#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. “

[leonum-matrem-blog]

❝ you should learn to lie better. ❞

100 Random Starters | @lordneganaccepting

      “There is little need for lying in the face of war. Lord Northbow.” Fingers come interlock within one another with the turn toward him as they stood with a weapon between a Queen and Profiteer of war. Both masters of the game in their own fields,she a Lannister who’s blood boiled in ambition; and he a Northbow. A family built on endurance above all else; only the opportunistic survive after all. But Lord Northbow himself had proven himself different, hadn’t he? It would seem that this man had his eye set on more than just enduring. It was only a matter of finding exactly what he wanted.

       “I need these-” There is a short gesture toward the massive contraption , the ballista as Qyburn had called it. It had proven effective in harming the massive black creature of the white haired bitch, but it was slow. Too slow for massive monsters in the sky. “Improved. They are simply a bow and arrow times the size of a dragon, are they not? I do not see why you cannot aid the Crown in their royal endeavors. Now I say again, My Lord. You will be paid a pleasant sum for your tidings, I assure you, all I require is your cooperation. If you do not, it is no matter, I will simply find another.”

[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.”

[wineinthewidow]

mom!

MY SWEET DAUGHTER!!! / @lionessbornACCEPTING ALWAYS I CRY!!

    She shifts, a blink with the rouse from her seat. heavy lidded eyes flicking left and right with confusion visible upon soft features. The Queen clears her throat and straightens herself with a shrug of shoulders, a short adjust of the shawl adorned across petite shoulders and the briefest turn of her chin with the refocus of her vision.

   “ I am sorry, sweetling.” A hand comes to her own forehead with a slight blink, a settle of confusion to ground herself here in the moment, and before long a smile lifted at her lips. “ I seem to have fallen into the deepest slumber. “ And she had the most horrible dream, the effects of it still felt in the echoing twist of her chest. A knot that left a bitter taste in her mouth, for there she had lost them all. Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, her father, mother, and soon after Jaime. It was a dream that had drowned her in tears, a dream that had left her begging for the Valonqar to finish it. To please, do it.

   And now the prospect of the Valonqar felt nothing more than a distant dream.

    She reached over to touch her daughter’s face, a gentle palm to drift along the side of her face. And for a moment she fears that as she moved blonde tresses aside, she would find scarring; but there had only been soft features to reflect her own. It was only then that a weary smile was traded for one of contentment. And for the first time in such a lifetime Cersei felt her chest swell, and tears of joy to slip across features. “ Everything is alright.” A breath left her, and then she leaned over to press a kiss along her child’s head.

    “ Come, let us gather your siblings.” She then gave her daughter a gentle pat along her shoulder before she stands. “ I am eager to see your grandmother.”

[leonum-matrem-blog]

read your Do Nots, and I get all of it. But then there's all these under tones of passive aggressiveness from you. Also an air of superiority. I'm just sayin it sounds a bit hypocritical.

   Oh PLEASE —--

    Rules are sometimes aggressive. That’s why they’re rules. When there are assholes like YOU who break the all the time are the reason that they need to be in place in the first place. I’m not PASSIVE aggressive I am AGGRESSIVE because I am tired of being treated like absolute shit. I’m tired of anything and everything I’ve ever said be demeaned, talked down on, and being treated like crap because someone has a personal vendetta against the character I write for. I’m tired of being guilted the way I was for MONTHS, I’m tired of having my opinion disrespected, and DEMEANED and made inferior. I am tired of my insecurities being taken advantage of and being judged as a CHILD whenever someone couldn’t stand someone with an independent thinking process. I am tired of having my opinions attacked and made to look out like the bad guy when I actually STOP and defend myself against blows against my interpretation, my relationship with my main interactions, my friends at times YES, and watch as I’m villainized because they can’t stand being called out on their shitty behavior. I’m tired of working over and over and OVER to try and make certain friendships work but having absolutely NO attempt from the other party to do the same.

     I AM TIRED OF BEING THE NICE GUY HERE WHEN ALL I HAVE BEEN IS THE NICE GUY WHEN I AM ALWAYS MADE TO LOOK LIKE THE ONE OVER REACTING WHEN DEFENDING MYSELF WHEN PEOPLE I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH COME INTO MY BLOGS, MAKE CRAPPY COMMENTS, VAGUE, AND GET RUDE AGGRESSIVE REBUTTALS IN THE IM’S WHEN I CALL THEM OUT. ONLY TO BE MESSAGED ON ANOTHER PLATFORM WHEN THE BLOCK HAPPENS.

    I am ALLOWED to be aggressive when it comes to ensuring that I am comfortable on my OWN blog and my OWN dash. And you know what? I AM superior in this moment because I control what happens on my own blog. I control how things are here in my own experience. You DON’T. I am superior because I have admitted my faults, I have lived and saw, and made mistakes and I will ALWAYS admit to them no matter what. i am superior because I am taking charge now in not letting people BULLY and DEMEAN me and turn around and dismiss me when I have had enough. I AM THE SUPERIOR PERSON ON MY OWN BLOG, IN MY OWN EXPERIENCES HERE. Just as YOU are superior on what happens in YOUR blog. Because YOU don’t get to dictate what I do, or who i talk too, or WHAT I choose to do.

    I AM ALLOWED TO ASK THAT I AS A PERSON BE RESPECTED IN ALL FORMS.

    Just saying.

    And yes, this is about YOU NONNIE. In case you don’t know. I have a statcounter. And it’s a pretty GOOD statcounter. I know WHO the hell you are, and I DO know what the hell you are up too. You are NOT allowed to ruin my experience here and I am going to CONTINUE to ignore you and everything that you do. I said this when you came into my blog and took a jab at me. I said this when you contacted me in the IM’s, and I said this when you contacted me in discord. AND YES. When I told you, that you made me uncomfortable, insinuation was enough when I both left the discord and unfollowed you.

LEAVE ME ALONE.

[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.”