#kin robb | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

syndrossi · 2 months ago

Text

Restoration AU: Jon I

Previous part, Ned I, here.

x~x~x

Jon knew where Robb would go next, and that his presence would be more unwelcome than ever, so it was the solitude of the godswood he sought instead. Better than roaming the castle halls or grounds, where he could already feel stares following him, and hear whispers falling to silence in his wake. Theon’s handiwork, no doubt.

Brothers. Jon stared into the dark pool at the base of the heart tree, feeling as though he might wake up from a dream at any moment. He had always longed to know more about his mother, and it was plain as day that those boys were kin. With the other Jon—my name, why would she give him the same name?—it had been like staring into a mirror. They looked even more alike to him than Arya, which surely meant they shared a mother too.

Why is she not here with them?

Jon burned with questions. He had been since Jory had helped the boys up onto the horses, the one named Jon with the captain, and the other with Robb. The choice had felt deliberate on Jory’s part, as deliberate as their return by the Hunter’s Gate, bearing further shame for Lord Stark.

Had he loved his mother, then? Jon knew that it did not take love to sire children, that base lust would suffice, but his father was no Theon. If he had gone back to her, that meant he had missed her.

He took me from her, but not my brothers. Had he known about them? There had been a wide-eyed recognition in his father’s eyes when he beheld them, but Jon did not know if that was because he had not expected them, or because he had not known of their birth.

They had been abandoned in the wolfswood, too, at risk of freezing in the cold. Two children who could not be older than Arya.

She is dead. Jon knew it in his heart. If she had kept his little brothers for this long without telling his father, then she would not have easily parted with them, and certainly not in such a way as to endanger them. She is dead and I will never know her.

But his brothers had, and he could not help the ache of jealousy in his heart. They had not known their father, he reminded himself. Each of them had grown up half-orphaned, mistrusted for their very nature.

And it was plain to see that they had grown up in a lord’s household as well. Their dress was fine, and they had been comfortable speaking to Robb. Despite their shivering, they had walked confidently through the halls of Winterfell. That sense of belonging was not one that a baseborn bastard would possess.

Had she been highborn herself then? There was so much he longed to ask his father, questions he had not dared before. If he will answer, even now.

Motion flickered in the periphery of his vision, and he turned his head to see his father approaching as though summoned by his thoughts. His little brothers were at his side, and they had been changed into warmer clothing that Jon recognized as belonging to him and Robb when they were younger.

I looked like that once, he thought as he watched the other Jon. There would be no confusing his other brother, Raymar, for Robb of course. Their mother must have had uncommonly fair hair, more silver than golden. It was a color Jon had not seen in the north. The closest he could recall was a blond-haired whore who Theon had favored for a time, and the memory of it brought a clench to his stomach. He could already hear Theon’s voice drawing the comparison.

“Jon,” his father called in quiet greeting once they had reached him. His face, which could be by turns stern or gentle, was neither. It was almost uneasy, as it had been when they had come upon Ghost’s mother, dead in the snow.

“Which one?” Jon asked.

His counterpart did not react to the bite in his question, though their father grimaced. “I am Willam now.”

Lord Stark put a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders. “These are your twin brothers, Willam and Raymar.” He glanced down at the boys, taking in a breath. “And this is your brother Jon.”

Jon had stolen sidelong glances at the boys on their way to his father’s solar. Now that they were right before him, no longer shivering with cold, he took his time in study. He and the other Jon—Willam—were not exactly alike, he could see now. His own face was slightly longer, his hair and eyes a shade darker. There were subtle differences in the shape of their eyes and mouth, though they were close enough that Jon felt like he was looking into a mirror some five years before.

He could easily see himself in Raymar as well, though his coloring made the differences more dramatic, the boy’s eyes a striking purple. Jon struggled to find their father in him, however. He must favor our mother, the way Robb does Lady Stark. Jon had been teased before for his own locks, which he wore longer than Robb’s or Theon’s, but Raymar’s were far longer, giving him an exotic look that did not match his name.

Both children were subdued, as though numbed by the shock of the day’s events, and there was a tension to either of grief held in check. Jon, who had been ready to demand answers of their father, felt some of his hurt-fueled anger falter.

They had been alone, abandoned, their lives upended. Winterfell was at least Jon’s home, and the Starks his family. But to his little brothers, they were all strangers. Jon tried to imagine someone setting Bran or Arya loose to wander alone in a cold summer snow, far from home, and his blood flared hot.

“Hello,” Jon said, softening his voice. “I am glad to meet you.”

Willam approached first, gaze solemn with understanding, and Jon hugged him. His brother did not relax, though he returned the hug. Raymar was next, his violet eyes taking in Jon’s features with the same intensity as his own study, shifting between him and Willam. His upset seemed to grow, and Jon could feel the shake of it in his limbs as Jon pulled him into an embrace.

I have true brothers and I never knew. But on the heels of that anger came guilt. Robb is no less my brother, nor are any of my siblings.

“What happened?” Jon asked, meeting his father’s gaze. “Why were they abandoned in the snow? Where is—”

Where is our mother?

“Come,” Lord Stark said. “Such matters must be discussed in the privacy of my solar.”

Jon felt his eyes narrow. “First I would have you stand before the heart tree and tell me of my mother.”

Lord Stark’s discomfort seemed to grow, only confirming Jon’s suspicions. He wishes to continue to withhold the truth.

It was Willam who spoke, moving to press his hand against the weeping face of the weirwood tree. “Our mother’s name was Rhea. She died two years ago.”

Jon had been expecting it, but still the blow caught him in the chest. Rhea. He knew his mother’s name at last, and she was dead. He could not help the sagging of his shoulders, or the sudden ache of his throat.

“Did you love her?”

His question was for his father, who stepped before the tree as well, his sorrow plain as he placed his hands on Jon’s shoulders. “I loved your mother, yes.”

Jon had dreamt of hearing his father say those words for most of his life, but they left him hollow now. He had been a product of love, born of a woman his father had perhaps wished he could marry instead, and yet it did not matter. She was dead, and the legacy she had left was one of regret.

“Come,” Lord Stark repeated, hand squeezing his shoulder.

The stares were even worse in Lord Stark’s presence, his father’s face a stony mask as he led his three bastard sons through the halls of Winterfell and into his solar. Jon sat down by the hearth, half-numb, while his brothers settled on the couch. He should have sat with them; they looked overwhelmed, but he could not bring himself to.

“Who was she?” he asked, knowing that he should be asking what had happened to his brothers instead. “What was her house?”

His father had chosen to stand by the fire, his back to it, shrouding his face in shadow, but it could not hide the tension in his frame at the question. Even now, with her two years dead, he does not wish to speak of her. Perhaps it was love or guilt or grief—or perhaps it was regret that the evidence of greater dishonor still had come knocking upon his door.

“Her family was from Lys,” Raymar said, answering the question instead. “House Perzane. We grew up in Gulltown, but were sent to live with kin there, after her death.”

House Perzane. Jon did not know much about the houses of the Free City of Lys, but it explained both Raymar’s odd coloring and the twins’ noble upbringing. He had never considered that his mother might not even be of the Seven Kingdoms.

“What did she look like?” Jon asked.

Raymar’s gaze dropped. “Me,” he said, his voice small. “She looked like me.”

And now he was surrounded by kin who looked nothing like her. Willam reached for his brother’s hand, but he snatched it away, angling away from his twin. Jon leveled a look at their father, whose fists had clenched but otherwise made no move to comfort his own child.

Jon stood then and joined them on the couch, squeezing in next to Raymar to gather him in for a hug. “I am sorry,” he told the boy. “I wish I had known her.”

“They were taken from their mother’s kin,” Lord Stark said stiffly. “I assume their abductors had learned of their relation to me and sought ransom.”

Or perhaps blackmail, Jon thought cynically. How much would Lord Stark have paid to keep their existence a secret, had they not been found wandering alone?

“How did you come to be on the edge of the wolfswood?” Jon asked, turning to the twins.

“Jon—Willam stabbed that man who took us,” Raymar said, still staring into his own lap. “We ran into the wood.”

“We were close,” Willam added. “We could see smoke from the castle rising into the sky.”

Jon wondered what their captor’s plan had been. To march them directly to the gates of Winterfell? Perhaps he had thought that Lord Stark would want his bastard sons, since he had taken Jon in as a babe, and had instead sought a reward.

“He did not hurt you, did he?” Jon asked, looking them over for signs of injury.

They shook their heads in unison, and it was his father who spoke. “They were dosed with dreamwine to keep them docile.”

A wise measure, given that little Willam had managed to wound their captor gravely enough for them to escape. “Has their captor been found?”

“I have sent men in search,” Lord Stark said grimly. “If he yet lives, I doubt he will come here.”

Jon frowned at the thought of the man escaping. “Let me join them.”

“No. Your brothers will need your strength.”

His meaning was plain. “You spoke with Lady Stark.”

His father grimaced. “I have not. Once your brothers are settled, I shall go to her.”

Who will she hate more? The bastard she knows, or the two that are proof that she comes second in his heart? Jon looked down at the dark and light-haired heads of his brothers, feeling a surge of pity. They do not deserve her scorn.

“Take them to your chamber,” his father continued. “They will stay with you for now.”

For now. “Do you mean to be rid of them?” Jon demanded.

“No,” Lord Stark said with a quiet sigh. His gaze swept the three of them, and Jon caught another glimpse of that unease. He is worried. Did he fear reprisal from House Tully? Unrest amongst his bannermen? Jon was unsure why. He would hardly be the first lord to sire three bastards. “You do not shame me, Jon, nor do they. The shame is mine alone.”

Only it wasn’t. A lord was untouchable to most, above jeers and japes. A lord’s bastard sons, however, were not. And it was not Lord Stark who had borne Lady Stark’s jealousy.

“When do you mean to introduce them to the rest of their siblings?”

Jon had shied away from thinking about them, especially Robb and Sansa. Robb had always admired their father, and held him as a man of upstanding character. It had been easy for his brother to dismiss his infidelity before as a young husband at war who had not yet had enough time with his new wife. He had not blamed Jon, but now—

And Sansa had never viewed Jon with particular kindness, preferring to keep a distance. It did not bother him too greatly these days, since she was just a girl while Jon was near a man, but his little brothers would not have the same armor if they had grown up with their mother’s family.

“Tomorrow, perhaps,” his father said after a long moment in thought. “I need to speak with their mother first. It would be best if you took supper with your brothers in your chamber tonight.”

Jon smiled without humor. “But we do not shame you, of course.”

“Jon—”

“I will take them there,” Jon interrupted, not caring that their father looked sad and tired. He sprang to his feet, and held out a hand to his newfound brothers, forcing warmth into his smile. “Come along.”

x~x~x

They did not go directly to Jon’s chamber. He did not care if it was a bad idea to venture out, there was one thing capable of cheering him and comforting young boys, and he was currently nursing in the kennels, which were at least mostly out of the way of any would-be gawkers.

“Wait out here,” Jon bade them before slipping into the building.

Ghost was curled up next to his direwolf littermates, as well as their adoptive hound siblings, dozing lightly. He wriggled with excitement as Jon picked him up and tucked him into his shirt, and his smile felt like his first true one since finding the twins shivering in the snow.

It instantly faded as he stepped out to find Theon outside the kennels, leaning on the fence as he looked the twins over.

“I heard we had some fresh snow,” Theon said with a smirk. “I did not take the honorable Lord Stark for a man who would keep a mistress. Some pretty thing from Lys, maybe, with a bush as white as her hair.” He thrust a hand out, ruffling Raymar’s hair for a second before the boy ducked out of his reach. “Where did he find the time?”

“It must have been when he was on the way to crush the Greyjoy Rebellion,” Willam said, his voice cold as ice. “He made quite a few widows there before your father begged for peace.”

Theon’s mirth disappeared, hand twitching at his side as though he wished to cuff the boy, and Jon immediately stepped between them, fists balling. He was hungry for a fight, and he did not care that Theon was larger and close to full-grown. “Try it, Greyjoy.”

His father’s ward backed down after a moment. “They’re as mouthy as you, Snow. You would do well to teach them what a bastard’s place is in the world.”

With that, Theon shoved off, disappearing through the gate into the castle’s courtyard. Jon took a few breaths to reclaim his composure, not wanting to walk into the yard looking upset. Willam was glaring after Theon with a dark fury that surprised him, leaving him to wonder if bastards were treated differently in Lys. Perhaps it was more like Dorne, where it was said a man’s bastards were held as equal to his trueborn children.

The quiet shock that had yet to leave Raymar seemed to tell a similar story. Jon put a hand on his back. “Let’s go.”

Jon did not relax until they had successfully navigated the halls without running into Lady Stark. He did not want his little brothers to face her venom just yet, not without warning. Once they were safely in his chamber, he dragged his chair from the hearth over to his bed, and gestured for his brothers to take the bed.

“Here,” Jon said. He reached into his shirt and withdrew a sleepy Ghost, setting him gently on the bed between them. “This is Ghost.”

Their eyes went wide, both children extending a hand to the direwolf pup, which he happily nosed and then licked. But before Jon could feel any triumph at managing to comfort them, he realized that Willam was crying. He could tell the boy was trying to hold it in, but the bed practically shook under the force of his quiet sobs.

“It’s all right,” Jon assured him, though the words felt empty.

His brother’s tears seemed to unleash a similar flood in Raymar, and Jon was faced with two silently crying children on his bed, their pain reaching deep into Jon as well. There was something hauntingly familiar about strangling the hurt until you choked, knowing that it was not your place to burden others with it.

If their birth came from the Greyjoy Rebellion, they cannot be older than Bran. They looked closer to Arya’s age, but it was said that bastards grew faster than trueborn sons. Jon abandoned his chair, clambering up onto the bed with them to pull them into a hug, one in each arm. Just because he had been alone with his pain in this room, it did not mean they need be.

“I want to go home,” Raymar said, the words half-mumbled into Jon’s chest.

“All will be well,” Jon promised. “I will look after you, and so will Ghost.”

He helped them out of their boots and their borrowed cloaks, noting their exhaustion through the tears, and tucked them in beneath the furs of his bed. Ghost licked worriedly at their faces, until the heartbreak on Willam’s face turned to a tremulous smile, his fingers burying into the pup’s fur with each stroke.

“Take some rest with Ghost,” Jon said. “I will wake you when it is supper, and I can tell you all about Winterfell.”

#resonant 'verse restoration au #resonant concept writing

137 notes · View notes

rise-my-angel · 2 months ago

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

The Stag and the Young Wolf

Pairing: Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 14k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, unethical medical practices, mention of disturbing imagery, past character deaths, talk of pregnancy, child death, mild smut

Notes: This is a rewrite of some deleted scenes back during Robb's era in the story, I had a lot of fun writing these two again so I hope you enjoy! Associated Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Harrenhal had been cursed since it’s first stone was laid. Or, that at least was what some spoke of it. More then enough rumours were spread of the ruined castle and it’s lands. No lord or family had ever been able to hold the great castle for more then a few generations before tragedy would befall them. And that went back right to it’s very start.

The castle greater then the very lands most lords held in their entirety, and yet most of it laid unused. Great walls which stood so high that some bridges between the high towers would kill a man without a doubt between falls. But only the lower two thirds were used. It was all that could be afforded by any. The higher the towers sat in the sky, the less usable they were even moreso with the bats adorning them. By now the centuries passed, stories spoke of men seeing masses of black within the halls like a dark figure following them, but when searched further were just bats in so many numbers they looked as one creature.

But it was not just bats making it unlivable. Each hall and corridor and room was surrounded by ruin and decay. Stones never rebuilt or restructured, water dripping from every corner exposed to the air as if the rain which would come could drown out the remaining rooms. The main hall in it’s peak had something near thirty five hearths to keep the castle warm, and now all that remained were fires in each rooms used when it still wouldn’t be much. It was clear why those who even held Harrenhal seldom chose to live within it’s walls.

Yet, the worst of it all was why. The strongest towers and the highest walls, a million men could have marched on the castle and a million men would’ve been repelled. But there was one thing it’s cruel yet brilliant creator Harren the Black did not account for. An attack from the air, a burning of dragonfire. It was said the day it was complete, did Aegon the Conquerer fly over the castle and let Balerion the Dread melt the stone walls within a few mere hours.

Some claimed that it was the burning from the dragon which left it cursed, but you thought there must have been more to it then that alone.

Right along the edges of the castle sat the Gods Eye. A vast lake that in and of itself held memories of death. A mighty battle between kin was fought above the waters, the strong yet terrifying Daemon Targaryean had done the unthinkable. In exchange for the life of he and his dragon, had slain the mighty Aemond the Kinslayer, and took the dragon Vhagar with him. The Valyrian Steel sword of Dark Sister had been found decades later in the waters still shoved deep into the kinslayers eye along with the bones of he and his dragon.

Yet still, that was not the strangest part. The Gods Eye itself was the largest lake in Westeros, but sat right in the middle was a small patch of land. A land with so little known about it, it had become as mysterious as the curses of Harrenhal itself. The Isle of Faces was the last known location outside of the North were Weirwood trees still stood beyond some single trees in a castle’s godswood, and even then so few existed still. Named for the faces carved into them much like ones you knew existed like the heart tree in the Winterfell Godswood. Harrenhal too had it’s own immense godswood and a heart tree, but it paled in comparison to what wonders sat across the lake.

Thousands of years ago, it was said the First Men had met with the Children of the Forest to agree to a peace after centuries of fighting. What agreement was made, none knew, as the First Men seemed to leave no trace of any scrolls, books, or written language behind. Some stories spoke that the Children had used the power there to break the Arm of Dorne, preventing any men to travel to their lands further. Creating what the realm knew now as the Stepstones. A useless patch of rock and rubble squabbled over by pirates these days. Were that true, few knew. Maesters said that storms had broken apart the land and nothing more.

Many had tried over the years to reach such a place, but to no avail. The closer one got to the isle, it was said flocks of ravens drove them off, or were forced away by sudden and powerful windstorms. Those who survived such attempts would sometimes say they saw figures that looked like green men at the shores, but fewer then none seemed to believe them. A mysterious land surrounded by bright blue water and black swans adorning the shores it was a place that sparked the imaginations of many.

Events haunted the memories of this place over the years and yet as you now walked through it’s halls you felt little of it matter. The oddities of Harrenhal tried to seep into your mind and yet you heard and felt none of it.

Olyvar Frey, Robb’s young squire the poor lad was trying so hard to serve you well. But each time it seemed he spoke to you alone it left him more weary then the last, always delivering news you’d rather not hear. This time, a raven scroll. You had enough news for the day.

Two rounds of news came first, word from Riverrun from Edmure Tully to Catelyn. Their father Lord Hoster Tully, a man ill for many years had finally passed. But the ravens carried more news. From the North. Roose Bolton’s bastard had reached Winterfell and found it abandoned, in ruin, and with no sign of Bran or Rickon. Only rumours of bodies of burned boys that some straggling locals claimed were the poor two themselves. With no word of Theons whereabouts, or any terms sent, it was not likely that Bran and Rickon were taken back to the Iron Islands as hostages.

The most likely scenario, is that those bodies of burned boys were them. No matter what yourself and Robb had tried telling Catelyn. Little could console her by now. Most of her children were gone. Her two youngest most likely dead, Arya was most likely dead, and Sansa was still in the hands of Joffery and the Queen. Only Robb remained to her, and now the world took her father too.

You hadn’t known what to say, or even how to feel. Your own mind was cluttered and clouded and there was little that could be said to make any of it right anyways, perhaps you didn’t know how to try.

Instead, you were sought out by Olyvar and handed a raven scroll of your own. In an instant something felt wrong. The sigil was nothing you’d expect. A black sail boat with an onion as it’s banner. Your eyes glanced up to the boy narrowed and on edge, him taking a moment to make his leave. “My Queen.”

Your eyes followed the entire path before looking around you. Men were everywhere, but it would take no time to find solace here. Tucking it away, your feet begun to carry you into the barley warmer indoors until you found an alcove tucked away, of which there were countless. Back pressed against the stone, ignoring the drips of water heard falling down towards your feet and the muffled voices all around you you pulled it back out.

Unfolding it’s contents, you too recognized the writing and your eyes jumped down to the end right away seeing the name etched at the bottom. Marya Seaworth still struggled to sign her name as such, her tendencies to only use her first with those she knew. But, you realized that perhaps she wasn’t writing to you as a lady, but a woman whom knew you well, and knew you needed to know.

It was not the first time members of House Seaworth had gone behind Stannis Baratheons back to send you word of what was happening. Allard did it first. Her and Ser Davos’s eldest son. He had been part of the household guard for the Baratheons of Dragonstone, and when you were very young only three or four, he was assigned personally to watch over you.

From girl to woman you had Allard commonly at your side, and some days he felt down south like your only companion that did not speak to you with ulterior motives. He would write to you at first, and it was him who told you of what your father was doing with the Lady Melisandre. The red woman he said the men had come to call her behind her back. That it was your mother she had convinced first, and none found out until he travelled back to Dragonstone with your father after Lord Arryn’s sudden passing.

But then Renly died, and you stopped hearing word. You didn’t question why, or you didn’t want to know, but this was the first you heard from any since then. Marya was a sweet woman, too sweet to be involved writing you such things. Too sweet to be feeling the heartbreak you now knew Catelyn was also feeling. A mother having lost a son.

Marya wrote to you about what happened in the battle. That Tyrion Lannister had set the Blackwater on fire. A sea of green fire and it, like the dragon fire against the walls of Harrenhal, had melted ships and burned the men in them, alive. And that amongst them, was Matthos Seaworth. Her and Davos second eldest son, and once a friend to you.

A few years older then yourself, he was a scribe for your father and had yearnings to be a knight. Allard spoke that he had bought into this red god without any doubt, and you chilled to think he died thinking fire was the way he was supposed to go. Marya spoke that there was no word that her husband was alive, but she knew men who would’ve told her and they had yet to report such grim news. She had hope Ser Davos was still out there, but where, only the gods knew. But Matthos was dead, no body to even bury, and way of knowing what state her husband was in.

The raven told more though, details Marya herself claimed she didn’t think she should be telling you, but she did anyways, you had never proven to be a traitor for simply standing by your own husband she said. If it came down to it, she’d choose hers over any King any day as well, and she wouldn’t treat you different. That’s how you put together what happened.

Reading over the words, you felt a twist in your gut, and one that didn��t belong to the babe you were still able to hide. Despite such a devastating loss, Stannis had pushed onto the Mud Gate at Kings Landing and nearly got in. That was, until the night was overpowered by the forces of Tywin Lannister, with the strength of the remaining Tyrell army at his back.

You knew Ser Loras, you knew him rather well and didn’t wish to feel ill of his choice or why he made it, but he had gone from Renly’s foolish side, to the side of the enemy all were fighting against. Together, Lannister and Tyrell had pushed back the Baratheons to the sea once more and victory was found for the Lions and the Roses wrapped around them.

Tywin now sat in Kings Landing as Hand of the King, his son set your fathers forces on fire and Matthos included. You felt your jaw tensing along with that feeling inside of you. Eyes dark as they tore themselves up from the raven to the stone on the ground as your hands tensed. Wanting to tear it the way Cersei had Robert’s last words in the Throne Room.

Instead, you steadied yourself. You were better then that, for now. Hiding it away once more, you inhaled deeply as your head turned side to side making sure no one was watching you. A hand running over your face trying to peel off the layer which showed how much was on your mind and truthfully, little was replaced with it. All the news, and this was the most relevant to the war you all fought and yet no one you could confide in felt right to go to.

Robb had more then enough on his shoulders then needing this right now, and the Blackfish had a brother to start grieving for on top of it. But you couldn’t hold it all in, someone needed to grasp what you were putting together. It would cause conflict, what your mind was asserting and it needed to be handled delicately so it did not come out in ill before Robb himself could handle this. Finding your feet, you begun moving through the halls, needing to quietly search out the only counsel you felt would truly listen and understand what you were implying.

Only, you did know one you could hear an answer from what may have occurred. Robb didn’t need to handle this, his grandfather, Bran, Rickon, you wouldn’t steal or force his focus from them, so you took that spot. Searching through what felt like the caverns each looking more grim then the last, as long as you were deeper within and couldn’t look up and see the broken skies you could have tricked yourself into thinking this looked not unlike Dragonstone.

The stone made of black, the vast grand nature of it as if meant to awe as much as it was to make a statement, and it was dour and grey and uninviting no matter where you went. And too, even without the statues and books and decor to remind you, Harrenhal was loomed over by the shadow of a dragon all the same. To what ends, you asked the gods keep that to themselves. You had seen the skulls, that was all of dragons you needed.

Walking down the steps, you nearly thought you may have had to bring a torch along with you the more into the depths you travelled to get to the destination how dark it got with how unkempt so many halls of this place were . Some of the men insisted he could be brought to you, but you rejected the thought. Something about this place made you feel as if you needed to wander. Still recovering from his wounds, you approached the strange man.

Found in the main court which you entered through days before, the men had found someone still alive. Not a soldier of any sorts, but what seemed to be a prisoner when the Lannisters had been capturing people around the Riverlands for information. None of which it seemed helped Tywin get any closer to Robb. How he was planning to beat him on the battlefield now you had no idea.

Being led to the area which the man, a strange sort of man by the name of Qyburn, was recovering, you glanced behind only to signify that you wished to speak to the man alone. “Your grace,” Moving to at least bow no doubt, you held a hand out. Gesturing him to remain seated, commenting there was no need when he should be resting. A chuckle came from him with a wince coming up from his chest. “I’m afraid it is long passed that, with a knife to the throat one becomes beyond comfort.”

Walking somewhat around the small area serving him as a room, you glanced down to his attire and the back up. Almost an expecting look in his eyes. He was a small man, looked on the weak side likely put up not a single fight but somehow survived. Those eyes though, a bit unnerving. As if they were always watching. “The robes, but no chain. I thought all Maesters wore something of a chain they earn.”

“I was one. Once, your grace.” Your brows narrowed, face twisting down into a confusion as he seemed unperturbed with explaining himself further. “I was stripped of my chain, and expelled from the citadel some time ago.” Your voice was short in asking why, but he seemed uncaring of your more stern nature. “They considered my experiments to be on the bold side, and they did not appreciate the findings which came with that.”

He was being purposely vague, which you did not quite appreciate. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a man being thrown out of the order before. They must have been quite the experiments to garner that reaction.” Why you even asked, was mostly for courtesy. He seemed a man more comfortable in his situation then most, and perhaps he would be more open with you if you asked open questions first. “Would that be a story you’re willing to share?”

The look was bright in his eyes, as if recollecting better times despite what would come from his mouth about them. “I would. Being thrown out was a regretful consequence, but I am not shamed of the learning I have found conducting them. I always found myself interested in disease. Curiosity always was my weakness. The need to learn all about it in order to treat it. And the only way to treat disease, is to understand disease. And the best way to understand disease, is to study the afflicted.”

“Study?”

Nodding, your face fell, the feeling in your gut growing more ill but this time with a new wave at the implication you both knew you had come too. “Men who were already dying, who would serve the realm far better allowing me to gain insights on their condition then dying from it and changing nothing.”

Your voice rather flat, arms resting across your chest as you moved little. “I imagine the world will rejoice in their names when you surely give them credit for cutting them open and watching that happens to their insides.” Asking not with a genuine wonder but almost as if humouring you as you were him, if you disapproved. “Do I disapprove of you experimenting on living men to understand what was killing them? Yes, I can say I disapprove of that with some conviction.”

His head leaning back the slightest, he found another route of question as if examining you before his eyes with only your words and expression. “Tell me, my Queen, how many have you killed? Five? Ten? A dozen?”

Your eyes slipped to the side, both of you knew the answer was more complicated then that. Certainly now. Only years ago could you say that number was zero. It was even further away from zero, you had never gotten into such a physical confrontation so seriously before. But the day Lannister men surrounded yourself, Lord Stark and Jory Cassel, that number only increased to one, but it only takes that first to change everything. In near the same instance did Jaime Lannister himself shove a dagger through Jory’s eye, did you make eye contact with him, your own shoved through the neck of his own guard. The blood more prominent on you then it even was him, and he was the greatest swordsmen, or one of them. Then you fought at Whispering Wood, and that number lost count. So you were honest. “I lost track of that along time ago.”

A hum came from his throat as you looked at you, possibly seeing an image of the Lady Baratheon the realm had heard of most your life and finding an image not at all matching. “A rare thing for a woman. Not only to be one to take a life but so many at that.” You made no comment, the weight carried with you all the same no matter the sex. “And how many lives have you saved?”

That came quick. Quicker then he was expecting. “None.” Yet just as fast you changed gears on him, “What can you tell me of the confrontation we came in on the other day? What happened here?” Claiming his knowledge was limited, you cut him off before he could finish. “Limited is better then none.”

Trying to find someone in this castle was a nightmare.

Corridor to courtyard it was endless. As if plucked in the middle of Flea Bottom and told to find one man, even with so much of the castle out of any sort of use. Your patience wearing thin by the time you spotted him locked in a conversation with one which would destroy the rest of that patience. The voice speaking to him falling on somewhat deaf ears as Lord Karstark found your person and a struggle to pretend he had decorum still underneath the anger. “I have my best men on it, if he is out there, we’ll find him.”

Eyes still locked onto you as he responded, “Aye, but what then? We give him a scolding?” His companion turning to see where his attention went and found you. One of them at the least still understood what respect was on some level, a small nod in place of a bow as you approached.

Skipping right to your point, today of all days you did not wish to entertain the anger of the Karstarks. “My lord, if you could give us a moment to speak. Alone.” A glance shared between them before he begun to walk with a grumble just under his breath, only for you to catch the glaring eyes of Harald Karstark, his now only living son left being sent your way before following his father.

If you weren’t mistaken, you’d have thought you were the one who wrapped your chains around Torrhen Karstark’s neck yourself, the way you were being glared at. But, you would take it over any of that ire being sent Robb or Catelyns way in the middle of this such fresh patch of grief.

Left with only one, Roose Bolton gave you his full attention with no hangups to stand behind him at the very least. “Northerners can be as stubborn as our winters, your grace. It will take time for those wounds to heal.” Nodding, your eyes watched the path the men left towards now out of sight before looking back, a curious expression on his face. “But I presume that isn’t why you’ve sought me out this afternoon.”

“No.” Your eyes purposely glancing around to the grim outsides of the sight, most of the dead taken care of which were left out, but the lingering scent of death was never so easily washed out. “What happened here was not at Robb’s command.” Rumbling in a low agreement, already did he begun trying to connect where your own thoughts were. Grateful that as intimidating of a man he was, Roose Bolton was smart and trusting in the world of battle. Quickly rising in the ranks between yourself and Robb as someone whose counsel you both not only trusted but would seek out. Now feeling no different, if not just for the tenseness on him which you could easily attribute the general feeling around all the men presently.

Speaking only enough for the two of you to hear, “If you are asking my thoughts on the matter, I would have to guess that one of the River Lords became a little too over eager, and tried to take on the Mountain and his men themselves. To what ends though, I’m not sure.”

You didn’t confirm the information which Qyburn told you, not to Lord Bolton, but you did have enough to know your worries were indeed, the right ones. “I do.” His brows raised as his face twisted in curiosity, but yours remained stern and rigid as something was holding you back from near speaking through gritted teeth. “Five dead Lannister men for every one of ours, but nowhere along the way did we see any sign of them. Whoever did this, attacked the Mountain and won, and sent them running.” Asking where, your answer lead to a narrowing in his eyes that you both understood. “South.”

More details were skipped, mostly this time such personal ones relayed about the ones you knew in what felt like another life. But what you spoke gave Roose Bolton enough to catch up and his assessment matched your own, as you both could tell you were on the same understanding. “If you mean to tell me you suspect these two events are related, I would have to agree with you. Driving the Mountains forces out of the west would give him enough time to join with Tywin Lannister.”

Finishing for him with a more flat knowing. “Which would give him more forces then Stannis Baratheons, to drive him out of Kings Landing before he could take it.” Your jaw clenched, hands behind your gloves tensing as if to try and dig through the leather and sink your nails painfully into your palms. “My fathers army outnumbered them five to one, even if the Tyrells at his side that wouldn’t have been enough if everything had gone according to Robbs plan.”

Smart man as he was, picking up on how easily you deferred your own part in the plan to Robb alone, and how for everything you were you were so easily willing to give credit to your King instead of demanding the equal share. Sometimes still did you manage to suprise the Northern Lords no matter how close they thought they were getting to knowing you. “I presume you have an idea whom was responsible for this?” You nodded once and quick he was to catch that you were not sharing. If you were right, this for Robb would be far more of a family matter. One which you were not going to throw onto the coals for all to see, Robb could decide for himself how to handle his uncle when the time came, if you were right.

“If I may ask, your grace, of you suspected all of this already, why come to me first and not the King?”

Your expression fell, if not softened the slightest. It was known by this point what rolling news came one after the other that morning for the Starks and Tullys in one blow. Arms crossing more over your front, hands tightening again as if to channel that energy into where you wish you felt a sting instead of whatever conflict sat in your chest. “I needed to know I was right before I brought it to him. He has enough to handle right now without having to put all this together on top of it.”

You both knew what it was you meant in specifics. Roose Bolton had been a great help at Robbs side the entire time from the moment news was sent your way. Ravens had come from White Harbour, Barrowton and the Dreadfort of what Theon had done. What all the Greyjoys had done and were containing to do and it was all a mess.

Theon had raided Torrhen's Square before moving onto Winterfell. Balons own daughter Yara held men at Deepwood Motte, and beyond GreyWater Watch was where Victarion Greyjoy held Moat Cailin. Other pockets of Ironborn were scattered around, but without much organization. It was the Greyjoys themselves holding this together, but it was Theons which was the worst.

A betrayal you felt hurt deeper then you thought, turning swiftly to such an anger that he had done this, that you and Robb had not even hesitated to proclaim he’d die for this. Robb meant it then, you had meant it then, and certainly you both did now. Bran and Rickon. One boy crippled, the other only seven or eight and their blood was now on the hands of someone they knew from the day they were born. You could only imagine how confused they were by it, why Theon had done this.

Did they think the same thought you did? Did Theon secretly hate you all the whole time?

Almost being snapped back into the moment, Roose Boltons voice hit you once more as if forgetting where you even were. “If my bastard had been able to get there faster-”

Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh. Eyes closing only as long as it took for the breath to leave your lungs in a large chunk. “Word hadn’t gotten in or out of Winterfell for months. There would be no reason to kill all the ravens unless he had something to hide. Meaning he was hiding this for a long time. Longer then your son would’ve had to try and prevent it.” A small appreciation could be somewhat found on his face. “No matter what he found when he got there, give your son my thanks. Robb and myself, both. He tried, and that’s all we can ask for with what we didn’t know.”

Almost to part ways, Roose called out just as you turned. Your body pivoting halfway back, “Is there nothing else on your mind?” Your brows narrowed for a moment as he elaborated. “You seem tense, more tense then the present issues at hand alone. If there is anything on your mind, my counsel is always here.”

Your smile was half made and did not reach his eyes, but you ignored the twisting in your gut with a more low tone that didn’t feel very meaningful. “Just a long few days is all, my lord.”

A few long days indeed, but by the end of it, things had changed drastically. And everything, at least between yourself and Robb would be out in the open and no doubt ready to spread throughout the ruins of the castle by sunrise. But in the very moment your mind considered it all, that was really the least on your mind.

“No. We won't talk this out, he dies for this.”

It was almost precisely what was about to come out of Robb's mouth, and yet you beat him to it with a hissing anger and flashing rage in your eyes. He was furious, but once the dust settled he found himself surprised you were as angry as you were. But in truth he supposed it made sense. It was one hit after another for you and Robb knew you refused to talk about it over his angers.

You and his mother seemed to have spoke something in silence that afternoon when she told you of Renly Baratheon's death. She faded her own words off, but your head whipped up to meet her eyes with a morose knowing falling upon them. But you wouldn't handle it from front of all them, so you switched tactics and spoke of the matter solely on a strategic value. And yet before he had the chance to find the right way to approach you about it, did you and Roose Bolton come into the tent he and his mother were in.

He held a look of a stern knowing of bad news, and you were stiff and trying not to show the shaking in your hands as you gave him the raven scroll. You had only read it moments before Robb had, and as Roose explained it in greater detail, the intensity rose tenfold between both of you.

He couldn't comprehend it at first, there was no way it could be true. Half his life he was raised there. Bran, Rickon, and Arya had never had a life were Theon wasn't in, and Sansa would've been too young to recall what life was like before he showed up. Theon grew from a boy to a man right alongside Robb and Jon both. Robb knew his father treated Theon was good as a son as he could have, what right did he have to stab his family in the back for one that hadn't wanted him for over a decade?

It wasn't until late into the night, you fast asleep with your back tucked tightly against his chest, Robb running a free hand up and down your bare hip did it finally make sense. You went into this war in a difficult position. On an opposing side to a father who thus far had not made any attempt to make peace with his daughter. Knowing were you to have sided with Stannis, you'd have been a Princess of House Baratheon, and without being seen as a traitor by him, many all knew he'd have named you his heir in place of a son.

But you gave all of that up willingly. You set all of that aside to stand by Robb's side, and he pitied the version of his life he went through this war without you. You couldn't fight with Robb and your father both, so you chose him, you chose the family that had made you welcome and showed you love without question. You made the difficult choice to set aside what law dictated was your birthright, and stood with the Starks.

It made sense to Robb, that you took Theons betrayal hard. You were now watching the version of your life that you once feared the North would think of you. But you didn't, you stood out as a Southerner, a foreign girl with a father opposing Northern independence, and yet you were Robbs wife, his Queen, the North's Queen.

Theon went crawling back to a family that didn't want him and betrayed everything he was raised with in order to what? Impress his father? What about his father in Ned? What about Eddard Stark's memory deserved to be insulted like this? Ser Rodrick was dead, his brothers then what he could only assume were hostages.

You and Theon had a rough start, but once you both set aside the grudges against the others family, you both were such easy friends. Robb recalled how amusing it was that once you both stopped hating each other, it was as if that chapter of your dynamic never existed in the first place. You were both the outsiders to the Stark family, and your drastic opposites ended up meshing in some amusing ways that created the foundation for a friendship he knew you and Theon both cared a lot about.

In the easy days, neither of you would admit it as such, but if you weren't doing your duties, if you weren't spending time with either Robb or Jon, they all knew somewhere in the castle walls or wolfswood you and Theon were off competing in some fashion or another. Of course this hit you hard, first your uncle, then Theon, the life you once knew was unravelling before your eyes.

It only got worse when you and Robb returned to the encampment, and found out his mother had released the Kingslayer in the middle of the night. Now, you only had each other. Allies and friends were in this army yes, but in terms of who had the others backs in such a close way, you had only Robb and Robb had only you now.

He loved his mother, but there was no denying the rage at what she had done. Maybe he was harsh about it, but there were going to be untold consequences for setting Jaime Lannister free and Robb couldn't afford to risk your life on top of his mens.

And yet, it never stopped getting worse. Robb barley had time to even consider what had happened at Harrenhal yet. Once Roose Bolton came to he and you with two raven scrolls, it felt as if the world was testing if Robb could keep his kingdom together let alone his family. He told you he'd tell his mother alone, that she wasn't going to take any of it well and she might react easier if it was only him.

You had accepted with too much ease, Robb knew something was wrong but so much had piled on both your shoulders, he had not the foresight to guess. So you left him be, and Robb had to deliver the news to his mother.

“I hadn't seen him in years. I don't even know how many.”

His grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun, had been ill for some time, and finally it seemed the end of such a long bout of sickness took it's toll. Robb could tell his mother had spent well over twenty years in the North by now, she held her resolve in front of her son as well as Robb was doing in front of his mother. She'd fall apart later, and he'd fall apart later. For now, Robb had to be firm as he was comforting. “We'll travel to the funeral together. Roose Bolton will garrison here until we return.”

Robb wanted to feel guilt when she asked him, but he knew he couldn't let his personal attachment to his mother over take what she had done. And so he chose not to answer her comment of, “Will I be wearing manacles when I lay my father to rest?”

The answer was no, but he had a feeling that wouldn't make what news he needed to tell her next any better. It needed to be said, and he needed to not dose the words with honey. She needed to hear the truth as you and him were forced to learn it. “By the time Bolton's bastard Ramsay got to Winterfell, the Ironborn were gone. They massacred our people and torched the castle.” Robb paused to let the burning in his lungs try to deflate just the slightest, keeping the waver from his voice. “Bran and Rickon haven't been found.”

His mother found reason right away as he knew she would try. “They may have escaped, Theon may have taken them back to the Iron Islands as hostages. Have you received any demands?”

No, Robb thought to himself. He hadn't. But Ramsay and his men did find something. Something that painted the picture as clear as it could be, and as her son, this was the last news he wished to tell his mother. But as King, he did so anyways. Because amongst the dead they found, there were two bodies which stood out.

Charred, black, burned, and small. One smaller then the other and just the right size, and from the word of survivors which had hidden away in Winter Town, Theon had let them all know too well who such two little burned bodies belonged too.

By the time Robb reached what was acting as his chambers for the time being, he let the tears flow freely in silence. Head handing in his hands as he sat at the edge of the bed. By the time you had gently walked in, kneeling in front of him with your softness and delicate care, Robb knew he only had you left. The agony of losing everything but you hit him rough in his heart.

Until that was you guided his hand to sit against your stomach just under your clothes with a sweet, tender, whisper on your lips. “You have us.”

Not very warm the chambers you were in, even with a fire going all night. The cracks and chunks missing from the walls anywhere meant that nowhere was so in tact that it could keep the warm in. Though, with the fur atop you almost hiding you away under it and the figure behind you, keeping your back pulled firmly into his chest, you seldom needed to think of it as long as you didn’t leave the bed.

But, you couldn’t do that forever. Your legs itched to move and stand and you knew in bed you’d only fidget around until it woke Robb up, but he didn’t make the task simple. Inching ever so slowly out of his grasp and out of the bed, quickly did you find yourself grabbing a long robe. Draping almost against the floor like a gown as you tied it’s front before making your way along the room. Stepping into a smaller shoe then your usual boots to hide the coolness from your feet as well.

Somewhat along the room was a hall, you suspected once a door existed where it stood but none anymore, burned away no doubt. And no inclination to properly fix, your answer as to the question of why coming shortly thereafter. Wherever it once led, it didn’t anymore. A drop off down to the lower levels, bodies from up here looked like ants and sounds were muffled if any voice could carry to these heights.

The air was cool and a set of stones sat between you and below but little else, but no fear was felt surprisingly. The insides of this great structure exposed to you, and yet that didn’t make you feel fear. The bones of what happened once made you angry, but now you knew there was little to be gained in that thought. They were gone, whats left of their power scattered and being fought over by blood. You feared what this war would bring to the ones you loved even more, not dragons long since dead.

Though, there was one more thing you were afraid of, small touches and a deep voice rumbling in your ear out of nowhere. Followed by a flat expression as the voice laughed. Robb tugged you into his back, one hand on your hip and the other sitting flat against your stomach. You didn’t even need to turn to see his handsome smile as he laughed at your jump. Leaning down to your ear, “It’s a dangerous fall from this height.”

Your smile was soft, nor did you move. “Which is why I still have two feet planted on the ground.” That time his chuckle was more in his chest and yet pulled a greater smile out of you. The quiet sat between you only for a moment before it was you who filled the silence. “I’m sorry.” Asking for what, your voice grew a bit more quiet, a bit more somber. “For everything that happened yesterday, I never said anything about your grandfather.”

Pulling you a bit closer, you felt his thumb run over the material over your stomach more in a gentle pattern. “It’s alright, my love. You had more then a few things on your mind too, yeah?” Tilting your head in a small agreement, Robb rested the side of his head against yours as he looked to the sights over your shoulder. “You weren’t the only conflicted one. My grandfather passed, Bran and Rickon are probably dead, and yet I felt the happiest I ever have when you told me. Suppose we’re a strange mix of both.”

Nodding slightly, your hands reached down, pushing up the material along his forearm of whatever he must have tossed on, you let your hands sit along there. Your eyes narrowed slightly as the wind blew somewhat in your direction, a feeling sitting in your heart that travelled down to your stomach once more. How strange it was that you were scared just last night to tell him. A laugh almost leaving you but of course it did not pass Robbs notice. Asking what, you turned your head slightly before leaning back against him almost more for support. “Everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve done and the thing that scared me the most was telling you about this.”

Another grin left, Robbs lips finding the hair at the side of your head before resting against it once more. Something soft on his tongue without any judgment, “You thought I would be mad. You thought telling your husband, who loves you as much as I do, whose always wanted a family of his own, would be mad his wife is pregnant. For such a smart girl, you’re a bit slow.”

Mouth dropping in part mock offence, Robb laughed only to all but yank you back when you tried leaving his touch. Knowing he was stronger then you, but your voice was more high pitched in an attempt to defend yourself. “We’re also at war, in the middle of Harrenhal when we came here expecting a fight. Of course I thought you would be mad now of all times.” Robb didn’t have to tell you he rolled his eyes for you to know, you could simply sense it.

His hand pressed more firmly down. “You could never make me mad. Certainly not about this. It doesn’t matter what happens in this war, we’ll make this work. I was actually thinking-”

You couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. “That’s a rare thing.”

A yelp followed as he pinched the hip he held, you laughing after apologizing as he pushed passed what you said. “What I was saying, is that I was wondering if you should stay in Riverrun when we get there.” Your head tried turning to the side with a furrowed brow, a feeling dropping in your chest only for Robb to pull it back and lull you back down. “We thought we were walking in on a fight. You were willing to fight in this state, but I don’t want to risk it anymore. You’ll be safe in Riverrun, you and my mother.”

Inhaling a bit, you let your hand drift downwards to rest over his hand. Only to have him switch places, Pressing it firmly against your stomach before covering with his own. The idea made sense, it wasn’t terrible, it made sense, but the thought sounded awful in your heart. You didn’t see the benefit for you in being apart from him that way. “What about you?” A hum came out in question behind you. “Your mother and I hide away in Riverrun, what are you doing without me?”

His head jolted back in amusement at you. “You saying I can’t fight this war without you?” You said nothing, which was as good as an answer to him. Holding you closer, you felt the need to grin in his voice. “Aye, you might be right there. I’ll be useless if I can’t have you beside me at night.”

What sleep would you find without him though? Every since you rode through the gates of Winterfell, three days without food or sleep you hadn’t spend a single night away from Robb. He was always there, always with his arms wrapped around you as you fell asleep. Nightmare or not, Robb was there to ease all of it.

The idea of being without him almost felt scary. What would you even do without him there at this point? You dared not want to actually find out. Shaking your head, you knew you had dropped the tone rather abruptly in your silence but Robb could adjust anyways. “I know I’d be safer. In Riverrun, with the baby, but my place is by your side. This war is yours as much as it’s mine too. As long as your fighting in it.”

The hand on your hip reached upward. Running along to cup your chin and turn you enough to look back at him seeking your eyes over your shoulder. “I’m not doubting that. I’m just trying to plan ahead is all. We might still be out here when the baby comes, and I need to know we have a plan.” Commenting that it was still around seven months in the future, Robb just pressed against your hand on his stomach more firmly. “Just wait and see how much I have planned out when that time comes, then.”

You both stood there for a while, neither feeling the need to say anything. The wind blowing just enough that Robb gently pulled your hair behind you off to the side out of his face. You felt his head moving, stretching upwards to gaze around. Taking the sight in, much like all of you took turns doing. All highborns, some more then others, inevitably learned about the fires of Harrenhal. The horrors of that day no matter how much the written texts by once Targaryean supports claimed it was otherwise.

Cursed and destroyed, no good could ever come of this no matter what. Harren the Black spent decades acting as a blight on the River Lords and the smallfolk, but no one thought this should’ve been the end to him, his sons, nor the castle so many people had struggled to help make. Nothing could justify this, and it seemed Robb did too. Mumbling low in your ear, “So, what exactly happened here?”

Face twisting, you more then halfway turned to look at him with a pure confusion, “I know you know the story, Robb.”

His hands wrenching from your body, he grabbed your forearms to turn you back to the sight, wrapping around you once more when putting you in place. “I do, but you’re the Targaryean expert here. I want to know how you’d tell it.” Asking with a hint of jest, questioning his usage of expert. “You know more about them then anyone else I’ve ever met.”

Sighing deeply, you knew he was not wrong. How much you wished it was, how much your head was tormented as a child growing up surrounded by their memories. Even as you walked over the graveyard of their dynasty, your family creating their new one on top of them, you couldn’t escape how much they haunted you and your thoughts. Everything they did and you rarely ever found something to like. “Well, the Great Council was held here.”

Silence was met before Robb muttered low and bemused, “That’s the first thing you think of in this place?”

Protesting with a grin, “To be fair, that involved my family.” Giving Robb pause, he looked down to you asking how. You didn’t blame people for not recalling that fact, it was obscure history and naturally only you would recall it. Head filled with so much information that held no significant anymore. But, you explained anyways. “Princess Rhaenys Targaryean. She was originally up for a claim as heir at the Great Council. Her father was King Jaehaerys’s firstborn son, but her mother was Jocelyn Baratheon. Our blood was meant to be on the Iron Throne through her before the Great Council.”

A grin came over Robb, as you did knowing exactly what conclusion he came to as you did. “Shame how that never turned out for your House. Baratheons on the Iron Throne.” Your eyes rolled, only to turn in his arms to look more up at him. Your hands grasping at his waist, looking down his shirt mostly left open and his breeches just barley pulled on. Perhaps your eyes lingered just a tad too long, his hand nudging your face up to meet his eyes from under your chin with a knowing glint in his bright blue eyes. “See something you like?”

Biting down on your tongue, any clever retort died on your lips before you let your hands drift upwards. Sliding flat against his torso, slightly letting them drift inside his shirt before running up along his collarbones still under the shirt before wrapping around the back of his neck. Robb held a smile, something both smug and yet soft down towards you, knowing he had caught you leering when you had been in such a more serious conversation. “Can you blame me?”

Oh the grin Robb gave you, making something needy in you almost ready to let the robe fall from your shoulders here and now. “My needy little wife.” Seeing a bright look grow on his face, coming to a realization before your eyes that not you had even gotten to yet. “So thats why you’ve been desperate for me for weeks now.” A flush fell over you, painting over your eyes so obviously as it only made Robb lean down with something more smug overtaking everything else in his eyes and voice. “My needy, pregnant wife can’t get enough of her husband.”

Trying to suddenly leave, your feet carried you only a few paces back into the room before Robb followed. Tugging you right back into his chest. “Oh no, you’re not running from this.” Instead of letting both hands stay at your hips, he let one rise up. Sliding down into the exposed loose fabric of your robe, he found your breast with a greed right away.

Grasping roughly as you gasped, your voice stammering in a pathetic attempt to pretend he couldn’t see so clearly how easily he worked you up. “It isn’t-it’s not that bad..”

Seeking your nipple, he twisted and tugged as much he could from the position he was in. His lips running along your check upwards towards your ear as he was warm in both sound and the breathe against your skin. “So if I pull this off,” His other hand now grasping at the tie keeping you dressed against the cool air as you tensed up, but from nerves, need or the shocks pleasured through you as he groped at your breast, you couldn’t tell. “And slip my hand between your pretty legs, I won’t find you wet already?” You knew he knew it was a lie, but you shook your head no to try. Robb only laughed. ‘You’re a bad liar, my love.”

Ever so slowly, Robbs hand grasped at the loose tie around your waist, pulling enough you felt every tug and pull and the fabric as it loosened around your front. A knock at the door however, stopped both of you in your tracks. Eyes flying upwards as a voice spoke muffled through, “Pardon, your grace, a message for you.”

Looking down at you, your eyes wide and trapped between a need he so easily dragged out of you, or a conflict of wanting to desperately asking him to ignore all his duties and strip you bare and take you back to the bed for anything he wanted to give you. Robb though, grinned before pressing his lips to your cheek. “Tonight, my Queen. If you’re good and wait for it, that is.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, a sigh leaving you in a high pitched need before Robb prompted you across the room for you to begin getting dressed. Moving himself towards the door, only opening it enough his figure could be seen as to indicate that whatever was needed would need a moment to get himself together.

It was an odd time for the feeling to strike, that the other lords would need to be told. Catelyn would need to be told. By the end of the day everyone would know, there would be no chance Robb wanted to hide his pregnant wife from his men, proudly wanting to show you off.

Routine at least sufficed for now, standing before him, you were so used to dressing him that neither of you even needed to say anything. He got his under clothes on, and you came to his side to put on his armour. Something at that point, you felt you could do with your eyes closed. His though were open and peeled down to your person. Not reaching out to you to interrupt, but his voice never found reason to hold back.

Robb always ready to fill the air to your quiet, that time a softness and adoration dripping through. “You’re going to have to stop wearing all this.” Your eyes flying upwards, he only flickered down to yourself. “I’m keeping you with me, but if you think I’m letting you anywhere near a battlefield, you are mistaken.” Your head looked up with a flat expression, but he didn’t listen to your silent protest at all. “My mother should have some dresses she could spare for you until we get to Riverrun. Have ones of your own made then that have room for when you start showing.” His eyes looked up as if pausing in thought before looking back down, your hands still uninterrupted at work. “Did the healers tell you how far along you are?”

Your eyes flickered up and back down quickly, your name coming from his lips accusingly. Your eyes down against his chest as you did the straps properly, voice quiet and knowing you’d get into trouble for not mentioning it. “Just over two moons..”

Name coming out more with an audacity, you knew Robb didn’t mean it angrily but he took the tone regardless as if scolding you. “You’ve been pregnant for two months, and you’ve known what? A month of that time and kept it from me?” Muttering under your breath you knew he didn’t hear you, he leaned down, “What’s that?”

Only saying quietly as if to put blame off of you, “Maege has known for a fortnight now.”

If you would’ve looked up to see Robbs face, you’d have seen the most fallen flat expression on him you’d ever seen. Mumbling under his breath with an annoyance you knew he only half meant. “Remind me to have a chat with her later.” Shaking your head with an amusement, you ran your hands along the armour against his arms as it separated from the leathers with a sigh. One signifying a satisfaction in your own work as he glanced down and back to you with a bright expression. “How does a man ever need a squire when he has you?”

A brief flicker of your eyes up and then back down, you only shrugged as you turned to put on a more loose fur lined coat almost too quickly for Robb to even move to do it for you, much to his dismay. Mumbling a bit as you fussed with the clasps at the front, you knew it was something a tad more insecure as it came from you. “It might be a better idea if you’re the one who tells the news to your mother.” Asking why, you felt his presence pace a bit closer but you didn’t look back yet. Still a bit under your breath as if trying to pass yourself off as casual when he knew better. “After yesterday, I don’t think she’d appreciate me coming to her to let her know she is to be a grandmother.” Glancing back up, you let a sigh more come out hoping the nerves left with it, which only marginally worked. “It may come across as insensitive to come from me right now.”

Nodding, Robb let his hands trail down your arms with a warm tone to match his soft gaze towards you. “I’ll handle my mother, you try not to let the men overwhelm you when they find out.” Asking how quickly that would get out, Robb rose an eyebrow as if assuming you should know the answer already, which perhaps you did as he said it. “Once I tell her, the first solider that overhears will tell another-”

Your voice came out much more flat and monotone then his own, knowing the teasing of Northerners coming your way. “Then the entire camp will know by midday.” Robbs head tilted in agreement before letting a hand rise up.

Cupping your cheek as he ran his thumb along the softer skin and tilted you up to meet his gaze as he stepped a tad closer to you. “We’ll make it through this, do you understand?” The words were firm even if his voice had not been, a gentle manner of trying to assure you there was nothing to be scared of. There was, but not for this. Of all things, Robb only wished you not be scared of what was to come with this. But you trusted him without a doubt.

Nodding gently, Robb didn’t say anything further. Instead choosing to lean down, and press his lips to yours. Nothing of greed or even a passion, but something lingering and chaste as you felt him savour the feeling as your hands slid up along his torso to around the back of his neck. His free hand sitting at your waist pulling you closer as he barley allowed himself to part before seeking you out again.

This marriage was nothing either of you expected. Thrusted upon both of you without any foresight that this was coming, you could only imagine how he must have felt hearing of it. You knew yours was less of a reaction and more of a shock.

For years, your father had done all he could to keep you from being pursued by the apparent many suitors which held interest in your name and status. Choosing rather to keep you firmly at his side, learning his trade and skills to one day prepare you to take over Dragonstone when the time came. You weren’t a son, which is what he always wanted, but you were all he had in place of one, and Stannis Baratheon was not a man to leave himself woefully under prepared when he could help it.

You had tried to argue, that he could not just throw this on you, then tear you back here to do his job while he was away when he wouldn’t even explain to you what was going on. For a Baratheon, your father did not often raise his voice, but he had a different tactic with you. A more edge to it that bordered on about to be lectured and it almost sprung something in your head that naturally feared getting on his bad side. Telling you with a deep frustration that he didn’t want to hear another word and that you were doing this no matter what. He had claimed it was the Kings choice and he had none.

The next day you were the only one brave enough to accompany your uncle to the throne room where Jon Arryn’s body was being prepared by the Silent Sisters. Asking in a quiet voice as you both stood to the side, why he was so sudden on this marriage. It was then he told you that it was in fact your father who came to him, all but demanding he make this betrothal as soon as possible. He had already gotten on a boat to Dragonstone then, you couldn’t ask him.

You knew now, why he used you as a pawn to gain the loyalty of the Starks and therefore the North, not that it worked. Only just barley opening your eyes as Robb pulled back, he looked down at you with all the softness you grew up thinking a husband would never show you. It came easy to Robb, as loving him came easy to you.

It had been a very long time since you ever knew something you wanted, but even standing in the blasted ruins of a haunted castle, you could say you had right in front of you all you could ever want. As long as you and Robb had one another now, that was enough. Just as it was enough with the little one between you.

Not all showed perfect respect to your position, but some were more amusing about it then others.

A sudden shout of your name had you turn on the spot some hours later, but not enough before all but being slammed into with a mighty grab. Looking up, the ever bright look in Dacey Mormonts eyes were enough to catch your attention as did her words, “My bloody mother kept this a secret from me for weeks. You trusted her with it but not me?”

A laugh came from you, knowing this was as good as a congratulations to her. “I never really told her, she put it together and I simply never denied it.” Daceys face only dropped amusingly flat, stating that such a thing wasn’t the same as what she meant. Letting an arm stay around you though she backed off enough so you didn’t looked like she was about to tackle you once more. “I wasn’t going to firmly tell anyone without a doubt before Robb.”

Dacey only giving her mother Maege a narrow eyed expression which she clearly read as a question. The later nodding amusingly towards you with a jesting tone, “I tried telling her she’s a fool for thinking he’d be anything but over the moon. Stubborn as all hell this one. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were one of my own girls.”

Sitting you down, more familiar faces begun to gather but it was all in good fun it seemed, teasing you for what seemed the only good news any had heard and would hear for a long time. But it wasn’t the same everywhere, or for everyone.

While back and forths were made at your expense, the air was not the same level of ease in the room Robb stood in. He knew she wouldn’t handle it as well as she might have were their lives all normal as they desperately yearned for, but he had to tell her himself. She’d figure it out and he needed his mother to to be at your side. She half raised you along with his father, Robb knew she deeply cared about you but for many reasons she had let personal feelings get in the way of being there for you the way Robb knew she wanted to.

“She’ll be in danger.”

Robbs voice though raised. Because despite the amount of understanding he could afford her, to did he feel at his wits end going rounds with his mother about you. Some subjects were far worse for his sanity then others, but all aggravating the same. “You think I don’t know that?”

Catelyns face twisted into her own frustration as she turned away. A hand running along her mouth before turning back to her son. “She should stay at Riverrun once we get there.” Robb only muttered that he wasn’t going to hide you away from him the entire war. “She will be safe there.”

Robb turned to face his mother with the hope he looked a bit more collected then full of a nerve then he felt broaching that topic. “Anywhere but by my side she’s not safe.” Catelyn took a moment to look at her son, seeing through his facade as a mother always could and saw the worry in his eyes all too well. Only getting as far as his name when Robb trampled over what would be her consoling to explain himself further with more coherency. “Mother, I didn’t bring her into this fight to hide her away. She’s my wife, and my Queen. I want her by my side, where she belongs.” Gesturing vaguely out to the walls they both knew Robbs men were scattered about. “My men all listen to her, respect her as much they do me. She could’ve gone anywhere, but she rode day and night to come to me when she escaped Kings Landing. I didn’t want to leave her behind then, and I won’t do it now.”

Looking away for a moment, Robb knew sometimes that was hard to consider. Knowing how much this marriage was dumped onto he and you both, Catelyn could almost forget that Robb knew you for near fifteen years before then. You weren’t some stranger, you were someone he knew and cared about but watching how deeply in love her son fell in such a short period of time was jarring he figured.

And it was fast, but Robb knew he has no problem with that. Everything between he and you started fast and he saw no reason to slow that down when you both were comfortable. Your own wedding night, a flustered, shy maiden but you did not hesitate. You knew what was expected of you, and instead of doing it out of only duty, you allowed Robb to teach you how to enjoy it, how to enjoy each other and you never looked back. Why should he? Why slow down when nothing about your lives together would ever give you a chance to do that?

Only when he had you and his child safe in Winterfell would he be able to slow down with you, but he wasn’t afforded that luxury just yet. So he was going to keep the speed you both went at, and that meant keeping you at his side to ensure you both always were at the same pace. Never one maybe leaving the other behind.

But, his mother had a point in her next words. “She’ll be in far more danger when word of this gets out beyond your men, Robb. Both of you will be in far more danger. If the Lannisters hear word that you are to have an heir-”

Robb only cut her off to solely finish her sentence. “They’ll do whatever they can do stop it.” Thinking for a moment, Robb only found himself sitting down. His mother slowly approaching to sit across from him at the small table of her temporary bedchambers. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he said it, but if he could be that honest in front of anyone, no matter their issues now, he could do so in front of his mother.

A furrow in his brow and a roughness to his voice as he said it, not looking at anything in particular. “I thought I’d already be a father by now.” Her eyes flying up to look at her son, but he did not return the gaze. Trapped in a memory of what he wished. “I knew she had to go back to Kings Landing, but I kept hoping she wouldn’t stay. That something would change early and she could come back to Winterfell. Nothing going wrong and maybe I could’ve ended up where I am now by the end of that year at least.” It was a thought, and it was distant and sad but he saw it and he knew his mother of all people would not judge him for it. “They’d nearly by two by now.” Your name coming back up. “Maybe she’d be in the same position, only she’d be pregnant with a second. Make you a grandmother in better circumstances.”

Catelyn let out a gentle huff meant to replace a laugh, the image not too far from the life she truly envisioned for her first boy. Robb had always wanted a family of his own, and while it being with you came as a suprise, all she had wanted for him was what Robb wanted now. For him to have that family, to be together where you all belonged. Not dead or lost or scattered or sworn away to a life never to have a family of their own.

Everything now felt broken, and Robb wouldn’t let go of what was left. And really, what truly was left to him was you and that baby. He loved his mother, but you and the baby were a bright spot on his darkened life. Something hopeful and something that spoke that a future for you all still existed. You and that baby to him were everything and he wasn’t going to leave you behind. Maybe you wouldn’t be safe out here with him, but you’d be together at least.

His mothers voice cutting in, no doubt trying to lighten the mood for his sake. “Do you have any idea what it is yet? Boy or girl?”

Robb only shook his head. “We haven’t gotten that far. She’s two months though, it won’t be long until the healers will be able to make a good guess.” His mother repeating the two specifically with a more narrowed gaze of question that he tilted his head with an answer. “Everything around us, she didn’t realize when she started feeling different until far passed what most women notice.”

He knew she didn’t mean it that way, but she still said it rather dry. “Well, after taking almost two years.”

Robbs gaze turned towards her with almost a glare, “The war has been hard on her.” Not saying anything, he almost now defended his own ability. “It wasn’t for the lack of trying.” Catelyn only gave a bit of a huffing scoff, muttering that she was unfortunately well aware of that.

His mother looked as if she had something more to say, and he knew what. She wanted to say his father would be proud of him, but she had said it once and he wasn’t ready to hear it only months after he was gone. But, he wasn’t ready now either. His mother was to have a grandchild, and he was still fighting a war against the Lannisters who took his fathers ability to meet his grandchild away in the first place.

Robb called his banners to rescue his father, but in turn the gods took him, his sister, and his brothers away from him. The only ones left to share this with were right here, and it was not lost on Robb that he didn’t feel proud of that. He didn’t even know if he’d ever be able to share his new life with Sansa either. With Tywin Lannister in Kings Landing, it was impossible to guess what fate could possibly befall the only sister he had left.

His sisters adored you. Sansa for years now had tried to pretend it was otherwise since growing to her teens, but he knew better. Deep down, Sansa was still that little girl who clung to your leg wanting to beg mother to let you stay and be her big sister forever. She’d be thrilled to be an aunt, but now he dared not think how she would hear that news. What those people must be saying around her of this war and her family, what they were no doubt forcing her to say just to survive.

Robb only had two siblings left to him, and they were the two which he was not sure would ever get a chance to share the new life for this family Robb was building with you.

If anything was true, it was all rather simple for Robb to find you despite being in this place. With the intimidating size of Grey Wind as he always found himself at your side, Robb seldom found it hard to seek you out. Whether he somehow could tell where his direwolf was, or something far stranger neither of you knew how to bring up was going on, regardless, Robb found you with ease.

A hand running along your back to slightly keep you more pressed into his side as Robb came up behind you, you heard his voice address his men with as much collected form as possible considering you knew all day he and you had been bombarded with Northern celebration of their Kings news. “If you could give me a moment with the Queen.”

Much like the rowdiness his father could summon, Smalljon Umber easily carolled the other men and lords up and out. “You hear the King. It’s a big castle, plenty of places to fuck off to.” Not leaving himself though, the just as large man he was like his father, gave a mighty pat on the arm to Robb with a knowing look as Robb only nodded with a held back smile.

Head turning both of you to watch as the last of them fell from earshot, Robb leaned to mutter amusingly in your ear, “Hope they haven’t been giving you the kind of grief they’ve given me.” Turning to him with a curiosity, you only asked what exactly was the kind of grief they were giving him. Robb though, only smirked, turning you to lean you more back against the table as he stood at your front, making you more comfortable as he could manage. “Heard more then enough about how they have no idea why it took you and I so long.”

Raising a brow, your voice was calm as your arms gently crossed along your front. “And, did you also explain to them that being at war makes that sort of thing not so simple?”

It seemed though Robb had an amusement within him. “Oh it is that easy, my love. It’s having it take that was the troublesome part. Not that I didn’t try.” Your gaze filtered away a bit, a fluster wanting to rise up into your face despite how little of yourself you had to hide from Robb at this point. A hand rose up, running along your cheek as you let your hands sit comfortably at his sides. His other sat at your hip, his eyes torn between your face and stomach. “I’m leaving Roose Bolton to hold Harrenhal, he and his men will keep any of whatever scattered Lannisters still out there from coming back here, and we should have everything North secured from them at the least.”

Nodding, your hands felt the need to toy with something, almost fidgeting against his side innocently as if the day had begun gathering up and needing to be expelled somewhere. “Well, at least Lord Bolton suits this place far better then Janos Slynt.” Robbs eyes narrowed a tad as you elaborated. “Commander of the City Watch, a complete imbecile.” Robb only let out a breathy laugh at how plainly you had put it, causing you to look up at him more amused trying to defend your own words. “If you spoke to him you’d agree. Well, maybe you wouldn’t. I’m fairly certain it was just me he had a particular hatred for. They gave him Harrenhal as a reward for arresting myself and your father.” Muttering almost under your breath, “So skilled, having his men do the killing while he held a knife up to the throat of an unarmed girl.”

Looking up and around, Robb only turned back to your attention with a bemused question. “What exactly about this place suits Roose Bolton better then?”

Your answer made him genuinely laugh at how plainly you put it right away. “A cursed ruined castle that everyone fears? Why wouldn’t a man like him suit that?” Robb only saying you had a point, something of the man as admirable to seek as counsel as he was intimidating and off putting to a somewhat fearful degree. You dared not imagine what being at the mercy of a man like him would be should he see you as an enemy.

Leaning you back more against the table in a loungeful manner, Robb let his hands sit more along your waist and hip as he stepped into you with bright eyes. “I was wondering,” Your head turning a bit in wonder not knowing how much he was going to trap you in this spot. “Do you still remember anything in High Valyrian?”

If you thought you could afford to pull away, you would’ve tried. Your eyes and face as flat as you could possible make them. “And why are we bringing that up?” Robb only pointed out the obvious, that this place was now synonymous with the Targaryeans, and he knows you learned their language and he wondered if you were still fluent. “I might be.”

“Say something.” Your voice raised more high pitched but amusingly incredulous with wide eyes to match as you asked why. But Robb only laughed, keeping you close in his hold. “I’ve never heard you speak it before, I want to hear you say at least something.”

“You-”

Cutting yourself off as you looked away with an exaggerated sigh, Robb only grinned brighter knowing he wouldn’t let you leave until you did. “Just one sentence.” Another deep sigh, you didn’t return his touch. Crossing your arms over your chest instead almost like a petulant child asking what he wanted you to say. His answer was just as audacious. “How about my pretty little wife tells me in her foreign language how much she’s looked forward to her King taking her apart tonight?”

Biting down against your tongue, you didn’t want the fluster to arise, giving credence to the fact that he was right and you had indeed been thinking about it. In this state, it was becoming so much more wanting within you to just stay in bed with Robb and focus on nothing else, much to your complete embarrassment over your sudden needs.

“Nyke'll sagon va ñuha ondos se knees syt ñuha dārys, gō kessa sesīr jorrāelagon naejot demand nyke naejot beg zirȳla syt ziry.”

It came out smoother then you thought it would. It had been years since you spoke a word but it came out as naturally as it did as you were fluent. It seemed that fluency did not leave, and what a joy you thought. In no way shape or form did your future entail anything that would make still being fluent in High Valyrian in any way useful.

Robb looked amused though, enjoying the way it rolled off your tongue in a manner which almost held a bit of an accent not yours. The idea taught to you that speaking another language in the accent its spoken in normally, makes it come more fluent and natural to any ears who understand it. “What did you say?”

As if you were going to tell him that. Saying something far more debauched then you’d want to come out of your mouth in Common willingly. No one around knew what you said, you’d rather they not. Prompting you once, twice to get you to tell him, you just laughed saying his name in protest. “You asked me to say something, not to say something you’d ever understand. Maybe I just said you’re a ponderous oaf with a fat head.”

Robb only held more of a smirk and a glint in his eye. “I’ve trained my good girl far too well to worry she’s insulting me in another language.” Your eyes widened as you looked around, but any scattered eyes could not hear you even a little bit. His lips pressing to your cheek before he grasped your chin, leaning down and turning you to face him, his breath dancing across your skin as he muttered lowly, “If I had to guess, my girl just told me how much she wants me to throw her on her hands and knees tonight.”

Your eyes wished to explode from their sockets as you felt a complete embarrassment fill you. “How-”

Robb only grinned with such a smug look that was so enticing on his handsome face. “I know my wife by now.” Before pressing his lips back to yours. Keeping you against him for longer that time, both of you taking the rare moments in such a strange and dour place to feel any happiness. That Harrenhal could ever be a memory of good for anyone, let along yourself and Robb. But as your arms rested along the back of his neck as you kissed him right back, it was certainly so. A place where some good actually arose.

The dreams however, were not. As a night of passion once more between lovers, once sleep fell upon you did strange dreams fill your head. Ones never more vivid then when in the walls of this castle. Whispers in your head as if being spoken to from across the Gods Eye and filling your head with dreams you did not comprehend.

A winged shadow over the skies of Kings Landing, a freezing so cold it shivered your bones in your sleep, and a baby. Dark curls with bright eyes, not green nor blue though, a notable grey staring up at you as did a gentle womans voice whisper in your ear, that you would nearly forget by the time you awoke. As if something about the lands of Harrenhal were trying to show you something far before you were ever capable of comprehending it.

“Promise me, Ned.”

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

105 notes · View notes

eruherdiriel · 7 months ago

Text

After ruin

Jonsa ficlet Rating: T Universe: Canon Other: Angst, Sansa POV

Also on AO3.

She watches him slide the knife from its sheath and test the sharpness of the blade against a callus on his left hand.

“Must you go?” Sansa asks. Jon is always going to war it seems, and this time he would march right into the dragon’s maw. “Daenerys has already killed kin to clear her path to the Iron Throne.”

Aegon Targaryen is dead, so proclaimed the letter that arrived not five days ago with news from the south. Dragon fire killed him, as it kills many in the Crownlands and the Reach these days. But his death occurred after a challenge, a mockery of a test Daenerys must have known her nephew would not pass. She offered him one of her dragons to ride and then commanded it to breathe fire on him, the letter said. When he burned, she said it proved he was a pretender and that her true nephew died nearly two decades ago in King’s Landing.

Sansa knows better. Targaryens are not immune to fire; she has felt the proof as she traced the ruined skin of Jon’s sword hand. And yet, she has also heard the stories of when they tried to burn his body after the mutiny at Castle Black. She still remembers how Satin would not meet her eyes when he spoke of it, out of both shame for allowing it to happen and for fear of how Jon rose amidst the flames.

“I am a soldier. The battlefield is where I belong,” Jon says. The blade sings as he slides it back into its covering. “This is how I serve the North.”

“And how you run from love,” she says softly. She had not meant to say the words aloud, and hearing them nearly stops her own heart. It is much too soon for such a sentiment, but once it is out, Sansa knows it is true. She loves him.

Whatever he feels in return, it is enough for Jon to run from her, just as he runs from his parentage. If he is fighting, he doesn’t have to face either thing. He doesn’t have to think about his mother dying after she birthed him and living her final months hidden away in a tower in Dorne. He doesn’t have to explain why he lets Rickon fall asleep against one side of his body and Sansa fall asleep against the other when they tell her baby brother a bedtime story. He doesn’t have to explain why he stopped letting Sansa come to his bed when she has nightmares, but she knows it happened after the morning she woke to feel him pressed against her, his hand wound in her hair and his breath warm on her neck.

He doesn’t have to explain why, when she tended his wound after fighting the Others and began to cry at the damage to his body that showed how close she came to losing him again, Jon lifted her chin with one hand and told her not to weep. Told her that he survived. That he could survive anything if it meant coming home to her. And then he kissed her tears away, his lips pressed against one cheek and then another before finding the curve of her mouth.

Her words to him now make Jon still, his back toward her, and he stays silent for some time. Sansa holds her breath and waits. Jon is always making her wait.

Jon, and the gods. And because of that, she has learned to be patient, learned through waiting to escape King’s Landing, and then waiting to escape the Vale of Arryn, and still she waits for Bran and Arya to come home.

“I do,” he says, head cocked slightly in her direction but still not facing Sansa. “Love you. But my love would only ruin you.”

This time, her heart does stop; she would swear to it.

If only Jon had stopped speaking after saying, I do love you.

“Ruin? You know nothing of love if you think it would ruin me.”

Now Jon turns. “Sansa, I’m—”

“A bastard?” she snaps. “A Targaryen? A deserter from the Night’s Watch? How many times must I tell you I do not care about any of those things? I care about how you treat your friends. How you respect me and make me feel safe. I care about how you’re the only person left that I can talk to about Robb, even though it hurts. I care about how you do your duty as a soldier despite how I know you want nothing more than to find out if Bran and Arya are alive and to search for them.”

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

But Sansa has more to say, so she continues before he can protest yet again. “When we find love in this world, we should cling to it. How much love does anyone know in their life? I once had a mother and father and siblings who loved me. And they are gone except for Rickon, swept off by war and violence, and that is ruin, Jon.”

His eyes soften, and finally he leaves his half-packed saddle bag and walks over to her. Then Jon takes her face in his hands, and for the heartbeat that he studies her, Sansa thinks he is going to give her what she wants—he will kiss her and say he is going to stay. But instead, Jon tilts her head down and presses his lips to her forehead, and the vision is dashed.

“This is all I can give you at present,” he whispers into her hairline. “My sword.”

Why, she wants to scream. Why can’t you stay with me?

But she knows why. The qualities that would keep Jon from her and drive her ire are the same ones that helped make her love him.

“And after?” she whispers.

Her head is tucked into his neck, but she can hear the frown Jon must wear when he speaks. “Let me deal with our enemies. Then we can talk about after.”

It is only half a promise, but she will take it, will hold it tight to her chest while she waits for the wars to finally be over.

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #book jonsa #jon x sansa #*rms #eruhwrites

65 notes · View notes

juliaswickcrs · 7 months ago

Text

HOUSE BLACKWOOD :: THE DANCE OF DRAGONS ( insp )

The Blackwoods are an ancient house descended from the First Men who ruled the Wolfswood in the North before being driven south by the Kings of Winter from House Stark. House Blackwood is home to many greenseers, skinchangers, and woodswitches, with origins believed to date back to the Warg King and his alliance with the Children of the Forest.

Lord Samwell Blackwood became the Lord of Raventree Hall after the death of his father at the hands of Ser Jonnel Bracken. He avenged his father's death in the Year of the Red Spring, igniting the conflict between both houses once more. He was a shrewd and honorable man who refused to stand by when it came to injustice and was believed to have more north than Riverlands in him. A cunning military strategist, he was the mind behind the Battle of the Burning Mill, which saw the first blood drawn in the Dance. Lady Jocelyn Blackwood nee Stark is the only daughter of Bennard Stark of Winterfell and his second wife Lady Alyssa Strong of Harrenhal. She was sent to ward with her grandfather where she was courted by Samwell Blackwood. She is known as the Witch Wolf, a moniker mocking her relationship with her cousin, Alys Rivers. She was often in contact with her cousin and half-brothers in Winterfell, and convinced them to send men on behalf of Queen Rhaenyra. Cassana Blackwood is the eldest child and daughter of Lord and Lady Blackwood. An unusual and lonely child, her mother sent her to ward in King's Landing with House Strong, where she became fast friends with Jacaerys Velaryon and Daeron Targaryen. She was called home after the Bracken-Blackwood feud ignited again and was staying at Harrenhal when the fire broke out. Miraculously, she survived. She later studied healing and medicine under her mother and the Maester of Raventree Hall. Benjicot Blackwood is the eldest son and second child of Lord and Lady Blackwood. He spent the first three years of his life abed with a sickness none could cure. His lady mother prayed to the Old Gods at the dead weirwood every night for his health as the ravens gathered. When it did, he was left with a large splotch of red on his back and up towards his neck. Some say he fought with an insatiable bloodlust--a touch of the Old Gods within him--and gave him the name "Bloody Ben." Lady Alysanne Blackwood was known as "Black Aly" and is the younger sister of Samwell and Willem Blackwood. As fierce as any man, she was fearless and bawdy and the best archer aside from her bastard half-brother Robb Rivers. She was rumored to be fond of Lady Sabitha Frey, but married Cregan Stark by the end of the Dance. Alysanne was said to have a mind as sharp as her tongue, and often made political decisions for the House when her kin could not. She is credited with the temporary ending of the Bracken-Blackwood feud by marrying her nephew Benjicot to the Lady Catelyn Bracken. Ser Willem Blackwood is the younger brother of Samwell Blackwood and is the only member of House Blackwood in recent memory to follow the Faith of the Seven. He has often been quoted as the Black Sheep of the family due to his preference for his mother's Andal traditions. Later in life, he became known for eschewing honor in order to achieve victory, although this is widely believed to be slander as it came from Amos Bracken. He attempted to win the hand of Princess Rhaenyra and slew Jerrel Bracken, Ser Jonnel's eldest son, in a duel for her hand. Robb Rivers is the elder half-brother of Samwell, Alysanne, and Willem and the uncle of Cassana and Benjicot. He was known as "the Bowman of Raventree" due to his skill with a weirwood bow and "Red Robb Rivers" due to his bright red hair, which contrasted against his sibling's black locks. In contrast to the Blackwood sigil, Robb bore a white tree on a red escutcheon blazoned with a flock of white ravens on black. His mother was believed to be a stable hand at Raventree, although this has never been confirmed.

taglist: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr @camiemendess @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

@arrthurpendragon @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @kingsmakers @noratilney

@stanshollaand @astarionbae @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @aliverse

@misshiraethsworld @asirensrage @eddiemunscns

@princessmadelines @impales @waterloou @stelstellakidd

HOTD TAGLIST: @misskatiewrites (wanna be added? Lmk!)

#ocappreciation #allaboutocs #ochub #fyeahgotocs #house of the dragon oc #daeron targaryen x oc #Daeron Targaryen oc #house blackwood #house blackwood oc #house blackwood face claims #oc: cassana blackwood #oc: jocelyn strong #my edits #my ocs #fic: east of eden #davos does not exist here im sorry bracken wood lovers

57 notes · View notes

vampirepirates · 4 months ago

Text

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

CHAPTER FIVE - WINTER IS COMING.

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

that the world, it burns through me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you,

Zevran.

37 notes · View notes

jellyfishsthings · 8 days ago

Text

WARNINGS: reader is a Velaryon with some Targaryen features but not an OC, this is just some story building there will be other parts. I just finished the books and I am obsessed with GOT wither way I was bored and this is the result so beware ... I think that's it. Also Theon is a pookie in this fic because I said so

PAIRING: fem!reader x Robb Stark (romantically), fem!reader x Jon Snow (platonically), fem!reader x Theon Greyjoy (platonically)

This will be the last part... (it did go as planned)

part 1, part 2, part 3

In the heart of Winterfell, where the stone walls stood resolute against the biting cold and whispers of ancient lore echoed through darkened corridors, a storm was brewing. The air crackled with tension as flames flickered ominously in the distance, painting the night sky a hellish orange. Visenya Velaryon, an ethereal presence amidst the chaos, felt an inexplicable pull toward those flames—an echo of something buried deep within her lineage.

With her dark hair streaked in silver and violet eyes that glimmered like amethysts under starlight, she sprinted past startled guards and bewildered servants. Her heart thundered not just from fear but from an insatiable desire to protect. Children were trapped; their cries pierced through the cacophony like arrows shot into the night. The Lannisters had struck again—a diversion masked by fire and treachery.

“Visenya!” Robb Stark’s voice broke through her fervor as he raced after her, his expression a mixture of worry and determination. He caught up with her just before she reached the edge of blazing timber beams that collapsed like giants yielding to gravity.

“What are you doing? It’s too dangerous!” His hands grasped her shoulders tightly as he scanned for signs of burns or soot on her pale skin.

“I can’t leave them,” she breathed out desperately, pointing toward a group huddled together near what remained of a barricade—a few terrified children frozen in shock against rising smoke.

Without waiting for his response, Visenya lunged forward into the inferno's embrace. The heat clawed at her skin as if warning her away; yet somehow it felt familiar—as if it recognized its own kin in this girl who bore Targaryen blood beneath layers of Stark loyalty.

Robb followed instinctively despite every fiber urging him to pull back; he’d be damned if he lost another friend to flames. He found himself enveloping Visenya’s hand with his own as they pushed through searing heat and choking smoke until finally reaching those frightened souls��eyes wide with horror yet filled with hope at their arrival.

The children clung to them while Robb led them toward safety even as embers danced around them like malevolent spirits seeking vengeance upon all who dared defy their wrath. Miraculously unscathed by flame or ash, Visenya emerged alongside Robb into cooler air where snowflakes drifted lazily down from above—a stark contrast to what they had escaped.

Yet relief was fleeting; visions flashed behind closed eyelids—memories hauntingly vivid but distant enough that she could scarcely believe they were hers alone.

It was years ago when little Visenya had been drawn inexplicably toward warmth radiating from Winterfell’s great hearth—the very same fire now wreaking havoc outside these sacred walls. She stood there at six years old, small hands outstretched towards glowing embers shimmering like stars fallen from heaven itself when suddenly strong arms encircled her waist.

“Visenya! No!” Ned Stark's voice resonated deeply within those stone halls tinged by both love and authority alike while Catelyn rushed beside him—her face pale with concern etched upon delicate features framed by auburn locks cascading down one shoulder like autumn leaves surrendering to winter winds.

“But I want to feel it!” young Visenya protested defiantly even as warmth dissipated under stern gazes directed firmly towards danger lurking nearby—not merely flames but perhaps something more sinister hidden beneath layers woven throughout history itself…

Ned knelt beside his ward; brows knitted tightly together while Catelyn gently took hold of those tiny hands still untouched by fiery temptation—a miracle indeed given how close she had come just moments before!

“How did you not get burned?” Catelyn gasped incredulously after inspecting each finger carefully against flickering light illuminating their surroundings dimly yet beautifully—their world balanced delicately between safety inside these ancient walls versus threats lingering beyond mere physical dangers themselves…

That evening turned darker still once shadows crept deeper among candlelit corners where whispers carried secrets far heavier than any child should bear:

“She is Targaryen,” Catelyn argued fiercely later that night when Ned sat brooding quietly over matters weighing heavily on his mind amid familial disputes swirling around them all “We cannot keep putting our family at risk! She must go!”

“And who will take care of her?” Ned counter-posed calmly though tension simmering just below surface couldn’t be ignored “Her ancestry isn’t hidden nor forgotten… We might be all she has left.”

Each word hung heavy within silence thickening around them both—the weight borne solely upon shoulders already burdened beyond measure trying endlessly holding onto honor amid tides threatening everything they held dear… because in a few short days she would be loaded into a carriage and leave Winterfall for years to come, training along side Maesters and secretly learning how to fight. Fill her thirst for knowledge about her past and her long lost family.

Back in present-day Winterfell amidst chaos unleashed outside once more came realization crashing down upon Visenya: heritage wasn’t simply bloodline—it intertwined fate binding hearts together forevermore whether forged through flame or ice alike!

Emerging victorious alongside Robb now standing strong beside one another—both marked indelibly by trials faced bravely knowing darkness would never extinguish light ignited deep within their souls—they understood now what true strength meant: family chosen freely rather than simply inherited alone…

And so as dawn began breaking slowly over horizon lighting sky anew promising hope unyieldingly steadfast—Visenya Velaryon looked up meeting gaze unwaveringly locked onto vibrant violet pools reflecting fierce resolve mirrored equally back toward hers without hesitation reaffirming bonds created not only forged by fires endured but also cementing legacies built stronger than any flame could ever touch…

#robb stark angst #robb stark x you #robb stark x reader #robb stark fluff #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #game of thones x you

21 notes · View notes

im-a-wonderling · 1 year ago

Text

Rescue Me, Part 3 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Merry Christmas from me to all y'all!

Summary: Obi-Wan and his padawan arrive on Taris, but Obi-Wan's odd behavior only increases, sending his padawan into confusion.

Warnings: none that I can think of, let me know if I missed something!

Word count: 8.1k

Rescue Me masterlist | Main masterlist

The landing gear clicked as it unfolded, the ship coming to a landing a moment later.

Obi-Wan and I stood in silence as we waited for the door to open, allowing us to step foot onto the skyscraper that rose high above the pollution Taris was famous for. The rich got to avoid the worst of the pollution, condemning the rest of the planet to fend for themselves.

It was the kind of thing that would stoke the flames of Obi-Wan’s contempt, causing it to bleed through his resplendent Force signature. As we waited, however, my sense of him was strangely subdued. What was left of the normally pleasing hum had soured into a deep whine.

“What’s our objective?” I asked, unable to take the silence anymore.

“Taris has stayed out of the war until now, but Senator Kin Robb is realizing she cannot stay neutral anymore. She must pick a side, so she has arranged a meeting including the Republic and the Separatists.”

“So…we’re making a case for Taris to join the Republic?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Obi-Wan nod. Attempting for some normalcy, I turned to him, plastering on a lopsided smile. “You mean I’ll finally get to see the famous Negotiator Kenobi in action?”

Obi-Wan remained staring directly ahead. “That you will.” There was no mirth or happiness in Obi-Wan’s tone.

I dropped my smile. “You don’t want to be here.”

As the door cracked open, letting in the first sickly yellow light of Taris and revealing the sight of a tall woman and two even taller armored soldiers waiting for us, Obi-Wan finally looked over at me. “I am not a politician.”

“Thank the stars for that,” I muttered. Perhaps I was imagining it, but as Obi-Wan swept forward to meet the attendant, I could’ve sworn I felt a momentary flash of warm light through the Force.

The woman, dressed in elegant purple garb, glided forward. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your presence here.”

I craned my neck to meet her gaze, marveling at the famed height of Tarisians. Obi-Wan answered with a bow, which I quickly followed. “Thank you for the invitation,” my master said, a silkiness to his tone I rarely heard before. “This is my padawan, Y/N.”

“Welcome to Taris, Y/N.” The woman shot a no nonsense smile at me. “I’m Kin Robb, I’m very happy to see both of you safely on my planet.” She refocused on Obi-Wan. “Now that you’ve arrived, the negotiations can start. In the instance that they extend overnight, I’ve asked them to prepare a suite for you.”

I tried to keep my expression neutral. A suite? That would be a vast improvement over a bedroll in some war camp.

“And finally, the conditions of this negotiation are peaceful, so we ask that you surrender all your weapons to us.”

A shot of alarm spiked through me, and though I couldn’t feel it, I knew Obi-Wan felt the same. “Ma’am, we are peacekeepers,” Obi-Wan said. “We do not raise our weapons until it is necessary, and if it is necessary, we will need them.”

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Kin Robb replied, her voice firm.

One of the soldiers expectantly held out a shiny, metallic tray. I looked at Obi-Wan, silently asking for direction. He gave me a tight nod. Reluctantly, I set my lightsaber on the tray, and Obi-Wan followed suit. I watched the soldier carry the tray into the building, feeling off-balance without the familiar weight of my lightsaber on my belt.

Kin Robb’s appreciation was evident, if subdued. Like most everyone in the galaxy, she would’ve heard stories about Jedi. If I were more naive, I would’ve expected those stories to speak for our peaceful and moral conduct, but I knew firsthand that not every Jedi was peaceful and moral.

“If you follow me,” the senator said, “I will lead you to where the Count of Serenno is waiting.”

Obi-Wan stiffened. He really didn’t want to be negotiating, did he, if the very sound of it wound him tighter than a spool of thread? Whatever the issue, I would be there to help him, I decided as I started to follow the politician. For my master, I would be a pillar of–

A hand grabbed a hold of my elbow, dragging me back. “Thank you,” Obi-Wan said to Kin Robb, causing her to stop, “but my padawan will be heading to the suite.”

“What?” I blurted, twisting my neck up to look at my master, confused at the abrupt change in plans. “What are you talking about?”

His beard scratched beside my ear, his words barely audible. “I need you to go to our suite.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to see you until I retire to the suite at the end of the day, is that understood?”

A splash of discontent soaked me through to the bone. “Obi-Wan, I am here to learn. I won’t learn if I’m not with you.”

“Go to the suite,” Obi-Wan said lowly. “That’s an order.” Without waiting for a response, he followed Kin Robb, whose surprise I could sense even if it didn't appear on her face.

I watched them go.

“This way, please,” the remaining soldier said pleasantly.

Since Krell became a figment of my past, I’d gotten better at sorting through my thoughts and feelings. I had to, since I could no longer push them down or hide them. Obi-Wan helped me identify the ones of which Jedi needed to be wary.

Shame.

Jealousy.

Fear.

The feeling boiling inside me was familiar, one I’d become intimate with long before I’d learned its name: anger.

It was one thing for Obi-Wan to stonewall me, to not treat me as confidentially as he used to. But to keep me from the negotiations? Was he punishing me? And if he was, what for? He’d been given ample opportunity to tell me why he was displeased with me, and yet he said nothing.

Clenching my jaw, I followed the soldier.

The suite was indeed something to behold.

Plush, colorful furniture filled the room which adjoined the two bedrooms, each with beds massive enough for an Anoatian pit beast. Double doors made of transparisteel led to a balcony, as if the room were intended for a contamination connoisseur to gaze out on the hazy, sallow air hovering over the ground below.

The soldier left without so much as a word, leaving me to my own devices.

For the first hour, I fumed over being left out.

For the second, I paced, starting to worry about Obi-Wan. With no lightsaber and no padawan, would he be easily taken unawares?

For the third, I searched the rooms for anything out of the ordinary, almost hoping to find a bug or a bomb if only for some entertainment.

When four hours had passed, my restlessness had peaked, enough for me to try something unorthodox. I seated myself in front of the balcony doors, relaxing my shoulders and taking a deep breath. The Force responded as soon as I closed my eyes. “Where’s Obi-Wan?” I whispered. I waited for the Force to grab me, like it had on Felucia, bringing me right to my master.

But nothing happened.

I felt the Force around me, but it didn’t take me anywhere.

I huffed. I’d just have to do it myself then. Taking a deep breath, I began to stretch my conscience. I didn’t know what direction Obi-Wan was in, so I just reached out in all directions, expanding the radius of my mind, searching for any hint of my master.

My conscience didn’t make it very far before a searing pain shot through my head. “Ow!” I blurted, my eyes shooting open. But the pain stopped as soon as it’d begun.

“Ready to be a Jedi Knight, my butt,” I grumbled.

The door at my back opened, and in a moment, I was on my feet, ready for anything.

Obi-Wan let the door fall closed behind him, walking over to the couch.

I cocked my head. How had I not felt Obi-Wan drawing near? I’d searched for him, and he’d been close, and yet I hadn’t sensed him. Curious, I reached through the Force again, trying to place Obi-Wan’s light. But there was no light, nor any hint of his emotional state. I scowled at him. Why wasn’t he sharing with me? Why was his light so far away?

Obi-Wan dropped onto the couch, closing his eyes and bringing his fingers up to rub at his temples. He looked…exhausted. In fact, his very bones seemed to sag underneath his weight. The salient weariness lifted my irritation.

I sat beside him. “Are you okay?”

“We didn’t get anywhere,” he rumbled. “Hours of talking, and we’re worse off than when we started.”

“Well, if it was an easy choice, Kin Robb wouldn’t have organized the meeting.”

Obi-Wan merely nodded, his eyes still closed.

Once, I’d been so cut off from the Force that I had to rely only on what my other senses could tell me. Now, it felt wrong to be able to see the evidence of Obi-Wan's fatigue and not feel it.

I got to my feet. “C’mon,” I said softly, causing Obi-Wan to look up at me. “Let’s go get some food.”

The servants down in the kitchen didn’t seem very happy to see us, and with their added height, I felt quite like a Gartro just waiting to be squished.

We were seated at a tiny table, tucked away by the cellar in the corner. Obi-Wan ate and drank with a vengeance I’d never seen in all my months with him. I was as happy as could be that I was eating something other than war rations, but this was different—Obi-Wan was practically ravenous. Were the negotiations really so taxing?

If he’d let me take part, perhaps I’d know.

Once Obi-Wan polished off his plate, a servant whisked both plates away and set down a serving of chocolate cake. “Wait, we didn’t–” I said to her, but she walked away before I could finish. I eyed the cake hungrily before looking up at Obi-Wan, asking the question I already knew the answer to. “Are we…allowed?” I braced myself for the brusque, negative response. As Jedi, we really weren’t supposed to indulge, and Obi-Wan wasn’t one for breaking rules.

But to my astonishment, a soft smile played with Obi-Wan’s lips. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

I grinned at him, swiftly taking a bite before he could change his mind.

The delightfully rich taste bloomed on my tongue, the decadent chocolate seemingly melting in my mouth. “Ohhhh.” I shut my eyes and covered my lips to keep any crumbs from falling because to let even a smidgen of this cake go to waste would be a crime. “Okay, I’m not exaggerating when I say this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” My eyes fluttered open to see Obi-Wan smiling at me. “You have to try this.”

Obi-Wan lifted his fork, tentatively bringing a bite to his mouth. At first he didn’t react, as if the cake were no different from the overly sweet sugar cubes we’d been eating for the last week. But then he started to cut another piece, and I knew he enjoyed our debauchery as much as I did.

We took turns cutting bites, eating in blissful silence.

I still couldn’t locate Obi-Wan’s light through the Force, but some of it had returned to his eyes again. As much as it pleased me to see him acting more like himself, only my concern derailed my boiling questions, and unluckily for him, my concern had been sated. Time for answers.

Obi-Wan refilled his cup, drinking deeply.

“You must be thirsty after all that negotiating,” I said shortly.

“I am,” he replied.

“I’m not thirsty at all.” I slowly cut another bite of cake. “There’s plenty of water in the suite.”

“Is there?” Obi-Wan’s tone was bland.

I tossed my fork onto the table. “Do you think I’m ready to be a Jedi Knight?”

Obi-Wan’s startled blue eyes looked from the delicious dessert to me. He slowly chewed his bite of cake, looking down at the fork in his hand. He chewed. And chewed. And chewed. Finally, he swallowed. “That is the council’s decision,” he said, before quickly adding: “do you know what specialty you’d want?”

I narrowed my eyes, but he avoided looking at me, studiously watching the cake as if it may grow legs and walk off the table. While I could hardly begrudge him vigilance where this cake was concerned, his evasion irked me. But I decided against voicing my thoughts. Obi-Wan could already feel it all anyway. “If I pass the trials, the council will decide my specialty.”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer for a moment, and when he did, it was quiet but firm. “When you pass the trials, do you know what specialty you will request?”

I stared at him, grappling with my confusion. Whatever answers he hid, I sensed they lay in between the words instead of in the words themselves, yet I could not puzzle them out. “Once the war is over, I was thinking perhaps of being a Consular Jedi.”

My master twirled his fork thoughtfully. “Not healing?” I lowered my eyes to my food, a pang shooting through my chest. He leaned forward. “You’re sad.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not hiding my emotions might be the Jedi way, but it sure benefits you a great deal.” I expected Obi-Wan to respond with immediate cheek, but he didn’t say anything. Yes, his eyes probed, urging me to reveal more, but his mouth stayed closed.

Without even thinking, I reached out with the Force, hoping to gain some insight, only to be reminded that it couldn’t tell me anything. Had Obi-Wan had some sort of falling out with the Force? Was that even possible?

“Why are you sad about healing?” Obi-Wan asked, forcing me back into the present.

I lowered my eyes. The healing ability of a Jedi stemmed from one thing, and one thing only. A thing I’d lost a long time ago. “The heart of a Jedi healer is pure.”

“And you think you’re not pure of heart anymore.” Obi-Wan paused, as if waiting for a reaction. I gave him none, instead raising my cup to my lips. “I think you are.”

I choked on the liquid, nearly splashing it all down my front. “How do you figure that?” I asked, once I finished coughing.

Obi-Wan rested his elbow on the table. “Cody told the council you saved a clone on Felucia.”

I looked down at the dessert, but instead of chocolate-y goodness, images of Dank, Click, and Exit floated through my mind. “I barely did anything.”

“You stabilized him.” Obi-Wan’s stare dared me to argue.

“Well, what of it?” I said crossly, staring right back. “It’s just common courtesy on the battlefield.”

“And then with that villager?” Obi-Wan asked. “Was that battlefield courtesy too?”

“No, that was picking up after the Separatists, which is our job last I checked.”

Again, it was strange to see Obi-Wan’s exasperation and not feel it. “Over and over again, you prove that your first instinct is to heal.”

“Instincts mean nothing, not when–”

“Instincts,” Obi-Wan said firmly, “mean everything. They reveal things that might otherwise be hidden by deception or fear. Your instincts do you credit, and credit builds up.”

“The council would never allow me to become a healer.”

“The council may change their minds,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

I slammed down my cup. “You and I both know that’s not true!”

The noise around us went quiet. I glanced around to see all the servants staring at me. My cheeks burned, and I averted my eyes, wishing I could disappear.

“Carry on,” Obi-Wan said, and I could feel the Force surging from his every word. Without a moment’s hesitation, the clatter and chatter resumed like there was never an interruption.

Another reminder of Obi-Wan’s prowess.

I gripped my cup. “The council sees me as an encumbrance. They won’t ever change their minds.”

“They’ve already begun to.” There was a strange tint to his tone. Was it…bitterness?

I titled my head. “What do you–”

I twisted to look at the door. Something had changed, as if the planet had an earthquake and shifted everything to the left by an inch.

Obi-Wan was already on his feet, but instead of looking at the door in the direction of the sensation, he was staring intently at my face.

"Something's wrong," I said breathlessly. Together, we sprinted out the door and up the stairs towards the higher levels.

Whatever we were about to face, we would do it together as master and pada–

“You need to go back to the suite!” Obi-Wan shouted at me as we ran.

Faltering a step, I struggled to keep time with him. “I’m not doing that,” I said.

“It’s an order, not a request.”

“You’re going to need back-up,” I bit back.

“Y/N, go!”

“You can’t fight on your–”

Obi-Wan grabbed my shoulder, bringing both of us to a stop. “I fought and won many fights before you became my padawan. Go!”

I watched Obi-Wan disappear out of sight, feeling as though he’d just cut me down at the knees. Why wouldn’t he let me help? If he believed in me as much as he said he did, why did he keep sending me away?

I stood straight. I obeyed him once and wasn’t able to be there to support him during the negotiations. I wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

I was about to start running again, when the Force tugged at me, tugging me in…a third direction. Not the way to the suite and in the opposite direction that Obi-Wan had gone. It was as if the Force was whispering to me, but I couldn’t quite hear the words. I tried to listen, but the whispering disappeared and the tugging increased.

So I followed it down two flights of stairs and across a large hall to a door that was slightly ajar.

On high alert, I pushed the door open wide enough to soundlessly slip inside, my heart hammering in my chest.

The walls were covered with weapons similar to the ones I’d seen the guards armed with. Why would the Force bring me to some type of armory? The answer made itself clear as my eyes fell upon a pedestal with two lightsabers on top. If Obi-Wan and I were going to protect Kin Robb and face whatever threat lurked in this building, we would need our weapons. I clipped both lightsabers onto my belt, turning to go. When my head lifted, I nearly screamed.

Behind the door lay a pile of Tarisian guards, all of them with closed eyes and unmoving bodies.

It took only a moment to realize I felt no life through the Force.

By the light. Someone had killed the guards and piled their bodies out of sight. Anything that could easily dispose of this many guards without raising an alarm was a grave threat.

And my master was running around this building without me or his lightsaber.

I left the armory at a panicked run, following the Force’s guidance, trusting that it would lead me to Obi-Wan. Up stairs I didn’t recognize, through corridors I didn’t have time to search.

I must’ve been nearing the top of the building when I ran past a pair of double doors and came to a screeching halt. The prodding from the Force was far from subtle. Something was going on in there.

If I were truly ready to be a Jedi Knight, I might’ve waited outside the door and eavesdropped to get an idea of what situation unfolded inside. If Obi-Wan were here, he would force us to wait.

I didn’t hesitate—I flung the doors open.

The suite was laid out exactly as the one I’d spent my day in.

The only differences were the rich purple of the couches, Kin Robb cowering behind said couches, and the balcony that contained a man I’d never seen before.

A brown cape, held in place by a delicate silver chain, flowed from the brutally straight posture of his shoulders. The power on his wrinkled face was centered upon the chilling assurance in the arch of his gray eyebrows. He stood so tall, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could be mistaken for a Tarisian. But the most threatening quality was the surge of shadows that emanated through the Force.

Whoever this man was, he was not a good one.

“You are interrupting.” He spoke with the authority of a man used to being obeyed. “Kin Robb and I have business.”

Kin Robb let out a little whimper, a strangely vulnerable sound from such a noble woman.

I stepped further into the room, my hands raised non-threateningly and my steps slow. “I believe these are Kin Robb’s chambers, therefore Kin Robb decides if I’m interrupting or not.” Kin Robb darted away from the bed, clinging to my arm as she ducked behind me. I shot an easy smile at the man. “Looks like I’m not interrupting.”

The man fluidly tilted his head to the side. “You’re with Kenobi.”

I didn’t answer, for I didn’t discern a question. Instead, I looked him up and down for a clue as to his identity. Was he a Separatist or a third-party?

“He hid you away from the negotiations, did he?” The man pursed his lips as if he were amused. “How impotent. He kept you in the shadows, not by his side.” The man dipped his chin, and a searing warning hurtled through the Force. I whirled around, shoving Kin Robb behind me and igniting my saber just in time to block the strike from behind.

I beat back the tall assailant, before slicing their weapon in half and slicing at their arm. Only once the assailant was on the ground, gripping their arm in pain did I notice they wore a Tarisian soldier’s uniform. One of Kin Robb’s own men, turned against her? Or an imposter?

As I turned, I caught sight of the double doors I'd just come through. They were closed now. Suspicious, but I couldn't linger on it. I returned my attention to the man of darkness, holding my lightsaber loosely in front of me. He mentioned the negotiations, so he was likely a Separatist.

“You’re not ineffective,” the man noted with little surprise, like he was blandly commenting on the weather.

“No, I’m not. Now I believe it’s time for you to leave.”

The man narrowed his eyes, taking a few steps into the room, studying me with enough intensity to send a shiver up my spine. Clearly something perplexing held his attention, but what could he possibly be trying to puzzle out? “What are you?” the man finally asked.

What, not who.

The oddity of his phrasing threw me off guard, but I quickly brushed it off. “This negotiation is a peaceful one,” I replied. “You are in direct conflict with your government’s agreement by attacking Kin Robb in this fashion.”

“What are you?” he repeated.

“I’m a Jedi.” I crouched slightly, searching with the Force to discern if any more attacks lay hidden in wait. “That’s all you need to know.”

“You’re afraid.”

No, I’m not, I wanted to shout. I’m not afraid!

But a true Jedi didn’t hide their feelings.

“Yes,” I finally admitted. “Yes, I am.”

“Is that why you have a touch of–” he hesitated, as though tasting the air. “The dark?” The words made me lose focus for a moment. The man lifted a hand to his chin. “Or is it something else?” Without waiting for a reply, he reached out with his hand. I flinched, waiting for some sort of attack around me, but I felt nothing, nor any strange nudging from the Force.

What in the blazes was he doing? I threw a look over my shoulder to check on Kin Robb, who was unchanged from her position. If the man wasn’t attacking me nor attacking Kin Robb–

“You’re Krell’s padawan.”

I jerked back to face the man. He spoke with no intonation whatsoever, nor did his face show anything even remotely human, and yet I could sense the surprise that tainted the shadows.

Tightening my grip on my saber, I rolled my shoulders in an effort to stay loose. “I haven’t been his padawan in a long time.”

“And yet his signature is all over you.”

“Well, he matters not, for he is now one with the Force.” It was selfish of me, but my heart burned with satisfaction at the fact that Krell was gone. He couldn’t hurt me or anyone else ever again.

“And yet our teachings bely us, don’t they?” The corners of the man’s mouth turned up into an eerie smile. “He is tucked away inside you, deep in the recesses of your mind.”

“No, he’s–”

“How very like a Jedi you are,” the man said, a cruel smile on his face. Despite his dismissive tone, his dark eyes never left me. “You deny what is inside you.”

Robbed of speech, I glanced at Kin Robb again, to remind myself that my purpose was to keep her safe. Nothing else mattered, especially not this man’s goading.

“How disheartened Obi-Wan must’ve been to receive you as his student.”

I hissed at him before I could stop it. “You don’t know what you speak of!"

For the first time during the whole exchange, the man smiled. It was a starved gesture, the corners of his mouth barely upturning, but it transformed his whole face. He looked human, and it was far more terrifying than any scowl he could’ve given me.

“What a pity I have to kill you,” he said as he reached for his belt. “We could’ve done a lot together, you and me.” Red light filled the room as he ignited a lightsaber.

My heart nearly stopped beating against the pressure of fear that ballooned in my chest, and I quickly took calming breaths.

He was a sith.

I was barely able to lift my lightsaber before the man brought his own down.

“Go!” I shouted at Kin Robb, trying to hold the locked position. The man—the sith—possessed such strength, I wasn’t sure how long I could hold on.

The sith slid his lightsaber higher, creating an awful scraping sound before pushing hard enough for me to fall back a step, our lightsabers breaking contact. I had less than a moment to catch my breath before the red saber swung again.

I was at a disadvantage. Not only was this man clearly the superior fighter, but I was limited to the defensive. The moment I gave him an opening, he would take it and kill Kin Robb or worse.

The sound of rattling reached my ears, but I couldn’t afford to look. Was Kin Robb trying to open the doors?

My momentary distraction cost me.

The sith struck my lightsaber with such force, my fingers lost grip of it and it went flying off to the wall. I had barely a moment to grab Obi-Wan’s lightsaber from my belt before a great force hit my chest.

I managed to roll away, nearly colliding with Kin Robb, who was indeed wrestling with the doorknobs. Without sparing her another glance, I ran at the sith, lifting my master’s lightsaber in an offensive strike, determined to land a blow.

The red lightsaber moved too quickly for me to follow, and the next thing I knew, I flew backwards, landing so hard on my back that the lightsaber slipped from my grasp and my breath filtered out of my lungs.

“You’re no match for the dark side.” The man pointed his saber at me, the end so close to my neck, I could feel its heat on my skin.

I looked up into the man’s face, certain that it was going to be the last sight I would see in this life.

A loud thump sounded, and the man whirled around. Taking advantage of the moment, I scrambled to my feet, once more putting myself in between the man and Kin Robb.

That’s when I saw Obi-Wan, breathing hard on the balcony. His hands were empty, but his eyes were dark. “Get away from her.”

Get away from her.

Which ‘her’ was he referring to?

I thrust out my hand towards my lightsaber, using the Force to bring it to my palm.

“I must say, Kenobi,” the man clasped his hands behind his back, his lightsaber sheathed one more, “you did a spectacular job of hiding her from me. Now I know why you were shielding yourself from me earlier.”

I sucked in a breath. Obi-Wan, shielding himself?

“No wonder your padawan found me before you did.” The sith laughed, a cold and short-lived sound.

“I will give you a chance to leave in peace,” Obi-Wan replied, his voice stiff as his feet moved fluidly closer. “I suggest you take it.”

“Kin Robb is coming with me. Alive or dead, though I assume you prefer the former.”

“You’re in direct conflict with the terms of this arrangement.” Obi-Wan’s eyes didn’t budge from the man, but the fingers of his right hand flexed ever so slightly.

“Alas, the same Kenobi as always, with focus so great, it blinds him.”

Obi-Wan smiled tightly. “I appreciate your concern, Count Dooku, but I assure you my eyesight is fine.”

My legs wobbled like my knees were suddenly replaced with jelly.

This man was Count Dooku?

I’d been fighting Count Dooku?

As if he heard my thoughts, for he probably did, Dooku’s piercing eyes found me. “Tell me, Obi-Wan, did you choose your padawan or did the council?” Distantly, I saw Obi-Wan scramble towards his abandoned lightsaber, but I was frozen. Not under Dooku’s stare, but under his question. “Well, padawan?” Dooku asked. “Did he choose you?”

My world tunnel-visioned to just the sith lord in front of me.

Dooku’s eyes somehow flayed me open, inspecting every piece of me, even the parts of myself I couldn’t see. He read every piece of me, clearly searching for something, perhaps something that matched his own sinister shadows.

Suddenly, my view was blocked as Obi-Wan slid in between us.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said sharply, igniting his lightsaber, casting blue light onto Dooku’s harsh features. “I chose her.”

“Interesting,” Dooku murmured. “You’re flirting with the darkness, Kenobi.”

He means me, I thought.

Without looking away from my master, Dooku nodded his head, as if concurring with my thought. “And you know it, don’t you? It’s why you’re still shielding yourself.”

“I have no time for your chicanery,” Obi-Wan said forcefully. “This is your last chance to leave in peace.”

Dooku’s only answer was to step forward, and I braced myself for the furious fight that was about to occur.

But then Dooku cut a glance at the door, just as it burst open. As Tarisian warriors poured into the room, he ran for the balcony and jumped off, free-falling into the gray pollution and disappearing from sight.

A loud “No!” broke through my lips. Holding tight to my lightsaber, I ran for the balcony, bending my knees in preparation for jumping after him.

An iron grip seizing my arm, holding me back with a great jolt.

Incredulous, I looked at the firm hand and followed the length of the arm to my master.

“Let the warriors go after him,” Obi-Wan said, a little breathless. “Our concern is Kin Robb.”

I looked back the way Dooku had gone, contemplating wrenching my arm out of his reach and following Dooku anyway.

The grip tightened, as if Obi-Wan knew what I was considering. “Let him go.”

A ship rocketed out of the smog below. As we watched, it flew straight for the atmosphere, growing smaller and smaller. Reluctantly, I stepped back. Obi-Wan’s grasp held on still. I looked up at him, expecting his eyes to be trained on the ship.

But Obi-Wan’s eyes were fixed upon my face, his steeled look enough to make even the proudest bow their head in chagrin. I couldn’t blame him. I stood in this chamber as a direct result of disobeying him.

After a long look, my master mechanically released me and walked to Kin Robb. “How are you, my lady?”

Ignoring Kin Robb’s response, I looked back at the way Dooku’s ship had gone. Kin Robb was still alive and with us, so we’d done what was necessary. But I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that something horrible had just occurred.

“I told you to return here.” Obi-Wan paced between the couch and the window of our suite, his pivots aggressive and his tread heavy. “I gave you an order, and you defied it.” His admonishment was strangely loud compared to his normal low-toned criticism.

“I’m sorry, master,” I said for the third time, hoping to put an end to the frantic pacing. If I could feel his light, I’m sure it would’ve been pulsing like a racing heartbeat, but my master must've still been shielding himself.

How could I be so foolish? It was obvious once Count Dooku said it, but it never even occurred to me that Obi-Wan was concealing himself.

“He could’ve killed you both, he could’ve killed Kin Robb, and then what would have happened to Taris?” Obi-Wan's scowl and raised voice hit me like wafts of bantha dung. It struck me, down to my innermost self. “What if he’d taken you too?” Obi-Wan was saying. “Chobb knows what he might’ve done to you if I hadn’t gotten there in time!”

I blinked, my own mind starting to swivel as quickly and harshly as he was. “But if I hadn’t gone,” I said slowly, “then no one would’ve stopped Dooku from taking her.”

Obi-Wan’s feet halted on the carpet, and my heart rate kicked up into an agitated pace. I couldn’t make myself look up at his face, my own starting to burn.

I’d just questioned him.

Me.

Questioned Obi-Wan.

But even with the desire to sink through the floor, I couldn’t retract the statement, because I wanted to hear the response. None came. Taking a breath, I dared a glance up into my master’s face. I could see the conflict on his face, clear as day, but I couldn’t see which two sides were fighting.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, turning away from me to resume his trek. “You should’ve done what you were told, that’s what padawans do.”

Padawans.

I lowered my eyes again to the luxuriously plush carpet. “You really don’t think I’m ready.”

My words were soft, and the way his shadow shifted as he turned was anything but. “What?”

My insides swept and roiled with something I couldn’t name, but it brought hot tears to my eyes. I tried to fight them, and, like every fight I’d fought today, I lost.

The alarmed face of Obi-Wan came into my view as he knelt by the couch. “Y/N?” I twisted away from him, not wanting him to see the tears, but he caught my wrists. “What’s wrong?” I wrenched my wrists from his hands, getting to my feet to put him behind me. “Y/N.” Obi-Wan’s stern voice only made the waves inside me swell all the more.

“Why would you tell me to be a healer?!” I cried, spinning to face him.

Obi-Wan jumped a little, looking like he’d been bowled over. “What are you talking about?”

The words were so jumbled up in my mind that I could hardly keep track of them. “You…you keep telling me to be a healer, but you think I’m useless.”

My master rose to his feet. “I never said–”

“But you’re thinking it!” I shouted. Deep down, I knew it was wrong for me to raise my voice at him, but even deeper down, there was something growing, something that would not be contained. “You…you were disappointed in me on Felucia, and then when we got here you wouldn’t let me go to the negotiation, and then when Kin Robb was in trouble, you sent me away!” My breaths were coming in short gasps, and my head spun. I needed Obi-Wan to explain it, to order my thoughts in the way only he could, to make it make sense.

But he didn’t speak, simply stared back at me. What was he not telling me? Why had he sent me away? Why did he continually keep me from doing my job at his side? Why had he cut himself off from the Force, to the point where he couldn’t find Dooku and had to physically pick up his lightsaber in a fight instead of using the Force to bring it to him?

There was only one possible answer to all of those questions.

“You don’t trust me,” I said miserably, my voice wobbling.

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said sharply, but what else could it be?

“Can you feel the darkness too?”

Obi-Wan’s wary expression didn’t stir, showing me his infamous control as he spoke with an even voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Dooku said that I have a touch of darkness. He could feel it.”

I could’ve sworn Obi-Wan paled. “You talked to him?”

“He knew that Krell taught me!” I spat. “He could–could sense Krell’s signature in mine!”

The distress on Obi-Wan’s face would’ve been enough to clue me into the gravity he felt, but the sudden devastation I felt through the Force could’ve leveled planets. He lifted shaking hands to his hair, clenching his locks with whitening fists. “Y/N–”

“You’re the one who always tells me that my history with Krell is irrelevant!” I snapped, my voice growing louder by the second. “You tell me that I am pure of heart, but you’ve known all along that I’m not!” My voice broke on the last word.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does! It does to Dooku! It does to the council!”

I paused to suck in a big breath, giving Obi-Wan time to say: “Y/N, you’re ready.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t keep cutting me out!”

“I’m not–”

“Don’t you dare lie to me again.” My breathing was heavy and loud. “You taught me that cutting oneself off from the Force to hide thoughts and feelings was the way of the sith, and yet you’ve been shielding yourself all day!”

An uncharacteristically wild look flashed in Obi-Wan’s eye. “I was trying to protect you!”

“From what, my own incompetence?”

“From Dooku!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, crossing the room in two, urgent strides. His hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me closer. “Dooku trained Qui-Gon Jinn, my master. Dooku sees myself and Anakin as part of his legacy!” Obi-Wan’s chest heaved as he took gulps of air. “I knew that when he met you, he would be able to sense Krell, it’s why I kept you away!”

Obi-Wan would…go against his own teachings to keep me safe?

I tried to think through the magnitude of his actions, but his sharp blue eyes hovering so close to me made it difficult to think. “Maybe that explains your actions here,” I said slowly, “but why were you acting strange on the ship?”

Obi-Wan froze, and I could read guilt all over his face.

“You couldn’t have been angry about my actions in battle,” I realized aloud. “Otherwise…you would have talked to me about it before we went to help the village.” Obi-Wan’s eyes went wide and his grip on my shoulders tightened, begging me not to continue, but I'd listened too long. “It happened in the council meeting, didn’t it? Whatever it was?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, like a child scared of the dark, wishing for some light to chase away the shadows on his bedroom wall.

“Tell me the truth,” I said quietly. “You owe me that much.”

When his eyes opened, the deep pain in them was almost enough to dissuade me. But I held his gaze, willing him to talk.

He let go of me, but didn’t step back. “After this negotiation–” Obi-Wan’s words were scratchy, and he cleared his throat. “After the negotiation, the council wishes for me to bring you to Coruscant where you will complete your trials.”

The news which ordinarily would bring me joy made my mind go blank. The council wanted me to complete my trials? To rise from the rank of Padawan to Knight?

This was…huge.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered. “Why did you let me believe I’d done something wrong?”

Obi-Wan rubbed his face. “I never meant to give you cause to doubt yourself, for that I am sincerely sorry.” He looked at me for a long moment, perhaps waiting for an acceptance of his apology, but I couldn’t even form the necessary thoughts. He pursed his lips, his face tight. “As Jedi, our lives are based on change. We carry no possessions with us, we have little control over our whereabouts or activities, and we are charged solely with caring for others.” His eyes flicked to mine, and there was hesitation. “Perhaps…perhaps I wasn’t ready…for this to change.”

“Change?” I echoed. “Why would–”

Oh.

Suddenly, my chest was lit on fire, burning and thrashing in agony. Something must’ve shown on my face, for Obi-Wan nodded sadly. “Once you are no longer a padawan, you no longer have need for a master.”

No, I had every need for my master!

“I…I can’t do this without-without you!” I stammered as my head spun. “I’m not, I’m nowhere near ready!”

Obi-Wan stepped back, and I resisted the strange urge to seize his robes before he could disappear forever. “You can,” he said. “And you are. You actually have been for a while now.”

“But what about my darkness?” I spluttered. “I still have a touch of darkness!”

“A touch of darkness!” Obi-Wan laughed—actually laughed—and shook his head. “You haven’t the faintest idea how remarkable you are.”

“Remarkable?!”

“Yes, remarkable.” Affection punctured the amusement in his eyes. “Y/N, you faced a sith.”

Confusion spun my mind like an antennae in a dust storm. “I did not face a sith, a sith thrashed me and then got away!”

“Not Dooku.” Obi-Wan leaned against the couch, his face growing grim. “Krell.”

My brain seemed to make some sort of perplexed popping noise as it tried to understand his meaning. “I never fought Krell. And even if I had, he would’ve won.”

“You were raised by a sith. Krell spoonfed darkness to you and said it was light.” Obi-Wan pushed off the couch and came closer again, his eyes sweeping the expanse of my face. Was that…wonder on his face? “It should’ve eaten you alive,” he murmured. “It should’ve snuffed out the light without a trace, and instead you beat it back.”

His unbearably warm tone caught me by the throat, barricading it shut.

“You haven’t told me all of what Krell did to you,” Obi-Wan said, and I stared at the floor, unable to look at him. Obi-Wan grasped my chin, lifting it so I was once again trapped under the weight of his inescapable stare. “You told me some things, and Rex told me others, but I know there’s more.”

“Obi…” I pleaded.

“Yet even with what I know, I’m shocked you have enough goodness in you to think of others.”

My eyes burned. “It wasn’t me.”

“It was you.”

“No, I couldn’t have done it without your guidance, your teachings.”

Obi-Wan exhaled in exasperation. “You give yourself so little credit.”

“I thought humility was the mark of a Jedi,” I said weakly.

“The mark of a Jedi healer,” Obi-Wan’s careful words made me brace myself, “is conquering darkness. You can’t conquer darkness if you pretend it isn’t there.” He shook his head. “The code doesn’t say that Jedi must be innocent. Even in a galaxy at peace, it’s impossible to stay innocent for long.” Obi-Wan inclined his head. “Most padawans haven’t faced as much as you, it’s true, but instead of letting your experiences make you weak, you turned them into strength.”

The effects of his words were…indescribable.

They were like wind passing over me, dislodging my hair and making me feel I could fly. Like warm water pouring over me, giving me relief from the cold. Like the forbidden but heavenly taste of chocolate cake I was never supposed to eat.

I cast around for something to say, something else to look at, but Obi-Wan’s gravity made it impossible. I could only see—only feel—him.

His long hair, which never got cut, no matter how many times I offered or how many times he said he meant to do so himself. His beard, excellently framing his mouth whether he smiled or frowned. His eyes, half-closed as they were now, spilling into mine, like the distance between us was irrelevant.

I knew the Force showed him everything. He knew how I felt. I knew that he knew how I felt.

Suddenly, a rush swept through me, warmth nearly twice as large and strong as I'd ever felt. It knocked the breath from my lungs, yet I couldn’t mind, even if I were to drown in it.

Obi-Wan wasn’t shielding himself anymore.

The light that shone was sweeter than the cake he’d let me have. I couldn’t name it or understand it, but I could feel it better than I could see it in his eyes.

And just as unexpectedly, the warmth turned to an aching loss. Obi-Wan’s deep bereavement was mirrored in me, the pain he felt about our parting sharp even though I still stood in front of him.

I felt Obi-Wan’s need to speak before he opened his mouth, but while the Force in between us tensed in preparation for his words, no words came. Obi-Wan licked his lips. “Promise me,” he said finally, “that you’ll request to be a healer.”

The tension remained, as if that wasn’t what words he’d been going to say.

“I don’t think–”

“If not for yourself,” he pleaded, “then for me?”

If this was the final request my master—my good, kind, accomplished master—would make of me, how could I refuse?

“Okay.”

Obi-Wan nodded, his expression one of satisfaction, but his signature one of apprehension. “We are Jedi.” He squared his shoulders. “This is what we are made for.” Made for change? Or for loss? “We should sleep.” Obi-Wan walked towards the door of one of the bedrooms. “Tomorrow, we will escort Kin Robb to Coruscant, and you should be well-rested for..."

For my trials.

We held each other’s gaze for a moment longer, the silence loaded with all the things we couldn’t and didn’t know how to say.

“Goodnight…master.”

The light fluttered for a moment before Obi-Wan replied. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

I shut my door, clutching the door knob tightly.

Obi-Wan was right. Of course he was. Our lives were devoted to the Force. To serve it best, I would eventually have to move on and teach others of it. But if leaving Obi-Wan was a part of my duty, why did it feel like the ground beneath me was disappearing? Why was there a great heaviness inside me, threatening to swallow me whole?

My chest felt like a crumbling bridge, my arms sagged at my sides, and I somehow couldn’t lift my feet from the floor.

I closed my eyes, reaching out for the Force, craving its peace.

As always, it answered, enveloping me like the embrace of a mother and the protection of a father. Bend, the Force whispered to me, don’t break. I leaned into the feeling, allowing the weight in my chest to bend me. I sank to the floor, pulling myself further away from my present and closer into the Force.

And then I felt the light.

Obi-Wan’s light.

It shook violently, like it’d been left out in the cold with no cloak and was desperately trying to hold on.

And then another pull appeared. One far in the distance. A pull made up entirely of shadows. My first instinct was to panic and recoil as fast as possible, even if I ended up recoiling from the Force itself.

But as my master said: one can’t conquer darkness if one pretends it isn’t there. If I wanted to be a healer, it was time to recognize the darkness. Recognize and prepare. I can feel you, I said to the pull. And next time we meet, I may not be with my master, but I will certainly be ready.

Part 4

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Rescue Me tag list:

@penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @starlazergazer @blackqueengold @ajwild220 @exploringalaxiesfarfaraway @mortallycrispyglitter @nerdory10 @shinybananapastanickel @sassysaxxy @sunshine-girl013 @fablesrose @marrily @friskynotebook @burnthecheshirewitch @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @thriving-n-jiving

#obi wan #obi wan kenobi #obi wan fanfic #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan kenobi fanfic #obi wan kenobi fanfiction #padawan!reader #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #sw #obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #obi wan x you #obi wan x padawan #star wars angst #rescue me

105 notes · View notes

ladystoneboobs · 9 months ago

Text

westerosi ruling ladies/acknowledged heiresses outside of dorne, listed by region:

the north

lady jonelle cerwyn, lady of castle cerwyn after the murder of her younger brother, lord cley cerwyn, by ramsay snow. (cley did not long outlive their father, lord medger cerwyn, who died of his wounds as a pow at harrenhal, after fighting in roose bolton's host when tywin lannister defeated them on the green fork.) we first hear of lady jonelle when robb stark calls his banners and lord cerwyn means to bring his old maid daughter with him, and the next we hear of her is when asha greyjoy gets her letter from ramsay, co-signed by a lady cerwyn and lady dustin, among the other northern lords in the bolton camp. cerwyn men-at-arms and the cerwyn maester are noted with roose at wf, and presumably if their lady did go south with her father, she must have returned north in roose bolton's party.

lady barbrey ryswell dustin, widow of the late lord willam dustin, apparently the last of his line since no surviving male dustins are ever mentioned. the widow of barrowton rules in his place for the remainder of her lifetime, and (unlike poor lady hornwood) rules with power uncontested, as barrowton's closest neighbors are the ryswells, also her closest kin, father and brothers. however, without any children from the late lord dustin, unclear what would happen after lady barbrey dies.

lady lyessa flint, head of the branch of house flint of widow's watch. lady flint's son, robin flint, led their forces in robb stark's army and died with the king at the red wedding, but was not the head of house. lady flint is listed such in the appendices, and was said to be pregnant in acok, meaning she likely had a living husband at the time, but he goes unnamed as only her consort.

lady alys karstark, heir to her eldest brother lord harrion karstark of karhold (whose location and current status is unclear after being captured by the lannisters a 2nd time), following the deaths of their brothers in the battle of the whispering wood, and the execution of their father by king robb as a murderer and traitor. at jon snow's instigation she has taken sigorn, magnar of thenn, as her consort.

lady wynafryd manderly, elder granddaughter of lord wyman manderly of white harbor, by his son and heir ser wylis. should be the next heir to white harbor after her father, unless her parents should produce a son.

lady maege mormont of bear island, the only ruling lady listed here to also have a daughter as her heir. first this was dacey mormont, but after her murder at the red wedding, the new heir is second daughter alysanne aka aly the she-bear. but since aly told asha greyjoy she had a son as well as a daughter back home, that means there likely won't be a 3rd ruling lady in a row, as the mormonts may have a history of women warriors, but there's no sign they don't still practice male-preference primogeniture when there is a son to inherit. where the mormonts do step out of northern convention, however, is the ruling ladies fucking whoever they want without feeling the need for a husband and still naming their fatherless children mormonts, not snows, a practice rhaenyra targaryen would surely envy.

lady eddara tallhart, an heiress and then nominal ruler of torrhen's square, before the age of 10, after her elder brother benfred was killed by theon greyjoy's ironmen and then their father ser helman was killed when roose bolton sent him into an ambush at duskendale. listed as still a captive inside her family's seat, besieged by dagmer cleftjaw again, in the adwd appendix.

the riverlands

lady barbara bracken, eldest daughter of lord jonos bracken of stone hedge, who has multiple daughters by two of his three different wives, but no surviving sons.

lady amarei frey lannister, married to lancel lannister at castle darry as a granddaughter of a previous lord darry, then left to rule on her own after lancel abandoned her and repudiated their unconsummated marriage

lady eleanor mooton, eldest daughter of lord william mooton of maidenpool, listed as his heir in adwd appendix, at the time of her marriage to dickon tarly. (meaning presumably his sons mentioned in acok died during the war.)

lady carellen smallwood, (likely?) heir to acorn hall as the only known surviving child of lord and lady smallwood, whose only known son died years before.

lady liane vance, eldest daughter of lord karyl vance of house vance of wayfarer's rest, listed as his heir in the affc appendix

lady shella whent, last of the line of the whents of harrenhal, disposessed by tywin lannister, and allegedly dead by the time of affc, according to littlefinger. text is somewhat inconsistent on whether she or her husband inherited harrenhal, just as it's unknown what happened to all their children if they were the same whents hosting the tourney at harrenhal years before, nor even how they were related to minisa whent tully, the late lady of riverrun.

the vale

chella, daughter of cheyk, clan chief of the black ears

lady anya waynwood, lady of ironoaks, an older lady with multiple sons and grandsons still ruling in her own name, a formidable power in the vale, perhaps second only to the main branch of house royce as chief bannermen of house arryn

the westerlands

cersei lannister, lady of casterly rock as well as queen regent, following the murder of her father, lord tywin lannister, by her brother tyrion, an attainted traitor and fugitive, with her twin brother, jaime, unable to inherit as a knight of the kingsguard

lady alysanne lefford, lady of the golden tooth after lord leo lefford drowned in the battle of the fords against edmure tully's army. (whether the previous lord was her father, brother, or even uncle or cousin is unknown, all we know of her is her entry in the affc/adwd appendices after lord lefford's death in asos)

the reach

lady alysanne bulwer, the lady of blackcrown as the only known child of the late lord jon bulwer, frequently referred to as lady bulwer. (lady fatherslastname not being a style otherwise used with a lord's unmarried daughters, lady housesurname usually referring to a lord's wife using her husband's name). there is an inconsistency with taena merryweather telling cersei that there was talk of megga tyrell being betrothed to lady bulwer's brother (which a nondornish heiress cannot have and is not listed in any appendix), but this is either a mistake by grrm or misunderstanding by taena unless she's referring to an unknown brother of alysanne bulwer's mother, the last lady bulwer. (i'm taking multiple mentions of her as lady bulwer in sansa's pov over any gossip from taena.)

lady arwyn oakheart, lady of old oak, a widow with multiple grown sons who commanded her own forces in renly baratheon's army, even if she did not mean to fight on the field.

the crownlands

lady ermesande hayford, the last of the hayford line, a babe ruling in name only, married to the squire tyrek lannister before she was weaned, a husband now missing since his disappearence during the riot in kl on the day of princess myrcella's departure

the ladies tanda, falyse and lollys stokeworth, three would-be rulers of castle stokeworth dispossessed by the schemes of queen cersei and ser bronn of the blackwater. lady tanda ruled for years with falyse as her heir and younger daughter lollys as the only heir to the barren falyse, until such time as lollys was wed to bronn and lady tanda took a griveous fall from a horse. bronn started calling himself lord stokeworth when tanda and falyse were still alive, chasing off falyse after her husband attempted to kill him at cersei's behest. falyse died painfully in qyburn's dungeons, while tanda was left to die at castle stokeworth, making lollys even more a ruler in name only than baby lady hayford, as her husband is inside the castle with men loyal only to him, not to any stokeworth lady.

the stormlands

lady brienne of tarth, heir to lord selwyn tarth the evenstar of evenfall hall, as his only surviving child

lady mary mertyns, listed as lady of the mistwood in the adwd appendix

you'll notice the iron islands is the only (nondornish) region missing here. ofc they did have a possible heiress to pyke and all the isles but then asha greyjoy was soundly rejected as such at the kingsmoot after balon's death. the lack of other present-tl ruling ladies/acknowledged heirs afab may be down to this being the smallest region, aside from the crownlands. however, there are no historical ruling ladies in their section of the world book either, iirc.

AND there is another case of a possible heiress, again meaning asha, wrt harlaw. her uncle lord rodrik harlaw tried to dissaude her from the kingsmoot by offering to name her heir to his castle, while allowing a cousin to inherit all his other titles and power over the whole island of harlaw. but shouldn't asha have already been in line for all the harlaw lands and titles, above all the harlaw cousins? her aunt gwynesse's complaint of being the true heir as rodrik's elder sister may not work outside of dorne, but even on the nondornish mainland, a lord's sister (and therefore their children, ie asha) still come before a lord's uncles and cousins. isn't that the whole point of alys karstark's plight, that her older cousin had to marry her to try to claim her birthright? so the harlaw line of succession should go rodrik>gwynesse>alannys>asha before any cousins come into it.

that this would not be the case and that asha is only presented with the option of being lady of ten towers by doing homage to a cousin as her overlord for the whole island of harlaw suggests imo that the islands are particularly resistant to a woman as head of house, with all male kin following her in place of a patriarch. women may serve as castle stewards and the right sort may prove themselves as captains (not common, but not too rare either) but ruling on land, ruling over male kin, and fellow captains is a different matter. perhaps not too surprising from a people whose religon sees rape of foreign women as a key and holy part of their way of life. an ironwoman may not disapprove of her men doing so, but cannot fully participate without the cock to forcibly spread seed across the world. how can a captain who cannot fully perform manhood as the drowned god proscribes for his captains be rock king over any island, let alone all of them? in this light, balon's choice of asha as heir is even more radical, though likely it came not from a view of equality between the sexes but from a feeling that his own daughter was the very much singular special exception, more a son than greendlandized theon.

#vayrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #i just like listing things #i could have listed the dornish ladies and heiresses but the point is how many there even w/o equal primogeniture #the north and riverlands prob have the postdance phenom of more female rulers from all the men killed in war but theyre also #the most developed regions by far. so the other lists being shorter is partly down to not having as many family trees there #i think some people do give the ironborn more credit than they should for their uncommon but not unheard of warrior women captains #but i think aeron and vic are meant to represent the general view wrt how far a woman can rise.#and we see their views vindicated w how quickly balon's wishes for asha as heir as disregarded after his death #what is dead may never die #asha greyjoy #rodrik harlaw #balon greyjoy #(c)lsb #cleaning out my drafts. cleaning out my drafts. hi-ho the derry-o. cleaning out my drafts.

130 notes · View notes

visenyaism · 2 years ago

Note

when I was a preteen I begged my mum to let me read asoiaf (she had all the books and talked abt them all the time) but she didn’t allow me, not bc of the incest or violence or whatever but bc she said I was too young and so would misunderstand the themes. anyways when I was 15 she finally let me read it, then promptly told me to stop after I said we should’ve seen the agot battle from Robb’s perspective. anyways I think more ppl need to be put in bad takes jail by my mom it would help this fandom a lot imo

i’m pretty sure my dad kins stannis can we switch

#it’s stannis’ autistic lawyerdom that’s what it is #his favorite hotd character is rhaenys though. because she is normal

243 notes · View notes

restitutor-orbis · 7 months ago

Text

Me, defending Daenerys Targaryen: Her existence is meant to break the shackles that is often associated with Targaryen madness and tyranny. Just as Aegon the Conqueror came and reshaped Westeros, Daenerys is meant to do that and go further. Aegon did not radically changed the dynamics of the Seven Kingdoms, though his and his sisters' unification did lead to a lessening of yearly wars that the kingdoms were often associated with, but Daenerys goes beyond that. She seeks to dismantle ancient institutions that keep man enslaved and submissive--she is a revolutionary. Attempts to degrade her actions against slavery should be taken under suspicion, for no other character calls for greater reform, not even the common-born Davos. Daenerys' Meereen arc is meant to display the reality of leadership, something which male characters such as Tyrion, Robb, and Jon deal with, to a variety degree of success and failure. Yet, only Daenerys and her actions are held to higher scrutiny, meanwhile Tyrion, Robb, and Jon's fates all occurred by their own choices and actions - Tyrion actively maintained Shae at court, and though he meant well, pulled political blunder when he threatened Cersei, even though it was a noble cause to defend Alayaya; Jon's choice to remain reclusive regarding his designs weakened his overall support in the Night's Watch, especially as he received it under very peculiar situations. Meanwhile, there is less focus on the community about those political blunders and consistent critiques regarding Daenerys' actions, and given the show's canonization of Jon as a "legitimate" son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, any nuance toward her and her potential claim to the Iron Throne is often discarded and forsaken as Jon is considered the "rightful" heir to many members of the fandom. Referring to her as the potential mad queen not only fails to recognize that Daenerys likely is meant to break the common traits of her kin, but also simply ignores the parrallels between Cersei and Aerys. Having two mad queens is reductive, and ignores Martin's anti-misogynistic attempts through Daenerys. The Dance of Dragons only occurred because of misogyny, not because Rhaenyra herself was unfit to rule. That is meant to be something in which Daenerys is expected to break.

Me, defending Queen Marika the Eternal: Yes, she committed multiple cases of genocides...but she was a hot MILF while doing it, soooo

#I love them both so much your honor #Daenerys Targaryen #ASOIAF #A Song of Ice adn Fire #Queen Marika the Eternal #Elden Ring #Elden Ring Marika

32 notes · View notes

blackcat419 · 3 months ago

Text

Rewriting HotD: Plot breakdown of Fire and Blood the Dance of the Dragons

Part 3: 130 A.C. Fall of Kings Landing to 130 A.C.

Part 1 Here

Part 2 Here

The following is an in depth plot breakdown of F&B where character moments, plot beats, difference in sources, and missing details will all be analyzed and possible solutions proposed. The timeline will start in 101 A.C. with the first great council as where the seeds of the dance were thoroughly sowed and watered to the death of Jaehaera in 133 A.C.

This is the first part of my rewriting HotD series. The next part will talk more about character arcs and expanding on them using the enneagram as a jumping off point.

Page numbers will be cited from my copy of fire and blood the 2022 Trade Paperback Tie-in Edition.

Legend

Bold for the year

Italic for character moments

Blue for Orwyle’s account

Purple for Munkun’s A True Telling

Green for Septon Eustace’s The Reign of King Viserys

Red for Mushroom’s The Testimony of Mushroom

Orange for rumors that have no source

Pink for minor sources where their credibility and bias will be discussed when they come up

(Parenthesis) will be used when I deem it necessary to comment on the story either about the plot or how the fandom views the story.

[brackets] will be used for when I want to add real world historical context.

Where Gyldayn does not identify which source he is using or which sources disagree with eachother, it will be assumed that all sources agree with each other.

Source Bias is discussed in Part 1

Because the war is barely three years, months and other year dividers will be used when mentioned and most divisions will be by location.

Acorn Hill

Riverlanders first hold back the Westermen but fall back after Lord Piper's death. Mushroom says Lord Piper died after seeing his favorite grandson's head on a spear. Pg 460

3 Days Later Acorn Hill

The Riverlanders group under the hedge knight called Ser Harry Penny. Ser Penny kills Adrian Tarbeck but dies soon after. Pg 460

The Westermen win the battle and are now led by Lord Humfry Lefford. Pg 460

The Twins

The Winter Wolves are greeted by Sabitha Frey at the Twins. Pg 460-1

Harrenhal

Aemond's march is delayed by bad weather. He finds Harrenhal empty and believes Daemon has fled rather than face him. He parties then challenges Simon Strong to a trial by combat and feeds his corpse to Vhagar. Pg 461

After finding out about the fall of King's Landing, Aemond executes all the Strongs, true born and bastard, but takes Alys Rivers as his mistress. Pg 462

---

Aemond: First delighted when he thinks Daemon fled rather than face him but is angered when he learns about the fall of King's Landing. Doesn't execute Alys for some reason.

Alys Rivers: Somehow keeps herself alive during the Strong massacre. Did she turn on her kin for Aemond?

Fish Feed

Lord Humfrey Lefford has his army camp with The Lake of the God's eye behind them for protection rather than face either army. Lord Lefford tries to send for help to Aemond but all his ravens are shot down by Red Robb Rivers. The Lannister soldiers are attacked and either die in the fighting or drown in the lake. Pg 462-3 (Reference to Lake Trasimene?)

The Northmen suffer the most deaths. Pg 463

---

Benjicott Blackwood: Weeps when he sees the dead.

Other Battles

Daeron and Lord Hightower put the other enemy Reach lords into submission. Pg 463

Borros Baratheon Marches south into the Dornish marches to presumably protect against the Dornish. Pg 463

Fair Isle is attacked by the Greyjoys. Pg 463

Holding Harrenhal

Aemond and Criston's forces die of starvation and sickness. Foraging parties go missing. Pg 465

Mushroom says Aemond and Criston became rivals for Alys Rivers while Eustace says Aemond was the only one who wanted her. Pg 465

Criston leaves to join Daeron and Oremond Hightower while Aemond stays to wage war in the Riverlands. Pg 465-6

---

Aemond: refuses to retreat saying 'only a craven runs from traitors'. After hearing about Fishfeed, he almost strangles the messenger to death and is only stopped by Alys Rivers. Says Rhaenyra won't risk the lives of her sons, a mother's fears. (perhaps dig at Helaena and Alicent?)

Alys Rivers: Stops Aemond from strangling the messenger, showing her influence over him.

Crison Cole: Leaves Aemond to rejoin Daeron to hopefully retake Kingslanding.

The Red Keep

Rhaenyra frees the imprisoned Black loyalists, imprisons the Green loyalists, beheads Otto Hightower and Jasper 'Iron Rod' Wylde, and tortures Tyland Lannister for info on where the treasury is. Pg 466

Alicent is spared and placed in golden chains. Pg 466

Rhaenyra removes the tongues of Lord Rosby and Lord Stokeworth before executing them for initially turning to the greens. Pg 466-7

Daemon suggests marrying the eldest daughters of Lord Rosby and Stokeworth to Hugh and Ulf to secure the lands and reward the two. Corlys argues against Daemon's plan saying they can't disinherit the younger sons in favor of the daughters and that Rhaenyra was a special case because she was named heir by her father. Munkun says Rhaenyra sided with Corlys in fear of losing her lords' support. Pg 467

Hugh Hammer beats a household knight to death over a sex worker and Ulf rides naked and drunk through the city. Pg 467

Celtigar becomes the master of coin and implements unpopular taxes that mainly affect merchants and traders. Executions were commercialized and bodies were fed to dragons as feed. Pg 467-8

The commoners start calling Rhaenyra "Maegor's Teats" or "King Maegor with teats" Pg 469

Rhaenyra has Aegon the Younger and Jeoffrey come to court. She makes Aegon her cupbearer and celebrates Jeoffrey becoming the Prince of Dragonstone. Pg 469

Mysaria becomes the unofficial Master of Whispers and spends the nights with Daemon. Pg 469

Each time Rhaenyra sits the Iron Throne, she is cut by it. Pg. 469

---

Daemon: Seeks comfort in Mysaria after Rhaenyra rejects his plan for Stokeworth and Rosby (Again the hand is favored over him)

Corlys: Focuses on Rhaenyra being a special case and not upsetting the other lords (Despite him passing over legitimate granddaughters for his bastard sons.)

Rhaenyra: Has Stokeworth and Rosby killed for switching sides. Sides with Corlys to not upset her lords.

Bartimos Celtigar: Staunch and unwavering support of Rhaenyra. Unrelenting, incorruptible, and ingenious.

Bitterbridge

Bitterbridge is crowded with refugees from Longtable. Lady Caswell closed her gates to them. Pg 470

Rikard Thorne goes to the Hog's Head with Maelor disguised as father and son. A stable boy named Sly tries to steal from Rickard and finds Maelor's dragon egg. Richard Thorne Kills the inn keep Ben Buttercakes, and then flees on a horse with Maelor. The bridge guards try to stop Richard and he fights them till a crossbow bolt takes him down. Pg. 470-2

The crowd fights over Maelor and pulls him to pieces. Pg 474

Mushroom says Willow Poundstone squeezed Maelor to death. Eustace says Maelor was chopped into pieces by a butcher. Munkun says Maelor was torn apart by the mob. Pg 474

Lady Caswelll has the stableboy Sly, Willow Poundstone, and the man who owned the horse Richard fled on hanged. She sent Throne's body and Maelor's head to King's landing and Maelor's dragon egg to the Hightowers to try and appease both sides. Pg 474

The Red Keep

Mushroom says Rhaenyra wept when seeing the head while Eustace says she smiled and had the head burned. No announcement was made but rumor spread that Rhaenyra sent Maelor's head to Helaena. Pg 474

Realm Overview

Dalton Greyjoy abducts five of Lord Farman's daughters. Pg 474

Lady Merryweather surrenders to the Hightowers and her castle is stripped to feed the army. Pg 475

Battle of Bitterbridge

Lady Caswell asks for the same terms given to Lady Merryweather but Daeron says 'You shall receive the same terms you gace my nephew Maelor.' The city is asked withe everything burned and everyone killed.

Lady Caswell pleads for her children's lives before hanging herself. Her kids are sent to Oldtown in chains.

---

Daeron: Decides that Bitterbridge will be sacked for the murder of Maelor.

Harrenhal

3 days after Aemond leaves Harrenhal, Sabitha Frey takes it and finds Alys Rivers claiming she is pregnant with 'The Dragon's Bastard' Pg 475-6

Riverlands

Aemond burns the Riverlands starting with House Darry. Lord Darry and his heir are burned alive while his wife and younger children survive in the cellar. Pg 476

Butcher's Ball

4 days (Presumably 1 day after Sabitha takes Harrenhal) out of Harrenhal, Ser Cole faces guerilla-style attacks from the Northern army. Criston tries to surrender to save his men and then offers to fight a 3 v. 1. Criston is shot dead by Red Robb Rivers. Pg 476-7

The Winterwolves slaughter Criston's fleeing men. Pg 478

---

Criston: Tries to sacrifice himself to save his men but is murdered for his bravery.

The Mirror Shield

Ser Byron Swann wants to kill a dragon like Serwyn of the Mirror Shielf did (Reference to Medusa and Persius). Munkun says he wanted to kill Vhagar to end Aemond'ds raids, Mushroom says it was Syrax he meant to kill, and Eustace in a letter suggests it was Sungrye though his where about were unknown at the time. Pg 478

Ser Byron Swann died screaming, roasted alive. Pg 479

Maiden's Day

The Maester releases ravens to announce the coming of winter. Pg 479

The Triarchy is falling apart, Vaelyrons control the sea, Jeyne Arryn and Lord Manderly send men by sea to Rhaenyra. Pg 479

Aemond burns Harrenhal again, taking Alys Rivers and forcing Sabritha to flee back to the Twins. Pg 479

The Riverlands ask Rhaenyra for dragons to defend against Aemond. Pg 480

The Hightower Force with Daeron marched on King's Landing and forced their surrendered enemies to join them. Pg 480

Corlys advice Rhaenyra to offer pardons to Baratheon, Hightower, and Lannister, send her half brothers to the wall, give Alicent and Helaena to the faith, and let Corlys foster Jaehaera and then marry Aegon the Younger. Pg 480

Daemon suggests killing all the traitors and giving Storm's End to Ulf and Casterly Rock to Hugh. Pg 481 (The others to Hugh and Ulf keep increasing and keep being taken away)

Rhaenyra decides to focus on killing her half-brothers and then forcing the Green Lords to surrender. Pg 481

Rhaneyra, Jeoffrey, and Addam stay in Kingslanding, Daemon and Nettles leave for the Riverlands, and Ulf and Hugh fly to Tumbleton. Pg 481

Alicent begs for her sons' lives and offers to split the realm but Rhaenyra denies her. Rhaenyra says that her half-brothers could have had places of honor at her court if they had not betrayed her and that her sons' blood is on their hands. Alicent says 'Bastard blood shed at war' and that her grandsons were the only innocents. Pg 482-3

Munkun and Eustace say Rhaenyra threatened to have Alicent's tongue ripped out for calling her sons bastards. Mushroom says Mysaria stayed the queen's hand and suggested that they sell Alicent and Helaena at brothels till they both have a bastard. Pg 483

---

Corlys: Focus on diplomacy to end the war and offer pardons.

Daemon: Focus on removing all threats to Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra: Focuses on removing her half brother and their claims to the throne.

Mysaria: cruelty by suggesting women be sexually assaulted.

Alicent: Bargins for Rhaenyra and Aegon both to be monarchs and still holds firm in her spite towards Rhaenyra.

Treason of Tumbleton

Munkun says Rhaenyra's force of 9 thousand was outnumbered by Ormund Hightower. Pg 484

Ulf and Hugh switch to the Hightower side. Mushroom says it was because they were craven. Others, not specified who, say the two wanted wealth and lordship and thought Hightower would give it when Rhaenyra had not. Pg 484-5

The Winterwolves push into the Hightower forces where Lord Roderick Dustin kills Ser Bryden Hightower and Lord Oremend Hightower before dying. Pg 485-6

Ulf and Hugh join Daeron in burning the city. Ser Roger Corne and his men turn and attack the men in Tumbleton. Lord Owain Bourney also turns for the Greens and kills Ser Merrell the Bold. Pg 486

Tumbleton is burned and no mercy is given to the survivors or the ones who surrender. Pg 486

Riverlands

Daemon and Nettles base themselves in Maidenpool. Pg 487

Vhagar attacks multiple towns and survivors can never agree on where she goes afterwards. Pg 487

Daemon and Nettles fly over the Riverlands each day in search of Vhagar. Chronicles of Maidenpool say Lord Mooton suggests they split up when searching but Daemon refuses. Pg 488

Mushroom says Daemon took Nettles as a lover. Pg 488

Chronicles of Maidenpool say Daemon ate with her, bathed with her, and instructed her in courtly courtesies. Pg 489

---

Daemon: Refuses to search separately from Nettles. Perhaps for strategy or personal reasons

Nettles: No older than 17, grew up homeless in Spicetown. Probably had to sell her maidenhead when young to eat. Mushroom calls her 'a skinny brown girl with a skinny brown dragon'. Eustace says she had crooked teeth and a nose cut across for stealing. Pg 488-9

Blackwater Bay

The crew on the ship Nessaria see two dragons fighting and the tale spreads till everyone on Dragonstone has heard it. Pg 489

Local fishermen find the dead dragon Grey Ghost, partially devoured. Pg 490

Ser Robert Quince declares the Cannibal the killer and forbids fishing near his lair. Pg 490

Baela spends many of her days patrolling the waters around Dragonstone and Driftmark. She wanted to investigate Grey Ghost's death but was caught before she could leave and was confined to her chambers. Pg 490-1

Tom Tanglebeard and his son Tom Tangletounge bring their two 'cousins' to the lair of the Cannibal Pg 491 (Aegon and who is revealed to be a bastard knight named Ser Marston Pg 544)

---

Ser Robert Quince: Amiable and obese knight named Castellan of Dragonstone after Rhaenyra leaves. Not investigative perhaps due to overconfidence or he was an ally to Aegon?

Baela: Wild and willful. Played kissing games with squires and let a kitchen boy grope her and then pleaded for his hand to not be removed when found out. Loves boys and flying.

The Red Keep

After hearing about Tumblton, Rhaenyra orders the city gates to be barred to keep out any traitors. Pg 491

The black council argues over what to do with Addam and Nettles. Bartimos Celtigar argues that bastards are treacherous by nature, Ser Luthor Largent, Ser Lorent Marbrand, and the Mandarly men agree with him. Only Lord Corlys and Master Gerargys argue against killing them. Pg 492-3

Eustace says Rhaenyra had been betrayed so often that she expected it. Pg 493

Rhaenyra calls on Mysaria who tells her Nettles is sleeping with Daemon. Eustace says she grows wroth and orders Addam to be tortured to find out if he's a traitor and for Nettles to be killed. Pg 493

Addam flees before Ser Luthor can arrest him. Ser Luthor bounds, beats, and imprisons Corlys believing he told Addam to flee. Pg 494

Rhaenyra dismisses Geradrys as Grand Maester, no longer able to trust him because he urged caution. Pg 494

The people of Kings Landing turn to a man called the 'Shepherd', the dead shepherd according to Mushroom. Munkun says he was a poor fellow. Pg 495

The Shepherd preaches that dragons are unnatural and gains a large following that the gold cloaks can't break up. Pg 496

---

Alicent: 'All they have sowed, now they shall they reap' after hearing about Tumbleton, very vengeful. Pg 491

Rhaenyra: Grows pale after hearing of Tumbleton and the betrayal. Sees betrays all around her. Dismisses Gerardy believing his caution means he is a traitor.

Joffrey: wants to fight and avenge his brothers. Excited for the battle to come.

Corlys: Warns Addam before he is attacked and stands his ground against Ser Luthor, not admitting to anything.

Tumbleton

The army becomes unruly and cruelly keeps sacking Tumbleton. The commanders begin fighting amongst themselves. The eldest Hightower, Ser Hobert, is a weak leader who was only intrusted with the baggage train before. Daeron is too young and inexperienced. Lord Unwin Peake, Ser Jon Roxton, and Lord Owain Bourney argue for leadership. Roxton kills the lord of Tumbleton to take his wife as his war prize. Peak and Bourney get into an argument and Peak kills Bourney, saying once a traitor, always a traitor. Pg 496-8

Eustace and Munkun assert that Daeron was horrified by the violence. Pg 497

Ulf declares he wants Highgarden and Hugh says he wants to be a king. A new prophecy about a hammer falling upon a dragon and a new king arriving. Pg. 498 {Refrence to Ceaser using a made-up prophecy to justify his own rule}

---

Daeron: Unable to take control despite being horrified and having a dragon.

MaidenPool 8th day of the 5th Moon 130 A.C.

Maester Norren in the 'Chronicles of MaidenPool' says the Lord Mooton needed three cups of wine after reading Rhaenyra's letter demanding Nettles' head. Pg 499

Lord Mooton's brother and the captain of his guard, Florian Greysteel, argue on how to subdue Daemon to kill Nettles. Florian says the old king would never ask for this (whether this is referring to Jaehaerys or Viserys is unclear) Pg 499

Lord Mooton elements that he is either a traitor or breaks guests right. Pg 500

Maester Norren pretends that the lord never saw the letter and delivers it to Daemon. Pg 500

Nettles feeds Sheepstealer a black ram, Daemon helps her mount him, and she flies off in the direction of the bay of crabs. Daemon leaves for Harrenhal. Maidenpool turns to Aegon II. Pg 500-1

---

Daemon: says 'a queen's words, a whores work' after reading the letter, probably referring to Mysaria.

Nettles: tear streaked face when she has to leave.

Harrenhal 8th-22nd day of the 5th Moon 130 A.C.

Daemon stays at Harrenhall for 14 days, slashing the weirwood to mark the passage of time. Pg 501

HarrenHal 22nd day of the 5th Moon 130 A.C.

Aemond arrives with Alys. Daemon and Aemond fight on dragon back. Pg 502

Caraxes slams into Vhagar and Daemon jumps off Caraxes and pierces Aemond through the eye. Pg 504

Historians record that Aemond, Daemon, and their dragons died that day. The singers say Daemon survived and returned to Nettles. Pg 504

---

Aemond: He Brought Alys with him and was confident he'd win.

Daemon: Seems to have accepted his death and just wants to take Aemond down with him.

Kings Landing

Mysaria says Addam fleeing proved his guild. Pg 506

Lord Celtigar suggests a tax on bastards. Pg 506

Soldiers sworn to house Velaryon start abandoning Rhaenyra with Corlys in prison. Some go home and others join the Shepherd. Pg 506

Corlys' personal guards Ser Denys Woodwright and Ser Thoron True try to free Corlys and are executed for it. Pg 506-7

Helaena jumps to her death from Maegor's holdfast. Mushroom says she killed herself because she was pregnant after being sold as a prostitute. Munkun says the horror of seeing Ser Denys and Ser Thoron dead drove her to her death. Eustace says Mysaria told her how Maelor died out of malice or some unknown reason. Pg. 507 (George's comments suggest that Eustace's story is the right one.)

Rumors spread that Rhaenyra had Ser Luthor Largent Kill Helaena so she could not revel in Rhaenyra's downfall. Pg 507

Munkun says the Shepherd spread the rumor. Mushroom says the Shepherd only repeated the rumor Larys Strong started. Pg 507-8

Dreamfyre breaks two of her chains and roars loud enough to shake the dragon pit when Helaena dies. Pg 508

Alicent rips her garments apart when she hears of Helaena's death and curses her rival. Pg 508

---

Mysaria: Continued focus on removing support and a sense of safety from Rhaenyra.

Helaena: Was driven to suicide by something (most likely the details of Maelor's death).

Alicent: Curses her rivals when she learns of Helaena's death.

Kings Landing The Riots

Kings Landing raises in riots that night over Helaena and her sons. The riots started in flea bottom with rioters looting, beating up gold cloaks, and attacking Lords and Knights. Lady Darla Debbings' brother Davos was killed defending her from being raped. Sailors attack the river gate and fight the city watch. Pg 508-9

The rioters attack Lord Bartimos Celtigar. His guards flee or join the rioters. Arthur Celtigar tries to fight off the rioters but a serving girl lets the rioters in and he is killed. Bartimos tries to flee but is captured and tortured to reveal where his wealth is. Pg 509

The Shepherd preaches against Rhaenyra and proclaims the stranger has come. Pg 509

According to Mushroom, Ser Luthor Largent led 5 thousand men of the city watch to try and disperse the rioters to take away the Shepherd but the mob held firm and the Shepherd was bundled away. The mob throws stuff at the watch and an archer loses bolts on the crowd. Pg 510 (Reference to the Boston massacre?)

Despite the watches training, the crowd outnumbers them and slaughters them Pg 512

The Shepherd holds sway over the city. Hundreds gather around Wat the Tanner who killed Lord Celtigar and declared an end to taxes. The sex workers declare a 4-year-old boy, Daemon Pale Hair, the rightful king and bastard of Aegon II. Hedge knight Ser Perkin names his squire Trystane, a boy of 16, the natural son of King Viserys. He dubbed any sellsword, thief, or butcher's boy a knight if they swore to Trystane. Pg 513

The Gold Cloaks under Ser Balon Byrch and Ser Garth the Harelip restore order to the streets North and East of Rhaeny's Hill. Ser Medrick Manderly and his white Harbor Men restore order northeast of Aegon's High Hill to the Iron Gate. Pg 513

Ser Torrhen and his Northmen to the River Gate and find the garrison killed by Ser Perkin's men and the garrison turns over to him. Ser Toffhen loses a quarter of his men fighting back. Pg 513

Ser Lorent Marbrand, Lord Commander of the Queen's guard died in flea bottom. Ser Glendon Goode rescues his body. Pg 513

By evenfall, Rhaenyra is beset on all sides. Mushroom says Rhaenyra wept at Ser Lorent's death, raged at Maidenpool turning, Nettles escaping, and Daemon's betrayal, and trembled when Mysaria said the next night would be worse. Mushroom says the men attending her slowly left or were dismissed until only Mushroom and Rhaenyra's sons remained. She calls Mushroom loyal and he says he rather be her consort which makes her laugh. Pg 513

Munkun says Rhaenyra swung from rage to despair and back, cutting herself on the Iron Throne. Pg 513

Rhaenyra names Ser Balon Byrch commander of the goldcloaks, sends ravens to Winterfell and the Eyrie to ask for aid, orders a detaining order on the Mootons, and names Ser Glendon Goode Lord Commander of the Queensguard. Pg 514

---

Rhaenyra: swings between rage and tears but is able to order new appointments and next steps.

Kings Landing the Last Day

Eustace and Munkun say that on the Last Day, Aegon the Younger stays at his mother's side and Jeoffrey wishes to fight on his dragon. Pg 514

The sex workers bestow their favor on any man who swears his sword to Gaemon Palehair. Ser Perkin has his knights feast on stolen food and then march along the riverfront. Wat the Tanner leads his mob against the Gate of the Gods and breaks through and towards an unknown direction under Bartimos Celtigar's rotting head. Pg 514

The Kings Gate garrison flees and the Lion Gates garrison joins the mobs, leaving three of the seven gates open to Kings Landing. Pg 514-5

The Shepherd reemerged and continued preaching against Rhaenyra. Eustace says the crowd was twice as large and thrice as fearful as the night before. The Shepherd rallied the crowd against the dragons and marched on the Dragon Pit. When the mob reaches the dragon pit, they are 20 thousand strong. Pg 514-6

Mushroom watches the attack unfold alongside Rhaenyra, Aegon the younger, and Joffrey. Rhaenyra sends riders to Ser Balon at the Old Gate and Ser Garth at the Dragon Gate to stop the Shepherd and defend the dragons but only the messenger to the Dragon Gate arrives. Jeoffrey pleads to go leave and defend the dragons which Rhaenyra forbids. Mushroom says something siding with Joffrey and is told to hold his tongue by Rhaenyra leading to Mushroom not saying anything when Jeoffrey sneaks out. Pg 516

Joffrey takes off on Syrax for the dragon pit without a saddle or whip. Rhaenyra commands men to ride after him. Munkun says these were men of honor, Eustace says they were moved by Rhaenyra's love for her son, and Mushroom says they were idiots looking for a reward and not caring if they died. Pg 516-7

The Seven Who Rode: Ser Medrick Manderly heir to white harbor, Ser Loreth Landsdale and Ser Harrold Darke of the Queensguard, Ser Harmon 'Iron-Banger' of the Reeds, Ser Gyles Yronwood exiled knight from Dorne, Ser Willam Royce, and Ser Glendon Goode Lord Commander of the Queensguard. Pg 517

Syrax throws Jeoffrey off her back and he falls. Rumors say that Jeoffrey died in the arms of a girl named Robin, a candlemaker's daughter. The mob quickly strips Jeoffrey of all possessions and tears his body apart. The seven who rode fight with the mob over Joffrey's body. The seven protect his body but Willam Royce, Gyles Yronwood, and Glendon Goode die. Pg 517-9

Dragon Gate gold cloaks retreat from the mob. The Dragonkeepers try to hold off the mob but are slaughtered. Shrykos is slain by Hobb the Hewer. Morghul was killed by the Burning Knight. Tyraxes tried to retreat into his layer but the Shepherd directs the mob through the back to kill him. Dreamfyre fights and breaks the Dragon pit dome, killing her and the multiple dragonslayers. Pg 520-522

The Shepherd next directs the mob to kill Syrax who lands to feats on the burned corpses. Munkun says Hobb the Hewer killed her, but the book says this is most likely a mix-up with Shrykos' death. Some says a blood-soaked giant leapt from the broken dome. Others say a knight named Ser Warrick Wheaton slashed off Syrax's wing with a Valyrian steel sword, most likely Lamentations taken from Willam Royce. A crossbowman named Bean claims to have landed the killing blow. The most common which Eustace and the singers tell is that the Shepherd killed Syrax. Pg 522-525

---

Aegon: Seldom speaks and is always at his mother's side.

Joffrey: Wishes to fight for his mother on dragon's back like his brothers did. Goes against his mother's wishes and takes off on Syrax, leading to his death. His last words are 'Mother forgive me' though praying to his own mother or the Mother is unknown.

Rhaenyra: forbids Jeoffrey from fighting after the death of Jace and Luke. Holds Aegon the Younger close, refusing to let go after Joffrey's death.

Mushroom: very petty as he does not warn Rhaenyra of Joffrey sneaking off after she told him to shut up.

Kings Landing The Day after The Last Day

Rhaenyra flees the city at dawn through the Dragon Gate (This might be a mistake as the Iron Gate is closer and had order restored by Medrick Manderly). planning to move up the coast to Duskendale. She leaves with the Manderly brothers, four surviving Queensguards, Ser Balon Byrch and twenty gold cloaks, four of her handmaidens, and her last son Aegon. Pg 525

Garth the Harlip is given guard over the Dragon Gate to protect the city. He turns it over to Ser Perkin the Flea in hopes of mercy only to be executed along with twenty other knights, Ser Harmon of the Reeds amongst them. Lady Mysaria is whipped through the city from the Red Keep to the Gate of the Gods, dying halfway through the march. Pg 525-6

Eustace is spared as Perkin did not wish to anger the faith. He also frees all the prisoners in the cells including Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Corlys Velaryon, and Tyland Lannister who was left blinded, without his fingernails and toenails, no ears, and without his manhood by Rhaenyra's torturers. The three along with Alicent Hightower watch as Ser Trystane takes the iron throne. Larys Strong emerges and is treated warmly by Perkin and takes a seat next to Trystane. Pg 526

Munkun says that the Moon of the Three Kings was a time of chaos. though the shepherd never claimed kingship. The Shepherd preached against the highborn and wealthy, saying only the poor and humble were safe, the crowd grew smaller each night. Gaemon Palehair rules fromVisenya's Hill and issues progressive reforms. Mushroom says these come from the Dornish sex worker named Sylvenna Sand who was the paramour of Gaemon's mother Essie. Trystane repeals unpopular taxes and opens up the Kingswood to the hungry. Ser Perkin says over the Goldcloaks to control four of the seven gates. Pg 526-8

The smallfolk slowly turn away from the Shepherd and look towards Trystane Truefyre for leadership. Pg 528

---

Rhaenyra: Is ashen and inconsolable after the death of Joffrey and Syrax.

Larys Strong: friendly with Ser Perkin, showing he might have planned Trystane's rise.

Tumbleton

The young lords are anxious to take Kings Landing including Ser Jon Roxton, Ser Roger Corne, and Lord Unwin Peake while Ser Hobert Hightower urges caution. Pg 528

The question of who is now king is raised with Aemond dead and Aegon missing. Daeron stood in line as either King of Prince of Dragonstone but Hugh Hammer wished to be king. Ser Roger Corne knocks a crown off Hugh's head and is killed by Hugh hammering three horseshoes into his skull. Three men died and a dozen were wounded when knives were drawn between Hugh's men and Corne's friends. Pg 528-9

Lord Unwin Peake and Hobert Hightower met with eleven other lords and knights to discuss what to do about Ulf and Hugh in the cellar of a Tumbleton inn. The conspirators decide to kill Hugh first then Ulf and have the bravest men claim their dragons. The Caltrops have Lord Owen Fossoway fetch Daeron who approves of the plot with his seal. Pg 530 (reference to the conspirators against Julius Ceasar? arguments over honor and what will be done with armies/dragons)

---

Daeron: Once gentle prince eagerly affixes his seal to Hugh and Ulf's execution warrants.

Second Battle of Tumbleton 2 days later

Addam attacks Tumbleton on Seasmoke. The singers say he took council on the Isle of Faces from the Greenmen. Other sources say he gathered an army from castles still loyal to Rhaenyra in the Riverlands. Most likely threatened lords by making their keep another Tumbleton to get an army of around four thousand. Pg 531

Addam gets Elmo Tully to join the war. He fathers Sabithat Frey, Hous Vypren, Lords Stanton Piper, Joseth Smallwood, Derrick Darry, Lyonel Debbings, and Hugo Vance with Black Trombo. Pg 531

Addam attacks at night, his men cutting down the Green soldiers. Any building spared after the first battle is burned. Ulf was in a drunken sleep in a tavern. Hugh tried to mount Vermithor to fight but was cut down by Jon Roxton only for Hugh's men to kill him. The best-known claim of Prince Daeron's death is that he was killed by a Myrish sellsword smashing his face in with a morningstar. Another claim is that he was killed by a man at arms with a sword. Munkun says he died in his burning pavilion. Pg 532-3

Tessarion and Seasmoke fight in what is described as both a mating dance and battle. Vermithor rises to fight but is slammed into by Seasmoke and Tessarion joins in the fight, although it is not clear on which side. Vermithor rips SeaSmoke's head off and tried to take off but his wings were too damaged and he collapsed and died. Tessarion survives till dawn when Benjicot orders a longbowman, known as Billy Burley, to put her out of her misery. Pg 534- 536

The rivermen are unable to take Tumbleton and retreat back into the hills, bringing Addam Velaryon's dead body with them. Pg 536

---

Addam of Hull: Relentless and determined and glib of tongue.

Tumbleton The Day After the Battle

Silverwing is the only dragon to survive, flying over the battlefield. The singers say thrice she tried to lift Vermithor to get him to fly. Pg 536-8

Eight of the thirteen Caltrops are dead. When Ulf wakes, he says he's the only dragon rider left and will take the throne. Pg 538

Hobert Hightower invites Ulf for drinks to discuss the upcoming plans. He planned to drink Dornish red and have Ulf drink Arbor gold only for Ulf to realize his deception and insist they both drink the Arbor gold. Hobert Hightower instead of betraying his fellow Caltrops, drank the wine and asked for more. Ulf drank the poisoned wine and fell asleep never to wake. Hobert tried to throw up the wine but his heart stopped. (princes and the bride reference? Is only Hobert micro dosed poison) Pg 538-9

Unwin offers a thousand gold dragons to whoever can mount Silverwing. Two men die and the third backs down. Unwin Peake calls a retreat. Pg 539

---

Ulf the White: Decides he'll take the throne now. Is smart enough to notice Hobert's nervousness but is true to his word or too drunk to care.

The Crownland Coast

Rhaenyra faces hardship on her way to Duskendale. At Rosby, the young Rosby woman whose claim was passed over was denied entrance to her. At Stokeworth, the Castellan granted hospitality but only for one night. On the road, they are attacked by broken men where Ser Balon Byrch is killed and Ser Lyonel Bently is mortally injured and dies the next day. Pg 539

The widow of Lord Gunthor Darklyn, Lady Meredyth, was not pleased to see Rhaenyra after the death of her husband and his uncle in her service. Ser Harrold Darke persuades her to let the queen in only if she does not stay long. Pg 539-40

Rhaenyra sends three ravens to Gerardys on Dragonstone but does not hear back, making her question his loyalty again. Cregan Stark and Jeyne Arryn promise to send support but each has reasons their forces are delayed. Pg 540

Rhaenyra sells her crown for passage on a Braavosi merchant ship to Dragonstone. Her allies try to persuade her to go to the Eyrie or White Harbor but she insists on Dragonstone to get another dragon. Pg 540-1

Rhaenyra avoids Corly's Velaryon's warships. Pg 541

---

Rhaenyra: walks the castle battlements of Dun Fort, falling deeper into despair. She keeps Aegon the Younger with her at all times.

Dragonstone 22nd day 10th moon 130th year

Rhaenyra docks at Dragonstone and is met by an escort commanded by Ser Alfred Broome and forty men. Rhaenyra asks where Ser Robert Quince, the Castellan, was only for Alfred to say they'd see him soon. They find Robert's charred corpse hanging from the battlements of the gatehouse along with the bodies of the steward, captain of the guard, master at arms, and the head and upper torso of Grand Maester Gerardys. Pg 541-2

Broome's men seize Rhaenyra, Aegon, and her ladies, killing the last of her guards. They were marched to the castle ward where they came face to face with Aegon II and Sunfyre. Pg 542

Munkun, based largely on Grand Maester Orwyle's account, says the Larys Strong spirited the king and his children out of the city through secret passages of Maegor the Cruel. He had a bastard knight take Aegon to Dragonstone on a skiff. Sunfyre was drawn to Dragonstone, Eustace suggests that he sensed Aegon's desperate need. Tom Tangletounge plied the Volantenes sailors to discern that it was Sunfyre and not the Cannibal who killed Greyghost. He then delivered Aegon and Ser Marston to Sunfyre's lair. Aegon took flight each morning while the two Toms and Marston found allies on Dragon Stone. Pg 542-4

The Fall of Dragon Stone took less than an hour with Broome leading men to open the gates to allow the two Toms and Marston to slip in. They kill Gerardys, and Robert, seize the master at arms and guardsmen, and seize the armory. They try to seize Baela but she slips out and saddles up Moondancer. Pg 545

When Aegon II comes to land, Baela attacks him and Sunfyre on Moondancer. The two latch onto each other and fall to the ground where Moondancer dies and Sunfyre tries to fly but fails. Aegon jumped from Sunfyre's saddle, shattering his legs. Baela stayed on Moondancer till she hit the ground and pulled herself away, burned and battered. Alfred Broome moves to slay Baela but is stopped by Marston Waters and Baela is brought to the maesters by Tom Tangleton. Pg 545-8

According to Eustace, Rhaenyra laughed when she saw Sunfyre and sought to reward who did it. Mushroom says she only asked 'How has it come to this' Pg 548

Aegon has Rhaenyra killed by Sunfyre. Alfred Broome has to cut her breast to get Sunfyre to kill her. Eustace says it only took six bites, leaving only her left leg. Elinda Massey supposedly gouged out her own eyes at the sight. Pg 550

Alfred Broome argues for killing Prince Aegon but King Aegon forbids it, deciding to use him as a hostage. Prince Aegon is shackled and held in the prisons under Dragonstone. Rhaenyra's ladies-in-waiting are held in cells in Sea Dragon Tower. Pg 550-1

Aegon sends ravens declaring that the pretender is dead and that he is coming home to reclaim his father's seat. Pg 551

---

Baela: As fearless as her father, attacking Aegon straight on despite never fighting before this.

Aegon: refuses to take milk of the poppy from Maester Gerardys, not trusting him and not wanting to 'walk that path again.'

11 notes · View notes