#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

[welldonebeca]

The King's Wives (XV/Final)

WC: 2.3k words Warnings: Fluff. Emotional fluff. Wedding traditions. Smut. Dirty talk. Breeding kink. Oral sex. Virginity loss.

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Masterlist

The lords shot Sansa with smirks and suggestive looks when Jon announced they were excusing themselves from them.

She hadn’t drunk a lot, but there was a feeling in her, some giddiness that made her giggle and feel a little tipsy as her husband - husband! Jon was her husband! - took her hand and guided her down into the castle.

They took a way that was clearly far from the wives’ quarters, and she wasn’t surprised when one of the white knights nodded respectfully and opened the door to what had to be Jon’s chambers.

It was beautiful, large and windy, and full of some flowers she had only seen in Winterfell, lit softly by candles and looking more comfortable than any other bedroom she had ever seen.

Well, it made sense. He was the king, after all.

She turned around to look at him, and Jon smiled at her before cupping her cheek. He kissed her lips sweetly, and she couldn’t help the way she was giggling as he did, and giggled even more when Jon laughed so much his nose crinkled, and she could see the little wrinkles in the corner of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, laughing still. “I’m just…”

“Happy,” she whispered.

Jon looked into her eyes, calming down, and nodded.

“Very much,” he confirmed. “I can’t tell you how long I waited, how much I wished I could… Sansa!”

Sansa smiled and reached for him, caressing his cheek.

“We have the rest of our lives now,” she reminded him.

Jon smiled more, and she kissed him, first soft, but was quick to become passionate.

He pulled away with hunger in his eyes, and guided her to near the bed, making Sansa stand in front of him.

"You're so beautiful," Jon whispered,  running his fingers down her dress. "Did you make this dress?"

Sansa nodded, a little breathless.

"It's such a pretty dress," he hummed, moving his fingers to where it was tied. "Got you ever prettier for me, wife."

She flushed at the sweet praise, and Jon unwrapped her slowly, taking every single detail of her with his eyes.

"I want to see you underneath it," he decided in a soft whisper.

He pushed her dress all open and his eyes narrowed on her still-covered torso before pushing it from her shoulders, leaving Sansa in just her shift.

"Beautiful," Jon exhaled.

She shivered and gasped when he kissed her neck, moving his hand to her chest to untie the top of the lined piece.

He pushed it down, letting it fall to the floor with her dress, and he inhaled into her skin, caressing her naked stomach and waist before guiding her to the bed.

Sansa lay on the mattress, waiting for him to say something or climb on top of her, but Jon just ran his eyes on her skin, licking his lips before kneeling beside the bed and between her legs.

"Jon?" she panted, confused.

Jon looked up at her, taking her leg and kissing her calf, moving up to her knee and her thigh, and she whimpered.

What was he doing?

He nosed her skin.

"I just want to kiss you," he spoke into it.

She panted and he turned to the other side, kissing the way up her other leg too.

She let her head fall back to the pillow, waiting for Jon to kiss his way up her face, but gasped loudly when he kissed the place between her legs instead.

"Jon," she nearly jumped.

He kissed the sensitive bud between her legs, and her hand flew right to his hair.

"Jon!"

He chuckled into her skin, and she melted when his tongue explored her.

Gods, what was he doing?!

She had never heard of any man putting his mouth on a... on their wife's...

There!

But it felt so good.

Jon hummed into her apex, grabbing her thighs to bury his face even further against her.

Her skin raised in shivers and pleasure took her as he did. Jon was hungry, kissing her like a man starved.

His nose rubbed against her bud as his adventurous tongue invaded her entrance, his tight grip keeping her in place as she squirmed against his.

"Jon," she panted, feeling her muscles in knots.

She tensed her fingers in his hair, not knowing whether to pull him or push him away, and gasped in surprise when Jon pushed a finger into her.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

Sansa looked at him, a little stunned, and he raised his eyebrows a little bit, waiting.

"It's alright," she assured him.

It was very strange, but it didn't hurt.

He pushed his finger in and out, and added a second, slowly stretching her, and moved to finally lay by her side.

"I don't want to hurt you," Jon whispered, moving his nose over hers, and she squirmed a little, sensitive as his palm caressed her sensitive bud. "I... uh... Learned a few things. For you."

Sansa whimpered, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"For me?"

Jon nodded, lips hovering over hers.

"I've never... I never laid with any of them," he told her. "But..."

He hesitated a little and Sansa waited, watching him.

"I learned to make them feel good," he explained. "To be a good husband."

Sansa nodded along.

It must have taken him so much strength not to touch them, not to lay with them as a husband does.

"I wanted it to be with you," he confessed, flushing. "I love my wives, but I always wished I was your husband."

She felt her cheeks warm, and moaned when he slowly played with her.

"I want the gods to know it's you," he told her.

There were many words she knew he couldn't say. She couldn't be the only one - she couldn't even be his favourite - but Sansa knew she was the first one he had ever loved.

And that was enough for her.

He kissed her, moving his fingers fast and insistent, and leaned his forehead onto hers as she felt something tightening in her.

"Jon," she panted.

"Peak for me, wife," he whispered into her lips. "Please. I want to feel you."

She moaned, closing her eyes as her body built up for something, and Jon held her tight, until her muscles relaxed and she reached her release, crying in pleasure.

He pulled his fingers away from her and stood up, and Sansa sat up as Jon rushed to take off his clothes, not even giving her the chance of seeing him showing his body slowly, just kicking his clothes away quickly.

Still, she flushed at the sight, looking away when he took off his briefs, and Jon looked right at her.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, unable to say anything else.

He smiled largely, flushing, and her cheeks felt equally as pink.

Jon climbed back to bed and kissed her lips, setting himself between her legs, and held her hips gently.

“Can I?” he whispered into their kiss.

Sansa pressed her lips together, a little tense.

Her mother had told her that this moment could hurt a little, even if Jon was a careful man.

Still, she wanted him very much.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”

His arm moved, and Sansa dared to look down, finding Jon stroking himself.

His member was so long she knew she would need two of her hands to take him whole if she ever dared to, and the tip was pink and dripping with liquid, which he seemed to be using to coat it fully.

When she looked up at his face, Jon was watching her, and her face flushed at being caught.

“My beautiful wife,” he teased her. “All needy for me, uh?”

She felt her cheeks and neck hot, embarrassed, and her centre fluttered around nothing.

“Jon,” she whined.

He kissed her chin.

“Don’t worry, wife,” he spread her legs. “I’ll give it to you whenever you want me.”

Jon rubbed against her folds, moving slowly, teasing her.

“You’re mine now,” he hummed. “You can be all needy for me.”

She whimpered, raising her hips to try to get him inside her.

“Please, Jon,” she pleaded. “Just for you.”

He hummed along, kissing her neck.

“Just for me.”

He pushed his tip inside her and Sansa moaned at the stretch.

"There you go," he hummed, kissing her shoulder, and rested his head there. "We'll take it slow."

She nodded, a little breathless at the strange feeling.

It didn't hurt, not quite. Sansa had been expecting some acute pain, something like a stab, but it was alright. Sure, a strange stretch, but not painful.

It was almost like he was made by the gods just for her. They were the perfect fit.

“Jon,” she pleaded as he kept still in her. “Please.”

He kissed her shoulder and collarbone.

“Just a little more,” Jon whispered. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

She squirmed.

Torture.

This was torture.

“Please,” Sansa insisted. “I can take it. Please.”

Jon raised his head, looking at her face, and Sansa took her face to his cheek.

“I can take it,” she whispered. “I’m a wolf.”

They exchanged looked, and she smiled at him, reassuring, and Jon nodded slowly.

“Like you,” she pushed her fingers into his hair. “My wolf.”

Jon licked his lips.

“My she-wolf,” he whispered, kissing her hungrily.

He slammed into her, stretching her whole, and he stopped to look at her, waiting to see if she complained, but Sansa just moaned, just as hungry and pleased.

Jon fucked her hard and deep, and she clawed at his back, any anxiety she had ever had gone as she embraced her pleasure, raising her hips and arching her back.

“Jon,” she cried.

“My perfect wife,” he growled into her neck. “My shewolf, just mine.”

She moaned. Sansa wanted to say her Jon, but he wasn’t hers, not alone.

It was best that she didn’t try to pretend she didn’t share him.

She was feeling too much pleasure to care about anything else.

Jon moved his hand to between her legs, playing with her bud, and she gasped, moaning.

"Jon," she cried.

"Peak for me again, my queen," he panted into her neck. "Let me feel your cunt milking my cock."

His harsh words made her whimper, embarrassed and too aroused.

“Do you like it, my she-wolf?” he teased her, sucking on her neck. “Me making you flush?”

Sansa pouted.

“Jon,” she squirmed, hot on the face.

He smiled wickedly.

“You don’t know how much I’ve craved for your cunt, sweet Sansa,” he growled. “I jerked my cock so many times imagining being inside you, filling you up with my seed.”

She flushed, unable to keep her moans from growing louder, and the knot in her muscles tightened the way they had done before, when he had his mouth on her.

Sansa had thought about him too. When she was younger, and didn't know to be ashamed. She would hold her pillow close and imagine it was Jon sleeping by her side.

More than once, and she would never admit it, Sansa had clenched her legs around her pillow and whimpered into it, searching for an unknown pleasure while imagining Jon giving it to her, just like right now.

Jon lifted her hips up, thrusting deep into her, and she cried as her eyes rolled back.

"Gods," Sansa gasped.

"Peak for me, sweet girl," he grunted. "I won't fill you up until you do. Be a good Queen for your King."

She did, the knot in her belly breaking as she peaked, flooded with pleasure and crying.

Jon grunted against her skin, pushing his face into the crook of her neck, and she caressed his hair as she still floated in pleasure.

She needed him to peak, too.

"Please, Jon," she panted. "Peak for me."

Jon grunted into her skin, and she moaned.

"Please," she whined. "Fill me up. Breed me."

His hand tightened on her hips, and Jon raised his head to look at her face.

"I want to have your baby," she begged. "Please, Jon. I need your seed."

"Give me pups, my wolf," she cried.

Jon growled, and she felt him throbbing in her just before he grabbed her hips and buried himself inside her, his seed finally filling her.

Sansa peaked again at the feeling, embracing Jon close as she did, milking him more, squeezing him.

"I'll fill you up every day," he kissed her neck, voice still low and dark as he panted. "I'll give you my firstborn."

Sansa chuckled.

With other six wives, she highly doubted he would pull this off.

"You don't know that," she petted his beautiful curls.

Jon raised his head, looking at her.

"I do," he told her. "Because you will be my queen."

Sansa stopped, losing her smile now.

"Jon," she exhaled. "Are you sure?"

Jon smiled.

"Of course!" he confirmed.

She couldn't believe it.

"Why me?" she asked. "You've been with the other six wives for years, you know-"

"I know exactly who they are, each of them," he interrupted her.

Sansa stopped, and Jon raised a hand to her face, caressing her cheek.

"I've been waiting for you since my father told me I was going to be King," he told her. " Before I knew about  the others. Before I married them."

Still, she hesitated. Sansa has just started to feel like they could all be friends, she and his other wives.

"They'll be upset," she reminded him.

Jon moved a hand to her face, caressing it.

"We can wait," he told her. "Until you're pregnant."

Jon kissed her lips gently.

"I'll handle it all," he assured her. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise you."

She nodded, at last, overjoyed with the promise but also worried, but tried to calm down. Jon knew better, and she trusted him.

He pulled his cock from inside her and held her close, embracing him as he lay by her side, and she watched his face.

Jon struggled to rule as a northern man, but what about her?

Could she even handle southern life?

Sansa ran her fingers down his stubbly chin. The South wanted him to be a Targaryen, but they would never doubt or deny she was a Stark.

She would make the people love her, just like Jon loved her.

She would make their people happy, and their family too.

"You'll be a good queen," Jon affirmed, looking at her face.

She looked at him, caressing his cheek, and smiled a little.

"With you as a King?" Sansa chuckled. "I know everything will go great."

. . .

"The King's Wives" was posted on my Patreon back on June! To read the sequels before anyone else and have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

. .

[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.

[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.

[justmymindandstuff]

Promise - Jon Snow x Y/N (Reader)

Summary: You are a Lady from House Tully and Catelyn Starks ward. But you love her husband bastard son Jon and he loves you. Your relationship is a secret, but you don't care. But then Jon makes the decision to go to the Wall.

Warnings: implied first time, fluff, forbidden love

Words: 2.876

Gif not mine

English is not my frist language, so forgive me for my mistakes; not proof read. 

You sit in the warm room and work on a handcraft. Sansa sits next to you and you both listen to the Septa's words. She explains something about housekeeping and numbers to you and Sansa, but you get bored and Sansa also prefers to concentrate on her stitches. Lady lies at your feet, her eyes are closed and she makes a quiet hum every now and then. Arya, fortunately for her, had hidden before the lesson with the Septa began. She's probably wandering around Winterfell or watching her brothers training with their swords. You are jealous of her.

"Septa, can you please tell us something about the Prince?" asks Sansa. Since Lord and Lady Stark shared with you that the royal party are one their way to visit Winterfell Sansa can only think about the golden Prince Joffrey.

"No, you have more important topics to learn my dear child." the Septa answers.

There's a knock on the door and Jon pokes his head in. Sansa rolls her eyes at the sight of her „Bastard-Brother“.

“Excuse me, Lady Stark sent me to get Lady Y/N.” You put your work aside and stand up.

"We will make up for the lesson." says the Septa.

"Of course." You say, but know you won't mind hearing such boring facts again. "Shall we go for a walk with Lady later?" Sansa asks. The Direwolf opens her eyes when she hears her name, but doesn´t move.

"Yes, I'll come straight to you after I've been to your mother." you answer. You are Catelyn Stark's ward, the daughter of a distant cousin of the Tullys. After your mother died giving birth to your brother and your father was called to Kingslanding by King Robert, Catelyn and her family let you in their house and raise you like you are one of them.

Jon closes the door behind you and smiles at you. You both walk through the corridors.

"Do you know what Catelyn wants?"

"Nothing. It was a lie. Do you really thought Catelyn will send me to get you?"

You laugh. "You can´t do things like that." you say but you smile. "It´s dangerous."

"Is it?" he asks, grabs your hips and press you gently against the next wall.

"Jon no." you giggle but then you grab his hand and kiss him, his grip at your hip tightens. Suddenly you hear steps, you and Jon jump apart and he takes two steps back.

"Because of you we will get caught." You say, Jon holds his arm to you, and you rake under it.

"You kissed me My Lady."

"I am sorry my Lord." Jons gaze is a bit sad now and he opens his mouth but you already know what he wants to say.

"I´m not a Lord.” You are faster than him and he smiles. “I know but I don´t care."

"Do you want to go for a ride?" he changes the topic. 

"Of course."

"Good, meet me at the gates." Jon presses a light kiss at your lips and walks down the floor. You take a deep breath to calm down your heartbeat. Everytime you see him you have the feeling that your heart jumps out of your chest and in your stomach fly butterflies. You are madly in love with this man and you have the luck that he loves you too. You know it´s dangerous. He is a bastard and you are a Lady. Your Love is forbidden but you don´t care.

You walk through Winterfell, your home, to the gates. Ghost comes to you and nudges his snout into your hand. Behind the gates waits Jon with two horses. You take the reins from him and get on the horse. Jon also gets on his horse and together you ride off into the forest. It´s a bit cold, but you don´t care. You just enjoy the time you spend with Jon.

Jon stops in a clearing. "Let's take a break." You look at him a little confused, you two usually ride for hours through the forests around Winterfell. And it's usually you who ends up barely getting off the horse because your legs are stiff and hurt. Jon gets of his horse and comes to you to help you, but you don´t need his help. You jump from the horseback and land bevor your Lover.

"Not really Ladylike."

"Shut up Snow." you laugh, and he takes your hand in his.

"Usually, your word is my command." he kisses your hand. "But today I have to talk to you."

You look at him worried. "Something happened?" you ask. Jon sighs, taking your hand in one hand and the reins in the other. Then he starts walking, Ghost runs next to you. You're still waiting for an answer. "I spoke to father today. After the king came to visit, he allowed me to go to the wall."

You stop, forcing Jon to stop too.

"What?"

"It has always been my dream to go to the wall."

"You want to put on the black? You want to leave me?" you can´t believe what you´re hearing.

"No! No Y/N of course I don't want to leave you. But father says the king wants him as his hand. There is no other reason why he should travel north otherwise. And then I can't stay here."

"Robb wouldn't send you away."

"Of course not. But you know what Catelyn thinks of me, when father is gone it will only get worse and besides, what else do I have other than the wall?"

Tears come to your eyes. "You have me. But that doesn't seem to be that important to you." you pull your hand away.

"No! Y/N please. Listen to me okay. Please let me explain."

"What do you want to explain? Why you are leaving me? I don´t want to hear it." You say angrily, you don't want him to leave you. "You said you loved me!"

"I love you."

"You don't leave the person you love."

Now tears come to Jon's eyes too. "What choice do I have?"

"You can stay here with me."

"And then? Continue to hide? Continue to meet in secret? Secret kisses and always being afraid of being caught? In the worst-case Catelyn catches us and she will demand my head."

"No she won't! I'll explain to her that we love each other."

"You know her, she will not listen to you."

"Is that what you care about? Is it fear? Do you not want to see me anymore? But please, don´t leave our home."

"I love you! I can't even spend a day away from you without it tearing me up inside." He pulls you towards him and presses his lips against yours. The kiss is full of passion and love and you cling to him like you'll never see him again. You break apart breathless. Jon rests his forehead against yours and looks deep into your eyes.

“Please believe me that I love you and that I don't want to leave you. But I'm a bastard Y/N, there's hardly a place for me in this world. But I will have a place and a task at the Wall."

"I believe you. But I don't understand why you want to leave. You have a place in Winterfell. Your place is at my side. Isn't that enough for you? Am I not enough for you?"

"Of course." Tears run down your cheeks. Jon carefully wipes them away with his thumbs. “But we both know, someday you will leave Winterfell to marry some old Lord. And then I have nothing left. The Wall is my only way out, even if I have to leave you for it. It is better like this, for both of us.“ It feels like he's leaving you already “Please Y/N please don’t be mad at me and try to understand why I have to leave.”

"I'll try it."

"Let's ride back. You have a meeting with Sansa."

"Now I don't feel like walking anymore."

"I'm sorry. But I just wanted to explain my decision to you."

You nod and you head back to Winterfell. You stay silent the whole way back, you have a lot to think about. Shortly before you arrive, you part ways and you are the first to ride into the courtyard of Winterfell. Jon will follow you after a while.

Sansa comes towards you. "There you are." she calls. "We wanted to go for a walk."

"I'm not feeling so well, Sansa." you say, getting off the horse and walking past her. Sansa looks at you a little confused, but she doesn't say anything else.

Your thoughts revolve around Jon and his decision to go to the Wall.

You try to understand why he wants to leave. And even if you don't really want to admit it to yourself, you can understand his reasons.

You walk towards your room when Arya approaches you.

"Hello Y/N." Arya says happily when she sees you.

"Hello little wolf." You say, forcing a smile on your lips for her. "You weren't at the class with the Speta this morning."

"Yes, I managed to escape." laughs Arya.

"You shouldn't neglect your classes."

"I know."

"I won't tell your mother under one condition."

"What do you want?"

"Come with me and read something to me. You read so well, please Arya."

She rolls her eyes. She hates these things, actually she hates everything that has nothing to do with swords and bows. "Fine." she then agrees. The two of you make your way to your room, you take the book you are currently reading and give it to Arya. It's a silly fairy tale about love, but when Arya starts reading you close your eyes and imagine it's your story. Your love story with Jon.

--

And then the day comes. The worst day of your life! Today the royal Party will leave Winterfell and with them Lord Stark, Sansa, Arya and Jon. Originally you should travel with Lord Stark and his daughters to Kings Landing, but after Bran fell from a tower, you stay behind with Catelyn and Robb. 

You are awake long before the sun will rise, but you couldn´t stay in bed. You get dressed and leave your room. You walk through the corridors up to Jons room. You are not often here, the danger of being caught is far too great, but today nothing matters anymore. You knock at his door, it takes a moment and then he opens the door. He stands in front of you and looks at you in surprise.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

You try to ignore his bare chest and step inside his room.

“I couldn´t sleep and I wanted to say goodbye to you. Before we doesn´t have time for us anymore.” Tears well up in your eyes. You had prayed to the gods that this day will never come, but now there is nothing you can do anymore than watch the love of your life leave.

Jon smiles at you. “I am glade, that you are here, but what if someone sees you?”

“I don´t care.”

“You should.”

“No. Everything I care about is that we only have hours left together.” You reach up to him and kiss his lips.

Jon kisses you back for a second, but than he pulls away. “Y/N.” he sighs and looks at you with sad eyes.

“No. I don´t want to be sad now. Please. We only have a few hours left together. I don´t want to waste them.”

Jon strokes your cheek and smiles. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you. Forever.”

Jon kisses you again, you wrap your arms around his neck. Jon wraps his arms around your body and pulls you closer to him. The kiss is full of love and affection. You know he loves you and he know you love him. Even if your love is forbidden, even if everything speaks against your love. Nobody can take this away form you. Not a King, not a Lord or the Wall.

Your hands run over his bare chest.

His lips move to your neck, and you have to suppress a moan. His touch sets a fire inside you. You know this feeling, Jon has triggered this feeling in you again and again.

His hands roam over your back and then in front and over your arms. Jon pulls away from you, breathing heavily. His eyes sparkle and his lips meet yours again. Just for a second and then he pulls away.

"You have to go."

"Why."

"If you stay any longer, I can't promise anything anymore."

"I don't want you to promise me anything." you kiss him again, this time demanding and passionate. Your hands bury themselves in his hair and Jon groans.

"We can´t." He whispers against your lips and then kisses you again. His hands roam over your body and you get goosebumps all over your body.

"I know what you're afraid of, Jon. But don't worry."

Jon looks at you for a moment. You can see in his face that he is thinking.

And then he kisses you passionately. His hands are all over your body. You snuggle up against him and moan under his touch. "Are you sure?" he asks breathless.

"Yes. I've never been so sure."

You turn around, Jon kisses your neck as he undoes the laces of your dress. It falls to the floor and you shiver.

You've never experienced anything like what you had with Jon that morning. It was loving, tender and beautiful.

You lie together on his bed. The sun rises and you hear the first servants walking across the hallways. Jon’s hand gently strokes your bare shoulder.

"We have to get up." you say.

"I don't want this moment to be over."

"I don't want it either." You turn to him and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you Y/N.”

“I love you Jon.” It's just a whisper in the room, but to you it means everything. No one can take your time with Jon away from you, even if he leaves you today.

“Y/N.” Jon's voice is suddenly serious. "I will travel to the Wall today and I will put on the black. But I want to promise you something. I promise you that we will see each other again." He kisses your forehead and now you can't hold back the tears. "Don't cry my lady."

"I'm trying My." you interrupt yourself. “My Jon.”

--

You stand next to Catelyn in the courtyard to say goodbye to the king and his entourage. And to say goodbye to Lord Stark, Sansa, Arya and Jon. You hardly dare to look Jon in the eyes. You try to hold back the tears, but you can't quite manage it. A few tears roll down your cheeks, but you can blame it on the fact that you're going to miss Sansa and Arya so much.

The royal party starts moving and Jon also turns his horse towards the gate. But before he leaves Winterfell he turns around again, and your eyes meet. You look into his eyes one last time. He nods slightly at you and smiles. It's a sad smile, but you know what it means. I love you and this farewell isn´t forever. You will see each other again.

The gates close and you stand alone in the courtyard, and for the first time since you have been in Winterfell, you are actually cold. For the first time in your live you feel lonely. Caytlin says something to you, but you don´t hear what she said. You turn around and run into your room. You lock the door behind you and fall weakly onto your bed. Tears immediately stream down your cheeks, and you feel like your heart is tearing apart in your chest. He is gone. He is really gone.

--

The cold wind blows around your ears and you pull the fur collar of your cloak further up. You take a deep breath and ride towards the gate of Castle Black. You stop just before the gate and get off your horse. Your steps slowly carry you forward.

“Who are you?” a strange voice came from behind the gate.

“Lady Y/N, from Winterfell. I want to see Jon Snow.” Your voice trembles, but you´re almost there. You´re almost with him.

It takes a short moment and then the gate open and you can step into the courtyard of Castle Black. A lot of strange man look at you. You look around nervously. Your hair is messy, and your dress is covered in dirt and the hem is soaked in blood. Robbs blood.

“Y/N.” his voice flows through you, you turn around and looks at him. Jon comes down the stairs and runs across the yard to you. Before he even reaches you, tears are running down your cheeks. Finally, he wraps you in his arms again. You take a deep breath. His scent, so familiar and yet so strange, envelops you. For the first time since you left the Twins you feel safe.

“Please never leave me again.” You whisper in his ear.

“Never. I promise.”

[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''

Collages: "two years"

[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

[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.”

[freakassfemme]

(Smut/Drabble) Is It Casual Now? CisF! Reader x Yara Greyjoy

Summary: Y/N, a member of Yara's crew and longtime fling, finds herself struggling to face the reality of the Ironborn serving a Targaryen tyrant, especially after Yara's confession.

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST! It's horny but it's sad. Oral sex, f/f, lesbianism (but that's a blessing), angsty sex, sad sex, crying

A/N: YES the title is based off of Casual by Chappell Roan. Every time I listen to it I can't help but imagine something angsty with Yara.

NO MINORS BEYOND THIS POINT

The boat crashing against the rage of the sea only slammed your hips farther onto Yara's fingers as you struggled to keep yourself upright. Her hips worked some to hold you in place on top of the crate you sat upon, but still you tethered yourself on a rope hanging from the ceiling of the steerage.

Your moans were partially washed out by the creaking of the boat and partially by the way she smothered your lips in her own, and when she groaned back into you, your hand dropped and wrapped around her neck, deepening the kiss in a clash of teeth and tongue.

This wasn't unusual for the two of you. You'd been the only female member of her crew for quite some time, and like any of the men on board, you two preferred to find solace in the arms of a woman. It had never been anything serious, and it had always been something kept mostly private. Yara loved good company, but with a member of her crew could put her authority in jeopardy.

However, there was something unusual about the way Yara's mouth wandered to your neck. There was something entirely unusual about the way that she, rather than a simple bite on the shoulder to stifle her own noises, worked a deliberate mark right at the base of your jaw. In all three years of your little secret, Yara had never made such intentions present.

This new sensation pulled little gasps from you that floated right to Yara's spine, sending a shiver down it, so she continued placing her claim at the base of your throat, in the dip of your neck, under your ear, creating bruises that eventually washed to the other side of your throat as well.

Her fingers pumped ferociously inside of you, carelessly bruising every sweet spot like it was her last moments on this earth. When you cried out against her, she cooed into your ear so sweetly that you couldn't even form the words to tell her to stop (not that you would want to).

"Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart?" She whispered into your ear, and you shuddered, letting out a breathy laugh.

"N-no," you said, knowing it was the complete opposite of the truth. It was impossible for you to not to, especially when you knew she could feel the way you pulsed around her fingers, the way you gushed into her palm with every push, and the twitch of your thighs with every gentle curl.

"I don't think so," you murmured, letting a teasing smile slip.

Yara shook her head, chuckling and digging her fingers into a particular spot that had you almost jumping out of your seat. She watched, lips parted as your head fell back against the wall of the ship and your eyes fought not to squeeze shut.

"Your cunt is telling me a different story," she growled. She pressed her hand into your lower stomach, building another toe-curling pressure inside you as she held you in place. She kissed you sweetly after you let out a small cry, then sank to her knees.

You watched as Yara turned her focus to mouth at your clit, the vulnerability in her kneeling not slipping past you. The admiration in her eyes, the intensity of her passion - these things did not go unnoticed, and you felt your eyes begin to water. Tingles worked their way up your shoulder, and your ears rang as she pulled moan after moan from you. Your fingers dug into the crate, and you looked down at her with flushed cheeks.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but every other beat pulled a painful chord in your chest, and Yara could feel the way you began to choke up. Her hand slipped down to rub your thigh affectionately, but you instinctively grabbed it, interlacing your fingers.

Your eyes began to burn and blur as salty tears slipped down your rosy cheeks, and Yara squeezed your hand, watching the way you rested your other hand over your forehead, too mixed up between the climaxing pleasure and your longing heart to stay still.

"Yara," you whimpered out, "I'm, I'm-" But you couldn't get it out. It was all too much, the banging in your chest, the way Yara's fingers opened you up as easily as two flower petals, the way she made out with your sex like it was the love of her life, the way she had made it obvious to anyone who looked at you for the next week what had happened, and how they would know exactly who did it--

-- if you made it to the end of the week.

Tensions were high in all parts of the world, and the recent alliance between the Iron Islands and Daenerys Stormborn had completed changed the basis of the Ironborn way of life, and every member of the fleet in particular was feeling the effects of it.

Being pulled so far away from home, losing friends and family members too far from the sea to even retrieve them, and now you were following the trail of the dead with Yara to meet the queen who had started all of this, who had threatened and reconstructed an ancient way of life.

"What do you mean you don't want to go?" Yara stuttered, looking at you in disbelief. "That's not your decision to make, Y/N."

You stood on the other side of the room, running your hands through your hair. Your fight had echoed through the halls of Pyke until Yara had had enough and pulled you into a private room, but even now, passerby stopped to listen in.

It wasn't that you were a particularly disobedient soldier. You had always trusted Yara with your life, obeyed every command, even if that meant returning to her drenched in blood and void of emotion. She was your Captain, your Queen, and you had promised your life to her.

"Why are you serving her?" You exclaimed, throwing your hands up. "She's not even Ironborn, and you've known her for all but a few weeks, and now you've bent the knee?"

"Y/N," Yara stepped forward cautiously, but you waved her off, stepping back. She could feel the heat radiating off of you, feel the anger ripping at the air, threatening the foundation of this offhand non-commitment commitment you had to each other.

"No, Yara!" You exclaimed, "I won't go off to die in the middle of some fucking sea-less dessert for some woman I've never met!"

"She is the Dragon Queen!" Yara argued back, slowly letting her own temper slip from her. "She is the breaker of chains! She will bring no harm to the islands - you know I would not allow that."

You turned to her, eyes burning with rage, and met her face.

"Oh, but you have so willingly sacrificed everything the Ironborn stand for and everything we are for her!" You screamed. Yara stared fiercely down at you, though she did not respond. "And for what? What do we receive in return?"

Still, Yara said nothing. This irritated you even further, so you went further, going so far as to push Yara back. She let you, still quiet.

"You cannot kill another Ironborn, so what, you've taken to dragging us far away and drowning us all in her name?" You hissed. "What has she promised you? Or are you truly just so wound up in some foreign woman's cunt you would erase everything we have worked for?"

You went to push her again, but Yara grabbed on to your wrists. She dragged you forward, bringing you until you were so close you thought she might kiss you if it weren't for the circumstances.

For a long moment, you stared at each other, rage stirring and boiling at the very sight of each other, at the implications you had grown to believe about each other during this fight.

Then, Yara opened her mouth.

Nothing came out at first, simply a few stuttered breaths, then a glance away. And though you had quite a few times before worked Yara up to the point of chosen silence, never had you rendered Yara speechless.

Then, she looked back down at you, and swallowed thickly. Her expression had changed, twisted into a much more somber one.

"If I die out there," she whispered, "I cannot die without you."

[welldonebeca]

The King's Wives (1)

Summary: After the fall of Robert’s rebellion, Rhaegar’s surviving son would be raised in secret as a bastard for the first fourteen years of his life. Six years after finding out the truth, Sansa travels down south to join him and complete his group of seven wives - representing each Region of his Kingdom. Slowly, they become a very happy family. A.K.A.: Jon may get seven wives, but Sansa gets six sisters. Main Pairing: Jonsa Minor Pairings: Jon x Arianne Martell, Jon x Margaery Tyrell, Jon x Mya Stone, Jon x Alys Arryn (OC), Jon x Asha Greyjoy (platonic), Jon x Myrcella Baratheon (Platonic) WC: 1.9k words Warnings: Fluff. Canon divergence.

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Masterlist

Sansa was twelve when she knew her life was going to be different from what she first expected.

Before she was born, when her father was young, he had a friend. Lord Robert.

He had warred against the crown and the mad king - the father of King Rhaegar - and lost, after the woman he loved was taken as the Prince's second wife.

Her aunt Lyanna, so young, had caused war all by herself.

It should have been seen as a story of forbidden love, but it wasn't.

Many people died, her father's friend, his mentor - Lord Jon Arryn, father of her cousin, Robert Arryn - and even her aunt Lyanna herself. Prince Vyserys and Princess Daenerys, still children - she was barely yet a toddler.

Queen Elia's children had been killed too. One of them was just a baby, a newborn boy.

All that life was lost, and father... well, father seemed like the only one who survived, him and his little bastard boy.

Of course, Sansa eventually understood why her father and Jon had come home unscratched. Why the King was so grateful to let him come home and have his family.

Jon was a token of mercy father never seemed to be grateful for.

The king had bestowed many pardons, she had learnt as she grew up. Jaime Lannister, who had killed the mad King, but had saved Queen Elia from the hands of the horrid Mountain after he killed her babes, killing the man and saving her life, was now Lord of Casterly Rock and of its lands after his father was executed for letting in the men who'd rioted the King's Landing.

Her own father, who had fought by Robert's side.

Lord Robert's brothers, his only heirs.

Throughout her childhood, the life of the King and Queen seemed just to be focused on trying to create a peaceful kingdom. To maybe restore whatever they had lost during that war.

They never had heirs again, there was never a mention of the Queen pregnant or of the King taking a second wife, like with Aunt Lyanna.

And then the Queen died.

And he never married again.

King Rhaegar stayed alone, and never even entertained everyone's questions or offers of an engagement.

What he did, though, was come North. Every year, he visited, and spend time with her parents, made sure to have at least one meal a day with the oldest children - Sansa had been there a few times, and Jeyne hadn't stopped joking that the king had come to see if she was old enough to be his queen.

King Rhaegar was beautiful, but he was just as old as her parents!

She would never marry a man so old.

But there were questions about how he would continue the Targaryen dynasty.

He didn't even seem to care, not that she could see.

And he took a liking to Jon. He spent time with him, went on hunting trips with him, and was interested in things such as his education and character.

Which was so strange, because her half-brother was no more than a bastard.  Why would he care for a bastard?

And it was all written there. She just wasn't smart enough to put the pieces together.

She found out the truth when she was 12, and Jon was 14.

Bran had led her through the hidden walls of the castle, to show her something after they had said her name in a conversation, her parents and the king.

Jon wasn't her father's son, no. He was the only son of Aunt Lyanna and King Rhaegar.

"I didn't want you to be corrupted by the south," King Rhaegar spoke, looking at Jon's face. "Your mother was raised here. Her principles were much greater than anyone else I had ever met. It's why I fell in love with her."

Jon looked completely shocked, and Sansa's wasn't too different.

Her father's bastard boy, a prince.

Robb was there, right beside her mother, and Sansa couldn't quite read her expression.

Did she know that? Who else knew the truth?

"My whole life, I was raised like a bastard," Jon spoke, sounding frustrated and confused.

"Like the son of the Northern Lord," his father, his real father, corrected him. "You know the ways of the common folk more in this life than anyone in King's Landing. You know the worth of the work of your hands, and the real needs of the people who you are going to rule over."

Sansa cowled. The work of his hands? Jon wasn't exactly living like a prince, but he wasn't a man of the common folk either.

"What happens now?" Robb asked.

Her mother looked at him and then the King, and Robb glanced at his father.

"Is he..."

Father gave him a strong look, and her brother cleared his throat, turning to the king.

"Are you going to take him now, your grace?" he corrected his question. "To King's Landing.”

King Rhaegar exhaled slowly.

"I think Jon is ready," he told them. "And I want him to have time to learn how to be a prince."

Jon looked from her parents to his father, looking unsure.

"What if I say no?" he asked. "What if I don't want to go? "

"You won't," her father told him. "I know you, Jon."

"So you are going to send me South?" he asked, almost in a bratty tone. "To make me a prince I never wanted to be?!"

His father shook his head.

"You are my only heir, Jon, my only child," the King told him, softly. "My only family. I need you."

Jon's shoulders fell.

"You won't be alone," he promised. "You already have brides waiting for you to come home, to turn the right age."

Sansa frowned. Brides? What was he talking about?

"What do you mean?" Jon asked, confused.

"You'll help me reunite the seven kingdoms, son," the King smiled, encouraging. "And your wives."

The room became tense, but the King didn't seem to care.

"Wives?" Jon repeated.

"The High Septon and the Faith recently came to an agreement," he decided. "You know how Targaryen Kings before us have had multiple wives," he reminded them.

Sansa swallowed down.

"We have settled engagements for you," his father affirmed. "With one lady for each Kingdom, from each head family."

Her father stood up, looking tense, but the King didn't seem to care.

"Margaery Tyrell, Asha Greyjoy and Arianne Martell have already been chosen," he told him. "There is a girl who might be the chosen one for the Lannister's, Lady Myrcella Lannister. She is their oldest girl."

"We haven't found a girl in the Riverlands yet," he continued. "But Lord Frey is eager to offer his daughters and granddaughters. And of course, we were merciful enough to legitimise one of Lord Robert's daughters to represent the Stormlands."

Sansa's blood froze in her veins, and her heart was pounding hard in her chest.

"What about the North?" Jon asked, looking fearful.

The king looked directly at her father, unfazed, and Sansa watched her parents exchanging looks.

"We agreed on an engagement between Jon and Sansa when the king arrived," her father spoke between teeth. "But we didn't know you would have more than one wife."

"But I'm sure you would accept anyway," King Rhaegar spoke, emphatic. "After all, what greater honour there is than being the wife of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. She will be a princess! Potentially, his Queen."

Robb stood up with anger all over his face.

"Father, you can't!" he almost shouted. "Jon sees Sansa as a sister!"

Her parents looked away from Robb, and he turned to Jon.

"You can't say yes to this! Jon, you can't!"

Jon looked down.

"It's not like I have any choice," he said simply.

"You don't have any choice?" Robb shouted.

"Boys," her father tried to step between them, pushing Robb out of the way.

"Let them," the King sat down. 'It's best that they settle this now so the feelings won't linger."

Father seemed like he wanted to fight for a moment, but mother stood up, grabbing his hand.

"The King knows best," she spoke slowly, looking right in his direction.

"She is our sister!" Robb pushed Jon's shoulders.

"She is your sister!" Jon argued. "She doesn't even look at me. Your mother made sure to keep us apart the whole time, you know that."

Robb's shoulders sagged, and the adults moved slowly away, with the King guiding them along.

The moment they left, Jon walked off to take a seat, far too close to where she was hiding with Bran.

"I can't believe they lied to me this whole time," he exhaled. "My whole life!"

Robb walked to him.

"Don't sound so regretful," he rolled his eyes.

Jon shook his head.

"I'm serious!" he argued. "My whole life I've been treated like less than anyone else! Like I'm just someone to be stepped on. And then, out of nowhere, I'm a prince, and they want me to go down South with a bloody king who spent 14 years pretending I was nothing to him?! And then he comes around and says he is my father, about how much he loved my mother and how he just wanted me to be like her?!"

Robb scoffed.

"You are so dramatic," her brother spoke. "This is great! You'll be king! With seven wives! If that was me, I would think I was highly blessed by the gods."

Jon shook his head, but chuckled.

"You were literally about to punch me for being engaged to Sansa."

"Sansa is twelve," Robb affirmed. "I don't want her to get married. Ever."

Sansa pressed her lips together.

What was Robb talking about?

Never?

He couldn't want her to be stuck North forever, right? Without a husband and a family?!

"But at least, I know she will marry a good guy," he put a hand on Jon's back. "Who will treat her the way she deserves to be treated."

Jon sighed.

"I don't think this is a good idea," he sighed. "I'm not cut out to be king."

Her brother bumped his arm.

"We were raised side by side," he reminded him. "I know you are ready. I would have you be lord with me when we got older, you know?  So... It's the same thing. But bigger."

Jon chuckled.

"Seven times bigger."

"With seven times the wives!" Robb added, excited.

Sansa scowled. Seven wives?

She was going to share him.

No, she didn't like that.

"Sansa is going to be my queen," he affirmed.

Robb watched him with a bit of interest and hesitancy.

"You don't know the other girls yet."

"I don't need to," he affirmed, shrugging. "Sansa will be my Queen."

Sansa swallowed down. Could he be serious?

"The king looks at me like I'm a dragon, like him," he spoke softly. "But I was raised by your family. I'm a Stark. I want to honour that."

Robb smiled, and they sat together in silence for a moment before her brother-side hugged Jon.

"You'll always be my brother," he affirmed. "Wolf or dragon."

She looked at Bran, who was watching them with big eyes, and touched his shoulder.

"Come on," Sansa whispered, "Let's leave them be."

They walked out together, and her little brother beamed when the two were back in the yard.

"Aren't you excited?" he asked. "You are going to be Queen!"

Sansa hesitated.

She was going to be Queen.

. . .

"The King's Wives" was posted on my Patreon back on June! To read the full story before anyone else and have early access to all of my works, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month!

. . .

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[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

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

CHAPTER SIX - THE KINGSROAD.

the birds have left their trees, the light

bores into me. i can feel you lying there

all on your — own.

warning: animal death described towards the end of the chapter!

With a harsh 'bang', Lyarra woke in a rush. As her eyes peeled open, she came to realize that she wasn't nestled in her bed. Instead, she was surrounded by dogs. At her side, laid Tyrion Lannister — who seemed to be using one of the shaggier beasts as a pillow. The two had been drinking through the night, no doubt. She didn't quite remember why the two ended up in the kennels, but she could vaguely recall Tyrion making some sort of joke about 'Hounds'. Lyarra rubbed her eyes, bleary as she forced herself up. She only then took notice of the man in front of her. 

There, Sandor stood with a grimace bordering on a smirk. Lyarra could only imagine how she looked at that moment. Disheveled, grimy. Far from the appearance expected of a lady. He only waited another moment before extending his armored hand. She glanced over him before clutching onto it, allowing him to pull her up arduously. She quickly brushed herself off, moving to thank the man — before she noticed the Prince approaching in the distance. 

"Go on, I'll handle the little lord." Sandor grunted, nodding towards the door for her to make her escape. Lyarra sent him a gracious nod, before moving in the opposite direction of Joffrey. 

Since Eddard notified her of their coming departure, Lyarra hadn't had much of an opportunity to speak with the royal family. Joffrey, in particular, had evaded her — not that she was disappointed by that fact. Rather, she was grateful to avoid more Lannisters. Or, Baratheons, she supposed. The only Lannister she sought to speak with, beyond Tyrion, had been impossible to find, it seemed. At each opportunity, Jaime Lannister snuck away from her — as if he was frightened of being seen with her. She hadn't expected the two to be close, after all of these years, but seeing the man avoid her as he had struck Lyarra with a cold feeling. She'd had half the mind to mention it to Tyrion, before thinking better of it. 

As she exited her quarters, this time properly prepared — with her hair braided and held high, and white furs pulled tightly around herself — Lyarra made the familiar journey to Bran's room. She'd spent most of her nights there, since the boy had been injured. Reyne had been assigned as his caretaker for the time being, meaning Sansa was given a new handmaiden. As the door cracked open, Lyarra peaked through. There, sat Catelyn — who'd been sewing something that she didn't dare question. Reyne was by her side, brushing Bran's hair from his face with the back of her hand. 

"How is he?" She questioned softly, delicately trying to not disturb the peace within the room. Catelyn didn't acknowledge her, and only tilted her head as she considered the words. 

"They say that if he makes it through the night, he'll live." Her voice was raspy, straining with the lack of use. Lyarra nodded, settling herself in the seat beside Reyne. She reached to clasp Catelyn's free hand, squeezing it with all of the energy she could muster. Her sister-by-law sent her a grateful smile, moving as if she meant to speak — before the two were interrupted by the harsh creek of a door being opened. Cersei Lannister made her way inside, and Catelyn was on her feet within seconds. Lyarra herself hadn't moved, nor had Reyne — a fact that had the Queen shoot them an almost imperceptible glare. 

"Please," Cersei amended, nodding to Catelyn to take her seat. The woman in question only ruffled her clothing, hands grasping at anything she could find to make herself appear less disheveled. 

"I would have dressed, Your Grace." 

"This is your home. I'm your guest." 

"You must forgive us for the state of things, Your Grace. The last few days have been rather difficult." Lyarra remarked, brushing her fingers through the furs that covered Bran. 

Cersei didn't acknowledge that she'd spoke, and instead moved further towards the boy in bed. She began telling a story of her own, describing the death of her first son. The tale had Lyarra's heart pang with sympathy, something that she'd been surprised to feel for the Queen. As she continued to recount the story, Lyarra reached to grasp onto Reyne's hand, rubbing her thumb along her knuckles. Cersei extended prayers to Catelyn, before she turned to Lyarra. 

"Do you have children of your own?" The question held no malice, yet Lyarra observed as Cersei's gaze turned sharp. Tears were still brimming within the eyes of the Queen. Lyarra willed herself to take a breath, before turning to Reyne. 

"Not of my own blood, but yes." She admitted, continuing to rub the girl's hand. Reyne hadn't looked away from Bran once, but Lyarra noticed her startle at the question all the same. 

"I extend my prayers to you as well, then. No mother should be separated from their children, by death or distance alike." With that, Cersei exited the room — sucking the air out with her. The remaining women within the room were silent, processing her words. They were only disturbed when Maester Luwin entered the room, raising a brow at their solemn expressions. 

 

Though she'd been searching relentlessly for the boy, Jon seemed to be a step ahead of her everywhere she went. She'd gone to the blacksmith, and instead learned he'd been there just minutes prior. She'd gone to find Arya, just to be told that Jon had just left her side. She'd even peaked her head into Bran's room, only for Catelyn to tell her with a grimace that he'd only just left. 

When she finally caught him, he had been making his way through the courtyard with a sack of his belongings. Lyarra's own attempts to pack evaded her. Usually, she would have asked Reyne to do so — but since Bran had yet to wake, Reyne was charged with staying by his side in Winterfell. As such, she wouldn't be able to make the journey to King's Landing. Lyarra came to realize with a sinking feeling, that she'd be saying goodbye to both of her children on the same day. 

She watched as Robb and Jon made their way through the yard, sharing words between themselves. She chose to make her approach then, placing an hand on Robb — as he turned to acknowledge her presence. 

"Next time we see him, he'll be all in black." Robb laughed, shaking the boy with his free arm. Lyarra tried her hardest to force a smile to her lips, but she was sure she'd failed when the two boys winced. 

"It was always my color." Jon joked, his laugh coming out more forced than anything. The two boys brought one another close again, muttering words imperceptible to the common ear. As they pulled away, Robb gave her a significant look — stepping away then to chase after one of his siblings. Lyarra took a breath as she tightened her jaw. She'd be riding alongside Eddard to bid Jon farewell properly, once the road forked. But she'd realized now, that this could be her last chance to hold him close. 

Jon met her halfway, matching her fervor as he wrapped his arms around her. She buried herself in his neck, with a face full of fur. Lyarra wasn't certain how long the two sat like that, wrapped in one another. He'd pulled away after another moment, with an expression of steel — save for his quivering lip. She only stepped away once she noticed a blonde mop of hair approaching, her hands clasped timidly. Just as he had with Lyarra, Jon pulled Reyne to him. Lyarra couldn't help but join their embrace, kissing their foreheads in tandem. 

"You'll come back, won't you? We'll all see each other again?" Reyne questioned, her voice hardly higher than a whisper. Lyarra's heart plummeted at the inquiry, and she could hardly hold back the tears that threatened to break free. It was all so similar to the last time she'd seen Brandon. When he promised her he'd return, holding her close as he whispered things that would never come to pass. Lyarra did not want to make false promises, as he had. But as she saw the girl's composure threaten to break, she forced herself to nod — clasping onto Jon's furs as she spoke. 

"We'll all see one another again." Lyarra repeated, pressing another kiss to Reyne's temple as Jon pulled away. He mounted his horse then, peeling off with another look in Reyne's direction. The girl's sniffles were becoming more noticeable by the minute, though Lyarra did her best to not take note of them. 

"Take care of the boys, alright? Don't leave their side. They'll need you, as you'll need them." Reyne nodded repeatedly, as if she was no longer in true control of her actions. Lyarra ran her hands down the girl's arm in what she could only hope was a comforting motion. "You're a Stark, through and through. Never forget that, Reyne. You are my daughter. And I love you with all my heart." 

The remainder of her goodbyes were short, as most of the family was making the journey to King's Landing anyway. Robb had pulled her to him, similar to Jon, and placed his forehead against hers. Though the two had their differences, Lyarra did not doubt that she'd miss her nephew beyond measure. Theon, however, had been a far more emotional farewell. By the time she'd found him, she was no longer able to hold back her tears. He did his best to act as if he wasn't crying himself, only brushing her hair back as she continued to unload her tears into his fur — but she'd bristled as he'd hiccuped through his own cries more than once. Theon Greyjoy was the biggest nuisance she'd ever met. And she missed the boy already. 

Catelyn only placed her hand overtop Lyarra's, asking her to look over her children. Unlike the last time they had bid one another farewell, she made no promise of her return — nor that of Eddard's. She squeezed her hand within hers as she had before, and assured her that she would do her best. 

 

After so many years, it was unusual taking part in such a large traveling party. She rode close to Jon and Eddard, observing as Benjen and Tyrion rode further ahead than the rest. Benjen had approached her the night before with caution, fearing an outburst from her —

no doubt. She could no longer force herself to blame the man for Jon's wishes, however, and only sighed at his trepidation. She'd hugged her brother then, tighter than she had in years. He promised to look after Jon, to watch over him as he began his Watch. As much as Lyarra longed to ignore the feeling, she couldn't help but think that these goodbyes felt different than they had in the past. They felt more permanent, more sorrowful.

Tyrion, however, only suggested that the two drink through their sorrows. Thus, resulting in the two waking in the kennels. She'd miss the little Lannister, she came to realize. He'd been a comforting presence through the days of the King's visit. He had never once treated her any different because of her station — or because she was a woman, for that matter. 

As part of the group tore off, heading in another direction — Lyarra forced herself to steel her nerves. Tyrion turned to look at her then, giving her a long look — which, from her time with the man, could be interpreted as 'Well, fuck'. Benjen nodded in her direction, forcing a smile as he turned his horse back to face the road itself. 

"There's great honor serving in the Night's Watch. The Starks have manned the wall for thousands of years. And you are a Stark." Ned stated, and Lyarra couldn't help but nod in agreement. At his words, Jon turned to face her — an unreadable expression marring his face. "You may not have our name, but you have our blood." He gestured towards Lyarra then, and the action itself brought warmth through her. She knew that Jon was not her son, that he longed to be Eddard's true-born, and yet Ned's tone suggested that he was just as much her blood as his. 

Jon glanced at her then, eyes flickering between the two figures. He was thinking over his words, no doubt. Ned hesitated for only a moment, before riding off to join the remaining group. Lyarra steadied her horse, clasping onto his mane as she attempted to force words to come to her lips. 

"I've spent my entire life wondering who my mother is. Wondering, is she alive? Does she know about me? Where I am, where I'm going?" Jon paused, turning to Lyarra once more. She held her breath as the boy rambled on, forcing herself to not take his words to heart. "Does she care?" 

"Jon—" She started, but was cut off by a quick shake of the boy's head. The two only had so much time. She could still see Eddard's head peeking over the hills, but within a moment she'd have to quicken the speed of her horse to catch up with the rest.

"I've been so focused on a woman I didn't know, that I've ignored the mother in front of me." Anything she'd intended to say before was now muddled, leaving way for nothing but silence. "You are my mother. You always have been. Blood or no, that doesn't change." He stated, leaving no room for argument. Lyarra's breaths were shallow. She found herself longing to be beside him, then, to pull him close as she had before. The two were interrupted only by a shout from Eddard. They'd run out of time. Lyarra grasped the reins of her horse, pulling him ahead. 

"I will see you again, my son. I'm sure of it." With that Lyarra forced herself to ride on, tearing her eyes from the boy as they moved in separate directions. She'd caught up to Ned with ease, as he'd stalled to wait for her. 

"Did he ask about his mother?" Eddard questioned once they'd returned to the group. She paused only for a moment, before turning to him with finality set in her gaze. 

"Aye, he did."  

The party seldom stopped, usually only for the sake of Robert's bladder alone. Once, they'd took a break just before an open field. Arya had grown tired of her carriage, and through the journey had somehow ended up perched on Lyarra's horse. The moment they'd peeled off to rest, Arya had shot off of the beast and into the field. This resulted in a chase between the two, as Arya attempted to weave past the woman. They continued to run after one another for what felt like hours, only stopping when a familiar voice called after them. 

"The fuck' are you two doing?" Sandor rasped, stomping towards them as he made his way down the hill. Lyarra panted, brushing a rogue strand of hair from her face. Her cheeks were flushed, chest heaving with exhaustion. All the while, Arya continued running circles around the woman — carefully avoiding the man before them, though Lyarra paid that no mind. 

"What does it look like? Running after her. This little beast," She paused as Arya rounded on her, and took that as the moment to strike. Within an instant, the girl was wrapped around the side of her, held only by what little strength Lyarra had left. "is difficult to catch. She's too fast for the likes of me." She laughed as the girl flailed in her arms, conceding to place her back on the grass after a moment. 

Sandor shot her a curious look, unclasping one of his gauntlets. Before Lyarra could question him, the man lunged at her — picking her up with ease, slinging her on his shoulder. Lyarra let out an indignant squawk. She was facing his back, while her legs hung against his chest. She had half the mind to shout, before kicking her legs in aggravation. 

"Seems like you, on the other hand, aren't hard to catch at all." He placed her heavily back on the grass after another moment, a smug grin turning the corner of his lips. Lyarra groaned in a way unbecoming of herself, before she harshly dropped to the ground — laying her back against the grass. 

"Is that what it was like when you were younger?" She questioned, turning towards Arya — who had been watching the two with an unreadable expression. "Cause' that was no fair. Twice my height, and then some." Lyarra repeated the familiar words, a complaint that she'd heard from Arya not long ago. Sandor only snorted before retreating to where they'd last seen the prince. She watched as he made his retreat, something that Arya used to her advantage — as she took the opportunity to strike, climbing over the woman to elbow her in the ribs. 

Arya spent the next few days tormenting Lyarra. Every time she thought she'd get a moment of silence, the girl decided to pipe up — asking questions about anything they came across. Eventually, Lyarra had enough — handing the girl off to Septa Mordane before she could say anything else. Sansa, on the other hand, hadn't said much at all. Instead, she'd taken to staring longingly after the royal family as they rode ahead. 

By the time they had reached an Inn at the crossroads, Lyarra had decided she'd had enough of horses for a lifetime. She was beginning to regret bargaining to ride her own, so that she hadn't had to ride in the carriage with the rest. As she dismounted the creature, she observed from a distance as Sansa shared words with Sandor. 'The Hound', she'd heard the men call him. A beast. The title almost made her laugh, if not for the mocking way they'd declared it. She didn't know the man well, if at all. Yet even as a boy, he'd protected her from his brother. He carried her to her bed, when she was too drunk to walk. More than once, he'd spent his evenings with her and Tyrion in Winterfell. She couldn't find anything 'beastly' about that. 

As if he'd heard her thoughts, the man approached her then — head bowed low after his conversation with the Prince. 

"The little bird scares easy. She won't do very well in King's Landing, with that attitude." Sandor muttered, nodding towards the red-haired girl who now walked alongside the Prince. Lyarra only hummed, brushing the mane of her horse. 'Frost', Jon had named the beast — due to his white hue. Even his lashes were pale, a fact that only further reminded her of Reyne. 

"Can't say for certain that I'll fare any better." Lyarra admitted, turning to the man then — as he raised a brow. He'd gone to speak once more, before the two were cut off by a harsh shout. In an instant, the Kingsguard were up-in-arms, chasing after the sound. Sandor only shot her a look of defeat before he took off after them, Lyarra following suit. Sansa came running then, meeting the men before they could go any further. Joffrey was hurt, she'd supplied, though she hadn't said much else. Before Lyarra could follow them, Sansa grasped onto her arm — pulling her back. 

"It was Arya, Arya did it. Nymeria bit Joffrey," She'd whispered, her voice shaking with fear. Lyarra felt terror sink into her own heart, as the implications of what the girl was saying hit her fully. If Arya was behind an attack on the prince, she could be greatly punished for it. Lyarra moved then to look for the girl, before she was once again pulled back by Sansa. "Please, please don't let anyone get hurt. Joffrey didn't mean to hurt anyone." 

Lyarra attempted to soothe the girl as best she could, brushing her hair back softly — though the shaking in her own hands had become increasingly noticeable. "What happened out there? What did Joffrey do?" The moment the Prince's name had been mentioned, Lyarra ignored any blame directed towards her niece. In an instant, Sansa became rigid — hesitation coating her actions, as she all but refused to meet Lyarra's eye. She couldn't speak against the Prince, not when she was intending on becoming his future queen. When she came to realize properly that the girl wasn't going to speak, Lyarra called after Septa Mordane. Once she was certain Sansa would have someone watching over her, she ran in the opposite direction of the Kingsguard — searching desperately for her niece. 

She'd found her just before a full hour had passed, curled under the stump of a tree. Lyarra was at her side in a flash, her hands running over her in quick movements to check for any kind of wound. Once she was certain there were none to be found, she pulled the girl back to face her — all but crumpling as she noticed the look of sorrow on her face. 

"I had to send Nymeria away. They would have killed her for what she did to Joffrey. They would have killed her," Arya repeated, fisting Lyarra's tunic as she collapsed into her chest. She couldn't do much more than rub the girl's back as she cried, her heart only further shattering at each hiccup. 

"Arya, you must tell me what happened," She requested, once she had begun to settle in the slightest. She'd felt the girl tense in her arms, and Lyarra almost regretted asking as she felt another fit of tears build. Arya had only just gone to speak, when they were interrupted by the familiar clinking of metal. The Kingsguard had found them. Not only that, but when she found the courage to raise her head — she was met with the face of Jaime Lannister. His expression hadn't given much away, but his eyes held a level of regret within them. He extended his hand to her then, and Lyarra resigned herself to clutching it — still holding Arya to her chest as she rose. 

The men beside him had shot forward then, taking the girl from her arms as if she were a prisoner. Lyarra protested in anger, but was quickly silenced by Jaime's sharp glare. 

"She is to be brought before the King. Those are my orders. Nothing else." He parted his arms then as if to placate her, but as Lyarra observed a guard push Arya harshly forwards — all comfort evaded her. Jaime, seemingly noticing this, only resigned himself to nod and move ahead. 

"And what of her father? Should he not be present for this audience?" She demanded, stomping forward to move into his line of sight. Jaime all but deflated as she continued to argue, moving to push past her once again — before she stopped him with a harsh shove of her own. 

"She attacked the Prince, Lyarra. I don't know what you expect of me. The Queen asked me to find her, so I did. She asked me to bring her to the King, so I will. I am a Guard, and as such I follow orders." Jaime ranted in one quick breath. The group itself had walked ahead, though Lyarra could still see the top of Arya's head between the bodies of the guards. 

"The King's orders? Or your sister's?" Lyarra bit back, pausing only to watch the words sink into Jaime's head as she stomped ahead. 

By the time Eddard had made his way back to the inn, Arya had already been brought to stand before the King. Robert had made a point to not speak to her without her Father present, a right that only he had deemed important. The moment Arya caught sight of her father, he reached to grasp her face in the palm of his hands. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She chanted, voice crumpling as her resolve threatened to break. Arya always acted as if she were so much older than she was. She carried herself like a warrior. It was only at this moment that Lyarra allowed herself to notice how young the girl truly was. Within a moment she was beside her niece. As Eddard stepped forward to consult the King, Arya leaned into Lyarra's side. Jory stood close behind the two, a fact that only comforted Lyarra but a fraction. 

"What is the meaning of this? Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?"

"How dare you speak to your king in that manner?" Cersei bit, scowling down at Ned. Lyarra had her own reply waiting, but as Jory placed a hand on her shoulder — shaking his head in the slightest, she allowed herself to take a breath. Robert rolled his eyes as his wife spoke, a fact that would have filled Lyarra with pity — had they not been in the situation they were.

"Quiet, woman." He grunted, and Lyarra observed as Cersei hadn't even batted an eye. She was used to his attitude, then. For a moment, she couldn't help but think that this could have been her sister. Lyanna could have been the one who'd been forced to suffer his wrath, tolerating his insults. "Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. But we need to get this done quickly." Cersei stepped forward then, unperturbed as her husband prattled on. 

"Your girl and that butcher's boy attacked my son. That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off." The Queen stated, only meeting Ned's gaze. Lyarra paused then to glance down at Arya. She had yet to receive the truth of what had happened from anyone. Sansa had suggested Joffrey had something to do with it, but hadn't said much else. 

"That's not true! She just bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah." Arya spat, glancing up at her aunt — before soon realizing she should be directing her explanation to the King. Robert's eyes had widened a fraction, as he processed what she said. Cersei and the Prince, however, made no such movement. They convinced themself of what the truth was, and weren't going to let a little girl argue with them any longer. 

"Joff' told us what happened. You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him." The Queen insisted, only then glancing down at Arya. Lyarra felt the girl tense in her arms, and reached to keep her at her side. 

"That's not what happened!"

"Yes, it is!"

The two children argued back and forth for another moment, as Lyarra came to a frightening realization. They would not come out of this confrontation unscathed. The Lannisters would not allow them to. Cersei called Sansa in at that moment, asking her to recount what had occurred. Sansa, just as she had before, avoided the question — her voice timid, as she only stared forward at the King. She claimed that she hadn't remembered, that she didn't know what had happened. That was all it took for Arya to retaliate, pulling on her sister's furs. 

"She's as wild as that animal of hers. I want her punished." 

As the group continued to argue, Robert spoke up once again. Eddard was to discipline Arya privately, while he tended to Joffrey on his own. Just as she had gone to make her retreat, pushing Arya in front of her — Cersei spoke up once more.

"And what of the direwolf? What of the beast that savaged your son?"

If they were lucky, Nymeria had fled into the night. The Lannister guard confirmed as much, telling the King that they caught no sign of the beast. Before Lyarra could allow herself a breath of relief, the Queen had another thought.

"We have another wolf." 

Within a beat, Lyarra's heart ran cold. Lady. The Lannisters intended to have Lady killed, due to Nymeria's defense of Arya. Sansa began to tremble once more, leaning heavily into her aunt's side. Before she could stop herself, she pulled the girl against her — doing her best to muffle her cries.

"He doesn't mean Lady, does he? No, no, not Lady! Lady didn't bite anyone! She's good!" Sansa cried into her furs, as Arya came to her defense — arguing that Lady shouldn't be punished. Cersei had made up her mind, however, requesting that Ilyn Payne tend to the wolf. Eddard spoke up then, halting the man's motions. He looked to Lyarra then, nodding to his daughters. 

"Jory, Lyarra. Take the girls to their rooms." He grumbled, resigned to do the deed himself. "If it must be done, then I'll do it myself." With that, he made his way out-- head bowed low. Jory moved to heed Ned's wishes, taking Arya in arm, before noticing that Lyarra hadn't budged. She pulled herself from Sansa then, kissing her forehead as she followed her brother — gesturing for Jory to watch over the girls. 

Eddard hadn't been difficult to catch up to, and Lyarra held no doubt that he was stalling to avoid what was to come. As she stepped towards him, his expression wasn't one of surprise — rather, defeat. 

"You don't need to see this. You should be with the girls. They need you right now, more than I do." Ned muttered, though his tone held no sense of expectancy. He knew she didn't intend to budge, and only moved further towards the kennels. As they trudged down the path, they took note of the man approaching them — horse at his side, something slung over the creature. Sandor hadn't done more than raise a brow upon sight of her, but he stalled in the slightest. Across the horse laid a body, one coated in blood — with thick slashes down its body. It could only belong to one person, Lyarra came to realize in horror.

"The butcher's boy, you rode him down?" Eddard's voice wavered, disgust evident in his glare. Sandor paused then, facing the two — though he only met Lyarra's gaze. She willed herself to feel something other than fear, but nothing came. She wasn't sure what she as afraid of, in that moment. However, she was oddly certain it wasn't Sandor. She'd seen a corpse before, but not that of a child's. But she knew of what it meant to honor duty. To know you must follow something, though you did not want to do it. Lyarra had heard of 'The Hound'. Of the Sandor Clegane that could slice a grown man in half with only the flick of his blade. She wasn't certain that she'd met him, until that very moment. 

"He ran. Not very fast." With that, Sandor shot another look her away — before pulling away with the horse in tow. Lyarra willed her feet to move, after that, doing her best to ignore the trembling within her figure. Eddard had glanced over at her, once he was certain the man was out of sight — but she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. 

Once they'd reached the kennels, Lyarra could hardly hold back her gasp. There, Lady sat, bright as a first snow — with wide eyes, tail wagging once she took note of the two familiar faces. She had half the mind to release the beast, as Arya had. But she knew better. They hadn't found the last wolf. This time, they wouldn't settle without seeing its corpse. 

Lyarra crouched beside Lady, as Eddard approached her from behind. She could hardly hold back her tears, as she caressed the animal's fur. Lady came to lay beside her, looking up at her with love that could only be found in an animal. Ned made quick work of the blade, and with a whine — she was gone. She rose then, taking note of Eddard's solemn expression, before making her way back to the inn. 

Her feet carried her to the tavern, and she perched herself on a stool — throwing coin in the vague direction of a worker, before she could stop herself. Sleep would evade her, and if she returned to her room now — she'd find one of her nieces, inconsolable. The thought made her heart heavy, but she knew all too well that she was not sober enough for the night ahead. Before her drink came, a heavy lump took a seat beside her. There, Sandor sat, blood still coating his cheeks. Had Lyarra not been as exhausted as she was, the sight itself would have disgusted her. Instead, she raised her thumb to his cheek — determinedly ignoring his sharp flinch at her approach, as she wiped the blood from him. As he adjusted himself, leaning closer to her by only an inch, Lyarra couldn't help her own flinch. 

"You frightened of me now, Little Wolf?" The name forced painful memories through her head. Memories that she'd been doing her best to forget. Instead, she grimaced — her drink being placed beside her at that moment. She took a swig of the ale, cringing at its bitter flavor. 

"I've seen worse than the likes of you. Takes more than a little blood to scare me." Lyarra admitted, avoiding his gaze — though she could feel the heat of it. He only rasped out a noise that sounded vaguely like a chuckle. When she had glanced over at him, he'd been staring down at his gauntlets — furiously wiping what appeared to be another stain of blood. "In fact, I'd say I'm more frightened with myself now — than anything." As Sandor ripped his stare away from his armor, raising a brow at her words — she continued. 

"I cried when we put down Lady. As if she were my own flesh and blood. And yet, just before— when I saw the butcher's boy," Lyarra paused then, forcing a name to come to her lips, "Mycah. When I saw him, I froze. I didn't cry. I didn't feel much of anything, beyond fear." Sandor was silent for a moment, taking her words in with a swig of his own drink. Wine, she assumed. She'd only seen the man drink wine, in all this time. 

"Dogs are honest creatures," Wolves, she corrected in her head, though she made no move to speak. "'S why I like 'em. A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you in the face." He paused then, his fingers outstretched as if he itched to remove his armor. "If it's anyone's fault, it's your idiot fucking' brother. Who the fuck' brings a wolf the size of three-men-combined to King's Landing? Let alone two."

Lyarra allowed herself to laugh, as she considered the man's words. Ned permitted the girls to bring their wolves, partially because he didn't want them to be alone — but also because he knew well enough they wouldn't be able to be cared for back home. If only she'd argued against it. In the back of her mind, she thought of what it would have been like for Jon. He would've fought to the death for Ghost, no doubt. He would've stepped in front of a blade himself, before he allowed it to be brought down on the wolf's head. The thought made her shudder, and Sandor sent her another curious glance before she drank down the remainder of her ale. 

She stood then, wobbling on her two feet — before bumping into the figure beside her. It was only after a moment that she'd realized Sandor had placed two hands on her, steadying her so that she wouldn't fall again. His expression held a vague hint of amusement within it, though he steeled himself — light fading just as quickly as it had appeared. 

"Seven hells, woman. You need me to fucking' carry you again?" He grumbled, moving to pick her up by her waist — but she quickly shot out a hand to stop him. Lyarra gestured only for him to help her to the door, and the two paused once the moon hit their faces. Just before they reached the rooms of the inn, Lyarra stopped — Sandor shooting an arm out in order to keep himself in place, after her sudden movement. 

"We won't be safe in King's Landing, will we?" She questioned quietly, her eyes turned to him — seeking something, though she was not certain what it was. Comfort? Reassurance? He only paused, moving to grasp onto her shoulder with familiarity she was not certain she deserved. 

"I'll keep you safe, Little Wolf." He promised, moving her forward then before she could say much else. She turned to thank him properly once they had reached her room, but by the time she had the chance — he was gone. Lyarra only frowned for a moment, before barging her way in. She regretted her loud entrance after only a second, as she noticed Sansa curled into her bed. The red-head shot up at the sound of the door opening, and Lyarra couldn't help but wince at her expression. The girl was exhausted, no doubt. She made her way to her quickly, laying beside her as she pulled Sansa to her chest. 

"She's going to hate me forever, isn't she?" The girl questioned, voice only slightly muffled by the fur. Lyarra paused as she considered the question. Arya was stubborn, and likely would march around for the next few days — even weeks, claiming that she despised her sister. That Sansa was evil, and she never wanted to see her again. She only brushed Sansa's hair back, curling her finger around the smaller locks near her ear. 

"She'll come to understand why you did what you did. When she's older." Lyarra felt the girl's tears start to build again, and with a comforting hush she held her tighter. Eventually, Sansa's breath started to even — sleep overtaking her. Lyarra did not dare move, and instead only pulled the furs tighter around the two of them. She did not know what the future had in store for them, let alone in King's Landing. She couldn't promise to keep the Stark girls safe. Not with lions breathing down their neck. All she could do was try to care for them the best she was able to. 

 

So. Then that happened. This has been one of my shorter chapters actually.. Weird. Not a lot happened in this. Besides... everything I guess. Never mind. Maybe so much happened that it feels like nothing happened?? Idk... Anyways. 

More Sandor & Lyarra scenes! Yay! I will warn you all now that this will be.. very much a slow-burn. More slow than burn. But they will have many more interactions from now on. Sandor is intrigued by Lyarra, especially since she didn't shy away from him after the whole .. 'Mycah' incident. 

In other news, Jaime is still being weird! Ig that happens when you sleep with your sister... Alright buddy. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always, feel free to leave any comments you have!

Thank you, 

Zevran.