunate fate that befell bran, you came to the conclusion that the short time you had with one another was a precious thing, not to be wasted - and you sought him out often, just as you once did.

╰┈➤ the morning he was set to leave for the night's watch, you rose early in the hour of the nightingale- and you sought him out. you walked to the godswood once more, your arm brushing against his. "I believe that I have loved you all my life. I believe that I will love you for the rest of it" you admitted to him as he reached out to grasp your hands in his, a sad smile making its way across your face. "I have loved you all my life, and I will love you for the rest of it" he vowed to you as he leaned down to press his final, gentle kiss upon your lips. you needn't have spoken words of forgiveness or talked much of anything else. you were overcome with a melancholic contentedness in that very moment. jon left his home with his uncle benjen within the next few hours, but he left his heart in winterfell with you.

╰┈➤ that very same evening, you wept in your aunt catelyn's arms. her kiss upon your forehead felt the same as your mother's on the day you last saw her - on the day you left your home behind.

a/n : and that's where I think I'm going to end this! if I ever feel like it, I may revisit jon and arryn!reader later down the line - perhaps with a quick rewrite of season and a happier ending than I gave them here. the original version of this fic is still in my drafts, but I legitimately hated the pacing and the dynamic between jon and reader felt rushed so I rewrote the whole thing - I'm still not fully happy with it, but I much prefer this version and I'm more comfortable publishing it. I hope you enjoy reading this, and please be sure to leave some constructive criticism as I do think there are some parts here that I think can be improved. please do forgive me if the pacing feels slightly off, I struggled quite a bit with this prompt and I legitimately could not write this fic a third time nor expand on it more to try and make it more sensible.

as always, I'm tagging several different characters to help get the post out to as many people as possible, but I do write for all of the characters tagged below so please feel free to request something for them.

[llonelygoddess]

Yandere House Stark Headcanons

A/N: I ended up not doing Bran and Rickon only because I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later and they were a little difficult to write for. If you'd like to see headcanons for them I can definitely make another post for them, just let me know.

Let's say you are a low born person looking for refuge in Winterfell after your village was sacked by Wildlings. You had hoped to find some tavern to hold up in or even a brothel, but unbeknownst to you the Stark family kept an eye on newcomers. When they received news of your arrival, they requested your presence. It was only to talk about the possibility of nearby Wildlings, but when YOU showed up beaten and scared for your life- how could they not offer their Stark hospitality?

This is where the yandere tendencies begin.

Ned Stark, as a yandere, is protective and definitely has a savior complex. He's an honorable and just man that can't help but bring home strays, so when he sees you it's like finding Jon all over again. A deep sense of responsibility comes over him and he knows in that moment that you are just as much his as any of his kids. From that day forward he assigns a room for you in the castle and a handmaiden to keep you company, not that you'll be needing it. The family of course is shocked at his sudden interest, but they all love to see him happy and nothing makes him more happy than seeing you taken care of.

Now Catelyn is initially worried that Ned has taken a romantic interest in you, but when she sees the way you both interact she understands the fatherly bond he is trying to create very similar to his own kids. It didn't take long for her to fall into her own yandere tendencies; checking in on you in the mornings, making prayer wheels even when you're not sick, helping in the kitchen to make sure your food was perfect ( and not poisoned). She takes her role as your surrogate mother very seriously,sometimes to the extent of watching you sleep or ordering guards to discreetly watch over you and report back. Her biggest worry is that you'll be taken away from them so she takes extra precautions to keep you safe.

Robb is head over heels for you instantly. Man is down bad. Much like his father, Robb has a savior complex and finds himself wanting to be YOUR savior always. He does this by training extra hard with Jon, keeping an eye on you at all times, and giving threatening looks to any man or woman who gets too close to you. He doesn’t mean to scare away any potential friends but he does mean to scare away potential lovers. He couldn’t bear to see you with anyone outside the family, and even then he has a sword up his butt about it. 

On the other hand, Jon takes a while to warm up to you. He loves his family and is vicious to outsiders who could harm them. Eventually, seeing how you interact with everyone makes him a tad jealous. Not of you, but of his family and how easily they can approach you. I definitely see Jon as an overprotective/stalker yandere with strong jealous tendencies that make him beg for your approval. He finds himself wherever you are, lurking in the background, waiting for the right moment to catch you alone. Jon feels like himself around you and the more time you spend together the more addicted to your presence he becomes. 

Theon is hands down THE worshiper of the group. It's a hot take for sure but as a yandere, I see Theon's insecurities and fears taking over, slightly similar to reek!Theon. He sees you as a deity, above the Lords and Ladies, even above the King/Queen themself. If it were up to him he'd be the one giving you your meals, running your baths, standing by your side as guard. He cherishes your very presence and hopes one day you'll see his never ending loyalty to you and only you. 

Sansa is very quiet about her obsession, you almost couldn't tell. She's the perfect friend, always sitting next to you at meals, gossiping about the Lords and Lady's of court, and helping you stock your wardrobe. Whatever hobby you choose to pick up, she's always there to praise you in your efforts and guide you in whatever way she can. She especially loves teaching you how to embroider as it's her specialty. It was all but normal until you came upon her private journal filled with both your names in beautiful cursive surrounded by hearts. You begin to notice the closeness she silently demands, eyeing everyone else to stay away. You see the way she longingly watches you from afar when you choose to spend time with anyone else. And your dresses, that you both so carefully picked out, seem to have a little embroidered "SS" on the nape of your neck.

Arya sees you as her golden older sibling, the one who can do no wrong. She is constantly dragging you around Winterfell - riding horses and trying to shoot arrows (and failing lol). She finds comfort within you, the only person who doesn't expect anything of her except to be herself. And for that she will never leave your side. Most nights you'll find her trying to sneak into your room to share a bed, but whether she can get past the guards Ned and Catelyn have posted outside your door is another story.

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival. A thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am��” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

[k4marina]

— Prologue: Dragonstone|| Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a trip to Dragonstone goes a little wrong, or does it?

game of thrones x modern!reader

4.5k+ word count

sereis masterlist || next part

"Why are we doing this during the hottest day of the year, again?" Daeron mutters, using the brochure that was given to us at the beginning of the tour as a fan.

If I could, I would've replied, but the heat was also getting to me, draining away my energy. And, on top of the scorching heat, I'd just finished the last of my water. I pursed my lips together, the line wasn’t that long and I’m sure I can buy another overpriced water bottle after we visited the caves.

The group tour guide turned back to us, just as exhausted, and somewhat bashful. He said something, but I couldn't be bothered with it as I was too focused to not tip over from the heat. It was probably something like “only a few more minutes and we’ll be outta the heat, folks,” with an awkward smile or something.

The line to the caves under the castles was stupidly long, but it's no surprise. So much history was in those caves and so many mysteries had come full circle there. And, the deeper they dug, the more they uncovered the history of the Targaryens that lived there from when Aenar Targaryen moved his entire family to Dragonstone after his daughter, Daenys “the Dreamer” dreamed of the Doom of Valyria. 

"Who's idea was it to come here for our research trip?" I didn't bother looking over at him, knowing that I'd be blinded by the sun that shone directly behind his big head.

“Shut up. Your voice is giving me a headache.” I quipped. “Besides, almost everything on this island is connected to the Targaryens. It might come useful when we have to write our research paper.”

The line moved up until our group was at the front of the line. A small group of students, along with Daeron and I, were on Dragonstone for our research projects. Some of the other students had decided to stay in Kings Landing or go to other parts of Westeros for their research.

Everyone was to spend a week in their respective areas and gather all the information they needed before heading back to Kings Landing to write and then later present their topics. Some chose to do it themselves whilst others, like us, decided to go with someone else.

Today was the first day of our stay on Dragonstone. Daeron and I had decided to check out the caves and the island's beaches before we would explore the labyrinth-like castle.

I rubbed the side of my head, feeling a headache approaching. My hand reached up to my necklace that rested on my chest. The chain was long enough for it to hang in the dip of my breast.

Not only did I come here for my project, but also for me. The necklace around my neck has been in my family for generations, but no one knows from where. It’s made entirely of Valyrian Steel, which was rare back in the day, and even rarer now.

As a child, I didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t until I grew older and more curious that I started asking questions. First to my family, but all I got was even more confusing answers that led me nowhere. Then I turned towards the internet, scouring for hours until I had found it.

On the official Dragonstone website, I found pictures of the caves under the castle and possibly under the entire island. On one of the walls was a crude hand drawing of my necklace. Two dragons around a sword with a ruby in the middle –though, the ruby was replaced with a red dot. Regardless, the cave painting matched. 

The line moved up and Daeron gently pushed me up while I was lost in my thoughts. “You good?” He asks. I nod, “Yeah. The heat’s just a lot.” He gives an understanding look. Once the tour guide is given the green light, he begins to lead up to the entrance of the cave.

"Ready?" Daeron asks. I nodded and we begin walking. Once we entered the cave, my jaw was on the floor. I had seen pictures of the caves, but seeing it in real life was far more beautiful.

The deeper we got we could see the cave paintings done by the Children of the Forest which Daenerys and Jon had found. As the guide droned on about the cave paintings, I could feel my headache intensify. Why was it so hot in here? 

The deeper and deeper we went into the caves, the worse it got. My chest started to feel heavy. I struggled to put one foot in front of the other. The back of my throat burned and I felt like throwing up, but I pushed forward. 

My eyes raked the the cave walls, Where was it? Finally, I was able to see it. The markings were next to a few unknown ones. A sign with some information was hung up next to it. Despite my head pounding I was still able to read the bold words. 

Unknown markings made by who researchers believe are the Targaryens. The paint used seemed to be as old as when Aenar Targaryen moved his family to Dragonstone.

By the time I finished reading, I could feel my head pounding so loudly in my ear. It felt like an ice pick was being hammered into the side of my head. I could hear muffled voices call out, but to who I didn’t know. The room started to spin and a ringing sound filled my ears.

A hand, most likely Derons, reached out and turned me around. I could see his mouth moving, but no words coming out. My chest felt like it was overheating while my head continued to throb. Everything turned blurry and then it went black.

When I woke up, I was still in the cave. The cold stone floor had helped with bringing my body temperature down. And, my head didn't hurt anymore. After getting up, I looked around the cave. It was darker, and quiet.

Where was everyone?

Carefully, I made my way out of the cave. It was harder to walk out of the cave and the spotlights that were on the walls weren’t on. Once I was outside I was met with the night sky.

All the tents and other buildings around the beach were gone, as if they'd never been there.

Okay, this is weird.

"Hello?" My voice came out horse like I hadn’t spoken in a long time. "Hello? Is anyone there? Daeron?" 

My feet moved on their own and I tried to find someone, anyone. But there was no one. How could a populated area with tents and buildings disappear within hours?

Retracing my steps, I found the stairs that would lead me back to the Help Center that were posted around for lost tourists, but like the beach, there was nothing. Matter a fact, even the lamppost that were posted into the ground, the banners, the signs –everything was gone.

"What the actual fuck?" Panic creeped up and I could feel my heart thumping in my ears. "Gods, If this is some kinda sick fucking joke..."

At this point, I was running towards the castle. For what? I didn't know, but surely there had to be something there. The grand doors seemed to be closed so I tried to find another way in. I guess you could say I found something like a side door that took a little force to open. 

The inside of the castle was grand. High walls, banners held high, candles and lamps lit all around. Truly, it was amazing. As I was gawking at the architecture I failed to notice unknown voices walking towards me. 

“Halt!” Two unknown men dressed in what looked like armor cornered me, pointing their spears at me. “State your name! Who are you?” 

I stuttered out my name, raising my hands up so they could see I wasn’t a threat. “I’m not going to do anything, I swear.” 

The two men shared a look and a few hushed words before one of them walked over to me, grabbing my arm roughly and pulling me along. 

“Ow!” I tried to pull back, but his grip was too strong. “What the fuck dude. I said I wasn’t a threat.”

“Khaleesi will decide if you are or are not a threat.” The man who wasn’t holding onto me said. 

Khaleesi? What Khaleesi?

“Oh please don’t tell me I just walked into those real-life roleplaying things.” I groaned, earning side eyes from both of the men. 

They led me down a series of hall ways, each one intricate as the other until we stood outside of a set of polished stone double doors. Another pair of men dressed just like the cosplayers that brought me here stood in front of the doors. Without having to say any words they opened the grand doors. 

Slowly, I could see the inside being revealed. 

There, on the elevated platform stood the Throne of Dragonstone, where all the Targaryen heirs of the Iron Throne sat as they took the title “Prince of Dragonstone.” A light push brought me back as I was dragged closer to the throne. 

“Khaleesi,” the guard called out. Before I could ask who they were speaking to, an unknown voice answered. 

“What is it?” 

Light footsteps were heard from behind a wall and a woman emerged from behind it. Except it wasn’t just any woman. Even a child would know who she was. Everyone around the world knows her. 

She was Daenerys Targaryen. 

Mother of Dragons. 

The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea.

The Unburnt.

The Breaker of Chains. 

I could feel time slow down as I watched her walk over to the throne and sit down. My blood turned cold as she sat in front of me. 

No.

No.

She’s dead.

This can’t be happening.

It’s not possible.

It’s not. I have better chances of reviving dragons than traveling back in time-

“What is this?” Daenerys eyed me, confused at my appearance and why I was even here before looking at the two men. 

“We found this unknown woman wandering around the castle, Your Grace.” 

She eyed me, as if wanting me to plead my case, but the words died in my throat. Why wouldn’t they when Daenerys fucking Targaryen was right in front of me. A million thoughts ran through my head, but I couldn’t rack my brain to find one answer. 

Daenerys squinted before speaking again, this time directly towards me. “Who are you?” The High Valyrian rolled easily off of her tongue like a true Targaryen. Those three words held so much power and conviction, like a true Queen.

“Y/n Vellarys!…” I rushed to reply in Valyrian. 

“You speak good Valyrian.” She praises, but it's quickly pushed away. “But that doesn’t explain what you are doing here.”

What should I do? I bit my bottom lip as nervousness filled my body. 

Knowing that if I lie, I’ll be fileted, I took a deep breath before responding. “I don't know. I.. I,” I paused, not knowing if I should continue. If this was real then I only wanted her to know, “Can we be alone.. please?” 

The two men besides me visibly tense up, but don’t speak up. Daenerys looks down at us, seemingly in thought before she nodded. The two men bow before turning around to leave. The double doors closed with a loud thud. 

“We’re alone now, you may continue.” 

I nervously swallowed. Here we go. “This might sound weird, but.. I don’t know how I got here. I.. I woke up in the caves under the castle… alone.”

Daenerys’ face stayed neutral as I relayed the information. She seemed to take some time to process what I had just said. “Do you think I’m a fool?” 

I could feel my heart fall all the way down. Fuck.

“You woke up in the caves alone?” She repeats. “Not even a child would come up with such a stupid story like this.”

“N-n-no, Daener- I mean, Your Grace. I swear to the Gods that I’m telling the truth. I have no reason to lie to you. Especially when you could get rid of me with your dragons in a second.”

She seemed to mull over my words, as if weighing her options. “Alright, let's say you’re telling the truth. Your story still doesn’t make sense. How do you just “wake up” in a cave?” 

Now or never, I guess. 

“Actually,” I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m not from here. I come from-” The future. Fucking hell, how cliché. “-I come from a different… time.” 

Daenerys squinted and I could see the clogs in her brain moving. “You mean you’re from the future?” 

Jeez. Ripped the bandage right off. 

“Well –uh, yes,” I say. “I was touring the caves and then I –I fell unconscious or something, I still don’t know, I just know that when I woke up I ended up here.” 

I let out a frustrated sigh. What if this was just a dream and that all of this is just my imagination running wild. 

“That necklace.” 

Huh? What is she talking about? 

 I looked up, confused. “What?” 

She pointed towards my chest. I looked down and I could see my necklace was out. “What about it?” I asked.

“Where did you get it?” 

“It’s mine.” I replied. “It’s been in my family for generations. Why?” 

Now it was Daenerys’ turn to look a little nervous. 

“I’ve seen it in my dream.”

“Your dream? Like, one of those Dragon Dreams?” I ask. She gives a nod, “While we were sailing to Dragonstone I had a dream of a woman with silver hair and that necklace. Because I couldn’t see her face, I thought it was me. I’ve turned the treasury over looking for them; however, it seems that I dreamt of you.”

Ho-ly Fuck. Daenerys’ dreamt about me. What the hell. I’m about to throw up. 

“What?” Now it was my time to be skeptical of what was being said. “You dreamt about me and my necklace?”

She nodded. “It seems odd, but a Dragon Dream has never been wrong.”

“Ture, but that still leaves a lot of blanks.” My hand subconsciously went up to hold my necklace while I tried to think back. 

The deeper I walked into the cave the more my head started to hurt, but that was most likely because of dehydration… probably. But then there was a burning feeling on my chest when I looked at the symbol on the wall that matched my necklace and the burning feeling got even more intense and it felt like it was about to burn my skin-

“Fuck.” I groaned, letting go of the necklace. The outburst made Daenerys frown, “Are you alright?”

I looked down at my hands and at my necklace before looking into her eyes. “I think my necklace tried to burn me, like last time.” 

“Last time?” She frowned. “How can a necklace burn someone?”

“I don’t know. It happened before I passed out in the cave.” I let out a sigh. “Gods, what is going on.” 

“It seems that this was the God's doing,” Daenerys says, as if it was a fact. “They’ve brought you here.” 

“The Gods?” I repeat. Sure, in some sense they did bring me here. “But why?” 

“That may be something for you to find out.” Daenerys stood from the throne, walking down the steps until she was right in front of me. “I was lost once, but then the Gods gifted me my children to show me my true purpose.” 

“The Iron Throne.” I thought back to my history classes where I learned that for the fight for the Iron Throne, Daenerys lost her life as she fell into what historians said was “Targaryen Madness,” but I’ve always felt that there’s more to it. 

“It’s late, I’ll have the servants bring you to a spare room for you to rest in for the night.” As if on cue, the guards from before stepped up to us. “We can talk further tomorrow morning.”

Daenerys turned to leave from where she came from. The guards bowed as she left. Once she was gone they brought me to a spare room somewhere in the castle, this time without having to pull me around. 

The hallways were nearly empty, meaning there weren’t a lot of people living here or servants working in the castle. The most I’d seen was guards posted around. Once we were in front of two thick double doors the guards stepped back waiting for me to open them. 

It took a little force to open the door, but once I was inside, my jaw was on the floor. Despite everything being made of stone, the walls were covered in rich tapestry. There was a giant bed with lavish looking furs laid atop the bed and maroon bed sheets. 

Behind me, a servant walked in with a few sets of clothes and laid them on the bed. “We’ve prepared you some clothes,” she said. “Would you like to change now or take a bath?” 

As if on cue, I could feel how dirty I was since I was practically on the cave floors for Gods knows how long. 

“A bath would be fine, thank you,” I replied. It honestly felt weird watching servants work. Not that it was bad, just the fact that in the modern day you don’t have them. Sure maybe someone who cleans your home or makes you food, but servants?

Once they had pulled out the massive tub and manually poured in the hot water they led me to the tub. One of their hands went up to my shirt's edge and the other to my pants. 

“W-wait!” They all looked at me confused. 

“Is everything alright, My Lady?” One of the servants asked. 

No it’s not. You’re taking my clothes off. And sure, it’s your job to do practically everything for a highborn, but that ain’t me. 

“Uh, there’s no need for… all of this. I can do it myself.” 

“Are you sure?” Another girl asked. “It’s our duty to serve you.” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” I replied awkwardly. “Just not really used to all of… this. Um, anyways I can take it from here. You guys can go…” 

I internally cringed at my words. Gods, I sounded like an idiot, but could you blame me? 

The girls reluctantly agreed, leaving me alone in the room. Once they were gone I let out a sigh and began to undress myself. The water was hot, but it was fine since I practically liked showering in lava every morning. 

Settling into the tub I finally relaxed. This entire thing was just so… bizarre. At first, I thought it was some sort of dream, but that searing pain I felt wasn’t something I could just imagine. 

My necklace burned me. 

And it burned me when I first saw the markings on the cave walls. I looked down at my chest and hand, but saw nothing. 

Okay, weird. 

That aside, why was I even brought here? Why me? What do I have that made me so special that I had to be flung into this era of time?

“Think, y/n, think,” I muttered to myself. The dream. Daenerys’ dream about the necklace. But wait, no history books said anything about her having a dragon dream. Could this maybe be connected?  

For the next hour, I mulled over my options while I soaked in the tub that had turned lukewarm. Having enough, I got up and grabbed the towels that the servants had thankfully set close for me. 

The clothes that they had laid out for me were a bunch of nightgowns. Thankfully, they were my size. I decided to wear a simple white nightgown. 

Laying under the mountain of covers and blankets, I finally let myself completely relax, falling asleep. Hopefully tomorrow’s discussions can help this situation get better or at least easier. 

I woke up to the sun glaring down into my face. Groaning, I turned to my side, hoping to get some more sleep. But the damage was done. 

I could hear light shuffling in the room and things being moved around. When I opened my eyes, I was nearly flash-banged. All the windows (that are floor to ceiling length) were opened and the curtains were drawn back. 

A few servants from last night and a few new faces worked around the room. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes, catching the attention of one of the girls. 

“Good morning, My Lady. Did you sleep well?” 

“Morning,” my voice came out a little low and rough. “What’s going on?” 

“We’re getting you ready for the day,” the girl replies, matter of factly. “You will be having your morning meal with the Queen. We’ve already drawn you a fresh new bath and arranged a new set of clothes.” 

I looked at where the tub was last night, nothing that was gone, along with my clothes. 

“Where are my clothes?” I asked. 

“We’ve sent them to get washed,” the servant replied. “My Lady, if i may…” 

I nodded for her to go on. “We’ve never seen such clothes like yours before. They remind us of what the men wear however, yours are a bit more.. different.” 

“Oh, that. They’re just something that I made.” I lied. Thinking back to last night, I’m confused I didn’t get as many weird looks as I should have wearing my jeans and shirt. It's not really the typical Westerosi fashion for this time. 

“The bath is ready.” Another girl says. 

Reluctantly, I got out of bed, following them to another room adjacent to this one. The room was a massive bathroom that could function as a bathhouse. 

There was a massive tub nestled into the floor. The windows were also huge but a little higher up, letting in some natural light. I could tell the water was hot just by how much it was steaming. 

Carefully, the servants began to undress me. They led me into the water and began adding what I can only assume are oils and salts. Truthfully, it felt like I was at some fancy spa with how they washed my body and hair. 

Once that was done, they helped me into a beautiful white dress with a dark teal and gold design. I felt like a model wearing such a beautiful dress. I let my hair down, not wanting it in any style (or knowing any styles of this period). 

A servant walked me to the dining room where Daenerys was waiting for me. She wore a light blue dress with her hair braided and her three headed dragon pin.  

“Good Morning,” she greeted. 

“Morning uh, Your grace.”  I replied. “Sorry, I’ve never called anyone “your grace” before.” 

She brushed it off, motioning for me to take a seat next to her at the table where the food was already prepared. 

“How did you sleep?” She asks, beginning to eat. 

“Fine, surprisingly.” I reached down to grab a fork for my food. “How about you?” 

Was I really making small talk with Daenerys Targaryen? 

“Mine as well,” she smiled. “I was hoping we could talk a little before I had to go meet my small council.” 

“Okay, what did you want to talk about?” I wanted to smack myself. Every time I spoke it was full of nerves and anxiety. 

“Let’s start with you. Your name and where you’re from.” Daenerys says confidently. “Judging by your looks, you’re of Valyrian descent.” She says, eyeing my silver hair. 

“Yes,” I nodded. “My family moved from Volantis to the Eyrie. My family is known to be of the Old Blood in Volantis.” 

“The Old Blood?” Daenerys says, surprised. 

The Old Blood are a group of people in Volantis that have proven to be the last remaining families of Valyria. They live in a perched area of the city that only they can walk. All the families in that area still continue their Valyrian traditions and practices, just minus the dragons. 

I nodded, “My father is the youngest of four sons, so he thought ‘why not move to westeros and start something there?’ knowing that he wouldn’t have to really carry on the family name.” 

“And your family name is Vellarys?” She recalled from last night. 

“Yes. We’re known for our jewelry making in Volantis. That’s why my father moved to Westeros, to open a shop there without having to take over the business and stress like his older brother.

“As for myself, I have two older brothers. One is working to be a doctor,” Daenerys frowned at that, confused, “uh, it’s like a Maester. The other is helping my father run the shop.” 

“And what about yourself?” 

“I’m in school. I go to the University of Kings Landing.” 

“The.. University of… Kings Landing?” 

“Well, after the monarchy was sorta let go, they turned certain parts of the Red Keep and other castles into Universites -places to go for higher studies, like the.. Citadel for example.” 

Daenerys nods, understanding some of it. 

“I study the era of The Game of Thrones as well as Targaryen History.” 

“The Game of Thrones?” She repeats. “What is that?” 

“It’s, uh, what we call this time period. It ranged from the death of King Robert to,” the death of Daenerys Targaryen, “to now, and a little later. We look into how the events after Robert’s death played out and how people fought for the Iron Throne.” 

“Like a game.” She says. 

I nodded. “Yes, like a game. There’s this quote that Cersie Lannister said to Ned Stark that summed it up, “When you play the game of thrones, You win or you die,”.”

“I see,” Daenerys looks down at her plate in thought. “And what about me?” 

Oh fuck. 

“What about you?” I say, acting innocent. 

“What happened to me?” 

I purse my lips together. Should I say it? I mean, it’s a good segway to what I want to really say… if this part goes well. 

“You…” I nervously swallowed. “You die… before you could even claim the throne.” 

The fork in her hand hits the ceramic plate with a loud clunk. 

“What?” 

Nervously, I looked into her. “You were killed… after you burned Kings Landing to ashes.” 

She frowned. “You're lying. I would never do such a thing. Me? Burning down Kings Landing? 

And the Red Keep, but I’ll keep that to myself. 

“I’m not lying, Daenerys. After you died, Drogon picked you up and flew you away. We still haven’t found your or his body.” 

Daenerys' hands started to shake at the information I had just thrown at her. Carefully, I placed mine over hers. 

“Daenerys,” I said softly. “Breath. You’re fine, nothing has happened so far.” 

Slowly, I could feel her hands stop shaking and her breathing seemed to steady. 

“What do you mean so far?” 

I gave her hand an encouraging squeeze although, I can’t tell if it was for me or her. 

“Meaning, I can help you.” 

She looks at me, puzzled. 

“Daenerys, I can help you take the Iron Throne.” 

okayyyy so it's finally here after many rewrites. let me know if you guys liked the first person POV. its my first time writing it like this, typically i do second POV. more to come in later chapters. also, i will be changing a few things, nothing major. one personal head cannon that i have is that jon isn't really named aegon, but jaehaerys. makes a lil more sense in my brain. also, i'll maybe be using some info from the books. and if you guys have any suggestions with y/n's character and other stuff please feel free to let me know. don't worry there will be more story and character development in the coming chapters.

[samieree]

"Dawn of the North || Robb Stark" Masterlist

(fanfiction)(Robb Stark x OC)

[General Masterlist with list of boys I can write one-shots with here] [Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon Masterlist]

[my works are also avaiable on Ao3: Samiere and on wattpad: _Saelin]

Prologue + description

Chapter I ''Beginning''

Chapter II ''Two worlds''

Chapter III ''Walder Frey''

Collages: "two years"

[insonniacaotica]

I started writing a GoT fanfiction. I'm on the third part of four (I think). I'm only now realizing that the fandom is probably a little dead? Or, I don't know, my algorithm sucks. Is there anyone who still cares about GoT?

But then I thought about it, and I realized that it's not like this will stop me: I've written much less relatable stuff. One day I'll stop writing gen found families with traumatized characters and start writing fanfiction about Marauders. But I don't think that day is today lol

All this to say: if you're writing something you like but are afraid it won't be read, write it anyway. Even unfamous stories deserve to be told.

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

CHAPTER FIVE - WINTER IS COMING.

every time, i'd burn through the world — i'd see

that the world, it burns through me.

Between raising two children, training to become a better swordsman, and managing her duties as a lady — Lyarra had very little time to herself. If she wasn't with one of her own, she was looking after one of the other Stark children for Eddard and Catelyn. Since Gogni's death, she hadn't once left Winterfell. Even traveling down that train of thought had her seizing with fear. Instead, she spent her nights practicing her work with a blade. 

Reyne was seemingly growing taller by the minute. Her blonde locks reached down to her belly button by now, with similarly blonde lashes — almost a mirror image of the red-haired boy from years before. Initially, her appearance had caused a stir within the castle. Eddard had questioned her ceaselessly, but Lyarra never answered any of his inquiries. Similarly to when he had returned with Jon, she only told him that she couldn't answer him truthfully — pleading with him to not ask her to do so. Eventually, the man conceded. His wife did no such thing, however Lyarra paid her no mind. Reyne would be raised under Lyarra's care. In her eyes, she was a Stark — but neither she nor Jon would ever be able to take the name. Once she was old enough, it was decided that she would be given a job as a handmaiden. Lyarra argued that Reyne should be treated as her own daughter, and that she should not have to work to stay — but she had pushed her luck far enough already, and Eddard wouldn't do much more than blink at her. She had no Stark blood within her, unlike Jon. 

The two were thick as thieves from the moment that Lyarra brought her home. The gap between the two was minimal, and it was evident in the way they treated one another as equals. Jon quickly accepted Reyne as his family, as she did with him. It was oddly reminiscent of Lyarra's own relationship with Benjen, and the thought forced a bittersweet feeling to course through her. Benjen had returned only thrice now, and each time he waited at the gate for Jon to come running. He'd accepted Reyne into his heart as easily as Jon had, and had taken to picking the girl up and spinning her each time he saw her. As much as seeing her brother overjoyed Lyarra, she couldn't help the beat of trepidation each time she watched him speak with Jon. More than once now, he'd brought up the Night's Watch to her. He was still too young to be a member now, a thought that calmed her ever-so-slightly, but one could see his own anticipation building. He wanted to be like his Uncle Benjen, and Lyarra couldn't fault him for that — but that didn't make dealing with the fact any easier. 

While Lyarra was glad to see Jon have a friend — have family, even — other than Robb, it was growing increasingly evident that he wasn't any less of an outsider. He still longed to be Ned's true-born son, something that conflicted, as well as saddened her in equal measure. She viewed Jon as her own, and had since the moment he'd been placed in her arms. She knew in her heart that he wasn't hers, but to see him long to be someone else's entirely was not an easy thing for her to accept. Lyarra did her best to appease to her brother, coaxing him into allowing Jon into more familial settings. While Jon was never allowed to sit by the family at feasts, she herself would place herself next to him. It was torturous for Lyarra, watching the boy so desperately try to be a part of a family that he wasn't made for. 

Beyond Jon and Theon, Lyarra was not particularly close with any of the Stark children. They were her kin, so she had always had love for them. But, she'd never struck a proper bond with the rest. Robb was too eager, a trait that only Jon had been able to match. Oftentimes when the two sparred, she would stand at Theon's side — critiquing their form. Robb had brushed off her advice more than once, but Jon would always correct himself — listening to each word. Sansa, from the moment she was born, was meant to be a lady. She welcomed the fact with pride, something that Lyarra herself had never been able to do. Within a few years, it had been decided that Reyne would be her handmaiden. Initially, the two hadn't gotten along-- which came as no surprise to Lyarra, considering Sansa's other relationships with the 'help'. But overtime, the two grew closer than she'd expected. Sansa hadn't seem to have accepted Reyne into the family by any means, but the two were good friends — close enough that she allowed Reyne to travel with her wherever they went. 

It wasn't until the birth of Arya, that Lyarra found herself developing a true bond with one of the Stark children. Arya was the brasher, more cunning version of Lyanna Stark. There was a boundless list of similarities between the two, and yet Lyarra still felt as if she had never met someone like Arya. From the moment she was old enough, she wanted to learn to swing a blade. Jon had been hesitant, afraid of causing her any kind of harm — but Lyarra was more than willing.

Initially, Eddard had advised against it. He and Catelyn knew that Arya was also meant to be a lady of the court. Yet, in true fashion, Lyarra did nothing to heed his words. She only agreed to not allow Arya a true sword, instead promising to teach her with a wooden blade. Additionally, the two only ever practiced at night — just before Arya was meant to take herself to bed. Sometimes Jon would oversee their movements, chiming in to assist his sister. Other times, Eddard would watch from a distance — smiling softly in his own secretive way that Lyarra had come to know all too well. 

Arya, similar to Robb, had never seemed to look at Jon differently for being a 'bastard.' The day that she'd learned what it meant, she had laughed in Lyarra's face. In her eyes, Jon was her brother — whether they shared the same mother, or no. 

Catelyn, however, was a complicated figure. Lyarra sympathized with the woman, and tried to reach out to her more than once after the death of Brandon. Initially it had seemed as if Lyarra's connection with Jon had established resentment within Catelyn, however the woman did her best to maintain a connection between the two. More often than not, she would request Lyarra's assistance with the children — even if just to sit with her while she watched them. Lyarra longed to be closer with her, even if just to have a sister again. But their differences were too great. Again, she couldn't help but wonder how different things would have been if she had married Edmure Tully as she was meant to.

The birth of Brandon 'Bran' Stark served to surprise Lyarra further. The boy was even more adventurous than she had been at his age, often climbing whatever it was that he could find. She had half the heart to tell him of the clearing beyond the woods, before thinking better of it. Bran, who was hardly reminiscent of his namesake, had come to Lyarra more than once in the middle of the night — as if he knew he wouldn't be waking her from her slumber. He'd spend hours asking her about the world that she knew, asking her to tell him anything she could think of. Lyarra would spin her own stories more often than not, but there were a few times that she would tell the boy of the tales she'd heard with the Free Folk. Since she had fled from the camp, Lyarra never once mentioned any of their names. She wouldn't speak of any of it, not even to Reyne. When Bran had questioned where she'd heard the 'story of a man who had suckled at the teat of a Giant', Lyarra only shrugged — pushing him out of her chambers with a light smile. 

More often than not, Jon had found himself in her chambers as of late as well. His nightmares had been more frequent than ever, resulting in him pounding on her door in the middle of the night. By the third time it'd happened, Lyarra had learned to leave her door open a fraction — if only to save herself from the harrowing sound of his loud knocking. Every night since Jon could remember, he dreamt of a girl with hair so blonde it could've been white — with eyes of a violet hue, and a snow-white complexion. In Jon's eyes, it didn't appear to be a dream — on either side. The girl had seemed to notice him as well, though she never told him her name. Lyarra had never heard of someone sharing dreams, and had half the mind to question Maester Luwin — if not for Jon begging for her secrecy. He did not want the girl to go away, as if he was scared of what it meant. 

 

The Stark children had seemed to age at a speed beyond Lyarra's control. Before she knew it, Bran was standing tall at her hip — with Robb and Jon towering over her. Even Sansa had almost reached her in stature by now, though Arya seemed to have no such luck. 

Lyarra watched from the stone window of her chambers, as the boys helped Brandon nock his arrows. Eddard and Catelyn were also watching from the platform above the group, and she observed as they had warm smiles of their own. Each time, Bran had missed. Lyarra herself had never been proficient with a bow, but the boy barely reached the target itself. Jon, unsurprisingly, stepped forward to assist the boy each time — recommending a different approach whenever Brandon had missed.

She couldn't make out what Jon had said to the boy due to their distance, but when they both turned back to glance at her — Lyarra couldn't help but shoot the boy a supportive grin. Jon matched it with one of his own, patting Bran on the back as the boy turned to the target once more. Again, the boy missed after a moment — and chuckles echoed through the courtyard. Just barely, Lyarra could hear Eddard admonishing the boys — and couldn't help but let out a laugh of her own. 

Just as she had begun to settle down, Lyarra watched as an arrow met its mark — finally reaching the center of the target. She'd gone to clap instantly, before noticing the arrow still nocked in Bran's bow. From her spot, she couldn't see where the shot had come from — but after Jon's laugh echoed through the yard again, she could just barely make out Arya's retreating figure, with Bran on her tail. 

Lyarra took the chance to make her way down to the yard then, as she watched Ned move from his spot on the platform. Jon hadn't moved an inch, and instead he was cleaning up after the other boys — as Robb was removing the arrows from the target. Lyarra placed her hand on the boy's shoulder, gently notifying him of her presence. 

"You saw that, then?" Jon laughed, shaking his head as he replaced the arrows in the basket. Lyarra grinned, watching as the other Stark boys began to argue in the distance. Just barely, she could still make out Arya running in the distance — Bran not far behind her. 

"It was hard to miss." Lyarra admitted after a moment, tilting her head as she felt eyes burning into her. There, still above the two on the platform, stood Catelyn. Her glare towards the boy was sharp, the hate within her eyes evident. In an instant, Jon seemed to shrink in on himself. Before she could allow herself to do much else, Lyarra smiled at the woman above them — attempting to placate her nerves. Catelyn, remembering herself, did seem to calm at that — even shooting Lyarra a timid smile of her own, before she marched off. 

 

Lyarra rarely observed her brother's executions, so it came as no surprise when she'd only pulled Jon's furs tighter around him — before stomping off to find the girls. After Arya's stunt earlier, she was nowhere to be seen — but she was able to spot Reyne and Sansa together, as they were sewing something for Septa Mordane. Reyne's smile was instant, while Sansa's eyes only slightly brightened at her arrival. 

"Ah, my Lady! You must see Lady Sansa's work. It's simply beautiful. The stitching is near perfect, wouldn't you say?" Septa Mordane clasped her hands as she spoke, the cheerfulness in her tone almost sickening. Lyarra couldn't bring herself to do much more than nod, as she placed a hand on Sansa's shoulder. She'd never been very good at sewing herself, a fact that Old Nan had often criticized her for — but she did have to admit, her work was appealing. She stood there for only a moment longer, placing a kiss on the foreheads of the two girls — before she made her way through the castle. 

Lyarra had only just made her way back to the yard before she just barely made out the sound of light footsteps. She willed herself to be silent, only taking a short breath before she reached her hand out — plucking the girl up by her furs. Arya grunted, legs swinging wildly in the air. She yelled for the woman to put her down, and after another fit of laughs Lyarra conceded. She was met with Arya's frustrated grin, a sight that only further amused her. 

"That's no fair! You're twice my height, and then some. You don't see me kicking your ankles when you walk by, do you?" Arya's complaints were half-nonsense, as she grumbled to herself. Lyarra leaned back to watch the girl ramble in amusement. It was true, the action was unnecessary — and yet each time she had the opportunity, she found herself repeating it. Brandon was too large for her to successfully pick him up any more, which left only Arya for her to terrorize — as Rickon would cry each time she'd tried. 

"You're good with a bow. I didn't know you'd been practicing." Came Lyarra's reply after she'd wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. Arya reeled from the sudden topic change, as her arms came to cross themselves across her defensively. 

"Only when Bran leaves his behind." Arya muttered out, foot still swinging beneath her as she stomped. Lyarra's heart warmed at the sentiment. Had Bran left his bow out and Eddard noticed, the boy would have been admonished to no end. They were taught to have greater respect for their belongings. Arya knew this all too well, and took the opportunity to help both her brother and herself. 

The two were interrupted, then, by the sound of the gate creaking open. They made their way to the crowd together, only pausing when they noticed the creatures in the boys hands. Each one held a wolf pup — a direwolf, she'd later come to know.  While they were gone, they'd come upon a litter of pups — and Jon, she'd been told, was the one to suggest that each Stark child had one of their own. Robb had named his Grey-Wind, Sansa named her lady, Arya— Nymeria, Brandon— Summer, Rickon— Shaggydog, while Jon named his Ghost. Reyne had been delighted at the sight of the pup, and dashed forward to see him. At that, Ghost had almost cowered further into Jon's arms. From that day on, Jon rarely went anywhere without Ghost at his side. If he had to leave him behind for any reason, Lyarra was likely the one watching him. Reyne took the opportunity to visit more than once, normally when Sansa was at her lessons. 

The death of Jon Arryn came suddenly, without warning. Lyarra hadn't known the man well, but she knew of her brother's love for him. She admired the man for protecting her brother — as well as the King — with honor. She'd been beside Eddard at the weirwood tree, when Catelyn had approached. Lyarra had come to the same spot with Eddard more than once, after an execution, as he took the time to collect his thoughts as well as himself. She would never say anything, choosing only to relish her time outside of the castle itself. As Catelyn stepped forward, Lyarra turned herself in the slightest to give the two more space. 

"All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here," She'd heard, observing as Catelyn stared wondrously at the tree. She knew the feeling all too well. Although she was a Stark, through and through, she'd felt like an outsider every day of her life. Unlike Catelyn, however, this was one of the only places that she'd felt as if she did belong. 

"You have five northern children, you're not an outsider." Came Eddard's eventual reply. After that, Lyarra did her best to tune the two out. She had no part in their talks, and that much was apparent. She pulled her furs tighter around herself, sharpening her own blade as Eddard cleaned his. Lyarra only properly tuned back in, once she'd observed brother's sorrow — silent, but clear as day in the way his brow had pinched. Jon Arryn was dead. Though she'd only remembered Lysa Arryn as the girl who had glared at her in Riverrun, she was thankful to hear that the woman and her boy were alright. 

The brunt of the news came after. This time, Catelyn spoke to the two equally — meeting Lyarra's eyes with a gaze filled with sorrow of her own. The King, alongside his family, was riding to Winterfell. With the death of the hand, that could only mean one thing. The realization hadn't seemed to dawn on Ned, as he was too conflicted by his own emotions. Robert was Eddard's best friend, and despite his connection with Lyanna — he had never cared for the man any less. Lyarra, however, despised the man. Since the death of her sister, he'd only become worse in his own grief. The King was known as a drunk with a harsh temper. He married Cersei Lannister not long after the death of Lyanna, and within a few years they'd had their own litter of children. 

"If he's coming this far North, there's only one thing he's after." Ned trailed off, staring into the reflection of his sword rather than meeting the gaze of the two women beside him. Lyarra met Catelyn's eyes warily, a fraction of her own fear reminiscent of the other woman's eyes. 

"You don't have to agree, Ned." Lyarra all but whispered, as Catelyn had muttered her own words of agreement. The thought of her brother leaving to King's Landing, as Brandon had — as their father had, had her gut churning.

Once they had returned to the castle, Lyarra made her way to Jon within an instant. He'd been perched on a barrel, laughing as Theon demonstrated something vulgar with Robb. She'd seen this same act repeated between the boys more than once. Theon was the oldest of the group, and as such he felt obligated to teach the boys what he knew — more specifically, about the ways of women. When Lyarra had reached the group, she watched as Robb placed his hands on Theon's waist — leaning him towards the ground as if he meant to kiss him. They only stopped when Lyarra let out a light cough, raising her brow at their antics. Robb yanked Theon up with a laugh, patting Jon's back before he walked off. Theon, however, stood there for a moment — wobbling as if he couldn't stand properly. Lyarra could hardly hold back her laughter, as the boy's face was beet red. Robb called after him not long after, and she finally let out a chuckle once she noticed the speed Theon had chased after him. Jon only shook his head before he turned to face her properly 

"I didn't mean to interrupt your fun," Lyarra posed the statement as a question, her brow still raised as she observed Jon's expression. He only shrugged, letting out a laugh of his own. 

"I promise you, I wasn't the one having fun there." Lyarra couldn't help but agree, as she leaned against a post to look at the boy. Jon was unlike most boys his age. He never spoke of women, and when he did it was never in the way that Theon had. He seemed more interested in them as a concept, than as something to chase after. 

"The King is riding for Winterfell. With his family." She told him after a moment, raising her elbows to place herself on a barrel of her own. Jon's eyes widened a bit, but he nodded all the same. He had never met the royal family, a fact that Lyarra herself had been thankful for. Beyond the color of his eyes, Jon appeared to be Lyanna's mirror-image. She could only imagine Robert's reaction when he saw him for the first time. 

"You don't sound excited." Jon raised his own eyebrow at her then, tilting his head as if he didn't understand her intentions. Lyarra only shrugged, kicking her foot now that she had a bit of leverage. 

"Can't say I have much reason to be. I'll look forward to when they leave, and I no longer have Catelyn up my arse' every minute of every day." Jon's laughter was hesitant, as if he was afraid the woman in question would hear. Lyarra, however, paid that no mind. She spoke freely, a fact that had landed her in trouble more than once. Before she could say another word, a snap of a twig echoed around them — and within a moment, a head of blonde hair timidly approached. Reyne, once noticing who the two were, noticeably relaxed — coming to stand by the two with a light smile of her own. 

"What are they like? The Lannisters?" Reyne asked timidly, clutching the ends of her sleeves with her fingers. Lyarra paused at the question, thinking it over. She'd only ever truly met Jaime, and that was years prior. Now, he was a member of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard. She'd only seen Cersei from a distance, and had never even met the notorious 'imp' of the family. 

"I suppose we'll all find out in the days to come. Now, off to bed with the both of you. We'll all have duties to attend to in the morning, and staying up until the sun rises won't make it any easier." With that, she placed a light kiss on their heads — before making her way to her own chambers. Lyarra did her best to not think the worst, but she dreaded the days to come. If Robert had his way, her brother would be leaving with the family by the end of their visit — no doubt with one of his children in tow. The thought only further sickened Lyarra, and she was only able to escape it once she shut her eyes — a feather pillow harshly placed over head to drown out the light.

The day of the King's arrival came all too soon. Throughout the morning she had been at Ghost's side, marveling at the size of the wolf. It'd only been a few weeks, and yet he was half her size. In the back of her mind, it reminded her of how quickly Jon grew. She only left the beast be when she heard Eddard calling for her. The family lined themselves up, standing in wait by the front gate. Lyarra herself stood on Catelyn's left. If she peaked past the two beside her, she could see Robb, followed by Sansa and Bran. Behind her stood Jory, Theon, and Jon. She longed to be at her boy's side, but Lyarra stood solemnly all the same. Just behind the two boys, she could see Reyne peaking over the crowd. Jon shifted, allowing her to see past him, and the sight brought a smile to her lips before she could control herself. After a moment Arya came barreling through with a helmet on her head. The girl's antics forced a reluctant chuckle from Lyarra's lips, though she was silenced with a glare from Catelyn. 

Rickon bristled beside her as the riders approached the family, and Lyarra couldn't help but place a comforting hand on his shoulder to stabilize him. She noticed first, that the King wasn't leading the line. An unsurprising fact, but it left Lyarra to scan over those she could see. In the front was a member of the Kingsguard, though she couldn't see beyond the helmet to further look over who exactly it could be. Behind him, rode a blonde boy — too proud to be anyone other than the prince. Joffrey, then, she decided. Catelyn had described the members of their traveling party in length, and Lyarra only forced herself to listen in order to relay the information to Reyne. 

The moment she looked beyond the Prince, Lyarra's breath caught in her throat. Catelyn glanced at her in concern, but she only waved the woman off. There, rode a man with chain-mail armor — with a helm resembling some sort of beast. As he opened his helm in the slightest, Lyarra found herself leaning forward to observe what was underneath it. She was only broken out of her stupor by the sudden movement beside her, as Catelyn tugged her sleeve down to kneel with the rest of the family. King Robert approached then, climbing off of his horse with a hefty grunt. 

His stomps could be heard from inside the castle, Lyarra thought to herself. Once Robert motioned for them to stand, Lyarra was the first on her feet. He'd glanced over at her in that moment, eyes widening as he scanned over her features. She had met with Robert a handful of times now, and each time he would pause as if he thought she truly was Lyanna. He seemingly shook himself out of his own shock then, as he only turned back to her brother with a glare. 

"You've got fat," Robert claimed after a beat of silence. Eddard only raised his brow, motioning towards the man himself. After another moment of quiet, the two laughed between themselves — hugging with joy that could only be found in reuniting with a loved one. Robert made his way to Catelyn then, pulling her close as well, as if the two were good friends. He paused when he came to stand in front of Lyarra, his smile slipping off of his face — making way for something uncertain. Lyarra forced a grin to tug at the corner of her lips, moving to curtsy in a way unbecoming of herself. 

"Your Grace," She greeted, voice tight as she did her best to appear jovial. Robert moved to hug her then, his arms snug around her waist as she was forced to lean into his furs.

"Ah, Lyarra. As beautiful as ever." Lyarra could hardly hold back the flash of disgust that bled through her, but she held her head high as ever. The man moved from her then, ruffling Rickon's hair before standing beside the other children. She'd glanced back at Jon, meeting his worried glance with a smile that she could only hope was convincing. 

As a woman with hair as blonde as the mane of a Lion stepped out of the carriage, Lyarra realized then that she could only be one person. Cersei Lannister. Her features were all too similar to that of Jaime's, though she could only vaguely recall them. She was beautiful, and carried herself in a way that Lyarra was certain she knew it. After a moment, more children climbed out as well. They all appeared to be smaller copies of herself, none even slightly resembling Robert Baratheon's round features. True lions, Lyarra thought to herself. She watched as the King made his way through the other Stark children, greeting them each with separate comments. 

She only stopped when the Kingsguard from before reached to remove his helmet, releasing a pile of golden locks. In an instant, Lyarra knew it was Jaime Lannister. He'd grown ten-fold since last she'd seen him, and yet his eyes were just as youthful as they had been before. She found herself growing concerned on whether he would recognize her — or even remember her, for that matter — after all this time. Her concerns were only buried when he met her eyes from across the yard, his gaze sparkling with familiarity. She smiled at him then, eyes conveying a message that only he could understand. Similar to before, amusement flooded into his expression as he communicated with her through glances alone. All at once, he shut himself off — moving to stand behind the Queen, as Cersei turned to look in confusion. Following her brother's gaze, she met Lyarra's eyes with distrust. Lyarra forced herself to smile at the woman, doing her best to not shrink at her intensity. This seemed to do nothing to placate her, however she approached nonetheless. 

Cersei held out an expectant hand to Eddard, as he leaned to kiss her hand. With the woman distracted, Lyarra turned to catch Jaime's gaze again — but he was all-too focused on the ground beneath him. She had no doubt that she wouldn't get the chance to even speak with him until later. Cersei came to stand in front of her then, moving into her line of sight with another curious glance. 

"My queen," She greeted, curtsying as Catelyn had. Cersei lingered for a moment, scanning over Lyarra in a way that only further discomforted the woman. After a moment, she'd stepped away — giving Lyarra the chance to take a breath. She took the time to search for the man with the beast-shaped helm again, furrowing her brow as she came to notice that he was already looking at her. She held his gaze for a moment too long. He seemed familiar, in a way that she could not quite decipher. Lyarra was certain she hadn't met the man before, and yet his eyes glimmered in a way that she knew all too well. Before she had the chance to further investigate the man, she was interrupted by her brother stepping away from the group. 

She shot him an inquisitive look, bordering on concern, but Eddard only smiled back at her — in a way that had not truly met his eyes. Lyarra took a breath then, choosing to listen in on the conversations beside her. 

"Where's the imp?" She overheard Arya questioning, her tone expectant as if she had asked the same thing only minutes prior. Lyarra was seemingly not the only one who'd heard, as Cersei then turned to ask Jaime of his whereabouts. He shot Lyarra another quick look before he turned. She took the opportunity to glance over at Jon and Reyne, who almost stood side by side now. Theon, who had previously been at Jon's side, stood just behind Robb. Catelyn shot the two boys wary looks, but they seemed to pay her no mind. Once the group had begun to disperse, Lyarra quickly moved to Jon's side. 

The rest of her night was spent preparing for the feast. While most ladies often had a handmaiden to take care of them — and ready them for most occasions, Lyarra had all but refused one. Instead, if she did need any help she would often ask for Reyne's assistance alone. Tonight in particular had been one of those nights. While the girl was braiding Lyarra's hair, Jon sat in the corner — perched on her dresser. 

"D'you know Ser Jaime?" Jon questioned after a moment, twirling a dagger in his fingers. The inquiry gave Lyarra pause, and she glanced over at the boy with a raised brow. 

"I knew him when we were children, yes. But it's been many years since we last spoke. Why do you ask?" She leaned back, wincing as Reyne tugged on the front of her hair. She liked to avoid these intricate designs when she had the chance, but Catelyn had all but demanded that everyone dress 'properly' for their guests. 

"He's sort of beautiful." Jon whispered, trailing off as if he hadn't realized he spoke at all. At Lyarra's inquisitive glance, he grunted — sitting up and placing the dagger beside him. "In the way that all Knights are, I mean. He looks like he fell out of one of Bran's stories." 

Lyarra couldn't help the laugh that followed. When she'd first seen Jaime, she'd traveled down a similar train of thought. It was hard to picture a man more perfect than Jaime Lannister. However, when she thought of the man there was far from attraction in her mind. She adored him, but not in the way that she'd felt for Gogni — nor Petyr, for that matter. Still, he was difficult to look away from. 

"You were right the first time, I think. He's beautiful." Reyne whispered, curling her hands around Lyarra's locks wistfully. With a sharp look, she returned to her previous movements. Jon's response was an audible chuckle, one that was only interrupted by the distant sound of Catelyn shouting after one of her children. Lyarra sat up then, pulling her furs tighter around herself. She was adorned with a white fur pelt, a red gown trailing down her figure. Jon solemnly nodded as he moved to open the door for her. Jon wasn't to attend the feast at all, while Reyne was not to leave Sansa's side. As they approached the hall, Lyarra paused to kiss Jon's forehead — before entering with Reyne at her side. She took her seat beside Eddard, while Reyne was placed next to Sansa. 

The feast itself passed agonizingly slow, as Lyarra had no choice but to mingle with guests. The man with the beast-shaped helm from earlier was nowhere to be found, a fact that only further suited to disappoint her. As she watched Eddard pour himself another drink, her heart only lightened when she heard a familiar voice. 

"You two at a feast.." Benjen announced his presence, "It's like a bear in a trap." The sight of her brother instantly filled Lyarra with joy, and she could hardly hold herself back as she jumped into the man's arms. With a grunt, he picked her up with just as much fervor. He only pulled back to pat Ned on the back, before he slung an arm around Lyarra's shoulder. 

Rather than meet Benjen with the same level of enthusiasm, Eddard had only forced a light — almost unnoticeable smile, on his lips. Within a moment, he was describing the beheading from earlier. Lyarra allowed herself to tune the two men out, taking the opportunity to peak over her brother's arm and gaze at the crowd. In the center was the King, with a woman on his lap. Beside him, men were cheering — arm in arm. 

"Direwolves south of the wall, talk of the walkers, and my brother might be the next Hand to the king." Lyarra allowed herself a light laugh, leaning further into Benjen's arm as he trailed on. "Winter is coming." He'd finished, watching in amusement was Ned let out a laugh of his own. 

"Winter is coming." Both she and Eddard repeated, nodding solemnly as the familiar words of their house poured from their lips. She'd said the same words so many times that Lyarra was convinced they'd lost their meaning, but they still held a weight in her chest each time. It was only when Robb approached to greet Benjen, that Lyarra allowed herself to slink away from her brothers. 

The bite of the cold air was a welcoming gift as she snuck out of the hall. Lyarra perched herself on a bench, watching as the men walked the ramparts. She'd half expected Jon to be out here when she arrived, but the thought that he'd taken an early night to himself wasn't altogether surprising either. Instead, she relished the chance for comfortable silence — until, of course, that was broken by a sharp voice. 

"Ah! The Lady Lyarra Stark. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you. The stories do not do you justice, I must say." In truth, Lyarra was growing quite sick of golden-haired men. As the man approached her, she took notice of his stature. There was only one person he could be, due to his height alone. 

"You must be Lord Tyrion, then?" She'd greeted, clasping her hands together on the wooden table to capture a bit of warmth. As he came closer, he'd taken her greeting as a warm welcome, placing himself on the bench across from her. 

"My, is it that obvious?" He'd questioned, mock-offense littering his tone. For the first time in hours, Lyarra found herself struggling not to grin. 

"All you Lannisters have the same hair. It's harder not to point you out." Sarcasm was heavy in her words, and she found herself longing for a drink to hide her smile in. As if he sensed her thought, Tyrion offered his cup of wine — presenting it as if he no longer wanted it. She had half the heart to wave him off, before she'd nodded and took it from his hands. 

"Oh, of course. The hair! Not the 'impish' bits, at all." 

"I've seen shorter." Lyarra admitted, shrugging as she took another sip of the wine. Her words brought an honest cackle out of the man, loud enough that she had to struggle not to startle where she sat. After she'd calmed, she found a giggle building its way in her chest.

"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe." 

Lyarra only guffawed at his words, glancing longingly down at the now-empty cup of wine. As Tyrion noticed her now solemn state, he let out his own roar of laughter. Within minutes, the two were leaning against the table with tears in their eyes. 

"You two sound like a couple of fucking' drunks." A voice called out, then, harsh stomps following. It sounded distantly familiar, yet it was harsher than anything she'd heard in years. Lyarra forced herself to look up, taking in the large man's form. It was the man from earlier, who now only carried the helm in the crevice of his arm. Due to the lack of light in the yard, she couldn't properly see his face. 

"Takes a drunk to know a drunk, Clegane." Tyrion's words shot a chill through Lyarra's body, and although the effects of the liquor began to take hold of her — she forced her eyes to narrow on the man's features. The name Clegane was familiar, forcing Lyarra to return back to years prior. To Lord Whent's tourney at Harrenhal. She remembers the fear in her heart as Gregor Clegane approached her, and then the overwhelming relief as she was saved by a smaller boy. One with burns littering his cheek, and eyes that appeared to stare back at her in this very moment. The man in front of her was the boy she'd been longing to find all throughout the tourney, Lyarra realized suddenly. The thought was almost sobering, but his glare was enough to muddle her brain. 

The man before her seemed harsher than the boy who had come to her aid. His glare was heavy, though if she looked close enough — into the light of familiarity she had seen before in his eyes, she could see his own youth peaking through the cracks. Lyarra couldn't help the smile that came to her lips, as relief at finally finding the boy after years flooded through her. Her expression seemed to only further worry the man, and she only looked away when Tyrion coughed expectantly. 

"And, as a drunk, I can say with confidence that it would appear that our lady is rather inebriated. Would you mind?" Lyarra could distantly make out, as she rested her temple against the cool wood of the table. She'd felt so many emotions within the past few moments that it was hard to hold back her exhaustion now, and she felt sleep over coming her. Before her eyes could properly shut, she felt herself being raised into the air — pressed against someone's chest. The chain-mail pressing into her sent chills through her body, and Lyarra found herself leaning into the warmth of whoever had been carrying her. 

Distantly, she noticed the familiar feeling of her quilts, as she was seemingly placed within her bed. Just as quickly as the warmth had arrived, it disappeared. Lyarra was left to curl into her furs, and she couldn't fight back the sleep that overtook her this time. 

The remaining days of the King's stay were just as dreadful as the days leading up to it. Lyarra knew, the morning after his arrival, that her brother had decided to go back with him to King's Landing. He'd been standing in front of her door, silent as ever, as she'd gone to make her way to the yard for the morning. His presence was enough to startle her, and she had to clutch her dress to calm herself. 

"Forgive me, sister. I don't know how long I've been out here. Hours, maybe. I didn't want to disturb you, but.." Ned trailed off, avoiding her gaze as he readjusted his furs. Lyarra's own head was pounding after the night before, and she could hardly make out his words — but she did her best to focus, moving to place a comforting hand on her brother's arm. "I wouldn't ask this of you, had I another choice. I've asked too much of you as it is, I know that already." 

Lyarra's heart went cold, as the implications of his words sunk in. He intended for her to come to King's Landing with him, with his daughters. He only looked further from her as she admitted her realization. She took her hand from his arm as quickly as she'd placed it, moving to curl around herself instead. She'd have to leave Winterfell, leave the only home she'd ever known. She'd have to leave Jon. That alone was enough to have Lyarra shaking her head in denial, stepping back from the man in despair. She couldn't leave him, not in Winterfell. Not alone. Reyne would be coming with them to serve as Sansa's handmaiden, but Jon? A bastard had no place in the royal court, something that Lyarra knew all too well. 

"Maester Luwin came to me last night, just after the feast ended. He wants to join the Watch, Lyarra. Told Benjen so himself. He'll be safe among them. You know that, as well as I do. He'll be better off on the Wall, than here." Ned did his best to placate her, leaning down then to place his hands on her shoulders. She only shook her head, forcing herself to not allow tears to fall. 

"He's just a boy, Ned. He's not ready for the Watch. I'll never see him again." Her words were panicked, jumbled rambles coming from her lips as her hands began to shake. In an instant, she was met with overwhelming warmth — as Eddard wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. She couldn't help the tears that came then, as she all but sobbed in her brother's arms. "You can't. Please, Ned. Please, don't do this." 

"I don't have a choice. I wish I did. I wish I was not asking this of you, but I am. I need your help." Eddard pulled back, wiping the pad of his glove against her cheeks as she closed her eyes to keep her tears at bay. "The Lannisters .. They had something to do with Jon Arryn's death, I know it. Robert needs my help, now more than ever. And I need yours." The revelation that the Lannisters could have done something so dastardly only had Lyarra's head shaking in disbelief. It was only when she peeled her eyes open, and was met with the true despair in Ned's eyes — that she knew he was telling the truth. He believed all that he was saying. 

Lyarra couldn't bring herself to say anything then, only choosing to stand upright as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Eddard retreated then, telling her to think about it — though they both knew he wasn't giving her a choice. 

Since that day, Lyarra had not left Jon's side. A fact that he seemed both grateful of, and annoyed by in equal measure. He did not know the life he was giving away. How could he, after all? She tried her best to not resent Benjen for the boy's decision, knowing that it was his alone to make — but if she found herself keeping away from her brother for a few days, that was her business alone. Jon was never her son. He was not her boy, though she would never see him as anything less. The fact alone only made his departure harder to handle. 

Each night, once she was certain Jon was asleep, Lyarra would meet Tyrion Lannister in the yard.  Despite her brother's best wishes, Lyarra couldn't force herself to be wary of the little lion. Some nights he would leave early to visit the closest brothel he could find. Other nights, they would be joined by the man from the previous night — the man she'd only come to know as 'Clegane'. Those nights, he would drink at Tyrion's side, chiming in only to let out a harsh laugh, or grunt. Despite how little she knew about the man, Lyarra couldn't hold back her fascination. More often than not, the man would scowl as she stared after him — likely assuming the worst. Yet Lyarra's face never held much more than a light smile, as she glanced over his features.

One night, when Tyrion had already slunk off, it was just the two sitting side-by-side on the bench. They hadn't spoke a word to one another, only passing the bottle back and forth when one needed a refill. After another beat of silence, the man grunted — sliding off of the bench as if to make his retreat. 

"Oh, er— Ser!" She called after him, climbing off of the bench in haste to catch him before he disappeared into the darkness. He'd turned back to her hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure she was calling for him. When he noticed her focus, he only grimaced — forcing another swig down his throat. 

"I'm no Ser," His words a familiar repetition of those that she'd heard years prior, and that alone was enough to shoot vigor through her. She only moved closer to him, a fact that made the large man seemingly shrink in on himself. 

"So, it was you, then. You were at the tourney. You saved me that night, from Ser Gregor." Lyarra whispered in wonder, her eyes widening as she processed her own words. She'd been looking for the man for so long, that it was almost laughable that they'd reunited here — now. 

"The fucks' it matter?" The man's words were harsh, but they alone were not enough for Lyarra to back down — and again, she took a step towards him, properly taking in his features. He was just as fascinating to her now, as he had been all those years ago. 

"I'd like to know your name, if you'd let me. I've only known you as 'Clegane' for all these years." The name itself seemed to force the man to flinch, and he moved to stand taller as he remembered himself. Again, silence stretched between them. Lyarra had half the mind to question if she had overstepped, before the man turned on his heel. He took no more than four steps, before he paused. 

"Sandor," he called over his shoulder, the name rough on his lips — as if he hadn't spoken it in years. With that, he was gone, and she couldn't have caught up to him if she wanted to. She tried the name on her lips a few times, before she turned to retreat to her own chambers. That night, she went to sleep a little lighter — a familiar name on her lips, and a certain weightlifted from her shoulders. 

The day that Ned had left to hunt alongside Robert-- with Benjen and Robb in tow, Lyarra had been practicing with Theon in the yard. Catelyn had advised her against any swordplay while the King was their guest, but she paid the woman no mind. Theon was not the most proficient with a  blade, but Lyarra relished the chance to spend time with him regardless. The boy was still harsh — particularly unkind to Jon. But she forced herself to push resentment aside. He was just a boy. And regardless of his less-than desirable attitude, she couldn't help but care for him. 

The two were only disrupted by a familiar grunt. Lyarra asked the boy to clean up, as she made her way to Tyrion. He was perched on a set of steps, leaning his head against a wooden door — with furs draped over him. He was hungover, no doubt, but her figure blocking the sun in the slightest seemed to flood him with relief. 

"Well, don't you just look lovely, my Lord Tyrion." Lyarra settled on his right, placing herself on the step just below him. He barely raised a brow at her, before leaning back against the door.

"Not all of us can handle our liquor as well as you, my Lady. Though, if I recall, you were the one who needed Clegane to carry you through your own castle." Tyrion grumbled out, though his words held no heat. Lyarra, however, felt heat course through her. She had thought it was Sandor who carried her to her bed, but she wasn't certain. Tyrion snickered to himself, as the two were interrupted by a rough stomp. Sandor all but threw himself down by the two, fastening his boots as he glanced over them both.

"Rough night, Imp?" He grunted after a moment, seemingly taking amusement at the disheveled state of the man. Tyrion only groaned, squinting to look at Sandor. 

"If I get through this without squirting from one end or the other, it'll be a miracle." Came his eventual reply, and Lyarra only just barely cringed at his description. Sandor let out a noise that bordered on another grunt, and a laugh — at her expression. 

"I didn't take you for a hunter, my Lord." Never once did the honorifics slip, though Lyarra had grown increasingly comfortable in the man's presence. Tyrion seemed to lean towards the direction of her voice, but didn't properly open his eyes to address her.

"On the contrary, my Lady, I am the greatest in the land. My spear never misses." Sandor, seemingly displeased at Tyrion's response, only grunted — standing to unsheathe his dagger. 

"It's not hunting if you pay for it." He admonished, turning to Lyarra with a curious look. She had half the heart to question it, before she noticed Theon making his way towards her brother. Lyarra paused then, standing before turning back to the two men at her side. 

"I wish you both good fortune." She declared, her gaze lingering on Sandor for a moment longer than necessary — before she bid them farewell, moving to follow Theon towards her brother. She delivered similar wishes to her brothers, making her way inside as they departed. The rest of her afternoon was spent at Reyne's side, as she, Sansa, and Catelyn were all sitting together. In the back of her mind, she thought over the location of the Queen — but made no motion to question her whereabouts. Catelyn seemingly had a similar thought, as she scanned over the hall. It was only when they heard a desperate cry ring through the castle, that any of them moved. 

Brandon had been discovered in the courtyard, unconscious — and alone. No doubt, he'd fallen from the wall he'd climbed so often. Lyarra did not allow herself to cry, and only moved to help the boy — if only so that his mother herself did not have to do so. Once Bran was safely placed in his bed, with Maesters pushing the women out of the room, Lyarra allowed herself to shed a tear. In an instant, Catelyn was in her arms — shedding tears of her own. 

She wasn't certain how long the two sat, wrapped in one another, muddled in their own sorrow. The only thing ringing through Lyarra's mind was the thought of how unfortunate it was, that she'd only once again found a sister through grief.

First proper episode of Game of Thrones.. AND a Sandor introduction. Guys are we winning or what. I loved writing this chapter and I am not sorry about it. Lyarra loves her two children (who aren't at all her children) so much. Theon as well, sometimes.

So. Lyarra can't hold her alcohol. Tyrion is too easy to drink with. Jon wants to leave. Ned does not want to leave. And Jaime is being weird ... what a great set-up! Stay tuned btw.. Reyne's storyline is not as predictable as I am setting it up today.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And as always, feel free to leave any comments you have.

Thank you,

Zevran.

[ymaohoh]

Raise the Stakes - Sansa x Jon Link “I would hear something beautiful, if it please you.” Sansa Stark, the beloved daughter of Winterfell, is stolen by the King Beyond the Wall. Sansa x Jon AU

Word count: 48,446

Complete

[venusbyline]

𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺/𝑨𝑺𝑶𝑰𝑨𝑭 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ☙

❥ about me • main masterlist • wips

I only wrote for character x female/afab!reader, characters x female/afab!OCs, and some specific ships.

I write for female characters and sapphic ships too.

: ̗̀➛ REQUESTS: closed.

❥ ASOIAF Random Headcanons (masterlist)

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐉𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

❥ nothing yet

𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥

❥ nothing yet

𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐣𝐨𝐲

❥ nothing yet

𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 & 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐣𝐨𝐲

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐣𝐨𝐲

❥ nothing yet

[lovebaela]

THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH - MASTERLIST

(Bran Stark x Fem!Targaryen OC)

A/N - Not gonna lie yall, I’m more productive with this story on Wattpad 😭😭 I think I might stick with posting on there instead. The chapters I’ve posted here have been slightly changed there too. I’ll put the link of it below.

https://www.wattpad.com/story/367425499?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=lovebaela

“ 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 , 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑶𝒍𝒅 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 , 𝒊 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒏’𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 .”

⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 𝑹𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑨𝑹𝒀𝑬𝑵 ⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Rhaella is the daughter of Mad King Aerys’ younger brother. Before the rebellion of Robert Baratheon, he fled to the Summer Isles, where he fell in love with a woman. He married her and they both consummated their marriage. Rhaella doesn’t know much about her parents, and always struggled with having a true home. One fateful day, her cousin Viserys sent her away to the Starks. Little did he know, that was the start of her journey of self-discovery.

“ 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒌 , 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑴𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 , 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆’𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 . 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 .”

⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑵 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑲 ⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Bran is the fourth child of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully. All he ever wanted was to become a knight. He always thought one day he would join the kingsguard. That was until the day he found out he was betrothed to Rhaella. He didn’t think much of it, still able to be a warrior…until the day he became broken. All he wants is to find a purpose now in his life.

✮ ₊ Chapters ✧ ᵔ₊ 𓆪

1, 2, 3, 4

Disclaimer: I don’t own asoiaf, any pictures, or gifs that I use in the series🤍

Art by eleneyaart, fredrickruntu

Dividers by @saradika-graphics @saradika

Taglist: @lover-of-books-and-tea

[taytrashmouth]

Just finished rewatching game of thrones and the Jon snow obsession has been reborn.

This is a long one!

TW: rape, abuse, crying, murder, etc, all normal GOT stuff.

Jon snow x reader.

:readmore:

Looking at the empty walls of the stone cell I’ve been trapped in for weeks I can’t help but feel that these walls of winterfell that I’ve known for so long are no longer the walls I call home. This is a prison.

I pushed myself back against the furthest wall as I heard the keys rattle in the door. The chain around my waist felt heavier than normal.

As the door opened I felt a tear escape my eye…Ramsey

“You’re not excited to see me?” He pouted and wiped my cheek.

I tried to hide my fear and pain and sadness but I knew he could see through my act.

“I’m going to meet with lady Bolton tomorrow.” He sat down in front of me.

I thought about Sansa….I thought about when we were little, how we would sneak into the kitchens after everyone was asleep, how we’d laugh and talk, how we would dance in the snow outside and go for long walks in the snowy hills. She was bigger now, more mature. The last time I saw her was at the wedding…she got locked in Ramseys room and I got locked in a cell. I heard people talk of her escape through the small widow towards the top of my cell, I’d never been that relieved in my life.

Sansa never treated me as her handmaiden, only ever as her friend.

“Her bastard brother will be there too…” Ramsey spoke.

I couldn’t help my reaction, I let out a gasp and tears fell from my eyes.

Jon was alive.

“I want you to come with me to meet with them tomorrow…”

I looked up at him and frowned, there was a catch, Ramsey was insane, he liked to play games.

“You see… I know that Jon cares for you…and lovers should always be reunited at the end of every story.” Ramsey smiled as he touched my cheek, I tried to move away but he held me still.

“But I’m afraid this story doesn’t have a happy ending…” he pouted. “Jon will have to see what I’ve done with you.” Now he smiled.

He began to untie my dress, I tried to move away but he held me down and the chains were too heavy. After not being fed for a week I could barely have the strength to push him off.

He grabbed my hands and held them high above my head as he sucked hickeys into my neck, and put bite marks all over my skin.

Eventually I stopped screaming, I just accepted him inside of me, I cried and looked away, knowing there was nothing I could do. I thought of everything that wasn’t Ramsey. Then eventually I didn’t think of anything at all, I didn’t even feel as though I was in the room anymore. I was somewhere deep inside my own mind, somewhere I couldn’t even place.

I felt Ramsey hit me and become rough but I just lay there in the cold cell…hopeless.

When he was done he had his guards unlock the chains around my waist and wrists, and lead me to a room in the castle….Aryas old room.

They locked me in there for the rest of the night I had a bath and scrubbed my skin till it was raw and red trying to get Ramsey off of me…

I put on the dress that was laid out on the bed, it showed off my shoulders and my sides, exposing the bruises and scrapes all over my body. I brushed my hair that had grown a lot since I last saw myself. I tied it back into a braid exposing my face and neck like Ramsay instructed

I looked at my thin figure, I could see my own ribs. I looked awful. I drank the soup that was left on top of the dresser.

And I waited…to see Jon again, to see Sansa.

I walked out of the dining hall to see Jon hitting a training dummy repeatedly with his sword.

“I think it’s dead.” I smiled as he turned around.

He smiled softly, something he didn’t do often. “What am I missing?” He asked gesturing back into the hall

“Ned’s angry because Arya flicked food at Sansa.” I spoke. He laughed under his breath. “So nothing new?” He smirked.

I shook my head.

It was quiet for a moment, the music from inside distant. The air was cold.

I had liked Jon since I was about 10, he often caught Sansa and I in the kitchens late at night and instead of telling Ned, like Robb sometimes did, he would join us.

But I’d never say anything, I couldn’t…technically he was a stark, and technically I was a prisoner, a Greyjoy. Although the starks had never made me feel like a prisoner.

“Why so frustrated?” I asked him.

He looked down at his sword and the blisters he’d caused on his hand.

“A lot on my mind, my lady.” He replied.

“I am no lady….just a handmaiden, My lord.” I spoke back, knowing he only ever wanted me to call him Jon.

He smiled to himself. “Just Jon.”

“Okay….just Jon, may I have this dance.” I asked as the band began to play another song that could be heard vaguely through the closed doors to the dining hall.

“Anything for you, princess.” He spoke slowly and made his way over to you. Putting his sword against the stone walls of winterfell.

“I am no-“ you were interrupted when his finger pressed to your lips. “You are to me.” He whispered.

He valued me, always. He never treated me like less, in fact he always treated me like more, like royalty, like a princess.

I smiled up at him. He placed his hands on my waist and i put mine on his shoulders.

“I must warn you, just Jon I’m not a good dancer.” I spoke.

“I know, I’ve watched you dance with sir Cedric Mormont a few years back, and sir Jamie earlier tonight.”

I playfully smacked his arm and he smiled.

“I’ll tell you what princess y/n Greyjoy…I’m not that good either.” He smiled.

We swayed and laughed when Jon jokingly spun me around, or when I tried to lead. We ran around the castle walls for about 3 hours before lady Katlin caught us.

We both froze when she saw us.

“Sansa was looking for you y/n.” She spoke firmly. Glaring at Jon.

“My lady- I-“ you stumbled.

“It was me! I wanted to try on Robb’s armor, see what it was like, to be a knight. I had lady Greyjoy assist me putting it on-“ Jon interrupted. He never lied, but he was protecting me.

I glanced worriedly at him.

“Typical.” She whispered under her breath, and shook her head. My blood boiled. “Y/n get to Sansa’s chambers immediately, Jon… out of my sight.” She spoke loudly.

I quickly walked off to Sansa’s bed chamber, thinking about Jon the whole way there.

“Where we’re you?” Sansa spoke.

“I’m sorry, I-I was with Jon.” I blushed.

She squealed. “Tell me everything.” She spoke, handing me her hairbrush as she sat down at the dresser.

It was like having a permanent best friend, I was only two years older than Sansa.

I carefully undid the intricate braids in her hair and brushed her copper locks.

“We danced…sort of.” I smiled.

“Was he any good?” She frowned.

“No.” We both laughed.

We giggled and spoke until she had to go to bed. Laughing about Jon and how she was to marry prince Joffrey.

You walked along the empty passages towards the servants quarters. Through the snow covered courtyard. 

I was pulled from the happy memory when the lock to the chamber rattled and Ramsey and two of his guards entered.

I dropped the soup onto the floor, my hands must have been shaking.

“Oh clumsy are we? You’ll need a new dress I suppose.” Ramsey pouted.

Tears filled my eyes.

“Luckily I have the perfect one for you.” He smirked and held out some purple material…open back.

He wanted Jon to see my pain, to see that I belonged to him. I shook my head and tears fell from my eyes.

His guards grabbed my wrists and shoved me onto the bed, i sobbed when they began to tie my hands to the headboard. They ripped away the gown I was wearing and I could no longer see Ramsey, and that scared me more than anything.

“This will hurt darling.” I could hear the smile in his voice. And I screamed and sobbed as a hard whip hit my back, digging into my spine, I felt blood pour down my back.

It hurt again and again, 20 times he hit me, 20 times I screamed and 20 times I did not prey for help, I wished for death.

He left me tied there, facing the wall, bleeding.

I cried for a long time until I fell asleep from exhaustion. Naked and beaten.

The morning was a rush, Bran had fallen from the tallest tower and hadn’t woken up. Lady Katlin was devastated and Ned had informed Sansa and I we were leaving for kings landing tomorrow. He had been offered the position of hand of the king.

He also informed me that Jon was to become a man of the nights watch.

I walked as fast as I could to his room, my dress blowing behind me in the wind. I tried desperately not to cry.

I shoved his door open and there he was packing his things.

As he turned to me I slapped him, hard.

“Were you not going to tell me!” I yelled, the tears began to fall.

He swallowed hard and looked down, and then at me…my face.

“I didn’t know how-“

“Lies!” I screamed, tears falling like snowflakes.

“I love you! And I didn’t know how to say goodbye to the one thing! The one good thing in my life! The only thing that matters!” He yelled too now.

You cried harder.

“You are the only thing keeping me from going! But I can’t love you, n/n….I can’t! I’m a bastard, and I refuse to force you to burden that name too. You are going to king’s landing tomorrow, you’ll meet a Duke of something there and you’ll grow old in a castle, and have beautiful daughters and strong sons.” Jon was crying too, he held my shoulders.

“No-“ I shook my head. “I don’t want that…. I love you Jon snow. I will never love anyone else. I want to run away with you, I want to carry your children, I want to grow old with you!” I sobbed.

He shook his head, and pressed his forehead to mine.

“I don’t care if you’re a bastard- it’s a stupid title. Like king or queen it’s just a name. But you’re so much more than that you’re brave and kind, loving, you’re funny and smart and-“ he kissed me, gently but passionately.

For a moment everything made sense. All the stars aligned and the puzzle fit together beautifully.

But then I pulled away.

“I love you.” We stated at the same time, we both laughed lightly.

There was a heavy silence after that. I knew I had to go to kings landing, and he knew he had to go to the wall, to make something of himself.

“Promise me.” I spoke slowly as he held my cheeks. “Promise me when I see you again you’ll kiss me, like you just did, promise me that someday we’ll grow old together. Promise me-“ I choked and he kissed my forehead. “Promise that I’ll see you again.”

He nodded. “I promise.” He knelt to the floor and kissed my hand, “ I promise I’ll come back for my princess.” He spoke.

I smiled through the tears as he stood.

“Promise you’ll write to me…every day.” He whispered as we hugged. I nodded.

“Promise you’ll write back.” He chuckled and nodded against my head.

That was goodbye.

I rode with Ramsey on his horse, my back aching and my lips blue. I was freezing in the revealing dress. Bruises, gashes, hickeys, scars and deep wounds covered my body.

We stopped after a long ride. I saw horses approaching in the distance. My heart sunk, I didn’t want Jon to see me like this. What if he had moved on.

I must have looked terrible because Sansa took in a sharp breath before demanding my release. There he was, Jon…my Jon.

I almost smiled when I saw him, almost.

He looked older, a fuller beard and darker eyes, he was taller. He was handsome.

He looked devastated when he saw me. I looked down at the floor, not seeing the tears fill his eyes.

They debated the war that was to come, tomorrow. And Rickons release.

I began to shiver.

“Give her a coat she’ll freeze!” Jon yelled. His voice was husky and sad. I looked at the anger on his face.

Ramsey smiled.

“Jon don’t-“ I tried to explain it was just one of his games but Ramsey hit me, across the cheek.

Jon’s horse jerked forward as he drew his sword but his men held him back.

And then we rode away, at the perfect angle for Jon to see my back.

Ramsey threw me back into my cell, I cried…I didn’t want Jon to fight- I feared Ramsey would win.

I felt my heart sink…I had imagined seeing him again for so many years and it broke me to know that might’ve been the last time.

Last I saw him he was 16, only a boy. I was 15, a young girl who knew nothing of the world outside winterfell.

I knew not of vicious fighters like sir clegane or horrible woman like Cersei. I wouldn’t have imagined such an unfair ruler as Joffrey. Or such an abusive leader as Ramsey.

I wouldn’t have ever imagined seeing Theon like that….like reek. Ramsey told me he’d to the same to me if I disobeyed him. Another Greyjoy to his collection.

I hadn’t looked death in the eye the last time i saw Jon and yet now I had seen so much of it, it all seemed insignificant.

I heard of Jon’s battles, I even heard of his death. Seeing him again was like seeing a ghost. I wasn’t the same girl he left at winterfell but I had the same heart.

“You’re going to take someone’s eye out.” I smiled across the courtyard as I saw Jon and Robb attempting to sword fight in the snow, they kept slipping on the ice.

“That’s the point my lady.” Robb smiled.

“It’s not that simple.” Jon huffed.

“Can I have a go.” I asked gesturing to their swords.

They both chuckled until they realized I was serious.

“The arena is no place for a lady.” Robb spoke, he looked a bit sympathetic though.

I frowned.

Jon was about to speak until Theon called them to lunch.

That evening when I was lying on my bed I felt something shake me awake.

“Jon?” I frowned in the dark. He nodded.

“Come on.” He pulled me out of bed.

“Where are we going?” I asked but he shhhhed me.

“You’ll see, it’s a surprise.” He whispered.

He dragged me out to the courtyard, where he lit a bunch of candles.

I smiled.

“Jon it’s beautiful.”

“Like you.” He responded, both our cheeks flushed.

“You sure you’re ready?” He asked me, changing the subject.

“For?”

“You’re greatest opponent.” He smiled and threw me a sword which landed on the floor in front of me. I smiled.

“Thank you.” I looked at him. He nodded.

He spent the rest of the night trying to teach me how to fight, and by 4AM I could have a basic spar with him.

He quickly blew out all the candles and lead me back to my chambers.

“Was I any good?” I asked.

He nodded as we walked.

“Are you just saying that?” I asked again.

He smiled. “You were better than Theon let’s put it that way.”

I smiled.

Ramsey chained me up and dragged me outside of winterfell with Rickon. We both got a bad hit when I hugged him, I was so relieved he was alright.

I watched as Ramsey explained the rules of his stupid little trick, how rickon had to run across the field to Jon. It was too easy. There was a catch.

I watched as he began to run and I watched Ramseys men began to load their crossbows.

I began to scream. “Nooo! Stop!” I screamed and they hit me, but I didn’t stop, I had to warn him.

Jon began to ride towards his brother… holding out his hand. But there it was, another stark gone.

My own scream was silent in my ears, I couldn’t hear anything as I watched him fall to the floor.

I sobbed. I watched Jon loose his horse and begin to take on an entire army by himself. I screamed again.

I felt Ramsey pull at my chains and drag me back to winterfell. Leaving the battle of the bastards. His war that he wasn’t even fighting.

Leaving the carnage. He took me to the courtyard. He put me on the execution platform and tied a rope around my neck. He explained how if Jon came to save me, the floor would disappear and so would I.

I waited, I saw the bodies pile up through the windows in the castle walls. I watched the giant break down winterfells gates. I smiled and cried when I saw him….just Jon.

“You’re too late.” Ramsey smiled and pointed at me. Jon’s face dropped he was covered in blood.

“No!” I yelled as I watched one of Ramseys men move to pull the lever.

Jon began to run towards me, as a red haired man threw an axe at the soldier. It killed him as he pulled the switch. I closed my eyes and took in a sharp breath.

I opened my eyes, Jon had caught me. I smiled as a tear ran down my cheek. He looked at me, examining my face.

His red hair friend cut the rope and jon put me down.

Ramsey began to load his crossbow.

“Jon.” I said and pointed at Ramsey.

His hands left my hips, and I almost missed his touch.

He used some debris as a shield as Ramsey fired arrows at him, he grew closer and closer to him.

I watched as Jon beat him up. A part of me liked that Ramsey would die here, today. A part of me knew it was wrong.

“Stop!” I let out. Jon looked at me and then at Sansa, still punching. And he did, he stopped.

He walked off into winterfell.

I ran across the courtyard to Sansa and we held each other. Tight.

“Are you okay?” I asked her. She laughed.

“Are you?” She scoffed.

We quickly decided Ramsey should be reunited with his pets. He didn’t deserve to live. Not even as a prisoner.

Later that evening I found myself in Aryas old bed chambers attempting to stitch up some of my cuts. I heard a knock at the door and looked up.

Jon.

“Hello.” I spoke.

“Hi.”

I slowly stood up.

It wasn’t long before his lips were on mine. We kissed for a long time, passionately. A kiss that made up for all our time lost.

We pulled away breathless, both crying.

“You stopped writing letters.” I spoke, he smiled.

“You stopped writing back.” He answered.

He hugged me, gently. I hugged him back as tightly as I could.

“You’re taller.” I smiled.

“You’re shorter.”

We both laughed.

He sat me on the bed and helped me stitch up my wounds. He held my hand tightly as he poured alcohol on my back.

We spent hours catching up.

We both sat on the end of the bed, my head on his shoulder.

“I thought you were dead.” I told him. “Twice.”

He chuckled. “You gave me a few scares too.”

“How was the wall?”

“Cold.” He looked down at me. I laughed.

“Is it true? The whitewalkers?” I asked more seriously now.

He sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“I’ve fought them, they’re too strong. I fear we won’t win this battle. But I’ll make sure you’re as far south as south goes-“

“No!” I interrupted, shaking my head.

Tears brimmed in his waterline.

“I’m not leaving again….I just got you back. We’re going to grow old together, remember?” My voice broke. “Even if you’ve found someone else-“

“There’s no one else.” He brushed his hand over my cheek.

“If you fight, I’ll fight.” I spoke.

“You did have a really good teacher.” He stated. I playfully nudged him as he smiled.

“I love you…just Jon, I always have.” I finished.

“I love you too, princess y/n Greyjoy.” He kissed me again gently.

“Snow.” I corrected and he frowned. “Queen y/n snow.”

A smile took over his whole face.

“If you’ll have me, that is? King Jon snow.”

[llonelygoddess]

How they react to...you getting injured

A/N: I hope this doesn't sound redundant but here ya go :)

Romantic Pairings: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy, Khal Drogo, Brienne of Tarth, Missandei

Ned Stark: If you got injured it would most likely be from falling off your horse during a casual ride. As the doting husband he is he would be rushing to your side and calling maesters to check on you. With only a small bruise to show for you try to get back on the horse but Ned doesn't allow it. He doesn't mean to control you, he only wants to keep you safe from any more serious injuries that won't heal as easy as a bruise.

Robb Stark: With Robb, he normally has guards with you at all times because he worries for your safety. When one of them turns out to be a spy with intent to hurt you, Robb is livid. You were pushed and left with a few bruises but all he sees is red. Robb sentences the man to die and takes his head for it. He spends the rest of the day with you in bed, feeling guilty while he looks at your injuries. You'll definitely want to console him cause he will cry, especially thinking of what COULD have happened to you.

Jon Snow: He truly believes in your ability to take care of yourself, but when you get hurt during a fight he rushes to your side without second thought. You'll both have to fight your way out of the conflict but once you're safe he checks on your wounds. He asks for a maester to check them out to keep out infection and feels a little useless not being able to do anything himself. Jon makes it a point to joke about it to take away the serious energy going on and promises to always have your back.

Sansa Stark: Girly is straight up crying. Doesn't matter if it was just a little accident or you were roughed up by some thugs, younger Sansa is a crier. When she finds you she's holding onto you with strength you didn't know she had. Unlike older Sansa who would be ready to pass someone's death sentence, younger Sansa only cares about you feeling better. She does her best to make you a prayer wheel like her mother does for her.

Margaery Tyrell: She'd be a lot more calm than you'd think, at least around others. Once she sees you lying in bed with your leg elevated, she's questioning the hell out of you. What happened? Who was it? Do you need anything? Milk of the Poppy? It's almost entertaining to see how much she worries in contrast to her usual cool attitude. After you assure her that you're alright she's cuddling up in bed with you, probably to read something to you.

Theon Greyjoy: Pre!Reek Theon would instantly be at arms and ready to fight whoever touched you. He's possessive and the thought of ANYONE touching you pisses him off but especially if they meant to harm you. He wouldn't know how to express his worry for you so he'd just angrily stand by you as you recover. Post!Reek Theon is deeply insecure and guilty about you getting hurt. He still wants to fight whoever hurt you but he's more concerned with making sure you're okay.

Khal Drogo: *Activate instant death mode* I mean we saw what happened when Daenerys almost got poisoned, think about actually getting poisoned. Having to lay in bed for days while Drogo goes out in search for whoever did this to you. It doesn't matter why they did it or if you die or not, all that matters to him is giving them the most painful death possible. When he's done, he sits at your bedside knowing you are strong and capable of overcoming this.

Brienne of Tarth: It was only a training accident but your messed up ankle reminded Brienne how fragile you were. She was born and raised to endure the pain that came with being a knight/fighting, but you never asked for it. She'll feel upset at herself for not teaching you properly and it'll come off as anger towards you. Truly she doesn't mean it but if being hard on you will keep you safe next time then she knows what she has to do.

Missandei: Tearsss. She's crying before she even knows what happened to you. Stays by your bedside as you heal from a battle wound and takes responsibility for changing your dressings and cleaning the injury. Missandei knows that this is the life you've chosen to live, but sometimes she wishes she could take you away to her homeland safe from any harm.

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Four - Jon goes to visit Old Nan and sets his future in motion.

Series masterlist

Jon dreams of you again, and again, and again, night after night, your back against the wall, bleeding out in his arms as you beg him to protect you. The time for him to set off for the Wall grows ever near, not too close, but not far enough away he can forget its approach. It plagues his mind, his desire to join his uncle, to prove that he is worth something, warring with an inherent need to be near you, to protect you from the horrors that live within his slumbering consciousness.

He has other dreams as well, smaller, less gory dreams, and when they start to bleed into his waking world, he turns to the only person alive he believes will have some semblance of an answer.

“Greendreams, they run in your blood.” Old Nan says simply, once he has finished telling her of his plight. Her needlepoint is in her lap, her frail body wrapped in thick blankets, even with the fire roaring beside her.

“Greendreams? But I am not a warg, Ghost, and I do not share a mind.” He protests, half serious, half humoring the old women.

“You need not share minds to have the dreams, nor do you need to be a greenseer to possess greensight, they are not one and the same.” She explains, her voice growing stronger as she speaks. “You must listen to these dreams, prevent the horrors if you are able.”

��I am to go to the Wall, but Lady y/n will return to King’s Landing, how am I to protect her?”

She fixes him with a look, one that he knows means she thinks him simple.

Jon stares into the fire, a silent prayer to the gods. He cannot protect you from his place on the Wall, he must make a choice, though he’s unsure if it is fully his to make. He alone cannot choose to return with you, he is a bastard, he has no place in King’s Landing.

Old Nan dismisses him without sparing a moment for his internal turmoil, and in his meandering, he runs directly into your father.

Tyrion looks up at him frowning, and Jon already fears he has spoiled his chances.

“My apologies, Lord Lannister.” He says, taking a quick step back to give the man room.

Tyrion scans him, searching him for weaknesses, his piercing green eyes, picking him apart. “My daughter, she is beautiful.”

Jon says nothing, only nods.

“Speak boy.” Tyrion snaps, glaring up at him with the might of a man three times his size.

“Yes, Lady y/n, is very beautiful.” He shifts his weight imperceptibility, hoping someone will come and save him from this encounter.

Tyrion nods. “She grows more beautiful each day, I worry for her, as all fathers do.”

Jon nods again.

“I know the circumstances of your birth are not…conventional, but they are many ways for a bastard boy to earn a name for himself in King’s Landing.”

Perhaps the gods had been listening to his prayer. “My Lord?”

Tyrion clasps his arms behind his back. “I have spoken with your father, he is to join my good-brother as Hand to the King and return with him to King’s Landing, he is bringing Lady Sansa with him, and you, if you agree to my proposition.”

Jon knew his father wouldn’t be able to deny King Robert anything, but to think…

“If you come to King’s Landing you shall come as my daughter’s guard, her sworn-shield, you will not leave her side, you will give your life for hers, and in return you get to escape your dreary life here.” Tyrion continues, giving him an expectant look.

“I am not a knight.” He says dumbly, the implications of what Lord Tyrion is asking him weighing heavily on his shoulders.

“Not in this moment, but my good-brother would be more than happy to knight the son of his dearest friend.”

“Why?”

Tyrion scoffs. “I offer the boy the chance of a lifetime, and he asks why? Because boy, I have seen you fight, and I know how deep loyalty runs in Stark blood, I will not worry for her safety if you are at her side. Besides, she is…fond of you.”

His heart sings, pushing all worries and tortured thoughts aside. She’s fond of him, his lovely lady is fond of him. “And my father approves, truly?”

“Yes, boy, he does, now will you give me an answer, or will we stand here all night while you ruminate in brooding silence?”

Old Nan’s words fill his head, accompanying the sounds of your sobs, of your pleas for him to promise you, to save you. “I will go.”

Tyrion nods. “Good, now we need to get you knighted, and some better clothing, my daughter shall not be seen with such a rumpled looking sworn-shield.

Jon looks down at his tunic. “I was asleep before this, Lord Lannister.”

“Still.”

It’s a blur, Arya’s anger then tears, Sansa’s distance, Robb and Theon’s claps on his back, Lady Catelyn’s strained smiles, and his father’s genuine one as he kneels before the king to be knighted.

The Great Hall of Winterfell is nearly empty, the bannermen returned to their homes, the servants busy cleaning or helping load the luggage of various royal family members back onto the monstrous wheelhouse Queen Cersei travels in. The sconces lit, his family and yours in a half circle surrounding him, King Robert at the center, Lord Stark beside him, Queen Cersi on the other. Prince Joffrey leers at him, but Jon ignores him, keeping his head bowed.

Ghost sits by his side, a red kerchief tied around his neck, a gift from you, one Jon was surprised Ghost allowed you to tie around his neck. It’s darker than the normal Lannister colors, more crimson than ruby.

He knows you and your father don’t have a personal coat-of-arms, but he has noticed your gowns, and your father’s doublets tend towards darker, more cool toned shades of red and gold. A small act of rebellion, a way to set yourselves apart? He’s unsure, but now he knows he’s part of that act, willing or unwilling.

It matches his eyes. You had said, smiling up at Jon as you smoothed down the fur between Ghost’s ears, the crimson fabric stark against his snow-white fur.

Kneeling before the King, Jon doesn’t feel he truly deserves to be knighted. He has won no battles nor performed any great feat of valor, he has trained, he has studied, he has been loyal, but he hasn’t done anything the bards sing about, or anything detailed in those books Sansa reads.

“Rise Ser Jon, shield of the Lady Y/N Lannister, bound before the gods, and your King.” King Robert commands once his sword has left Jon’s shoulders and returned to its sheath.

He does as he’s commanded and bows to the King before turning to you, bracing himself for the regret in your eyes. Surely this is a jest taken too far, he will look into your eyes, those verdant eyes, bright as spring, and see you realize you’ve made a mistake, see you ready to cast him aside.

“Lady y/n Lannister, daughter of Lord Tyrion Lannister the second son of House Lannister, my sword and shield are yours.” He says, taking a knee once more and finally summoning the courage to meet your gaze.

The persistent voice in his head that whispers how unworthy he is goes quiet. You’re looking at him with such reverence, such excitement, there is no sign of regret or jesting.

All that ran through his mind as he knelt before you now was this: he was not a poet, and he could not call himself a lover. For he did not have the skill with words others did. He could only say that he was yours, even if you did not want him, even if right now you fled across the continent, returned to the South, and cursed his name for all to hear. He would be yours until the day his breath escaped him for the final time.

“I am grateful for your sword and shield, now arise Ser Jon Snow, my sworn sword, my protector.”

When you bid him to rise, addressing him by his name, calling him yours the air that fills his lungs tastes sweet, and he presses his lips to your hand, clasping it a moment too long, evident by Tyrion’s sharp cough.

“I will serve you well, I swear before the old gods and the new, my life is yours.” He says, keeping his voice steady, his face set in an expression he hopes reads as serious but not stern. He’s always had trouble walking that line, finding he often looks far more sullen than he feels.

“As mine is yours, Ser Jon, I entrust it to you.” Your words are clear, ceremonial, and he would easily believe the words are typical of a sworn sword ceremony if not for the way King Robert’s eyes flicker to your face.

The next days fly by, and soon he is standing outside your door, red cloak marking him as a guard of House Lannister, hanging from his shoulders. It’s one that’s not darker than the others, which makes him feel odd. Did you not wish him to match you? Was he not deserving of your crimson fabrics? His armor is new and shined to perfection, his boots new as well, and slightly stiff, his sword hangs at his side as Ghost sits patiently waiting at his feet.

Lord Tyrion exits first, dressed in finery, a small satchel at his side. He looks up at Jon and nods. “Red suits you, do not make me regret this.” Then he brushes past him, heading down the hall and towards the main gates.

You appear next, form wrapped in dark red velvet, a white fur lined cloak folded over your arm, your gown belted with a chain of gold, that accentuates your waist and hips. Your hair is down in a Northern style he finds quite familiar, it looks beautiful on you, framing your face just so.

Jon jerks his eyes away before you can notice his stares and bows his head. “My Lady.”

You smile at him, your bracelets jingling as you reach down and hold your hand out for Ghost to sniff. “Are the others ready to depart?”

“Yes, My Lady, all but Lady Sansa.” He says, offering his arm to you.

You take it and begin to walk through the halls with him, your brows furrowed in concern. “Is Sansa alright?”

He thinks through his words, speaking slowly. He doesn’t want to give you a bad impression of Sansa, you seem fond of the younger girl. “Lady Sansa is…upset at the addition of Lord Theon.”

You snort, then hide your smile with one hand, embarrassed. “She did not expect your father to let him remain here, did she? He is an assurance the Iron Islands will not revolt, if he is not within Lord Stark’s grasp then what danger would he be in?”

He hadn’t thought of it that way. While Theon was an outsider like him, he existed in a space entirely different from Jon. Theon was Robb’s closest companion, the two shadowed each other, fought together, jested, and patronized brothels together.

“I think it is less that he is accompanying us and more that he is to be her guard.” Jon continues, half entranced as the scent of jasmine rises from your hair when you toss it over your shoulders.

“But he is not her sworn sword, so she will not have to spend every moment with him by her side. Besides, it is not as if he is unpleasant to look at.” You say nonchalantly, as if you two are simply friends having a casual stroll, your lips quirking up as you bite back a laugh.

You have perfect lips, plush and soft looking, stained a light red color by the berries from your morning meal, for a moment he wonders if you would taste of them.

“You find Theon handsome?” The words spill out before he can stop them, and he fights a rising blush when you fix your emerald eyes on him, taking him apart the same way your father did those few nights ago.

“Perhaps…” You stop right as you both reach the gates and turn on your heel, making a show of adjusting the fastener of his cloak. “Why? Do you feel threatened my sworn sword?”

“I—Theon is not a threat; he would never turn his sword against our house.” He cannot stomach the thought, though they weren’t close, he would never doubt Theon’s loyalty. The older boy had proven himself time and time again, in fact he believed Theon would turn his sword on himself before he turned it on Robb.

You pat his armored chest smiling up at him with a mischievous smile, before returning your hand to his arm and beginning to walk through the gate and towards the others. “We shall see how he feels if he and Sansa are stuck in the wheelhouse together for several hours.”

It’s begun to rain, the temperature dropping, and he wonders who will remain on their horse instead of taking shelter inside the wheelhouse. “Will we not ride alongside the wheelhouse? Theon and I?” Jon asks, scanning the crowd gathered outside the gates.

“You may if you so desire.” Your answer is vague, but your grip on his arm tightens and when he sees the assembled groups outside the Queen’s wheelhouse he understands why.

You, Myrcella, Joffrey, and Sansa along with the Queen, and Tommen seem to be relegated to the wheelhouse. King Robert and Lord Stark remain on their horses, the two in deep conversation, their heads bowed towards each other, while Theon sits off to the side looking bored.

Jon has never spoken directly with you regarding your cousin, the eldest prince, but he has seen your thinly veiled contempt for the boy many times, seen the way you shrink back when he becomes overly excited or angry.

You stop on the edge of the crowd, scanning it for your father, a pout appearing on your lips when you see him next to his horse. “And of course Father will wish to ride his horse, but he never allows me to ride alone unless we are within the bounds of Lannister land, so I cannot even use that as an escape.”

“It will be safer for you in the wheelhouse.” Jon says, nodding gratefully at the servant who brings him his own horse.

“For whom?” You grumble miserably as your father climbs onto his horse, ignoring Joffrey’s calls.

“For you, there is no other’s safety I care for.” It’s not a full lie nor a full truth, he cares for his father, Sansa, and Theon’s safety, but he has sworn himself to you, so outwardly your safety takes precedence.

The rain picks up, no longer a sprinkle, and he lifts his cloak, stepping forward to shield you from the rain. You are so much smaller than him, delicate, your hands are soft, your skin unblemished by scars, and you move closer to him, further into the safety of his cloak.

You coo at his words, your lighthearted spirit returning. “Do you care for me Ser Jon? I am flattered, truly.”

He brushes your teasing aside and begins to walk towards the wheelhouse, keeping you within the confines of his cloak. “Please allow me to escort you aboard, Lady y/n.”

You go with him, albeit begrudgingly, your frown reappearing as you draw closer to the wheelhouse. “Ser Jon, can I not ride with you? I promise I am a very good rider, and I will not bother you at all.”

“You know her father has quite the appetite for whores, I would not be surprised he had hired some to give his daughter lessons.” Theon had jested, elbowing Robb as you passed by, heading towards the library tower.

Robb rolled his eyes but laughed, which only encouraged Theon.

“What must it be like to have a lioness in your bed? Do you think she bites as she rides a man’s cock? Are lions not known for their teeth?”

“Their claws, they are known for their claws.” Jon snapped, unable to hear such vile words spoken of you, even if Theon’s questions did spark something in the recesses of his mind.

“Ah, see Jon is in on it as well. She scratches, mystery solved.”

“No, My Lady, I am sorry, but it is not proper.” He says, dropping his cloak and gesturing towards the stairs.

The disappointment in your eyes pierces him through, and he almost gives in, but Theon’s voice rings out from up ahead and he steels himself.

You nod and release his arm, traveling up the steps without looking back at him.

“Lady y/n.” He calls before he can think better of it. “If you have need of me, call out my name.”

You give him a smile and pick up your skirts, your steps looking considerably lighter, until the door closes behind you, and you are lost from his sight.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines

[mandzipop]

Chapters: 80/120 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark Series: Part 2 of Daggers to the Heart Summary:

A war is brewing in the South. It is time to face the Lions. To complicate matters, familiar foes return to haunt them.

This is part 2 of a series, written in the order of the books To fully appreciate (and understand) this story, you need to read part one first. If you don't, you won't know what is happening.

Daggers to the Heart Pt 1, A Game of Thrones Daggers to the Heart Pt 2, Clash of Kings

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

THIS IS WHAT SOME WOULD CALL A MIRACLE.

I hope you enjoy it ;)

***

8 - New position. (Try something completely new!)

Chapter 14

Sam sighed as he watched Jon playing with the pint on his hand. When his friend had asked him out for a drink, Sam imagined something had happened and that it had something to do with the Sansa situation -how he called it in his head.

Sam knew Jon very well; they’d been friends for a long time and went through a lot together. There wasn’t much he didn’t know about the other man.

Sure, he hadn’t expected Jon to get into this… Situation with Sansa Stark. He’d never got the impression that there was anything between them, and he’d seen them together on many occasions. Jon hadn’t talked much about Sansa before, so it was a bit of a shock.

However, Sam didn’t really think it was the craziest match possible. When he’d thought about it better, it did make a lot of sense. They were both steady, loyal and kind people. In Sam’s head, Jon and Sansa made more sense than most of Jon’s previous relationships.

The man in question let out a long sigh, and Sam figured he was ready to say whatever was in his head.

“I’m in love with Sansa.”

Well… Now Sam was glad he hadn’t taken a sip from his beer. “I see.” He dragged the last word.

Jon looked at him. “You do?”

“I mean…” Sam cleared his throat. “I think it was bound to happen.”

Jon frowned. “It was?”

Sam snorted. “Jon… Come on. You’re the king of getting involved with people. And Sansa is pretty amazing. It isn’t shocking that, once you spent more time together, you’d realize she’s amazing and…” He shrugged.

“You could’ve warned me.”

“I’m pretty sure when you told me it was already too late.”  

Jon sighed again. “We spent time together before.” He defended himself quietly.

“Not like this.”

Jon’s next sigh was even more dramatic. “Are you going to tell her?” Sam wanted to know.

“Not yet.” When he saw Sam’s arched eyebrow, Jon hurried to explain. “Sansa is… Discovering herself right now. We’ve had a lot of discussions, and only now she feels more comfortable to say what she wants or not. Her self-confidence took a lot of hits in the last years and in her last relationships. She needs more time.”

“More time for what?”

“To decide whether what she feels when she’s with me is real or not.” Jon’s eyes dipped back to his untouched pint. “Right now she’s enjoying the high, learning about herself… I don’t want to confuse her.”

“I see your point, but then you aren’t being exactly honest with her, right?”

“I don’t intend to drag this indefinitely, Sam.” Jon assured him. “Not even to the end of the list. I also don’t intend to lie to her. If she asks me about my feelings, I’ll tell her honestly. But I think she needs a bit more time. She needs to feel more confident and more certain of what she wants or not.”

“Including you.”

“Including me.”

“I get what you’re saying, Jon, I truly do. But…” It was Sam’s turn to sigh. “Don’t wait too long. Yes, she might need time, but you don’t. You’re in love already. The more time you let pass, the worse this can get for you.”

“I know, Sam.” Jon nodded. “As I said, I don’t intend to lie to her, or anything. I just want her to figure it out on her own.”

Sure. Nothing could go wrong with that, right?

***

As Jon had assured Sam -many times- he didn’t intend to extend this situation indefinitely. He agreed with his friend that it wasn’t a good thing to do -for both of them. He also didn’t plan on ‘tricking’ Sansa into a relationship with him.

She’d either want to be with him… Or not.

And sure, the idea that she might not want to be with him like this would hurt some -or a lot -but these feelings were his to deal with.

He planned on giving her a bit more time, but they’d need to talk honestly about this sooner rather than later.

It was with this in mind that Jon went to Sansa’s apartament that day.

“Jon.” She smiled brightly when she saw him, but she also looked a bit nervous.

“Hey, San.” He kissed her cheek. “Is there something wrong?”

She pulled him inside and closed the door behind him. “Not exactly.”

Jon frowned. “Right… Are you sure? Because…”

“It’s about this next item.” Sansa admitted in a rush.

Oh right. It was the new position one. The one she was worried would turn into some weird yoga that would give her a cramp.

Jon picked her hand and pulled her closer. “We can skip this one.”

She cleared her throat. “Actually… I’ve been thinking about it and that’s something I want to try.” She was blushing and it was cute as fuck.

“Go on.” He encouraged her softly.

“It’s nothing really crazy.” Sansa was quick to assure him.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Well… I want us to…” She sighed. “Come with me.” 

Jon was somewhat bemused as he followed her to her bedroom. Sansa was still holding his hand and she seemed suddenly quite decided on something.

She stopped once they were inside the room. “I want us to do it.” She took a deep breath in. “In front of that mirror.” She pointed at the large full body mirror on one of her walls.

Jon closed his eyes.

“Jon?” Sansa called softly.

“I just think I might need to go back to church after this.” He told her, his eyes still closed.

“What?”

“The gods are being very generous with me right now.”

“Jon!”

He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “I think this is the best idea I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Sansa snorted. “Is that so?”

“Aye. Even better than the World Cup.”

“That’s a great idea indeed.” She grinned at him. 

“And…” He cupped her face. “Not wanting to be repetitive and all, but if you change your mind we can always not do it.”

“I know.” She assured him. Sansa looked around the room, but Jon had the impression she wasn’t really looking for anything, just thinking about how to say something. “Can we turn down the lights a bit?”

“Sure.” He agreed easily.

He let Sansa fuss with the lights as she wanted, while he kicked off his shoes and took off his belt. He looked at her vanity and found a hair tie.

“Now what?” Sansa asked a bit nervously.

“Come here.” Jon called softly. He put her in front of her mirror, her back to his chest. “Can I braid your hair?”

Sansa’s nose scrunched up. “Then will we have a pillow fight?”

Jon laughed. “No. I love your hair, but I want to be able to see all of you. So… Can I do it?”

“Yes.” She answered softly.

Jon gathered Sansa’s beautiful hair and let his fingers run through it for a while, before he divided the strands and started braiding it.

“You’re quite good at this.” Sansa commented.

“My mother taught me how to do it.” He told her, as he finished the braid. “I helped her with her hair when she was sick.”

Sansa’s eyes softened in her reflection. “Jon…”

“It’s okay.” He dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “This isn’t a sad memory.” He assured her.

Sansa looked at him over her shoulder. “Okay.”

Jon kissed her softly. “Are you ready, sweet girl?”

Sansa nodded.

He gently turned her face to the mirror. “Keep your eyes on us.” He told her, his voice soft and low.

Jon opened the zipper of her dress slowly, as if he was discovering her skin for the first time. His fingers ran over every inch of her that was revealed in a reverent way that Jon felt was quite telling. He pushed the dress down and it fell to the ground, then Sansa kicked it to the side, her eyes never leaving the mirror. Jon opened her bra and she also threw it carelessly. He dropped a kiss to the back of her neck.

Jon pulled his T-shirt off, and watched as Sansa bit her lower lip through her reflection. He felt a bit vain, since he knew how much she enjoyed the view of his chest. He’d never thought of his body as that particularly attractive, but he liked the effect it had on Sansa. 

His hands went to her waist, tracing the lines of her body. It was a bit dark in the room but he could still see his favorite freckles on her skin, he loved to see her delicate skin sinking under his fingers with every touch.

Jon had never been particularly possessive, but he couldn’t deny the pleasure he got from touching her like that, from knowing he was giving her something no one had given before. He didn’t like knowing her exes were such assholes and left her feeling so insecure, but he did like the fact that she was allowing him to change all of that.

Even if it had been his idea.

His fingers caressed the underside of her breasts, before he cupped them both. He massaged them gently, carefully, before playing with her nipples. For some reason, he was in no hurry whatsoever just then.

Sansa’s head fell back against his shoulder and Jon kissed her neck. “Is this good, San?”

“Yes.” She whispered softly.

“You look so pretty like this.”

“Jon…” She protested, but it was ruined by the flush of her cheeks and the satisfied smile on her lips.

He said nothing else for a bit, just played with her breasts for what seemed a long time, dropping soft kisses on her neck.

At some point she got a bit impatient, he guessed. Sansa covered his right hand with hers, then pushed it down her body.

“I’ll do it.” He whispered to her. “Put your arms up.”

Sansa raised her arms and sunk her fingers into Jon’s curls. He groaned in appreciation. “Eyes on us.” He reminded her.

Sansa’s eyes went immediately to the mirror, following the progress of his right hand. It hand dipped inside her panties, his finger finding her clit and playing with it.

“Jon.” Her fingers tightened their hold in his hair as he teased her, and her hips started moving, seeking more of his touch.

“So beautiful.” He nuzzled her ear. “Can you see how perfect you look?”

But Sansa didn’t answer, her eyes were fixed on his hand moving inside her panties, her face flushed.

He’d never seen anything prettier in his whole life.

Jon pushed a finger into her and Sansa’s back arched. “Jon.” She called again.

“Aye?”

“I want more.”

“You want another finger?” He teased.

“No.” She whined. “I want…” She was clearly trying to find a way to say it without falling into that dirty talk that she supposedly didn’t like, but she quickly gave up. “I want your cock.”

Well… Fuck.

Suddenly Jon felt - very - impatient. “Off.” He pushed her panties down, and those were also quicked away quickly.

Jon shoved a hand on his pocket and grabbed a condom. He was being way less suave than he’d like to admit, but just then he didn’t care - at all.

“Put your hand on the wall.” He directed Sansa, who obeyed, bracing herself against the wall, the mirror between her hands.

He ran his hands down her back, following her spine. He then opened them to caress her waist and hips, before running a teasing touch to the inside of her thighs.

“Enough teasing!” Sansa complained.

Jon chuckled, but he agreed. He grabbed himself and pushed inside her slowly, slower than he’d ever done before. So slow it felt as if time had stopped.

Sansa’s head fell forward and she tilted her hips back, taking him in deeper, making him lose his mind just a bit more. Once he was completely inside Jon stopped for a minute, appreciating the feeling of being like this with her.

He pulled Sansa back against him, and Sansa gasped at the move.

“Look at this.” He told her softly. “Look how beautiful you look.” He kissed her neck. “How perfectly you take me.” He pulled back a bit, then pushed inside her again. “Does it feel good?”

“So good.” She agreed, her words coming out in a moan.

He started moving slowly, whispering words of praise against her ear, telling her to keep his eyes on them in the mirror. He hadn’t needed to bother saying it, because Sansa couldn’t look away. Her eyes mapped all of them, his hands on her, the way their bodies moved together - not exuberantly, but delicate and deep.

One of Jon’s hands went to her clit, his movements becoming harder even if still slow.

When he felt the tension taking over her body, Jon’s free hand held Sansa’s face. “I want to see your eyes when you cum.” He told her.

Sansa held his eyes in the mirror, until her orgasm took her and she closed her eyes.

“Absolutely perfect.” Jon praised her.