#kneel before your queen [ answered / cersei lannister ]

[hum-suffer]

How will my story conclude (without your name beside mine)?

Jaime doesn't know what he's doing in this cold wasteland of a place, standing in the hall of dead people, being scrutinized by a dragon and a pack of wolves. His eyes flit to Tyrion.

(He's no lion. He killed father, he killed father, he kill—)

He dares a gaze on Sansa while the Dragon Queen speaks of his atrocities. She's still the same as she was four years ago, when she was his wife still. Her hair is pulled in a northern style now and he finds it gives her more life than the complicated braids of the South. Red hair that glints like the sun and feels like the fire is the only thing that shows life in this hall. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wide as her gaze surpasses her half brother and lands on the Dragon Queen.

He misses those mornings when they woke up facing each other. Yearning curls inside him precariously like a snake dangling off a tree when he remembers the way she laughed when he made a morbid joke about his hand. He remembers gifting her his mother's emerald and silver ring, wonders if she still wears it.

(My love, he remembers calling her when she once woke from a Joffery inspired nightmare. He wonders if she remembers.)

"We?" The Dragon Queen questions him after he spills everything that Cersei did to him that broke his soul in clean pieces.

Jaime clenches his jaw. "I promised to fight for the living, I intend to keep that promise."

Jaime sees Tyrion move and his little brother's eyes twitch in the way that is a sign that he's desperate.

(Jaime knows all his tells. Tyrion learnt them all from him, afterall.)

"You're right, you can't trust him." Sansa speaks and he wants to kneel with the weight of the words that tear him to pieces in a moment. Distantly, he remembers the night she held him and kissed his forehead as he sobbed to her that he only ever wanted to save the Queen Rhaella. Remembers her telling him that she trusted him.

She continues,"He assaulted my father in the streets and sought to ruin my House and family, as well." And now she looks at him. And oh, how Jaime underestimated her power over him. Even now, even as she burns with poison for him, he would gladly drink the poison if it meant having her gaze locked on him. "And yet, he's an honourable and honest man."

Jaime feels like he can breathe again. Sansa continues, her words becoming more alive as she speaks,"I have yet to hear a single lie of Jaime Lannister, I have yet to see someone so devoted to family and oathkeeping." Sansa stands up and keeps her gorgeous eyes on his while she crosses the table and comes to stand beside him.

She's still two inches shorter than him. The scar above her lip hasn't disappeared. The bruise that he'd last seen on her jaw isn't there anymore. The bite that he'd pressed on her throat was long forgotten.

She doesn't look at him as she lifts her chin higher, and her eyes, so much like the ice he's seen on his way, are enough to freeze anyone else. "I vouch for this man, your grace." The royal title falls from her lips almost like an insult.

"As a good wife should. You did not answer my earlier question; shall I call you Lady Lannister?" The Dragon Queen hisses, sneering at Sansa. Jaime wants to slit her tongue for the tone and his hand goes to his hip, where his sword isn't. He grits his teeth and shifts, trying to shield her.

Sansa grins anyways,"My betrothal contract states that my name remains Sansa Stark, your grace. Do call me Lady Stark." Before the Dragon Queen can snarl at her once more, there's a loud tinkling sound and a child's giggle behind them.

Something brushes past his calf and Sansa almost stumbles when the child stumbles into her. She leans downward and picks up the child effortlessly, with practised ease. She has the exact red hair that Sansa does and pain and something else so cold grasps Jaime's throat that he wishes he would have died on his journey back.

Of course, she moved on. She didn't say anything clearly when Daenerys accused her of siding with Jaime because she was his wife. Even if she hasn't married, not that Jaime knows of, she may have taken another lover. As she should have. She deserves happiness, she deserves someone whole.

(He remembers thinking she was similar to his mother. He remembers thinking Sansa would have made a wonderful mother.)

The child twists in her arms and his world tilts on its axis. It's a girl, he doesn't know how old, and she has his eyes. He knows those are his eyes, he's seen them in the mini portrait of his mother that he keeps on his person at all times. They're green, Lannister green, with flecks of gold in them that ended with Tywin and Joanna Lannister.

"Mama," she says and he wants to cry. Sansa, his wife, his love, his redemption. A mother. The child sounds so sweet. "I'm faster than Lady Myr."

Sansa smiles for the first time since Jaime has come to Winterfell, eyes bright and a dimple under her lower lip, just as he remembers. "That's very good, dearest. But we must apologise to Lady Myr for making her run, shouldn't we?" The child nods eagerly, big green eyes looking at her.

She adjusts her hold on the child and he sees the emerald ring glinting on Sansa's third finger. He can't help himself. He takes a step forward, encouraged by the way Sansa smiles at him and the court doesn't speak against their Lady. "Hello, beautiful lady. I am Jaime Lannister, may I know your undoubtedly beautiful name?"

The girl looks at Sansa and Sansa nods before the girl's face lights up with the biggest smile he has ever seen and she looks like the picture of ecstasy. "Father!" She says excitedly, and Jaime stumbles forward. Sansa catches him, one arm holding her daughter, their daughter, his daughter, on her hip. "I am Joanna! Why didn't you come earlier?"

Jaime looks up at Sansa and there are tears in her eyes and she's a blur against his own tears. She named their child after his mother. After his mother. His mother. Mother. Mother. Mother. Mama. Mama.

Another Joanna Lannister, and Jaime promises himself that he will love her even more than he loved the previous one. His daughter.

He steals a look at Sansa again and speaks to Joanna. "I had some work, little one. But do not worry, I won't leave you now." From the moons of learning how she behaved, Jaime sees the relief dance across Sansa's face and he holds his hands out. He knows he's a stranger to his daughter but damn him he wants to be her father. "May I?"

Sansa looks at Joanna first, asking permission. Joanna nods, just as enthusiastic as she has been the whole time. She looks at his hands as he holds her and he's aware of Sansa saying something to someone that's not him or their daughter and he tunes it out, knowing she's only defending him. He tries to rest Joanna on his hip and the girl, seeming to know how much his prosthetic hand bothers him, adjusts by herself.

"You have a golden hand!" She smiles at him toothily,"I helped Mama stitch a gold hand on one of her dresses yesterday. It's really pretty, red."

"Like your hair?" He asks her, smiling at how she grips his jerkin in her little fists.

She giggles and nods,"Like my hair! The gold hand was like your hair. We all have pretty colours in our hair. Which gods do you think are in-charge of hair, father? We must thank him!"

Jaime huffs a laugh. "May I kiss your forehead, little one?"

She nods,"Mama does it all the time. She says that it's a special way of saying that she loves me." Jaime presses a small kiss on her crown and closes his eyes, willing the tears away. Hell if he will cry in front of all his enemies.

"This is my husband and I will swear upon my honour as a Stark and the happiness of my daughter, he is the most honourable man alive. I vouch for him. If he is deemed a traitor to the North by cold evidence, I will die alongside him."

Jaime turns to face the enemies and hides his daughter's face in his shoulder. He will cut each and every one of them before they touch her. Before they touch either of the ladies beloved by him.

[copiesofme-archive]

     sneaky little tag drop.

[wineinthewidow]

I hear the show is being a clusterfuck, so I'm here to say that the old man and I agree, Cersei is The Queen.

#The Rightful Queen / @luridgodaccepting

     “ Then you are wiser than the mightiest of lords, My Lord. “

[fandomficsnstuff]

Little Dragon - Part 11

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

(Warnings: a few time skips here and there and Jorah returns! But nothing else I think, enjoy!:D)

High Valyrian is in cursive

You watched as Daenerys followed Jon Snow into the cave, Missandei standing idly by while you were a little further back, you had come to ask something of Daenerys, but it seemed that she was busy at the moment.

“What are they doing?” if it were any other person, Missandei would probably have jumped, but she knew your voice, and so she didn’t need to look to know who nod stood besides her, “King Jon wanted to show her Grace something in the caves, though I’m not sure what” Missandei finally glanced at you, seeing your brows furrowed as you continued to look at the mouth of the cave “ ‘King Jon’… reminds me of back in Mereen, when I learnt of all the northern Kings before Aegon and his dragons conquered the North…” you mumbled, your eyes first now leaving the entrance to the cave to look at Missandei “she’s spending quite a lot of time with him, isn’t she?” Missandei only nodded at your question, knowing that it wasn’t really a question. “How was your training with Ezzo?” you blushed at the thought “he was very sweet… for now we’re not fighting just yet, not really” Missandei smiled hearing that, but your thoughts were instantly dragged back to Daenerys, the thought of her spending more time with Jon outside of court made you look back to the cave, just in time to see them both exit, and upon seeing you, Daenerys smiled brightly, unaware of the fond look Jon gave her.

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You followed as quickly as you could after Daenerys and Tyrion, a part of you panting as you tried to keep up, she was furious. You had seen Daenerys angry, first time when she found out you were still a slave back in Mereen, you would never forget the spite her eyes held, the disdain for your former master. It was like she loathed him the second she allowed herself to look at him, but you also remembered the way her look changed once he was gone, how she looked a bit sad as she looked around for you, the memory making you want to smile, but you suppress the urge, for now. As she was about to mount Drogon you quickly ran up to her “Mhysa! I’m-”

“No, you’re staying here” you were taken a bit aback at her words and her tone, she sounded frustrated with everything and everyone around her “but I-... I can help, Mhysa, I want to help!” Daenerys sighed as she stood on Drogon’s wing “I know, but you’re staying here, you’re my daughter-”

“Exactly! So why can’t I come with you?!” You had never raised your voice at her like this, but you wanted to come, you wanted to help “because I don’t want you to see any bit of war! When I’m gone, I want you to rule in peace, so I don’t want to involve you in the war now, that is why!” your eyes widened as she raised her voice as well, something she had never done either, and it made you sigh heavily as you thought over a compromise. Just as she had settled on Drogon you spoke up “I’ll see you after, then” your voice had gone back to it’s normal tone, instead of yelling, yelling wouldn't solve anything. Daenerys nodded gently at you before flying off, your eyes stayed on her the entire time, as if at any moment something could happen, it was only when Tyrion gently touched your elbow that you were brought back to reality “Princess (Y/N), we should get going…” you nodded, turning around and walking back towards Dragonstone with him “I’ll see you on the way there…” Tyrion gave you a confused look, watching as you made a sharp turn and instead walked towards Rhaegal, who was resting with Viserion on top of a hill on the other side of the beach. Tyrion sighed and looked around him “why are they both so stubborn?” he mumbled as she turned back towards the castle.

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You stood besides Daenerys, though a bit further back, Drogon behind you and Rhaegal flying in the distance somewhere, but always within your sight. Drogon let out an ear piercing screech as Daenerys took a step closer to the rest of the Lannister soldiers, the screech made Rhaegal let out one as well as she flew closer, making sure the soldiers could see him as she lazily flew about.

“I know what Cersei has told you. That I’ve come to destroy your cities, burn down your homes, murder you and orphan your children. That’s Cersei Lannister, not me, nor my daughter.” she gestured at you, making you raise your head just an inch higher at her words, a feeling of pride swelling in your chest, “I’m not here to murder, and all that I want to destroy is the wheel that has rolled over the rich and poor to the benifit of no one but the Cersei Lannisters of the world. I offer you a choice. Bend the knee and join me, together we will leave the world a better place than we found it, or refuse, and die.”

You couldn’t help the glance you cast her way, but you didn’t question her, but apparently Tyrion glanced at her as well. Your eyes found their way back to the war torn soldiers, some of then slowly bending the knee, something that made you smile. No one had to die, no one had to be crushed ever again, with these people her army would grow and the rest of Westeros would see that Cersei is a cruel woman, that despite her father and despite the rumors, Daenerys is a kind woman, a fair woman, one who will be a wonderful queen, one who was loved and respected and-

Your thoughts were cut off by Drogon roaring, seeing as only a few had bend the knee, but upon hearing Drogon, and seeing Rhaegal land behind you as well, a menacing look in his eyes, almost all of them then bend the knee, all but a handful stood, and the voice of your mother making you look to her “step forward my lord,” you watched an older man step forward no fear in his gaze or movements, he looked her right in the eye, “you will not kneel?” you had somehow found your voice, and even Daenerys looked to you, you had been so silent up until now, but you couldn’t help your question, the old lord looked to you with the same bravery he had looked at your mother “I already have a queen” his answer made you frown, but now all eyes were on Tyrion as he spoke “my sister, she wasn’t your queen until recently though, was she? When she murdered your rightful queen and destroyed the house Tyrell for all time, so it appears your allegiances are somewhat flexible” you watched as the old lord looked somewhat tired, his eyes down cast for a brief moment “there are no easy choices in war, say what you will about your sister, but she was born in Westeros, lived here all her life, you on the other hand, murdered your own father, and chose to support a foreign invader, one with no ties to this land, and army of savages at her back” his words now only made you angry, she was born in Westeros but so was your mother, it was Cersei’s husband that forced a new born baby girl and her brother to exile for the crimes of her father, all because he feared a rebellion later on, and her army was not of savages, they were people who believed in her, just as you believed in her, they didn’t care for some iron chair some people had sat on, they were here, in Westeros, because they believed in her, believed in the world she promised and because she showed strength and courage and ambition.

“You will not trade your honor for your life?” Your mother’s words brought you out of your rampaging thoughts, your eyes glaring at the lord, “I respect that” Daenerys looked to her Dothraki but was interrupted by Tyrion “perhaps he could take the black, your Grace? Whatever else he is, he is a true soldier, he’d be invaluable at the Wall”

“You cannot send me to the Wall, you are not my queen” this caused Daenerys to look back at her Dothraki, and without needing orders, they walked up to the lord, pulling him from the rest of the soldiers who had knelt, a frown rested on your face as you watched them, but it was soon replaced with confusion as a younger man stepped towards them “you will have to kill me too-”

“Step back and shut your mouth!” you watched intrigued as the scene unfolded in front of you, but it ended the same way it would have if he had not stepped forward. The young man was named Dickon, son of the Lord who had spoken out against your mother, Tyrion had tried to make him step back, but he had refused, choosing to stand with his father, Randell Tarly instead, you wondered if he knew it would mean death, but as you saw them briefly holding hands, you knew. Tyrion was baffled as they were placed in front of Drogon and Rhaegal, clearly not agreeing, and you could see why, but you could also see why Daenerys didn’t back down. If she backed down everyone asked her to, she would never stand by her word, and most of all, a ruler has to stand by their word, or else their word counts for nothing, so you watched as Drogon burned them alive, a sick feeling over taking you, you had never seen anyone being burnt alive, you had never heard anyone scream the way they did, and you feared you were about to fall when a pair of strong arms caught your elbows subtly. Turning your head you saw none other than Ezzo, giving you a warm smile, and you almost ignored the few blood spatters on his face, a part of you had forgotten that he was still a Dothraki, he had fought the Lannister army, he was still a Dothraki Screamer. But right in this moment that didn’t matter, he was holding you up as you waited for this to be done with, Daenerys turned to look at you, frowning when she saw how you seemed dizzy, Ezzo holding you so you didn’t fall, but he also didn’t make it stand out, it just looked like he stood right behind you, so the other soldiers couldn't see you weak, and Daenerys was thankful for that.

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Daenerys had forbidden you from riding Rhaegal home, due to how dizzy you felt, so instead you went home along with the others, but Rhaegal stayed near you the entire time, soaring high above you, and a smile graced your lips as you gazed at him.

By the time you had gotten back to Dragonstone you felt much better, and you hurried up the hill where you knew Daenerys had landed, just in time to see her hugging Jorah. Your eyes widened at the sight, and he smiled warmly at you as you approached slowly “Princess, you’ve grown so mu-” he barely managed to finish his sentence, your arms flung around him, your head buried in his shoulder as you tried to hold back the tears that burned the corners of your eyes. You felt his arms lock around you as he held you “I missed you too, does your mother still call you Little Dragon?” you laughed as you parted from him, drying your tears and glancing at Daenerys who also had tears in her eyes, but she was more skilled at holding them back than you. You asked him questions all the way to the castle, and he answered each one, he never even seemed to tire of your questions, and when you reached the throne room he pulled something out of his pocket, it was a necklace with a long string, it reached your mid section, the string was leather and you couldn’t help but admire the pendant that hung from it, the pendant was made of stone, but it wasn't too heavy, it was a carved dragon skull next to a beautifully carved flower, and you yet again felt tears in the corners of your eyes as you studied it, “while I was in Old Town, before I was locked away in the Citadel, I met an old woman who made jewelry out of carved rocks, I asked if she could make it and then send it to Dragonstone, I knew you would arrive eventually, but she kept it until I was cured, then gave it to me as I left Old Town.”

With tears in your eyes you put on the necklace, moving the string under your hair, letting your fingertips dance over the carved stone as you gave him one last hug.

[ginger-danica-snapps]

WIP Wednesday. A snip from my back in time, fix it Jonsa story and my Ned marries Cersei instead of Catelyn AU.

"Here,” the child said and while Sansa was kneeling another person slipped from between the trees. This time a woman in a long flowing, tan dress, but her hair looked like the bark of the weirwood. She held something in her hands.

Jon watched as Sansa realized what it was and began to stand and protest, but Jon placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her kneeling.

“þú eru dawninn bringer, protector ór fólk,inn móðir ór allr hverr eru eigi dauðr. Vargr dróttning fran Norðririnn,” the child intoned as the woman came to stand before and raised a crown of weirdwood branches somehow petrified into a glistening, smooth crown with wild branches reaching to the moonlight.

Old tongue again, Jon realized and began to work through the translation, suddenly more grateful to his time among the freefolk.

“You are the dawnbringer, Protector of the People, Mother of All who are not dead. Wolf Queen from the North,” he murmured quietly, but kept his hand on her shoulder when she immediately began to protest.

The crown was nestled onto her head and Jon was moving to the front, pulling Dark Sister from sheath again and laying her tip down onto the ground with his head bowed.

“I swear to be the sword that guards you till there is no breath left in my body. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no other to wife, hold no lands that are not yours as well, and father no children that do not call you mother. You are the queen I choose. You are my queen, now and always.”

It was a cold morning when Cersei Lannister pulled her cloak around her shoulders and slipped out of her room. Melara and Jeyne already waited for her patiently and she slipped past them without a word of greeting. They followed silently as Cersei expertly navigated her way outside of Casterly Rock without running into nary a servant or soldier who would scamper off to tattle.

They reached the woods without speaking and Cersei turned with a sharp grin. She held her hands out to the two girls and they smiled back and reached out to clasp hands. Turning they ran into the forest, laughing, as Cersei led them to the small creek.

“Where did you say she was?” Cersei asked as they cautiously stepped onto slick rocks, never letting go of each other.

“A good walk down the creek and even longer into the dark of the woods. Cersei, are you sure we should do this?” Melara whispered.

“Of course,” Cersei answered automatically and turned to go deeper into the woods while tugging at their hands.

“Your father, Cersei, we would be in so much trouble,” Jeyne added as she slightly resisted.

Cersei sighed. What use was having companions if they weren’t willing to take chances? As always Cersei struggled with the idea that these were her childhood friends, but that they were first put in place by her Aunt Genna and likely reported much of her adventures. She was still pretty convinced that it was Jeyne who had reported Cersei and Jaime switching places every other day in his training.

She missed the physical exertion of swords play and the way she was able to hit the mark every time she released her bow string.

Still, it was her responsibility to soothe her companions when fearful.

“You will almost always be the highest ranking woman in the room, Cersei. One day, you will marry a Prince of Dorne if all goes as planned and only the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her daughters, and the wife of the Prince will outrank you. You need to always be the calming presence for your ladies. They must never see your fear, because then they will remain calm and know all is well,” Joanna Lannister brushed Cersei’s hair back from her face in soft, strong strokes.

Her mother was always soft and strong. Cersei wanted to be just like her when she married and took over her own household.

“I heard father say he wished me to marry Prince Rhaegar, Mother,” Cersei answered quietly.

Her mother’s hands froze for a second, but then she began her strokes anew.

“Your father thinks he can sway Aerys, yes, but I fear, little light, that Aerys will only seek to enrage your father. Lions were not meant to marry Dragons, my daughter. Remember that, if you remember nothing else. We may work in service, even be close in friendship as I was once to Queen Rhaella, but we must never join with the dragon,” Joanna whispered, “I would not have my little light burned by a dragon’s fire.”

Cersei spun around again and squeezed her companion’s hands.

“You need not fear my father, Jeyne,” Cersei assured her, though she also felt her very heart tremble at the idea of being caught.

They continued into the forest, following the stream till it ended in a pretty little waterfall, before tipping deeper into the forest than Cersei had ever traveled. They found Maggy the Frog’s house tucked into a dark clearing, behind a small pond. Moss grew over the old stone and the roof was thatched.

Badly, Cersei noted to herself. There were holes and water gathering in a way that her father would never have allowed Lannisport to weather.

Her mother would have cared about the witch in the wood, but her father would likely burn her out if he realized she was here.

“I…,” Jeyne stuttered and Melara and Cersei turned.

Jeyne wrenched her hand from them and looked around with wide, frightened eyes.

Cersei nodded and gave a slight shoulder shrug, “Walk back to the water, Jeyne. Melara, go with her. I will speak to this Maggy the Frog and come meet you.”

Jeyne barely dipped a slight curtsy to her liege’s daughter, before lifting her skirts and running back the way they came. Melara gave Cersei a concerned look and Cersei thought she could see real concern. She motioned her away.

She waited till both girls were gone and turned back and set her shoulders with determination and marched up and knocked on the door. If her companion’s had stayed, Cersei would perhaps have marched in with no regard to the owner just to show her seniority on her father’s land.

“A humble lady will always garner more loyalty among her compatriots than a prideful one,” her mother’s voice whispered in her ear.

“The lion does not lay down and sleep with the sheep,” her father followed.

“Come in, little lion child,” a voice called out and Cersei opened the door and softly stepped in, her boots already ruined from the walk.

“Are you Maggy the Frog?” she asked, forcing strength into her tone.

The woman cocked her head and Cersei was at least glad to find the woman did not resemble anything like a scary monster. In fact, she was quite boring.

“We wanted to see the monster,” Oberyn Martell said and Cersei rolled her eyes.

Everyone wanted to see her little imp of a brother.

“He’s just a baby. An ugly baby, but a baby,” Elia added and Cersei resisted the urge to snap back with a cutting remark.

He might be the curse upon her life, but he was her little brother and no one else was allowed to speak ill of a Lannister.

No one understood that Tyrion was a monster because he killed her mother, not because he was a misshapen little thing.

“Often go into your thoughts, girlie? I’m the one you call Maggy the Frog and I assume you’ve come to hear your future?” the woman said.

Cersei’s eyes widened. That, however, was not boring.

“Yes. I have. My father and aunt say I am to marry Prince Rhaeger, but my mother wished me to marry Prince Oberyn, though my father refused the Princess of Dorne. I want to know if I am to marry the prince and one day be Queen? How many children will I have?” Cersei eagerly stepped forward.

She would love her children and they would love her. They would never fear to whisper their secrets, hopes, and fears.

Maggy the Frog tilted her head and stared at her before reaching down and pulling a small dagger from beside her. Cersei took a step back, fear dogging at her step, before forcing herself to stand tall again.

“This is my father’s land and if you harm a hair on my head then he will gouge your eyes out and you will not see any future again, certainly not your own,” Cersei said coldly and startled when Maggy tilted her head back and laughed uproariously.

“Oh, little lion girlie, you are quite the opposite of what I saw for today as it is. Let us see what else has changed. A little taste of your blood girl to be able to see what is going to happen. To see if gold crowns and cold shrouds no longer lay across the lion spawn,” the woman explained and held the knife hilt out.

Cersei took a deep breath and stepped forward to take it. She laid it down easily onto her thumb and gave a slight whimper when it cut into her skin and blood welled to the top. She went to hold the knife back out, but found herself being yanked forward and her finger in the witches mouth.

Cersei had barely had time to react before she was released and she cupped her hand to her chest.

“Three questions, girlie, but most do not like my answ…” the woman made a sudden sharp noise and gripped at her head, gasping for breath, and Cersei started to move forward to help her.

The woman suddenly sat up and completely still, eyes shut, and back ramrod straight.

“Maggy?” Cersei whispered, fear starting to creep into her.

Maggy’s eyes flew open and Cersei gasped at the milky white expanse that existed where muddy, dark brown eyes had.

“The song of fire and ice comes, and nothing will stop the stag from killing the dragon. The wolf brother of the stag will help without knowing, without seeing. The wolf’s sister will die so their son may live. The gods give another choice not given before, eyes were open, but could not see. Winter comes, winter comes, and the wolves must live. A Queen she shall not make, but a mother of a King she shall be. Remember, learn, live, and roar. The Lioness will triumph if the last dragon son thrives,” Maggy gasped and then she collapsed.

[fandom-puff]

Kinktober day 31- Spanking

Pairing: Tywin Lannister x reader

Tywin Lannister did not like to be challenged.

That didn’t stop you smirking over your goblet at him, your brow cocked high as you leaned back in your chair. “You can’t think of an answer, can you?” You grinned, draining your cup. “Can you, Lord Husband?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I warn you, wife,” he said lowly, “I am not in the mood for your games tonight,”

You let out a laugh. “It isn’t my fault your grandson’s a little shit and his father nigh on bankrupted the kingdom with his feasting and jousting and whoring,”

Tywin’s jaw clenched. He set his pen down and folded his hands in his lap for a moment, before crooking his finger at you. “Come here,” he said, and you grinned, hurrying over to his side of the desk, leaning your hip against it slightly. “You’re particularly impertinent tonight, wife,” he mused aloud.

“Isn’t that a wife’s job, husband?” You smirked, biting your lip slightly.

“No... a wife’s job is to obey and provide heirs,” he quipped, though he held a slight glint in his eye that disagreed with his words.

“Can’t provide any heirs, husband, when you haven’t warmed my bed in weeks,” you shifted on the spot. “A-and you already have heirs, my lord,” you murmured, voicing a worry that had been nagging at you for weeks.

“Cersei is the Queen mother, Jaime is commander of the king’s guard, and Tyrion is too busy whoring to take over casterly rock,” he said, tipping your chin up so your eyes met. “But you are right, YN. There can be no heirs if I’m not in your bed,” you smiled softly at him as he trailed his knuckle over your cheek. “That being said... you were still impertinent before, weren’t you?” You bit your lip and nodded, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“What do you propose to do about it, My Lord Husband,” you said, the note of arousal evident in your voice. “Are you going to take your belt to me?” You whispered in his ear, nibbling the lobe slightly. Weeks ago, Tywin had been in a foul temper, and you arguably in a worse one. In releasing your frustrations out on eachother, Tywin had struck your arse, and the noise you had made was certainly not befitting of a lady.

“As a matter of fact I am. Off you go to my chambers,” you nodded and hurried off, practically tearing off your dress and chemise, kneeling on the bed, resting on your folded arms. You heard thd thud of tywins boots as he entered the room and shut and bolted the door, heard his belt slide out of its loops. You shuddered as he ran the leather over the globes of your arse, pushing back. He smirked at you for a moment, before his mouth set into a snarl and he brought the belt down on your cheeks, hard.

Squeaking, you bit your lip, arching your back and swaying your hips, already desperate for another lick of the belt. Tywin smirked, hitting you again, before rubbing away the sting, his hand cool against your hot flesh. “It seems you’re enjoying this, wife,” he observed, dipping his fingers into you briefly, before smacking your arse with his hand. You gasped and let out a wanton moan, tipping your head back.

“Oh, I am!” You called out, brows furrowing as you cling onto each and every sensation. Tywin smirked, licking his fingers clean before striking you thrice with the belt, each hit in rapid succession, the sting radiating over your sore cheeks in the best way possibly.

By the time he deemed you suitably punished for ‘impertinence’ you pitched forward, tears streaming down your face as he stroked his elegant hands down your back, over your cheeks and back up again. “‘M alright,” you mumbled just as the mattress dipped with his weight, rolling into his side, his clothes scratching your bare skin. 

“You’re a good wife, YN,” he murmured, standing to strip, before slipping under the covers with you, blowing out the candles. You nodded, nuzzling into his side.

“I figured there’s no getting out of a political marriage once the deal’s done... so we might as well enjoy one another, especially seeing as everyone else in this forsaken Keep is awful,”

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part IV

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,696

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

“Has he done this before?” Ned asked, referring to Cersei’s wounded cheek.

“My brother would have killed him.” She answered.

”Your brother or your lover?”

“Jaime and I shared a womb. We came into this world together, we belong together. Do you love your children?”

“With all my heart.”

“No more than I love mine.” She confidently said.

“And they are all Jaime’s, except for Y/N.”

“The hair gives her away. I used to have resentment against her. Being the only creation that we brought to the world. Y/N was the only time we really gave it a try. A man who didn’t give a fuck for me. He never loved me but he loves her.” The Lannister woman held a neutral tone.

“When the King returns I will tell him the truth. You must be gone by then. Take the rest of your children and go.”

“You should have climbed those steps. When you play the game of thrones you win or you die. There is no middle ground.” Lord Eddard Stark discovered the secret Lord Arryn died for. It wasn’t his territory anymore.

“I should have spent more time with you. Show you how to be a man. You can learn a big deal from Y/N. I was never meant to be a father. Everyone out!” Cersei looked suspiciously at Ned, Joffrey left the room retaining the tears, not processing what was happening.

“Except you, thanks the gods for blessing me with a daughter like you.” You held his hand tightening the grip. “The girl, Daenerys. You and Ned were right. Varys, Littlefinger, my brother. worthless. No one would tell me no but the two of you. You are much alike. So honorable. She changed my mind. Let her live. Stop it if it’s not too late.”

“We will.”

“And my son, help him. Make him better than me. Help your brother. He’s not ready. Give him your council to make wise choices.” You nodded sobbing.

“I shall always remember this strength you gave.”

“It comes from yourself. Now give me a moment with this fool. And Y/N, don’t be scared even in the face of danger.”

“His grace has had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Princess Y/N convinced him. Whatever arrangements you made, unmade them. At once.” Your father’s best friend declared.

“I’m afraid those birds have flown. The girl is likely dead by now.” You scowled.

“But if it’s not the case stop sending sell swords or assassins to do the job. Also if it’s possible send other birds to abort the mission. That’s a command, Lord Varys.”

“Yes, my princess.” This Targaryen girl will survive.

You once more found little Arya with his dancing teacher, you approached while she was off guard earning a slight hit on your arm.

“I didn’t see you there.” The small one exclaimed.

“We don’t need eyes to see what’s around us, boy.” Syrio reminded her.

“I’m sorry about your father, Y/N.” You sat on the stairs. “I miss Robb, Bran, Rickon and Jon so much. Unlike Sansa, I prefer the North.”

“I met Jon. He seemed to be a good brother, better than Joffrey that’s for sure.”

“He gave me a sword. I named it Needle. I don’t have it here, I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.” You smiled.

“Do you have any bastard siblings?”

“Plenty of them. But it is highly unlikely we’ll ever meet.” You squinted, thinking about the possibility.

“Wish I had a sister like you, mine hates me.”

“I don’t think you hate each other. You just have different opinions, different preferences. You share more than blood. I see a lot of potencial in you. You cannot use someone else’s fire. You can only use your own. And in order to do that, you must first be willing to believe that you have it.” She closed her eyes and proceeded with her classes.

This was crazy. Your mother locked you in your room. The King was dead. Everything was out of place.

“What‘s going on? Why you locked me up?” You shouted to Cersei. She frantically sighed.

“It was a precaution. We don’t know where your loyalty stands, Y/N. Your brother is the King now. Your friend’s father conspired to dethrone him and seize it from himself.”

“That’s insanity...-“

“The little bird was on her room. I haven’t seen the other.” Sandor entered with the redhead.

“Where’s Lady Arya?”

“We have guards looking for her. She won’t be able to hide forever.”

“Princess, what’s happening?” She anxiously asked. After your mother explained what her lord father allegedly did, she made her write a message to his older brother Robb, asking him to come to King’s Landing and swear fealty to Joffrey. You also learned from Lord Baelish that Renly and Loras flee the city before they took the Lord of Winterfell as a prisoner.

“My father would never do that! He is not a traitor” She spat once you two were alone.

“I know, my lady. It must be a misunderstanding.” You said trying to calm her nerves.

“Where do they took him?”

“To the dungeons, I suppose. Things are going to clarify.” The pretty little dove was completely bewildered, same as you.

That very night you went undercover to see the alleged offender.

“Lord Eddard. I brought you some water. Are you okay?” Holding a torchlight, you removed your hood kneeling to give him the canteen.

“Thanks for visiting me. I’m worried about my daughters. You know where they are?”

“We haven’t found Arya, we‘re still on the search. Sansa is alright, she’s under custody. I will protect her.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Treason, my lord? I don’t think that makes sense. Why would you say my brother is not the rightful heir?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You are a clever young princess, I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet.”

“About what?”

“I didn't know if it was appropriate to tell you.” He took another big gulp. “You are the only highborn child Robert had. Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella are your uncle Jaime’s bastards. Your mother confessed it to me the other day. They tried to kill Bran cause he saw them. Don’t say a word, not even mention it or you might face the same fate. Though you are the princess is better to be careful with your family.” He was speaking the truth. Deep down you’ve always suspected it, however it was hard to assimilate.

“Y-yes, I won’t say anything to anyone.” You promised. “If you bend the knee and say he is the one true heir to the crown, you might live.”

“Nothing haunts us like the things we don’t say. You have a gentle heart, don’t let the wrong people take advantage of it.” The late hand cautioned.

You were in the Thorne Room. Your mother called Ser Barristan, he stepped forward facing the new King. A huge crowd was there. You stood beside the Stark girl.

“You served the Realm good and faithfully. Every man and woman in the seven kingdoms owns you thanks. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest and look with pride at your many years of service.” The lioness said.

“Your Grace, the king's guards is a sworn brotherhood. Only death realizes us for our sacred trust.” He replied.

“You let my father died. You are too old to protect anybody.” The boy on the throne yelled.

“The council has determined Ser Jaime Lannister as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” Jaime wasn’t even here, that was stupid.

“A man who profane his blade against the king he swore to defend.”

“Careful, Ser.”

“I am a knight. I shall die a knight! Here boy, melted it out and add it to the others.” He threw his sword and left the room.

“If anyone else has other matters to set before his grace, let him speak now or go ford and told his silence.” The northerner squeezed your hand before speaking.

“Your grace.”

“Lady Sansa of the House Stark.”

“Do you have some business with the king and the council, Sansa?”

“I do. As it pleases your grace I ask mercy for my father. Lord Eddard Stark who was hand of the King.”

“Treason is...-“ Pycelle interrupted her.

“Let her speak. I want to hear what she says.” Joffrey declared.

“Thank you, your grace.” You didn’t peel away your glance off her.

“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Baelish inquired.

“No, my lords, I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was king Robert's friend and he loved him. You all know he loved him. He never wanted to be hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or somebody. They must have lied!” He was clearly nervous, how could she not be? You wanted to intervene and help but you remained silence, it wasn’t the place.

“He said I wasn’t the king. Why would he say that?”

“He was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy. He wasn’t himself otherwise he never would have said it.”

“A child’s faith... such sweet innocence. And yet they say wisdom often comes from the mouths of babes.” Lord Varys commented.

“Treason is treason!” The old maester repeated.

“Anything else?”

“If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please do me this kindness your grace.” She pleaded.

“Your sweet words have moved me. But your father needs to confess and say that I am the king or there will be no mercy for him.”

“He will.” You hope so too.

“Mother, please.” She walked passed ignoring you.

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“You are Queen Regent. You know the consequences.”

“Joffrey, have mercy. If you order to have his head you’ll bring war here. The North will fight you. Thousands and thousands of innocent people will die. You can prevent it.”

“You won’t tell me what to do, little sister.” He immediately dismissed you.

[the-lightless-star]

Lies in the Darkness

My contribution to the Jaime X Brienne fanfic exchange. I am incredibly thankful to all of the amazing authors for sharing your stories. Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and comment on AO3. (aleighcarlisle)

_________________________________________________________

She was warm.

Pressed against her chest, he could do nothing but lean into her large frame. With each hoofbeat, his severed hand swung between them. The smell of rotting flesh wafted with the movement, mingling with the foul stench of piss and shit that clung to their clothes.

The wench was stiff against him. Her thick legs firm beneath his own as they faced one another. Her bound hands held his wrists firmly, mercifully keeping them still. She kept them tight in her grasp to keep him from crying out as his tender stump brushed against her.

He could hear the Brave Companions laughter.

"The lovers,"  he heard Shagwell tease,  "and what a lovely sight they are. 'Twould be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady."

The wench stiffened further, pulling away from him slightly. Her movements only pushing them closer together, their bodies flush. She was so warm.

His vision began to swim, his head leaning against her shoulder. He could feel his fingers burning, hot flames shooting up from his stump. The pain mocked him, convincing him his hand remained.

He felt himself grow warm, liquid running down his legs. The fever had rendered him weak and unable to stop.

Face growing hot with shame, his breath hitched against her neck. He knew they would drag her off the horse and make her clean him again. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sound of her steady breathing, willing to believe he was anywhere but here.

"Wench," Jaime rasped.

Her head bent down, temple brushing his matted hair. His voice cracked with dryness.

"Lie to me."

"I don't understand," she whispered in return.

His voice shook with pain, "I cannot bear this truth any longer."

Brienne leaned into him, adjusting her legs to lift his higher off the saddle. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as she mumbled an apology.

She thought back to words of Ser Goodwin, who tried to prepare her for inevitable death in battle.

"Men will weep and moan like babes in search of their mother's breast. Comfort, my child, is all we can offer until the Stranger takes his portion."

Her deep voice trembled as she began to speak, "Soon the dawn will appear. The warmth will drive away this chill."

"We will reach King's Landing. The sound of steel against shield will meet you, a tourney hosted in your honor."

She could feel his tears soaking her collar, the weight of his thin frame heavy upon her shoulder.

"Banners of red and gold waving in the wind. Your sword heavy in your grip."

Her long fingers tightened around his wrists, attempting to keep him still as the horse rocked him unsteadily.

Brienne's voice dropped to a whisper, "And then you will see her. Your queen of love and beauty. You will crown her, and she will embrace you, her gallant knight, brave and whole."

Her voice broke as his breathing evened, and his body went slack, whether sleeping or unconscious, she did not know.

Brienne closed her eyes, looking for comfort in lies of her own.

"I will return you to King's Landing," she whispered. "I will find Sansa and Arya. I will fulfill my oath to Catelyn Stark."

Her voice tapered off as she too succumbed to exhaustion, the cruel japes of the Brave Companions blowing away in the warm wind.

____________________________

The dying flames licked at the cold night air, his eyes entranced by their dance. He had long since retired to their bed chambers feigning exhaustion while the rest continued their planning for the fight against King's Landing.

He knew it too good to be true. A moment's respite. The embrace of a gentle lover.

He was undeserving of such indulgence.  

His momentary happiness dashed by the report of Iron Fleet at the direction of his sister. Sansa's words still rang in his ear,"I always wanted to be there when they execute your sister...seems like I won't get the chance."

He had watched as Brienne studied him, worry etched on every line of her face. What did she think of him? Did she know the thoughts that crossed his mind?

So consumed in his thoughts, he did not hear her return. It was the clink of steel as she removed Oathkeeper and placed it at the bedside that startled him from his seat.

Her back turned to him; she shrugged off her heavy cloak. She rubbed the skin of her neck, where the collar chaffed her pale skin. Brienne sighed heavily before speaking.

"Are you just going to stare?" she asked tiredly.

Jaime made his way over, standing just inches from her back. Resting his head against her, he relaxed instantly. His hand reached around her, pressed tightly against her chest, while his stump held to her hip.

There she stood, strong and steady.

His lips pressed gently against her back, breathing in her familiar scent.

"Let me help you," he whispered.

Turning her to face him, he led her to the bed, pushing her until she was sitting on the firm mattress.

Kneeling at her feet, he began to unlace her boots. She was patient as he struggled one-handed with the slick leather. A low moan sounded in her throat as the shoes dropped to the ground. Reaching for the stockings beneath her trousers, he pulled them down her calves, rubbing her soft skin as it prickled in the cold room.

Reaching to untuck the tunic from her waist, he could feel her steady heartbeat as his ear pressed close to her chest. So intent was he in his motions, he didn't hear her speaking to him.

"Jaime?" she questioned, lifting his chin to meet her gaze. Her eyes were full of concern for him.

"You don't have to do this," she whispered.

"Please?" he replied.

She could only nod as he continued. Divesting her of the rest of her clothes, he climbed into bed, straddling her waist as he bent to place soft kisses along her neck.  

The room was growing colder, Jaime not as diligent as Brienne about stoking the fire.  

As Jaime moved to her chest, his pace increased, nipping at her skin and trailing his mouth past her collarbone. His hand pressed against the mattress holding his weight above her body. Brienne watched as his hand trembled, his movements becoming shaky.

She felt liquid drop to her breast, tracking across her body. Tears ran unchecked down Jaime's face. He continued, lost in his pain, unaware that Brienne's body was not responding.  

Grabbing his chin and turning it to face her, Brienne's heart dropped.  

"Oh, Jaime," she whispered.

Brienne pulled him to lay beside her, gathering him in her arms and tucking him against her chest. Jaime's stump reached around her neck and his arm across her back, pressing tight, unable to get close enough. She held him close, fingers tracing his back and neck. Cersei would think him weak for such a display. She would chastise him. Her cold fingers would grab him, crushing herself against him until he stopped.

Brienne's gentle shushing brushed his ear, demanding no answers from him. He did not deserve gentleness, such warmth.

As he closed his eyes and tucked closer into her chest, he listened to her gentle murmurings, whispers of honor, bravery, and strength. But the coldness crept in, and he could hear her in his mind. "They are naught but lies, brother."

______________________________

The crimson tent flaps rustled in the warm air. The flames of the torches mesmerizing Brienne with their dance. The last time she'd stood before them seemed a lifetime ago—the man behind them, healthy and whole. The Lion of Lannister leading his men into Riverrun. He had looked so different from the man she'd left in King's Landing. He had refused to accept Oathkeeper, entrusting it to her for as long as she chose to bear it. Here she stood once more, circumstances changed.

She had arrived in King's Landing three days after Daenerys had leveled it to ash. They had found him a day before her arrival; his condition unknown. Her hand trembled against the fabric, her heart pounding as she lifted it to pass through.

The space was humid, dust still settling from outside. Ragged breathing sounded from the small bed in the corner—a small figure seated in observance. Tyrion, she realized, as he lifted his head at her intrusion.

"Ser Brienne," he breathed. His red-rimmed eyes widened as he stood from his vigilance. She nodded her head in acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving the figure on the bed.

Tyrion's gaze followed her own as he spoke, "It seems my dear brother found time to partake in a sword fight before finding himself crushed beneath the Keep." He chuckled, though there was no humor in his tone.

"The maester has done all he can. I am sure he will be fine."

Realizing he would get no response from Brienne, Tyrion quietly excused himself from the tent, allowing her the privacy she sought.

A sheen of sweat covered Jaime's broken frame. His upper body propped up ever so slightly, taking pressure off of his laboring lungs. Strips of cloth covered his abdomen and lower chest, blood soaking through the bandages along his ribcage. Brienne watched his chest rise and fall with concern, as a wheeze escaped with each exhale. His beautiful face was ashen, his golden skin turning sickly grey. In her nervousness, she reached for a basin of water at his bedside, wanting in earnest to busy her hands. Wringing the water from the cloth, she pressed it to his neck, wiping away the sweat from his fevered skin. A light rasp escaped his lips, but he did not wake. As she cooled his skin, the words came out in earnest.

"It is probably just as well you're not awake; I wouldn't get a word in edgewise."

Her hands brushed against the peppered hair at his chest, remembering how it felt beneath her fingertips. Her eyes shut as she traced the scars on his chest like their last night in Winterfell. Her eyes snapped open as his chest shuttered beneath her touch.

"I have had time to think," she stated soberly.

"I am not angry that you chose to come to King's Landing. You believed you might be able to convince Cersei to surrender, that you might save her and your people. I cannot fault you for that."

Brienne placed the damp cloth back in the basin. She ran her fingers through his greying locks, her fingers becoming tinged with soot and blood. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned in close, "I am angry that you think so little of your own life that you are willing to sacrifice it for her."

Her hands made their way to his bandaged stump, cradling it gently, "I understand honor, Ser Jaime. I understand going to great lengths to protect those we love. But if you meant to leave that you might shield me from your hate, then you have failed Ser, for I have already experienced that hatred long ago. "

Tears dripped down her cheeks as she continued,"The night you left, I did not see hatred in your eyes, Jaime-I saw fear. Fear that someone you loved might die without you being there to protect them. Fear of not knowing how to survive without their presence."

"I know that same fear, Jaime," she confessed.

"I am not angry that you left. I am angry that you did not believe me trustworthy to bear those burdens, that you felt the need to lie when I already knew the truth. I would have ridden with you to the gates of King's Landing, had you only asked."

Brienne stood, wiping her eyes and gripping the hilt of her sword.

"It seems now that I am the craven one, Ser. I must return home. The Golden Company has taken Tarth; the fate of my father and my people is unknown. I speak to you of honor, but I have brought nothing but dishonor to my own house."

Leaning close to him, she pressed her face against his warm cheek, breathing him in and whispering words she knew he'd never hear. Standing straight, she stared at him once more. Unbuckling Oathkeeper from her waist, she placed it at his bedside.

"Goodbye, Ser Jaime," she whispered, turning swiftly from the tent.

________________________________

Jaime stood outside the doors of the Evenstar's solar. When he was well enough to travel, he had convinced Tyrion to let him command the ship bound for Tarth, carrying supplies to aid in the rebuilding process. Most of the homesteads Jaime had passed on his way up the cliff had been destroyed. The great hall had become a shelter for the few who survived the onslaught. A young girl had escorted Jaime through the castle, eyeing him warily as she gripped a wooden training sword at her side. After knocking on the door of the solar, the young girl waited to be acknowledged.

"What is it?" a tired voice sounded from within.

"My lady, a supply ship from King's Landing, has arrived. I made sure to request identification before allowing them to dock."

He heard a heavy sigh as steps grew closer to the door, "Meera, how many times have I told you not to..." the weary voice broke off as the door opened.

"Jaime," she breathed.

How long had it been since he'd seen that face? Standing at the gates of Winterfell, those beautiful eyes weeping in earnest, her warm fingers cradling his face. But this was not the Brienne that he remembered. The lines of her body were sharp; she had lost weight from her already thin frame. Dark circles betrayed her exhaustion. A fitted pair of trousers and a loose white tunic were a change from the blue armor to which he was accustomed. She must have been resting as the laces at her chest were undone. Her hair pulled into a messy knot at the base of her neck.

An excited voice interrupted his study.

"Jaime? You mean Ser Jaime Lannister?" The young girl's eyes brightened as she looked him over, wondering how she missed such a thing. Jaime was surprised to hear the title of honor from one so young.

"I've never met a knight before, Ser," she confessed quietly.

Jaime's eyes shot to Brienne, an unspoken question forming there. She shook her head in response.

"Is it true you killed the mad king and saved all of King's Landing?"

"Meera..." Brienne warned.

"And that you saved Brienne from a bear?!"

"Meera!" Brienne put a hand to the girl's shoulder, urging her to stop.

"I have something pressing I need you to do. Go down to the port, make sure Ser Jaime's men have the help they need. Offer them food and drink, and show them to the family quarters upstairs, please."

"Yes, m'lady," Meera nodded, reluctantly agreeing as she stared at Jaime until she rounded the corner.

"A little young for a Castellan, don't you think?" Jaime chuckled.

Brienne observed him soberly. "I didn't have the heart to send her away. Her home was burned, her parents killed, and she only survived by hiding amongst the cliffs."

"Why are you here, Ser?"

Jaime shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, his hand nervously rubbing the hilt of his sword. "I wanted to...I only wish to...offer my service to you. I know I cannot offer much, but..."

She cut him off, "If you are only offering to assuage your guilt for Cersei's doing with the Golden Company, I'm afraid I cannot help you."

He confessed, "I am not here for Cersei. I am here for you."

Brienne turned from him, color flooding her face.

Jaime shook his head, "If I could just have some time with you, please, I can explain."

"As you can see, I am incredibly busy. There are many responsibilities that require my energy. You may stay as long as you deem necessary. But I ask that you give me time."

"Of course," he replied.

Walking hurriedly to the stairs behind him, she spoke softly before disappearing down the hall, "I am glad you are well, Ser Jaime."

She was avoiding him—three days since he'd arrived and she had run at every turn. The night was cold, and the sky was bright, she knew no one would bother her here. Pulling her sword from its sheathe, she ran her fingers along its length. The cold steel cooled her heating skin. She breathed deeply, drinking in the salty air.

She swung the sword a few times, testing her grip with each pass. Eyes closed, she stood in a defensive pose—both hands at the hilt, sword held before her. The waves crashed against the cliffs below, clawing their way up the rocks. The moon was full, casting a beam of light upon the ground where she stood. Shifting her feet, she started the familiar dance. Blocking, striking, parrying with an invisible enemy. On her second pass, she swung overhanded and was shocked to feel the reverberation of steel on steel.

Eyes flying open, he stood facing her, a great smirk on his face.

"I could have killed you," she scolded.

"It would have been worth it, my lady," he teased.

Sheathing her sword, Brienne breathed out a heavy sigh, "What are you doing out here, Jaime?" she asked.

"Looking to chase away the nightmares. Would you do me the honor?"

Pulling Oathkeeper from his waist, he held it before her. The red glint of ruby's sparkled in the lion's eyes.

Brienne faltered in response, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Afraid you'll lose to a cripple?" he teased, edging closer to her.

"Jaime, I don't feel like it."

He studied her slumped shoulders, her weakened frame. "Well, I guess you were right," he agreed, lowering Oathkeeper. "Maybe you really are craven."

Brienne's head snapped up as if he'd slapped her, "What did you say?" she whispered.

"I'm not the only one who ran away, Brienne."

Brienne squared her shoulders, holding her sword up in provocation. Jaime smiled as he circled her, watching her footwork as she adapted to his pace.

"You still move well, wench," he goaded, "for a great..."

Brienne cut off his speech with a hard swing to his shoulder. Jaime blocked, pushing her back.

"Still grimacing before you move, such anger from the Evenstar."

Remaining silent, Brienne continued her barrage of swings. Jaime took each hit, blocking but not striking.

"I am not the Evenstar," she growled as his eyes widened in surprise.

Jaime lowered Oathkeeper, watching as she continued to pace around him, stalking him like prey. "Talk to me, wench," he said, striking out at her chest, narrowly missing her collarbone.

"I was gone too long," she confessed, doling out strikes rapidly, causing Jaime to lose his balance, "he gave up on me."

Both circled each other again, catching their breath.

"What happened, Brienne?" he whispered.

As soon as the emotion flickered across her face, he regretted the intrusion. Lowering his sword, he stepped toward her, but she did not back down. Jaime barely had time to get his weapon back up before she crashed her weight upon him. Raining blows upon his weakened arm, he struggled to stay standing. She stepped back long enough for him to recover, moving in again as she spoke.

"Do you know where I found him?" she whispered. Her eyes flashing as she pushed against his chest.

"They tied the banner of Tarth around his neck and threw him from the balcony. I found him hanging outside the solar, birds feasting on his corpse."

Jaime swallowed thickly, watching angry tears drip from her eyes.

"Do you know where I was, Jaime?" she demanded.

He remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "Do you know where I was when my father was murdered and my city burned?"

"In the halls of Winterfell being lauded for my honor."

Jaime kept his sword trained on her, backing her up slowly as she spoke.

"I am hateful," she confessed.

"No, Brienne, you are not..."

"Don't lie to me, Jaime!" she screamed as her steps faltered, finding herself backed up against the rocks.  

Her eyes stared past him, sword shaking unsteadily in her grasp. "There is nothing more hateful than failing to protect the ones you love."

Jaime had her pinned against the rocks, his sword pressed to her side, "Drop the sword," he begged.

Her eyes filled with tears as he stared up at her. "Brienne, please," he begged. She nodded, yielding to him. Her weapon hit the ground as she pitched forward.

Jaime caught her before her legs gave out, lowering them both to the cold ground beneath. She buried her face in his chest, sobs escaping from deep within her chest. Her fingers clawed at his back as she held on. His stump drew nonsensical patterns on her back, his heart breaking as he listened to her grief pour forth. He could feel the sharp planes of her back and shoulders, months of stress and malnutrition taking its toll on her body.

"It's alright," he soothed. His hand moved to her head, fingers threading through her hair, repeating whispers of comfort until her breathing evened, and her body relaxed against his.

When Jaime's ribs began to protest his strained position, he nudged Brienne gently, "Let's get you back," he suggested.

She silently collected her sword and stared out at the sea as she waited for Jaime. A warm hand tugged at her own, pulling her along the rocky path up the hill. Brienne paid no mind to where he was taking her, only following blindly behind. She found herself in the doorway to her childhood bedroom, the room she had offered to Jaime at his arrival. Pulling her gently into the room, he placed her on the edge of the bed. Brienne continued to stare, her eyes unfocused. Jaime was speaking to her, but she could not concentrate on his words.

He leaned in close to her pale face, "Brienne?" he questioned worriedly.

"I'm tired, Jaime," she confessed weakly, a single tear tracking across her cheek.

He held her face in his palm, "I know, sweetling."

Jaime brushed the wayward tear from her face, "Sit tight; I'll be right back."

Closing her eyes, Brienne breathed deeply. Her hands shook in her lap, and her head began to ache.

She was startled by a hand on her shoulder, "Sorry," Jaime whispered. He placed a plate beside her, a few pieces of fruit and fresh bread were the offerings. Her stomach revolted in pain.

"I'm not hungry," she stated.

"You are starving, wench. You need your strength. Just a bite," he encouraged, placing the bread in her hands.

As she chewed the bread, she could feel her stomach cramping. Closing her eyes at the pain, she felt a cup pressed into her palm. The sour smell of wine hit her nose as Jaime tipped it back and helped her sip, "It will help," he promised.

After finishing a meager portion, Jaime took the food away. He returned with a steaming bowl of water he had warmed over the fire. His stump held it precariously against his hip as he set it on the floor in front of her. Jaime met her eyes, a silent question forming there. She was back at Winterfell.

"Brienne?" he questioned.

"You don't have to," she answered.

He began his ministrations, so different than before. He pulled off her shoes, propped her feet up on his lap, and wiped away the dirt and grime from each one. Bruises marred her calves from where her boots rubbed mercilessly against them. Rising on his knees, he took the cloth to her face. Tracing her brows and forehead, he ran his fingers across the uneven bridge of her nose. His hand trembled as it traced her lips, smiling shyly at her as she watched him. Undoing the clasps of her shirt, he pulled the sleeves off each arm, exposing her skin. Running the cloth down both arms, he was shocked at the amount of muscle loss he felt. Her worried gaze met his own as he pressed a kiss to her arm before moving on. Warming the cloth again, he traced the skin around her small clothes, the thin fabric separating her breasts from his touch. Brienne reached behind, unclasping the band. Her gaze dropped to her lap as he continued.

"Brienne?"

She looked up as he held the cloth in front of her chest.

"Look at me," he whispered, "It's alright."

Not once did his gaze leave her own as he ran the cloth gently across her breasts.

"How many times when we road with the Brave Companions did you take care of me?" he questioned, "how many times did you bathe me, bandage me, keep me alive?"

Her lip trembled at his words. He placed a warm palm to her chest, where he could feel her heartbeat beneath.

"There is no hatred here, Brienne," he said, "only love."

He kissed her gently before placing a shirt back around her shoulders, pulling it tight to cover her chest.

"Can you handle the rest?" he asked.

She only nodded as he stepped away to ready for bed.

Brienne finished cleaning up and climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up, and watching Jaime.

He quickly wiped the dirt from his skin before dressing and putting away their things. Jaime turned to see Brienne's eyes were drifting shut. Retrieving Oathkeeper, he quietly placed it beside her armor stand.

"Jaime?" Brienne whispered tiredly, "will you stay?"

His heart broke at the vulnerability of her words. The fact that she even had to ask showed how deeply he'd hurt her.

Lifting the covers, he crawled in beside her. Laying on his back, he propped his head on his stump, listening as her breathing evened out in sleep. The bed shifted as she turned to him. Eyes never opening, she lay her head upon his chest, wrapping her arm around his waist. Her foot hooked around his leg, pulling her body as close to him as she could. Her fingers traced the hair on his chest, breaths coming in soft puffs as her movements slowed.

The soft skin of her chest rose and fell against his side, pulse beating a steady rhythm. Her body wrapped around his own, knee tucked between his legs, soft lips breathing against his neck. He held her tight as the cool breeze blew through the room, following her quickly into sleep.

She was so warm.  

[virareve]

While languishing over the fic exchange, I recently noticed that some of the first few times I shared some drabbles/one shots I posted from a collection of short J/B writings I’ve put up on AO3, I was just sharing a link to the main work and not the specific chapter. I wanted to reshare some of the ones I was most proud of/cared about the most that I didn’t properly link to previously.

For anyone who prefers, I’m posting the text to the chapter below as well. :)

Summary:   Unsent Letters from Kingsguard's Lord Commander Jaime Lannister are leaked to the press.

King's Landing Chronicles, Issue 1011

Excerpt from page 2:

Love Letters from the Lord Commander By Pia Waters

Once thought the coldest, cruelest man in the Six Kingdoms, unsent letters from the head of the royal Kingsguard’s Lord Commander shed light into the enigma that is Jaime Lannister, and reveal that he is not so much a mystery as he is a man with his own inner turmoils and a love long gone.

Content leads royal experts to believe that the letters were penned sometime after he was reinstated to the Kingsguard, following the execution of Dowager Queen Cersei, his sister, for plots against the crown. (This was the last time state sanctioned capital punishment was permitted before 'Ned's Law' was enacted and banned capital punishment throughout the six kingdoms.) Readers will also notice the subject of the letters does not appear to be the late Queen, his alleged lover for most of his career. Many are surprised by the emotional depth thought nonexistent in the man the press popularly dubbed the Kingslayer but King Tommen and the newly coronated Queen…( Cont. on Pages 5-7 )

- - -

King's Landing Chronicles, Issue 1011

Excerpt from page 7, The Last Letter:

What is more beautiful, my love? Love lost or love found? Don't laugh at me, my love. I know it. I'm awkward and naive when it comes to love. I ask questions straight out of a pop song. This doubt overwhelms me and undermines me, my love. To find...or to lose? All around me, people don't stop yearning. Did they lose or did they find? I can't say. A motherless child, who is raised by a heartless father, has no way of knowing. He lacks a first love. The love for his mother and father. That's the source of his awkwardness, his naiveté. You said to me, as the snow whirled down on us in Winterfell, "Stay." But I didn't do it. There, my love, is love lost. That's why I've never stopped wondering, since that day: Where have you been? Where are you now? And you, the shining pinnacle of my regrets, did you lose or did you find? I don't know. And I will never know. It hurts to even remember your name, my love. And I don't have the answer. But this is how I like to imagine it, the answer. In the end, my love, we have no choice. We have to find.

- - -

Brienne dropped the paper, swiping at the tears in her eyes.

“Oh Jaime,” she sighed, feelings of nostalgia bubbled in her. Now that so much time had passed, it no longer hurt to think of him. And her mind could only think of him now. Jaime with his part-time irksome, part-time cheeky smile. And his mischievous green eyes. Or his gazelle-like gait. Or the way he smiled and she felt like it was just for her.

It was nice to feel like that.

It was nice to feel warm at the memory of Jaime and not angry at herself for remembering him.

She traced the text on the glossy paper of King's Landing Chronicles. Sansa had mailed it in from the mainland with the insistence that she read it.

When Brienne and Jaime had stopped seeing each other nearly eleven years ago she'd been heartbroken and distraught. The memories in Winterfell had quickly proven too much and she left her new home for her old one. It was a comforting choice in the end. There was something welcoming that she felt on Tarth that she had not felt before. Something that perhaps the change she sought inside of her, and had experienced on the mainland, allowed for as she sought to build a life of her own.

Over a decade since, and she felt calm in knowing she’d met that goal. That her life in smalltown Morne was something that existed without ghosts of her dead mother and siblings and memories of a man she expected would never enter her life again.

Unburdened, she sat comfortably at the dining table her father had carved for her and her family. The laughs from her children, young and precocious and so full of love, teased into the house through the open windows. They were accompanied by the squeaks of skin against water and thick plastic as her children went through the slip-n-slide she’d made for them, over and over again.

Oh, how she loved Gal and Alys.

The choice to embrace motherhood and start a family after she’d given up on ever finding love again, had been easily the most rewarding thing in her life. It was something she had wanted as much as she wanted to fall in love. Raising her two had been a balm for so many internalized wounds, and the pain that used to flare constantly became forgotten and relegated to a dusty corner of her memories.

And yet to know that she’d still been on his mind brought a sharp relief to know that Brienne of yesteryears had not been a fool. She’d been in love and had been loved. None of that could be called a mistake.

Learning what had been in his mind, she could say, too, that the end was not her fault. Here was physical evidence to put her fears at bay and tell herself “Look, you are whole! It was him who was broken!”

But it sounded rather cracked and jaded and Brienne wasn’t feeling cracked and jaded herself. She had loved him and he had loved her.

Not all who loved were allowed to be together. It was the theme of her own parents’ tragically short love story and she would be remiss to think it could never apply to her. As sad as likening her story to her mother and father's was, she could also find the evidence she needed to point out to herself that what had existed in those brief months was a love story.

It had to have been. Because once he’d left, Brienne had never wanted to love another man again. The ending might have been harsh, but the rest of it was a fairytale. No one could ever know her, ever understand her, as well as he had. She had been prepared to never be loved in life and now that she had experienced a love to end all loves, she didn’t ever want to fill in the gap with a poor replacement.

She no longer felt like she needed to.

Brienne shook her head and stood up from the table, brushing her fingers gently over Jaime’s words one more time.

“Love bugs!” she called out, making her way down the back porch, pulling off her own clothes to reveal her own swimsuit underneath, “Wanna learn a trick you didn’t know Mommy could do?”

She jogged slowly past them in the direction of the nearby cove.

“Yeah!” they screamed joyfully.

They took off as fast as their much smaller legs could take them and crashed into her sides, each grasping for one of her hands. Alys was quick to intertwine her long, nimble fingers with her mother’s left, while Gal was clumsily forceful as he wrapped both his hands around her right in an airtight clasp.

Leading the children on, Brienne brought them to a short cliff overlooking the cove and kneeled before them, “Now we’re only ever going to do this with Mommy’s permission and an adult with you okay?”

The two of them nodded vigorously, enthusiastic at the prospect of whatever she was going to show them.

“Alright,” Brienne grinned, standing up and letting go of their hands. “Watch me and do what I do.”

Putting a good distance between her and the cliff's edge, Brienne squatted down into a runners position and quickly pressed off against the earth with a mighty push, speeding towards the edge. On reaching it, she pushed off with all her might and yelled into the air with a freeness she rarely allowed herself.

“Goldenhand!” she screamed, like a knight invoking the legends beside her into battle.

She’d forgotten what it was like to freefall in exposed air, exhilarating and a little bit terrifying all at once. But the air was warm and her hair experienced its own descent as gravity pulled her down and she couldn't help the want to yell again. So she did.

The ocean welcomed her lovingly when she breached the surface and for a moment, Brienne thought of Jaime, taking her just outside of Casterly Rock, encouraging her to take the leap.

Above the children cheered when she surfaced, then swam backwards to put space between her and the bottom of the cliff.

“Your turn!” she yelled, cupping her hands to her face.

Gal and Alys looked at each other. They grinned and moved away from view.

With them out of sight, Brienne briefly allowed her eyes to close, lapsing into that memory of Jaime, sunkissed and smirking as he pulled her after him into the water. His bright, light laugh as she screamed bloody murder and he yelled out “Goldenhand!” like it was the normal battle cry for this sort of event.

“Goldenhand!” the children screamed out in delight and she opened her eyes to watch Gal and Alys catch air. Of course, without her there, they’d decided to jump in holding tightly to each other’s hands.

Brienne couldn’t stop the love that overwhelmed her heart.

Their identical faces were lit with joy. Their golden hair fluttered in the Tarth wind.

When they surfaced, they paddled over to her, trying to talk over the other in their battle to hold all her attention. Their emerald green eyes glittered with impish glee.

[distinguishednachotale]

Child of the North

Chapter One

“Leave me, please.” With a curt nod the woman disbursed from the room, pulling the heavy door shut behind them. As Aewen looked at herself her heart began pounding beneath her chest, nerves and fear hit her like a tonne of bricks. After years of waiting, her husband was returning from Kings Landing, from War. His departure had been sudden and in the middle of the night, he made love to his young bride, and kissed her goodbye not wanting to cause a scene. 

Excited knocking at the chamber door brought Aewen out of her thoughts, opening the door a small child stood there. Dressed in thick furs, her pale cheeks had a tint of pink to them as did the tip of her nose; despite being told to stay inside away from the cold she had been out wandering.

 “Mama, they’re here! Papa is here! Can we go great him?” As she jumped excitedly, her black hair bounced and blue eyes lit up. At three years of age, she had not met her Father before. War took the opportunity for Robb and Aewen to share the birth of their first child. She understood though, saving his sisters from the clutches of the Lannister’s, bringing his Brother’s home and restoring balance to Westeros was the goal and it was achieved with bloodshed but achieved nonetheless.

 Kneeling before her daughter Aewen smiled, “Of course, Love.” Taking her tiny hand the two walked the torch lit corridors to the courtyard where the people of Winterfell had gathered. Running Winterfell had been hard work, but everyone played their part to hep keep the city running as best as possible. “Look, there he is Ana.” Suddenly the little girl felt shy, she had heard stories her whole life about The King in the North; the King who could turn into his direwolf at night and conquered all his battles. But to suddenly be meeting her Papa was frightening.

 Robb’s eyes were fixated on his Wife and the small child holding her leg, word had made it to him long ago informing him of his wife’s pregnancy and subsequent birth. The Maesters wrote in detail of the health delivery of his daughter, Ana Stark. It drove him to fight harder, plan smarter and keep his eye on the goal. The black horse halted as Robb dismounted, his boots hitting the dirt ground.

 Aewen felt the warmth of Robb’s hand against her cheeks, leaning into his touch and running her hand through his shaggy hair. As their lips met the world stopped, neither of them cared about who was watching all that mattered was reconnecting after four years apart. Their marriage had not been arranged, it wasn’t originally approved of by those around them. But nothing could stop the lovers from marrying.

 “Mama, is this my Papa?” A small voice questioned, playing with the furs on the edge of her hood that had been pulled up to keep her head and tiny ears warm. Kneeling down to her level Robb smiled upon his daughter, she had his eyes and dark hair while also having her Mother’s beauty. Her long black hair cascaded down her shoulders with loose curls at the end.

 “I am your Papa, Ana.” His voice broke at the end, it all felt surreal. Being home, feeling his wife’s kiss and meeting the daughter he had dreamed of since the moment the ravens brought messages of her birth.

 “I thought you would look like a wolf, you haven’t even got a tail Papa.” The seriousness of her voice made those around her giggle under their breath. Her attitude was strong, the humor that flowed from her mouth often had those around her in stitches. “Don’t laugh at me, my Papa will bite you.” Glaring at the guards near her the small Stark scowled, arms folded across her little body.

 “You’re right Ana, I don’t have a tail - it’s daytime. But at night when you hear the wolves howling, I’ll be running with them” ‘

 Ana hardly left her Father’s side that evening, a great feast commenced to celebrate the return of the Stark’s to Winterfell. There was a noticeable absence without Ned sitting beside Catelyn, the mood somber as they paid their respects to the fallen Warden of the North. Aewen watched her husband exchange stories with Jon Snow, who had made a trip to Winterfell to great his family, he had his own tales to tell after defeating the Night King beyond the Wall with the help of Queen Denarys and her Dragons.

 “Excuse me, I must check on Ana.” Aewen said to no one, Catelyn was talking to her Son’s as they filled her in on their lives; they had spent their days at The Wall with Jon protecting them from would be attackers. Stepping outside Aewen felt the cold air hit her, the snow was falling faster and coated the ground. The small growl of Grey Wind let Aewen know he was going to follow her to Ana, one of the many things Aewen had missed about life before War was the direwolves patrolling the halls. The connection they had to their Masters was unique. Upon return Aewen was relieved to be reunited with Grey Wind, Summer, Shaggy Dog and Ghost who made the trip with Jon.

 Upon opening Ana’s chamber door Grey Wind entered, resting his head on the bed he watched Ana’s breaths before settling at the end of the bed. Aewen pulled the blankets up higher on her daughters tiny frame, ensuring she was warm enough against the cooling weather.

 “Are you going to stay here, Grey?” The dog whined, looking to his Little Master laying down to affirm his answer. “Come and get me when she wakes.” Turning to leave she was met with a tall frame leaning against the door way. His eyes filled with love and sadness, he had missed so much of his daughters life but to see her well made everything worth it. Had he failed, had the Lannister’s succeeded they would have taken great pleasure in hurting and killing Ana and Aewen.

 “I pictured she would be bigger, for some reason. I never thought she would be so small and fragile.” He mused, taking Aewen’s hand and pulling her into his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, my love. I thought about you both every single night.”

 “It’s okay, Robb. You’re here now.”

 ***

 Candles lit the way along the cells, keeping them slightly lit. Guard dogs growled when any noise startled them. The guard’s wandered down with a plate in hand, bread and a small amount of pork from the nights feast - the gristly part no one wanted. Opening the cell slightly the plate was thrown on the ground, spilling its contents everywhere. Looking up from the corner of the room, the woman looked up with pure hatred on her face. Her long blonde hair matted and spilling across her face.

 “I’ll get out of here, you know I will.” She spat.

 “Sure you will,” The guard laughed. “Can’t guarantee your head will still be attached to your neck though.” The door slammed shut locking her in.

 “Sister, when will you learn to just keep your mouth shut?” The voice in the next cell echoed.

 “They murdered our children, Jamie. How can you just sit there and do nothing? As usual.”

 “I did everything I could Cersei, they won. They outsmarted us, them and their fucking dragons. How were you expecting your armies to defeat three grown dragons?”

 “I’ll get us out of here. I will get my revenge. An eye for an eye.”

****************************************

Lets be honest, most of us with Robb Stark didn’t die.

[copiesofme-archive]

@iniziare​ sent:  "You hate what you cannot control." (casually rewriting the meme as to fit; to Cersei from Ezio; setting is entirely up to you)    Villain - Hero Meme / accepting

        Such bold words, fitting she supposed. This one bled the very essence of what one might deem the definition thereof. Bold, with words that landed just enough to pick at a perfected facade, an over step that simultaneously dangled on the line of court. There is little surprise in such a liberty, in which ever way, that had been claim by such a dauntless statement. He had arrived with the Prince of Dorne, and by definition they were always an extravagant sort. Cersei feels the corners of her lips sharpen with the relaxation of a previously lifted brow. The comment earned the slight turn of her head as she turned to meet the eye of one Ezio Auditore.

         “Hmn-” She starts, lips pressing with the lightest of chortles as fingers interlock within each other and settle at the front of her torso. “Here I thought I found myself in the company of an man with a unique taste of charm.”

[sepedarodatiga]

I need closure, so I’m going to write about this one last time.

It boils down to admitting that I was completely wrong in interpreting what the story is about. I have to admit that I have been duped into thinking that Jonsa was the main story. I mean, of course the first reaction that I have when I saw the leaks and witness that the leak was real was denial. This can’t be the ending.

But now I think acceptance is coming.

I thought I had GoT (and by extension ASOIAF) figured out. GRRM hides his true protagonist underneath other characters and their stories. First we thought Ned Stark was the detective that was going to solve Jon Arryn’s murder. He died, we were shock. Jon Arryn’s murder was also not that important. Then Robb Stark rises, we root for him and it seems that he is winning. Then the Red Wedding happened. We were shocked. The War of Five Kings falter.

Then season 6 happened and Jon becomes the King in the North, his true identity is a Targaryen prince and an heir to the throne, he’s got hot sexual tension with his redhead Stark sister Sansa who after the parentage reveal will become his cousin. A Targaryen hidden prince and a Stark girl who is a queen material. Poetry. Fairytale. Perfection.

At that time, it suddenly clicks to me, well of course Ned must die and of course Robb must die, otherwise how will Jon the true hidden protagonist can rise and become king? So we expect the story will come to the conclusion for Jon to become the king and marries his love interest and solve all the political issues in the Seven Kingdoms. Because he is the true hidden protagonist, right?

Gosh, I really should have known better.

(I know that I am oversimplifying things with the whole “one true protagonist” thing but I’m just trying to make this make sense somehow. Also this is not to say that Jonsa is not important to the story. It is important, but in the same way Ned and Robb's story is important but it is just not endgame)

When I took that conclusion I forgot about Brandon Stark. The character that Jojen Reed claims as the only thing that matters. The first character that GRRM made when he started ASOIAF. The fairytale that is Jonsa turns out to be just another layer of a very intricate and elaborate red herring to cover up GRRM’s true protagonist Brandon Stark (and to some extent Arya Stark, because she killed the Night King). So of course Jonsa must fall and that fall was brought upon by one Daenerys Targaryen.

I have to laugh to my own argument about Jonsa being the main endgame couple because the very first shot of the Starks was Jon Snow with his brother Bran followed by Sansa Stark with his sister Arya. 

It's the other way around. It's a shot of Bran Stark with his secret prince adoptive brother Jon followed by Arya Stark with her sister Sansa.

I had a tiny bit suspicion when I was working on my jonsa parallel series. They have always been clever with the episode titles. One title that stood out to me was 4x05 - First of His Name. At that episode, King Tommen was crowned and that was the first reference to this episode title. But the jonsa parallel in that episode relates heavily to Bran, and specifically Lysa Arryn brought up Sansa’s uncle Brandon Stark. And of course Bran the Builder is the founder of House Stark. This should have been a clue to how big Bran’s role is, but who would’ve guess if they only give us cryptic clues like this?

Then there was 2x08 - The Prince of Winterfell. Bran along with Rickon was the the Stark princes that still stayed at Winterfell. Bran as the oldest is the one who has authority towards Winterfell. Theon took Winterfell from Bran.

The other brilliant one is 3x08 - Second Sons which refers to Daario Naharis’ company, but it also revolves around Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion Lannister, who is the second son of the Lannister family. Who else is a second son? Yes, Jon (Aegon) who is Rhaegar’s second son and also... Bran. Bran is Ned Stark’s second son.

So I believe that the Starks at the end are where GRRM wanted them to be. I remember a leak that takes the form of five questions and that leak state that Jon’s last scene is the Wall. It also ties in very nicely with the first scene in GoT with Waymar Royce. Yes, this was always to be his ending. Jonsa must dissolves by making Jon a traitor, queenslayer and kinslayer and to be exiled to the Wall.

But does this story with Jonsa as the final and biggest red herring works? As it is now with the show, the answer is a definitive no for me for several reasons.

First the build up time. Ned’s story was given ample time to build up with enough focus, 9 episodes until his death. And Robb’s story was given even more, a whole of season 2 and large part of season 3 until the red wedding. Jonsa was built up in season 6 with their fall starting on episode 3 of season 7. But when did Bran ever became focus of the story. We always thought, he MUST be important, but how, when, why? Bran Stark never rises, he’s always in the background until suddenly in the very last episode, he’s king.... It also doesn’t help at all that he’s becoming this emotionally detached being that we find hard to empathize with. It is just a sad sad irony that jonsa as the red herring is a much more emotionally compelling story, with characters played by actors that happens to spark chemistry to the roof, rather than the true hidden Prince Bran. (And I’m not even going to try to address the cult personality of Daenerys Targaryen that add a complex layer of red herring)

Second, Jonsa never truly happened in the show. We were given subtext after subtext and the culmination never happened. I am inclined to think that in the books Jonsa will happen and pol!Jon is real. The betrayal towards Daenerys Targaryen will be full blown Jon having an incest affair with his sister and he will father a bastard with her (Yes, I am still holding on to that theory because it only make sense given all the clues. And think about it, Bran’s fall was brought by an incest couple Jaime/Cersei and later his rise will be brought by Jonsa).  I think the show just didn’t have the balls to fully materialize that betrayal and either way, the ending would still be the same, Jon exiled at the Wall for killing Dany and Sansa stayed in Winterfell ruling (in my version, with a bastard son named Snow).

The third and most important aspect of why Bran doesn’t work is because his power is supernatural and so his kingship does not feel earned at all. I really don’t know why GRRM is going with this...like....at all, or if he even going with this in the books? But I believe this is the ending that he wanted: Aegon Targaryen kneeling before Brandon Stark.

“You were exactly where you were supposed to be” 

In the end this deceit got me hurt, heartbroken, sad, unfulfilled. But I will never regret to be a part of this lovely fandom that has taught me so much. Seriously, I learn so so much from everyone’s meta and I am forever thankful for that. I wouldn’t have reach this conclusion without reading all of your wonderful meta and I wouldn’t have been able to write shit without you setting the example. So again, thank you and I hope everybody will recover soon!

[gizkasparadise]

Hello! I’m obsessed with you blog and your writing! You are a genius writer! Just wanted to let you know that 💘 since everyone is always asking you to write their wishes I thought it would be cool to ask you to right yours. If the next GOT episode picked up right where we left off, how would you like it to be? What reunions or reactions or little storylines are YOU rooting for? 💘🦄

She can’t focus on anything, breath coming in too short as the adrenaline crashes. She looks at Bran, trying to make it all come together. She can’t. She’s alive and she can’t.

“You’re scared,” Bran says, patient as she processes what she’s just done. “It’s alright to be scared.”

The dagger falls to the ground because her hands are shaking too hard. Arya tries to say something, but nothing seems to work.

His dark eyes glance up. “The dawn will be here soon. Most of our family will see it because of you. Because all parts fell to place.”

One of the words lets her focus, makes her racing thoughts anchor. “…most?”

Bran says nothing, but he looks somewhere over her shoulder. Slowly, she turns.

There is a body pinned to the ground. Her first thought is that it’s not Jon, thank everything that it’s not Jon. But then her gaze lingers, and the body’s features slide into place: sandy hair, what’s left of a kraken. Blue, flat eyes that aren’t watching anything anymore.

“Theon.”

“Yes.” Bran moves his chair until he is beside her. “He was here, so you could be.”

“What do you mean?”

“All parts fell to place,” he says again.

She looks at the body, then makes her heavy-numb legs move toward it. Then kneels in front of him. Arya knows death, but she all she can think about in this moment is that she never knew Theon. Maybe no one did.

“He was better than he believed.” Bran offers. Then: “They’ll be here soon for us. You can rest now.”

And so Arya does, falling face-forward into the snow.

–

“How the fuck you still alive?”

Podrick looks up, weary as he meets the gaze of the wildling man. “Because I tried, I think.”

“Good.” Tormund pats his shoulder hard. Podrick’s legs buckle a little under it. “Where’s she?”

He’s so tired he can only gesture with a nod. A few steps away, Ser Brienne and Jaime Lannister are together, sitting on the ground and slumped against a crumbling wall.

Tormund grins, then meets Podrick’s eyes. “Need to know who won.”

“Won?”

But he’s gone already, and Podrick sighs as he watches the wildling shove his way into sitting between the two knights.

Tormund slaps Jaime Lannister on the side of his arm. “How many wights did you get?”

Jaime looks at him, then shakes his head. “Less than Brienne.”

Jaime and Ser Brienne’s eyes meet over Tormund’s head. It’s a soft look, soft enough that Podrick almost feels like he should avert his gaze elsewhere.

Then it’s ruined when Tormund turns to her, eyebrows raised suggestively. Her lips press tightly together.

Then she laughs. It’s a loud, booming sound that fills the space.

Podrick’s never heard it from her before. He likes the sound.Jaime must too, because his laugh soon joins hers.

–

He lets go of a short sigh, his hand dragging down the lower half of his face. “How long?”

Varys doesn’t answer right away, his hands folded in the sleeves of his robe. “Long enough.”

Outside the gates of Winterfell, two dragons curl around each other. Their mother in the middle of them, Ser Jorah’s head in her lap. She’s been like this since the death of the Night King. Tyrion has watched Daenerys through defeat, through fear and rage. But never like this.

Never with true, lasting grief.

“He was a loyal man,” Varys says quietly. They’ve all been so very quiet since the crypts. “A difficult thing to be in these times.”

Tyrion, who is well aware that he is not a loyal man, gives a tired nod.

Drogon lets loose a long, sorrowful keen.

Varys doesn’t look away from their queen. “It won’t be the same after this.”

“No, I suppose it won’t.”

Tyrion thinks of the crypts. Of Sansa, and what ran through his mind when he thought his moments were over. He had been relieved that it was her, at the end. That they were together. And that’s something he will have to confront once they’ve beaten Cersei.

For now, the Hand of the Queen merely shakes his head, and walks across the carnage. Drogon raises his head, nostrils flaring. Then he blinks, and ducks his face again into the crook of his wing.

That truly never gets easier.

“My queen,” he says quietly, stepping toward Daenerys and the late Ser Jorah.

She doesn’t look up, but he sees her back rise with a harsh breath.

“Daenerys.” Tyrion tries again with a smile. It is not a happy smile. “It’s time.”

Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, looks up. He’s reminded of how very young she is, how very alone in the foreign country that is her homeland. Her red-rimmed eyes seek his, completely and utterly lost.

Not knowing what else to do, he offers his hand.

She takes it, grip strong as she makes herself stand.

–

“They told me you were down here.”

She doesn’t turn away from the slab in front of her. It’s a covering for an empty space in the crypt. But then again, most of the spaces are empty now. Her father’s and Rickon’s graves had been undisturbed, but she wonders what would be underneath it if she lifted the stone. Maybe the claws of finger nails. Maybe bones frozen, half in motion.

Jon steps beside Sansa, a hand resting on her shoulder as they both take in the body before them. They kept him in his armor, she thinks he’d like that.

“He chose,” Jon offers. “Not many get to.”

Sansa rests her hand on Theon’s cold forehead. Pushes his hair back from his eyes.

“Where should he go?” she asks–voice quiet, breath hitching. “I don’t know where he should go.”

Jon’s hand drops from her shoulder.

“He’s a Stark,” is all he offers. “Much as we are.”

There’s only one place for Starks.

–

It’s madness, in the aftermath of the battle. Gendry’s never seen anything like it. He stumbles through the courtyard, trying to find his footing as children look for their parents, as families reunite. He stands motionless, like a small stone in the stream of what exists after a last stand. It might be shock, he wages, that keeps him rooted as people move frantically around him.

Next to him, a woman jumps down from a platform where some of the archers were stationed. She runs, faster than he’s ever seen someone move, until she collides into the arms of a man he reckons is her husband. They embrace and Gendry can hear both their crying.

The man doesn’t look anything like him, and the archer doesn’t look anything like her, but they make him think. Make him fully realize where he is, what’s happened.

Who’s missing.

Without a second thought, he drops his mace to the ground and starts running. He doesn’t even know where. Gendry just knows he needs to move, to head in any direction where he wasn’t because it might be the direction she’s in.

His heart’s racing, and he’s always been a stupid bull because he grabs anyone he can.

“Arya Stark, you seen her?” He asks, more times than he can count. “Have you seen her?!”

No one has. He tries for over an hour before he stops, bending his knees into a haunch and burying his face in his arms. His fingers press down hard against the back of his head, and the next exhale is a short, angry yell.

They haven’t even gotten a start. He hasn’t even gotten to try.

“Looking for someone?” A raspy voice asks above him.

Gendry’s throat works as he pushes back into a stand.

Arya is pale, her face bloody, but the look she sends him is soft.

Gendry moves before he can think, arms around her as he crushes her to him. She goes limp against him and he kisses the top of her head before burying his face in the crook of her neck. He closes his eyes tight, like if he were to open them this wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t’ve been here.

Her hands move to his back, where he feels her fingers clenching into the fabric of his shirt.

“I killed the Night King,” she whispers into his chest.

He cups her face in his hands, craning his neck so he can press his forehead to hers. “‘Course you did.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” she confesses.

“It doesn’t fucking matter.”

He kisses her like they both survived the end of the world.

–

“You useless fuck,” Sandor tells the corpse of Beric Dondarrion, his hand digging into the collar of his armored shirt in order to drag the body after him. Every step almost brings him to his knees, but he keeps going anyway. “Can’t even die in the right place.”

After a few more steps, he stops and lets his knees buckle him into a sit. Then he eyes the massive pyre they’re starting to build.

“Get to see your stupid God now.” Sandor looks up, the sky a healthy pink now that the sun’s rising. “Only took you ten times. Guess you can’t do that right, either.”

He hasn’t seen her, but he’s heard enough to know the little bitch survived. Killed the fucking Night King, apparently. Sandor thinks of fire, the man in front of him dying, and the moment he realized Arya Stark could still be a scared little girl.

“Worse ways to go,” he mumbles, before he stands up again. “Guess it’s one more fire for you, you stupid fuck.”

Sandor looks down at Beric’s face. That rat bastard is smirking.

–

He is waiting for her as soon as she climbs out from the crypts, his armor stained and chin slightly quivering.

“Missandei of Naath,” Grey Worm greets, before he slumps down to his knees.

She smiles, feeling tears well in her eyes when his name escapes as a sob. “Torgo Nudha.”

She steps toward him. He presses his face against her stomach and she wraps her arms around him. Her fingers run over the short, sharp hair covering his scalp.

“Missandei of Naath,” he says again. “We are almost home.”

[themindmates-blog]

Chapter 1 - The White Wedding

"I actually can't believe it." Robb said as he stood in his bedroom, with his best friend sat in his bed.

"You knew this would happen." Theon answered with a smirk. "I have been her betrothed for years now, Robb."

"I know, Theon…" The younger boy rolled his eyes. "Still, it's my baby sister. And she's getting married. Before me. To you, no less. It's a lot to take in. Forgive me."

"Ylina is not your baby sister." Theon noted. "And if you say that anywhere near her, she'll have your head."

"She can say all she wants. Ylina is my baby sister and she'll be forever."

"Well, your baby sister is about to become a woman soon."

At that, Robb almost choked, reaching for one of the pillows near him and throwing it at Theon. When the Greyjoy chuckled, Grey Wind, who was until now laying by the foot of the bed, lifted his head when Robb scoffed.

"Careful, lad. It's my sister we're talking about." He warned as Theon simply shrugged.

"You do know what happens after a wedding, don't you?"

"I do." Robb nodded, reaching for his dress shirt to pull it over his head. "But if I hear anything that's happening between you two later tonight, I swear to all the gods…"

When he shivered, Theon laughed.

"I can't promise anything." He smirked.

"Oh, just shut up."

Before any of the boys could say anything else, there was a knock on the door.

“Are you two decent?” 

When they heard Ylina’s voice coming through the wooden door, Robb threw a dress shirt at Theon and the Greyjoy boy quickly covered himself with it.

“Never!” Robb called out, hearing a chuckle in response.

Pushing the door open, Ylina leaned against it as her eyes scanned both boys. Daria, her direwolf, ran past her and straight to Grey Wind, as the two of them started to roll around and bite each other lightly as usual. Neither Robb or Theon had even the time to greet the younger girl, before her eyes went wide and she shook her head quickly.

“Oh, no. You two better get dressed right now, because the King and his family are almost here and if we get there late to greet them, I will be the one Lady Catelyn will be putting the blame on.”

“But we were the ones who weren’t dressed.” Robb spoke up, causing Ylina to scoff.

“You know Mother. She’ll just assume.”

Walking past Robb, Ylina reached in his desk for the golden pin of a kraken that always laid there and, as soon as Theon had put on his overall coat, the girl placed the pin in place, right in the middle of his chest. Watching her gently, Theon grew silent, only smirking down at the girl when she lifted her eyes up to meet his.

“What?” She asked with her eyebrows lifted.

“Nothing.” Theon shrugged, placing one of his glove-covered hands one the small of her back.

When Robb pretended to gag, Ylina rolled her eyes and walked toward her brother, grabbing the silvery wolf pin from his hands as he expected her to place it on his chest as she had done with Theon. Instead, the girl smirked at Robb and placed her hands on his cheeks, squeezing them slightly as she talked in a quite high pitched voice.

“Oh, look at you… All trimmed up and pretty. Did you do that for my wedding, finally?”

“Actually, I did it for the King, but whatever.” Robb shrugged, causing his sister to laugh.

“I wasn’t aware you were into older man.” She said.

“Shut up, Lily.” He chuckled as Theon laughed loudly behind them. “Mother made us all cut our hair for the King. Do you like it?”

With a shrug of her shoulders, Ylina let go of Robb’s cheeks and started to pin the wolf to his coat.

“You look less like Father, so I guess that’s good.”

At that, the three of them laughed, but before any of them could say anything else, a trumpet sounded in the distance and they all exchanged a look, already knowing what it meant: the King was in Winterfell.

“Oh, by the gods…” Ylina mumbled, before ushering both boys out of the room and running with them through the hallways of the castle toward the open grounds where they were supposed to wait for the King.

As soon as they came into view, Catelyn gasped, reached over to grab Ylina by the arm and placed her beside Sansa, where she should’ve been minutes before.

“You’re late again, Ylina.” She reprimanded, as the girl sighed. “Even Arya was here before you this time.”

Looking down the line of her siblings, she saw that, in fact, Arya Stark was, for once, in the place she was supposed to be in with the clothes she was supposed to be wearing before her. Her younger sister showed Ylina her tongue, causing the girl to scoff. Before she could respond, however, Sansa nudged her side and Ylina’s eyes fell on her.

“The King.” She warned lowly.

Ylina turned from her sisters to the open space in front of them, just in time to see the first of the Lannisters bannermen riding through the gates. Soon after, came a young boy, blonde of hair with a pretty face that Ylina supposed to be almost her age. Maybe a bit younger. Prince Joffrey, she assumed. Glancing at Sansa, she saw the smile on her sister’s face and the glimmer in her eyes as they locked with the prince’s and she could barely contain her giggles when she noticed the way Robb’s jaw clenched in pure jealousy.

Luckly, no one else noticed, being too caught up on the red chariot that stopped in the middle of the grounds and then, noticing King Robert riding in after it. All too familiar with the formalities, everyone kneeled and looked down as the King approached them. Standing in from of their father, King Robert signalized for him to stand up and so Ned did, soon being followed by everyone else. 

“Your Grace.” Ned bowed his head slightly.

The whole place was silent as the two men stared each other down.

“You've got fat.” King Robert noted.

At that, Ylina glanced at Robb, only to notice he was already looking at their father. Doing the same, she noticed how, wordlessly, Ned motioned to King Robert and, after a second of silence, the two old friends started to laugh before sharing a hug.

“Cat!” King Robert smiled, moving to embrace their mother.

“Your Grace.” She nodded at him politely, as the man messed with Rickon’s hair, who was standing beside Catelyn.

“Nine years…” King Robert sighed, moving to stand in front of Ned again. “Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?” 

“Guarding the North for you, Your Grace.” Ned smiled at his friend. “Winterfell is yours.”

“Where's the Imp?” Ylina heard Arya ask, as they watched Queen Cersei walk down the steps of the carriage.

“Will you shut up?” Sansa answered quickly. 

“Who have we here?”  King Robert asked, as he moved from Ned to Robb, who was standing beside their father. “You must be Robb.”

Once they exchanged a strong handshake, the King’s eyes fell in Ylina.

“Last I saw you, you were a little girl.” He said, as Ylina smiled up at him. “Now here you are… Ready to become a woman.”

With a bow of her head and a well put smile from the girl, King Robert moved to Sansa, saying what everyone always said upon meeting the young Stark girl.

“My, you're a pretty one.” He said, as Sansa smiled. “Your name is?” 

Robert crouched down in front of Arya and Ylina could tell she was annoyed. The older girl bit back a smile knowing how much her sister hated those formal meetings.

“Arya.” She said, as the King nodded, moving to Bran next.

“Oh, show us your muscles.” He said, as Bran smiled brightly and flexed his arms. When the King laughed, so did Ylina. “You'll be a soldier.”

“That's Jaime Lannister, the Queen's twin brother.” The girl heard Arya whisper, before looking around just in time to see Jaime Lannister pulling off his helmet and shaking his long blonde hair.

With a roll of her eyes, she imagined he would be one of those lords who thought that, just because he had money and a pretty face, he could get any girl he wanted in his bed at any time.

“Would you please shut up?” Sansa whispered back at Arya, causing the younger girl to look for her sister for support, only to notice she was already looking at her with a small smile. 

Looking back at Queen Cersei, Ylina noticed how she approached her father and extended her hand for him to kiss. Doing so, Ned bowed his head slightly again.

“My queen.” He said.

“My queen.” Catelyn repeated with a bigger bow.

“Take me to your crypt.” King Robert demanded, causing everyone to look at him. “I want to pay my respects.”

“We've been riding for a month, my love.” Queen Cersei spoke up. “Surely the dead can wait.”

They exchanged a few cold glares before King Robert decided to ignore his wife.

“Ned.” He called, already walking away.

With a last bow to Cersei, Ned followed his old friend and glancing at her mother, Ylina waited for her next instructions.

“Winterfell is your, you Grace.” Catelyn told Queen Cersei. “I hope we can make you comfortable. Now, if you excuse us, I have to help my daughter into her wedding gown.”

With a nod from the Queen, Catelyn walked toward Ylina and linked their arms together. As they walked away, the girl sent Robb and Theon one last glance and the smile in both of their faces was the last thing she saw before Lady Catelyn guided her inside the Castle and toward her bedroom.

***

Her hair was done to perfection, her natural red waves curled just a bit more and pinned back from falling in front of her eyes with her usual silver wolf pin. Her makeup was also a nice touch. Sansa had spent a lot of time on it and, even if she didn't want to admit it, Ylina was scared. Her younger sister was good with this type of things, but she was young. What if it turned out bad? Would she have the heart to tell her? Luckily, she wouldn't be having to. Sansa had done a wonderful job, knowing all the shades she had to use to highlight her vibrant Stark grey eyes and all the ways not to cover her freckles too much.

And her dress… Her dress was beautiful. It was a long sleeved white heavy dress to endure the cold. It had silver details all over it, accumulated more in the coursette and growing more and more apart in the end. It had a long tail following her that her mother had insisted on since she refused on using a veil. Ylina was wearing a small overall coat of white fur and big high heeled boots that made her slightly taller than she actually was.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but smile. She was getting married to a man she cared for and who cared for her. Not many ladies like her had the opportunity to say the same. Sure their relationship had started quite rocky, but growing up together, both, Theon and Ylina learned to appreciate each other. And now that they were getting married she couldn't be happier. At least, that was what she thought until she spun around in her bedroom only to find her mother trying to hold back tears as she sat on her bed.

"Mother?" She asked, stepping forward and sitting beside Catelyn and reaching over for her hand. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Ylina. Don't worry about me." Catelyn said, wiping her tears away with her free hand. "It's just… You grow up so fast. All of you. I remember the day you were born. So little and fragile in my arms… And now, here you are… In white, ready to become a proper woman. A proper lady. I can barely believe it."

Holding her mother close, Ylina stayed in silence for a while, waiting for Catelyn to calm down. Once she did, Ylina frowned, lacing her fingers through her mother's.

"Do you love me, mother?" She asked.

At that, Catelyn's head snapped in her direction. Her eyes filled with hurt and surprise. Holding her daughter's face in her hands, Catelyn forced Ylina to look at her.

"Ylina, listen to me." She said, sternly, watching as the girl's eyes filled with tears. "I love you. Like I love all of my children. Sure, we usually don't see eye to eye, but you are my daughter. My first daughter. And I love you, Ylina. I'm proud of the woman you've become."

"But I'm not the lady you wanted me to be." She whispered, as Catelyn shook her head.

"No. But you are kind, my love. You are smart, just and fair. Maybe you're not up to all the standards of a lady, but if you ever have to rule, I know you'll be the best leader you can be."

"Mother…"

"Ylina. Don't you ever doubt my love for you, do you understand? I love you, my beautiful daughter, and I'm proud of you, alright?"

"I love you, Mother." Ylina whispered as Catelyn finally let go of her daughter's face to pull her into a hug instead.

And as they held each other, she finally understood. It had been so long since the two had had an intimate moment that wasn't based on them both yelling at each other that Ylina had even started to doubt her love for her. And then, Catelyn felt guilty. How could she ever have let their relationship grow so cold that Ylina would think she didn't love her? How could she ever have allowed her to believe that she'd only appreciate her if she was a real lady, like her sister Sansa? How could she ever have been so blind as to not see the signs so clear? 

She had been stupid and taken their relationship for granted. And, in that moment, she vowed to never let it happen again.

"Very well, let's dry those tears before they ruin the makeup Sansa put so much effort in." Catelyn smiled gently, pulling away from her daughter's embrace as the girl lifted her eyes to meet her mother's. "Get up and let's go. Your father and siblings are waiting. So is the King. And your soon to be husband."

At that, Ylina smiled, nodding slightly and taking Catelyn's hand in hers as her mother guided her out of the bedroom and toward the carriage that would take them both to the woods.

The ride there was quiet, but they held hands the entire time, exchanging gentle looks and smiles and, before they knew it, they were there. Catelyn helped her daughter out of the carriage and walked her toward the first tree of the Godswood, knowing that, turning around it, the most beautiful pathway was made for her to walk down. Kissing her forehead lightly, she smiled one last time at her daughter.

"I'll be at the end of the isle, love." She whispered, before pulling up the ends of her dress and walking toward the end of the isle, standing beside all of her children on the left side of it.

Ylina waited for her father to appear so he could take her to Theon, but, instead, Robb came. With a smile in her direction and fancy clothes covering his body, Ylina watched as he made his way toward her.

"I thought father was supposed to walk me down." She said, linking her arms in his as they stood in front of the closed doors of the sept.

"He was." Her brother nodded, smiling down at her sister proudly. "But someone from Theon’s family had to officiate the wedding, right?"

And as the two of them started to make their way down the aisle, Ylina barely noticed how everyone waited up for her to enter with torches in their hands to light up the way and make the cold air of the night in Winterfell a little bit warmer. Even the King and Queen of Westeros. She barely noticed her mother standing beside her siblings at the end of the isle just beside Ned. All she could see was how her own Father stood proudly right in front of the sacred weirwood heart tree, representing the Greyjoy family members that didn't come, taking Theon as his son even before he married his daughter.

Again, her eyes filled with tears, but before she could start crying properly, Robb was tugging her forward so that they could make their way to the front. And as she passed everyone who had gathered to watch the ceremony of her wedding, her eyes never once left Theon, nor did his leave her.

After Ylina and Robb made their way to the front and her older brother gave his best friend a warm smile, everyone sat down and the ceremony begun.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Ned asked, as Ylina lifted her eyes to meet Robb’s.

Smiling down at the girl in front of him, Robb lifted his head to face his father again.

"Ylina, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

When the words left Robb’s mouth, Theon glanced at Ned and, when the man nodded at him, he took a step forward as Ylina smiled.

“Theon, of House Greyjoy, lord heir of the Iron Islands. Who gives her?”

“Robb, of House Stark, her brother and lord heir of Winterfell.”

With a nod from her father, Ylina finally let go of Robb’s arm and stepped forward to grab Theon’s hand instead. When he saw the smile on his daughter’s face, the man chuckled. He could’ve done a thousand bad things in his lifetime. He was sure he did. But wedding his daughter to Theon Greyjoy was certainly not one of them.

“Lady Ylina, do you take this man?” Ned asked as the girl nodded.

“I take this man.”

As soon as she was done talking, they both smiled at each other, their happiness shining through their eyes. Exchanging a glance with Ned, Catelyn smiled once she saw the few tears rolling down his face. As Theon placed his hand over Ylina's cheek, he felt the girl leaning slightly at his touch, as excited for the next part of the ceremony as he was.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." Theon announced, before leaning down and pulling Ylina toward him as their lips met.

Once they broke apart, Ylina reached for Theon's hand and laced their fingers together as they turned around and faced the crowd in the sept as they clapped. But as the warmth from Ylina's hand passed to him, Theon couldn't care less about the applause.

He was part of the Stark family now. He was hers and she was his. From this day, until the end of his days.

[tacitwhisky]

Jon of the Kingsguard, pt 8

Jon x Sansa - AU where Jon goes to Kingslanding instead of the Wall, there’s no war, and he becomes a knight of the kingsguard even as Joffrey marries Sansa / AO3 Link

Over the next few days Sansa is sick more than not, and at least a half dozen times Jon must kneel beside her and gather back her thick red hair as she empties her stomach into her chamber pot. More often though she simply sits shivering as though with fever, skin pale and damp, a blanket drawn about her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she tells him on the third day with a weary twitch of a smile. “Lady’s in songs never look this dreadful when the knight comes for them.”

Jon shakes his head and kneels before her chair, hands her a cup of watered wine. “Dreadful or no you need to drink.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, but accepts the cup. Watered wine is all she can keep down, though she makes a face as she sips at it, and Jon feel for a moment uncannily like old Nan at one of their bedsides. Sansa makes another face. “The last time I was this ill that vale knight stayed at Winterful on his way to the Wall. My nose was runny and eyes puffy and I wailed into my pillow that I’d never be as beautiful as the ladies in songs.”

A smile tugs at Jon’s lips and he shakes his head. “You’ve always been beautiful, Sansa. It used to annoy Arya so when we were children.”

A tired smile teases Sansa’s lips. “And you, Jon? Did it annoy you?”

Would fucking me keep you true? Sansa blinks and looks down at her cup, smile slowly wilting from her lips. Neither of them have spoken of that night since, but the words still hang unspoken between them, an ugly bruise neither will touch, and Jon does not know how to answer what he knows Sansa meant as a jest. The truth is that even with hair lank and unwashed, face sunken and thin, Sansa is still as heart achingly lovely as she’s always been and the knowledge an uneasy stone in the pit of Jon’s stomach. He looks out to the window of her chamber. “What you said of Jamie and Cersei,” he says, “was it true?”

“I didn’t believe her when she first told me. I thought she was only drunk. But…” Sansa’s rubs her thumb along the lip of the cup. “It’s there plain as day, Jon. The way they look at each other, the way they used to slip away together when Robert would go hunting or hawking or whoring. Do you remember how hard Cersei fought when Tywin tried to send her back to Casterly Rock after Robert’s death? How strange that was? It’s always been there.”

It’s grotesque to think, even for Jaime and Cersei, but once Jon has it’s impossible not to see it just as Sansa said. He shakes his head. “Little wonder Joffrey is such a monster, then. It’s what they deserve.”

Sansa’s smile drops, face suddenly pale and young. “This is what I deserve too, Jon,” she whispers. “I know it is. They’re punishing me for what I’ve done. Maid, Mother, Crone. This is their punishment for what- for drinking- for stifling-”

“It isn’t.” Jon takes her hand, fingers cold beneath his, very aware in that moment of just how young Sansa truly is despite how poised she always is, that she is barely more than a girl in truth. She should be with a tall handsome lord, laughing and happy and with blue roses in her hair in a field somewhere, not here shivering in a lonely tower with you. He rubs her fingers. “And if it is their punishment, then fuck the seven. They aren’t our gods, Sansa. Our gods are the old gods of the first men and children of the forest, of tree and stone and weirwood, of the north.”

Sansa looks down at their hands. She takes a deep breath, squeezes his fingers tight, and nods.

---

On the fourth day Sansa’s shivering eases, and on the fifth she can keep down more than just watered wine and bread. On the sixth Jon enters her chamber to find her being attended by her handmaids, and she flashes him a smile as they fit her in a new gown of silk and samite that turns the blue of her eyes piercing.

On the seventh she rejoins the court.

None of the lords or ladies speak of her absence when they greet her, but quickly Jon realizes just how sorely Sansa has been missed. While she’s sat trapped in her chambers rumors have reached Kinsglanding of a dragon queen in the east gathering her armies to march for westeros: the last Targaryen they say she styles herself, Daenerys first of her name, rightful queen of the First Men and the Andals and the Rhoynar, intent to reclaim her throne with fire and blood. Each utterance of her name only worsens Joffrey’s temper, and with Sansa’s return both lords and ladies seem relieved to have someone other than the king to bring their pleas and concerns to. Sansa is courteous to one and all, a gracious queen with always a kind word for lords and servants alike. Slowly she eases back into court life.

It is not long before Joffrey strikes her again.

It is an almost pretty thing, a splotch of purple and red broken veins mottling the corner of her jaw like a splattered overripe fruit. But this time Sansa refuses to wait in her chambers for it to heal. Her handmaids dust it with white, and the next day she joins Joffrey as he sits as justice on the Iron Throne. He stiffens when he sees her, but even he isn’t foolish enough to order her away before the gathered lords and ladies. She graces him with a smile and inquires after his health as she takes her seat. He scowls in answer and turns away to bark for the next supplicant to step forward.

Even under the white dust the bruise on Sansa’s jaw is still plain to the eye, the edges ragged and yellow veined, but it is as though the whole court is suddenly blind. Not one of the lords or ladies note it when they seek Sansa out, not one asks her what’s happened or acknowledges what is before them, their eyes careful to slide away should they glance at it. Jon cannot understand it, how she can remain so courteous and gracious when all he wishes he could do is snarl his fury at each new foppish lord and preening lady.

Sansa only smiles when Jon voices his anger one night when it is the two of them in her chamber, lamps newly lit by one of her maids. “A lady’s courtesies are her armor, Jon. I told you something like that once.”

A knight has his battlefield, a lady hers. Years, it feels as though have passed since Sansa told him that, but Jon has never forgotten it, can still hear the lilt of her voice if he closes his eyes. It was the day she’d called him Stark. He tightens his fingers around the hilt of his sword. “They cannot be blind to what is happening.”

“They aren’t.” Sansa slips her needle through the length of silk she’s embroidering. “But he is the king. What can they do?”

Their duty. But Jon bites back the words. He knows he is no better. If you were you would have run Joffrey through the first time he struck Sansa whether she willed you to or no. “You shouldn’t forgive them.”

“I don’t.” Sansa’s eyes flash, fingers pinching the needle between them hard enough to turn them white. “Don’t ever think I do, Jon. I’ll never forget that all their oaths and honor meant less than nothing. But we need them.”

“For what?”

“No king can rule alone, not since the Targaryens lost their dragons.” Sansa lays aside her sewing. “Joffrey may be Baratheon and Lannister, but Stannis has no love for him and Tywin no patience. Without them he needs the lords at court whether he likes them or no, needs their purses and swords and voices. Without them he is only a child on a throne. While he sits it they obey him, but if his grasp weakens...”

Jon cocks his head to the side. “That’s all then? We wait?”

“We do. And we listen. To what they want, what they need, what positions they hope for their sons and what marriages they wish for their daughters. And when I can I murmur a word to a lord here and a lady there and sometimes their son squires for who they like and the marriage they want for their daughter comes to pass.”

Jon digests the words as Sansa takes up her sewing again and silence fills her chamber. The lamps lighting the chamber flicker lower and lower until eventually through the window the bells of the Great Sept of Baelor toll midnight.

Sansa draws a thread tight. “Joffrey will be here soon,” she says without looking up from her sewing, only the faintest wobble to her voice. “You should go.”

Jon clenches his jaw, but nods despite how it feels like shoving a knife in his chest knowing what will come when he does. He moves for the door, but lingers for a moment as his fingers brush the handle, looking back at Sansa seated by the window, hair in the lamplight the deep red of weirwood leaves.

She looks up curiously as her crosses to her seat, brow scrunching. “Jon?”

Would fucking me keep you true? The words ring in Jon’s ears as he presses his lips to her forehead in a swift kiss. “We wait,” he says, and turns for the door before he can see her face.

---

“I visited Chataya’s,” Tyrion announces to Jon a few weeks later as he and Jaime wait idly in their white cloaks outside the door of the small hall for Joffrey.

Jon raises an uninterested eyebrow. “How is Marei?”

“Lovely as always, but she told me a funny kind of tale. She told me she glimpsed a man of the kingsguard not more than a month ago in Chataya’s, a young comely knight with a sullen expression.” The little man adopts an injured expression. “You might have invited me, Jon. I thought you had no taste for whores.”

This is the path you chose. Jon grits his teeth as on the far side of the door a slow smile curves Jaime’s lips. “Why, your whore must be mistaken, brother.” Jaime says to Tyrion. “Jon holds his vows too dear to ever break them for some whore. A son of Ned Stark would never breach his honor so.”

“Perhaps it was a flight of fancy on Marei’s part, though she is rarely fanciful out of bed.” Tyrion shrugs, mismatched eyes studying Jon. “But that is not where her tale ended. She said despite how Alayaya has been telling all that the knight rode her long and hard and well that he was in her chambers only a few short minutes.”

Jon stiffens, silently cursing the little man and his japes as on the other side of the door Jaime leans forward, a lion at the scent. Jon forces himself to shrug carelessly. “Marei is wrong.”

“Not in this.” Tyrion tilts his head to the side, continues to study him, eyes shrewd, the moment stretching endlessly. Suddenly he grins. “You should just admit to it, Jon. There is no shame in only lasting only a few minutes, not with a maid as lovely as Alayaya. Perhaps I’ll visit her instead of Marei next time.” He jumps down from his chair. “I shall think on it as I grace the privy.”

Jon watches with teeth gritted as Tyrion waddles away. He can feel the weight of Jaime’s gaze on him, but refuses to look. Silence fills the space between them, the only sound the faint voice of Varys inside the small hall tittering of how the dragon queen in slaver’s bay is said to ride a dragon.

“How fares your lady sister?” Jaime’s voice is soft. “I heard she was ill only a month ago.”

Jon doesn’t answer. His fingers twitch, but he forces himself not to rest his hand on the pommel of his sword. We wait. He gives Jaime a flat, cool look. “A fever. She’s well now.”

“A fever? Not something she ate or... drank?” Jaime’s eyes glitter. “Come, you can tell me, bastard. I know you love your sister well.”

“Not half as well as you love yours.”

Jaime blinks and a slow, pleased smile curves his lips. “Oh, I do. A strange thing to love your sister, is it not? Love and cherish them, septons and maesters and all the world tell us, but not too close. Not like you would a woman, no never. Not like your would your lady wife. But protect them as though they were. Serve them faithfully, ride to their rescue, treat them courteously: but never ask for their favor, never ask for what the maiden in the tower offers up between her legs for the knight to save her. Well, you know what I say to that, bastard?” Jaime spits to the side. “I say fuck them and all they say.”

Jon wishes he could hate Jaime for the words. Wishes he could call him sisterfucker and think nothing more of it. And maybe once he could have, once when all he knew of sisters was Arya who never needed to be saved, once when they were children and all he thought of Sansa was a slip of a girl in a fine dress who always looked down her nose at him. But now, in place of hate or disgust, a strange kind of pity fills Jon as he looks at Jaime standing tall and golden in his gleaming armor. “That’s all Cersei is to you?” He asks softly. “A maiden in a tower? Something to be won?”

The smile falls from Jaime’s lips, eyes hardening into flints of blue. “And what would you know of it, bastard? You’re a creature born of lust and can never understand what it is to have a trueborn sister. I am never more whole than when I am with Cersei. Together we came into this world, two parts of one whole, and neither gods or men can unmake us.”

Jaime spits to the side and pushes away from the door, stalks away with his white cloak streaming behind him as Tyrion passes him in the hall returning from the privy. The little man watches his retreating back a moment before turning an arched brow to Jon. “A quarrel among brothers of the kingsguard?” He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “It is good your order does not accept women. Brothers are easier than sisters.”

---

Despite Joffrey’s loathing for any kind of ruling that day marks the first of many visits to the small hall in the following months. Whispers boil out from it until the Red Keep is abuzz with half heard rumors: that the dragon queen in Slaver’s Bay is on the march, that she beds with sellswords and barbarians and eunuchs alike, that she’s raised krakens from the depths, that three dragons soar above legions of freed slaves. Most scoff at that last, Joffrey sneers, Varys titters, but when she hears Sansa’s eyes turn thoughtful.

“Would it be so strange if there were dragons left in the world?” She muses to Jon. “Direwolves too we thought lost before you stumbled on ours.”

Ours. The wolf dreams still fill Jon’s sleep: loping beside his grey sister through glade and glen, the scent of pine and deer filling his nostrils, the fierce freedom. They’ve not spoken of the dreams since that night, but Jon knows Sansa has them still, sees it in the flash of her eyes, in the clenched angle of her jaw when her handmaids dust her bruises with white.

Instead of fading as most rumors do, the whispers of the dragon queen only grow louder in the weeks that follow, each new day bringing fresh news off Volantene galleys and Braavosi cogs: that she’s set free the slaves of New Ghis, scoured the pirates from the Basilisk isles, set sail for Volantis. With each new rumor Joffrey’s sneers turn less dismissive and more cruel. Day after day Jon stands guarding the foot of the Iron Throne as above him Joffrey sits alone and golden haired and brooding.

His temper blooms in new bruises across Sansa’s skin. Each night Jon kneels before her, tends her bruises with a warm cloth. She is no less silent than she used to be, but she no longer trembles, and even once in a long while offers Jon a wan smile that tugs at an ache deep within him.

He is tending a purple, mottled bruises on her collarbone when Sansa reaches up and wraps her fingers around his hand, gently lowers it. Jon glances up, an apology on the tip of his tongue for being too rough, but something in her face makes him pause. Her lip is caught between her teeth, eyes watching apprehensively. He turns his hand and catches her fingers in his, squeezes them gently. “What is it?”

Sansa blinks and looks down. She takes a deep, steadying breath. “I need something of you, Jon.”

“Anything.”

“You won’t like it.”

“Tell me.”

She does.

He doesn’t.

---

It is hours later, the sun fallen and their voices hoarse, when silence fills her chamber again. Sansa has not risen from her seat, but Jon has paced the length of her chamber half a hundred times and now stands before her window, all Kingslanding glittering out before him in a sea of flickering lamps. All the fight has left him, protests and arguments wrung out like a wet rag, and he closes his eyes as he looks out at the city, lets the cool night whisper across his face.

Sansa’s chair creaks and a moment later he feels the soft weight of her laying her head against his back. “Jon…”

Silently Jon turns and gathers her in his arms, pulls her to him. For a long time they stand like that, silent and still, her frame achingly slender against him, so fragile he might think she’d shatter if he didn’t by now know the strength within. “I won’t leave you,” he says eventually, voice hoarse. “Not here. Not with him.”

“It has to be this way. I won’t see the realm bleed. Not for me. The dragon queen- I do not know if she is a better ruler than Joffrey, but she cannot be worse. She’s broken the slave trade of Essos, and if she truly has dragons… she will come for Joffrey whether we will it or not, Jon. And with you the war could be quick. Clean.”

“Come with me then. We could both seek her out.”

Sansa shakes her head. “A knight might reach her, but a fleeing queen? Joffrey would scour every ship from here to Volantis to find me. It must be you, Jon, you and only you.”

“And after?” Jon forces the words past the weight crushing his chest. Because despite the oaths he swore, despite all he’s ever dreamed of and wanted, despite how it will break a part of him to leave her behind, in that moment he knows more truly than he’s known anything that whatever Sansa asks he will do, that he has never had a choice, not in this, not in her. You are my heart. “Once it’s done?”

“Come back.” Sansa tilts her face back, eyes shining as she gazes at him a long moment before rising to the tips of her toes, breathe tickling his ear. “Once it’s done come back to me, Jon.”

[asherlockstudy]

to be honest, only paid reviewers can defend this sh*t. there is an article on VF already saying that the twins got what they deserved - it's like they know people are going to go insane, it's like they have noticed that no, Jaime's arc hasn't fooled anybody, and they're spreading a narrative that tries to make sense of what is the worst character assassination ever. too bad that the rest of the episode is so incredibly terrible that they are never going to pull this off. tbh it's beyond me to

understand why, though. why do this? why destroy everything this way? the only answer I have is that D&D are sociopaths. there is no other explanation.

I think GRRM’s ending is going to be in some ways rather bleak as well but I bet he gave it to them without context at all and D&D were entirely incapable of connecting all the dots before the end themselves so they went for shock for shock’s sake. 

Those saying that we could see it all along just exploit Jaime’s character assassination to prove they were right for not liking Jaime or not liking Braime. Also, the comparison between Dany and Jaime is bullshit. In my opinion, the episode was not *entirely* terrible. Many characters’ choices subverted expectations and some were good just as some were bad. 

Varys’ treason is bad because even though it is well intended, it is incredibly stupid. Varys is one of the cleverest characters and yet he basically starts screaming around the he is against the Mad Queen he serves. Instead of conspiring for her death, putting some fucking poison in her drink, he essentially commits suicide. Varys would never easily risk his head just like that. 

Tyrion’s plot twist was good. Most of us love Tyrion  and initially it was painful for me to see him betray Varys, his old friend. It makes sense to me now though. Tyrion was terrified for his life and Varys had made the stupid decision to go public about his betrayal. Tyrion was the one who told Varys so if Tyrion didn’t betray him to Dany, then Varys would still die and Tyrion would follow him. Let alone Jon would probably do too. Tyrion went for damage control even though it pained him. 

Greyworm’s sudden outrage was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. Greyworm has been portrayed to have a strong moral code despite being an Unsullied. Okay, yeah, they beheaded Missandei but could this justify the once extremely stoic Greyworm lashing out and killing soldiers that have yielded and innocents? Greyworm had a sense of justice once - he should have turned against his queen. And even if he lost control, Jon’s commands should have been enough to bring him to his senses. 

Arya and Jon Snow - lol plot twist, most pointless characters ever but I don’t care and then we have Davos, who - let me be clear - I freaking love and he’ll survive the show without doing anything and fighting even for a mere second. Davos for the throne and I’m not even kidding. 

Cersei - believe it or not, I didn’t mind that. I always have (or had) a soft spot for the Lannisters. (And the show is going to obliterate all of them - ain’t that great.) To me, the way Cersei and Jaime died was almost funny - suddenly portrayed as the tragic lovers lol what. However, aside from everything that had to do with Jaime, I didn’t mind her being portrayed as the victim. Cersei was not a good person but also she had a cruel life. She knew since she was a kid that all her children would die and that her brother would kill her. How easily can you be sane and loving if you know that this is going to be your future? I don’t hate Cersei. When a person loses everything, it is then normal to let go of all their defenses and start crying and begging for survival. I appreciated that, for once, she cared about Jaime’s wounds. In a way, Cersei lost most of her sanity out of losing everything she loved. I think the point of the story there was that no matter how terrible Cersei was, she wasn’t AS bad as Daenerys. Cersei killed guilty and innocents to achieve certain goals. She destroyed the Sept where the Sparrows were (who were indeed a plague for the city) and along with them the Tyrells who she hated and probably all the people who ‘d gone there to see the Queen getting condemned. Essentially, most people in the Sept were her enemies or dangerous for the city and the kingdom. I doubt Cersei would just wake up one day and decide to burn an entire city. She didn’t care for her people, she used their lives for leverage but she wouldn’t harm them just for pleasure either. Yes, Cersei was an evil dangerous woman and deserved to die but she wasn’t the worst in that dark world. She wasn’t Joffrey (although she made him, she was always better than him), she wasn’t Ramsey and, in the end, she wasn’t Dany.

Now, Dany and Jaime. Here’s the big difference - Dany and Jaime’s character arcs are the exact opposite. Dany has been giving signs of cruelty which start really subtle but progressively get worse and worse. She starts by giving no shit for Viserys literally melting before her eyes and we excuse her because he was abusing her. Then she kills all the masters in brutal ways, supposedly to fight slavery. She starts listening to her subjects less and less. As the seasons proceed she burns people, even for not kneeling. Do you know why Daenerys hadn’t gone full villain earlier? Because of Jorah and Ser Barristan. Those two noble and genuinely good guys who cared about her were able to keep her sane and advice her properly. Tyrion and Varys can’t control her that well and her true inclination starts showing clearly the moment they take over. Jon is the last one that with his noble and selfless intentions manages to guide her until he stupidly tells her the truth and that’s the last straw for her fragile mentality.

Jaime’s arc is the exact opposite. Unlike Dany, he progressively gets better and better as the seasons proceed. We reach the half of the last season and Jaime is now the best man one could be - loving, brave, selfless, honourable and, well, completely indifferent and over his manipulative hateful sister. And yet. In 5 minutes, all of it is thrown in the garbage. In a hilarious way. Seriously, last week I was crying. This week I’m laughing. 

 I will say, though, something I also said last week. This kind of turn in Jaime’s character was not meant to show that Jaime after all was still bad or depraved or hateful. He never was any of this, not really. He never meant to fuck Brienne and leave and his appreciation, respect and attraction to Brienne was not a lie. The point was that even though he was a good man, Jaime was stupid. The stupidest Lannister indeed. Also, always entirely incapable of taking initiative and make his own choices without having someone to guide him and tell him what to do, for good or bad. This part of his character has been fairly consistent. That’s the saddest thing of all.