#ned ⨳⬩ || brandon hornwood

[xfulminare]

vanity was not something that often possessed him and so he had finished the race feeling relatively satisfied with his position. the joke that comes his way would have been less well received but as it comes from the lips of a northerner he cannot help but grin in response. "fifth still quite respectable." came the grumbled defence but for all he held no shame over his . but any part of him that might have lingered on how he might have done better was easily overpowered by the pride he felt for his squire. "a victory for one of us is a victory for all of us, no? alys did well and while I could claim I taught her everything she knew, I won't." words are said entirely in jest, not wishing anything to take away from the mormont's win. brow rose in playful challenge before he gave a pointed look. "when do you intend to defend our honour? I'll be sure to return the favour and place coin on you."

@xfulminare  ⸺ lord edric stark.

               "as plum chuffed as ah um ye didnae break yer neck racin' yer horse, da ya hink ye could've pit in a better showin'? cost me five gold crowns dickerin' on that final stretch." the northern grinned at his liege, offering a courtesy "m'lord." almost as a passing after thought as he unceremoniously cuffed the other man on his shoulder as he descended upon him. the buzz of the excitement from the race - or perhaps the several ales that had been downed over the course of it - robbing what few good graces the lord of the hornwood still managed to feign. "feckin' guid thing alys wis there tae pick up the slack, eh? guess someone had tae defend the honur ay the north."

[baelontargaryen]

Daenerys Targaryen Appreciation Month 2022

Day 26 → The Key Five: Arya Stark

“As you command.” The knight gave her a curious look. “You are your brother’s sister, in truth.”

“Viserys?” She did not understand.

“No,” he answered. “Rhaegar.” He galloped off.

—AGOT, Daenerys VI

“I think you are Rhaegar Targaryen’s sister,” Ser Jorah said with a rueful half smile.

— ASOS, Daenerys IV

“No,” said Alleras. “It was Prince Rhaegar’s young son Aegon whose head was dashed against the wall by the Lion of Lannister’s brave men. We speak of Rhaegar’s sister, born on Dragonstone before its fall. The one they called Daenerys.”

— AFFC, Prologue

“Wasn’t there some princess too?” asked a whore. She was the same one who’d said the meat was grey.

“Two,” said the old fellow. “One was Rhaegar’s daughter, t’other was his sister.”

[...] “Daenerys,” Davos said. “She was named for the Daenerys who wed the Prince of Dorne during the reign of Daeron the Second. I don’t know what became of her.”

— ADWD, Davos II

Ser Barristan went to one knee before her. “My queen, your realm has need of you. You are not wanted here, but in Westeros men will flock to your banners by the thousands, great lords and noble knights. ‘She is come,’ they will shout to one another, in glad voices. ‘Prince Rhaegar’s sister has come home at last.’ ”

— ADWD, Daenerys III

And then Prince Aegon spoke. “Then put your hopes on me,” he said. “Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon that you need.”

...

“Some,” allowed Homeless Harry, “not many. Rhaegar’s sister has dragons. Rhaegar’s son does not. We do not have the strength to take the realm without Daenerys and her army. Her Unsullied.”

— ADWD, The Lost Lord

~

So it was. “I was seven when Elia died. They say I held her daughter Rhaenys once, when I was too young to remember. Aegon will be a stranger to me, whether true or false.” The princess paused. “We looked for Rhaegar’s sister, not his son.” Her father had confided in Ser Daemon when he chose him as his daughter's shield; with him at least she could speak freely. “I would sooner it were Quentyn who’d returned.”

— TWOW, Arianne I

—

“Was ever snow so black?” asked Lord Wyman. “Ramsay took Lord Hornwood’s lands by forcibly wedding his widow, then locked her in a tower and forgot her. It is said she ate her own fingers in her extremity … and the Lannister notion of king’s justice is to reward her killer with Ned Stark’s little girl.”

—ADWD, Davos IV

“And do you imagine the Hornwood men have forgotten the Bastard’s last marriage, and how his lady wife was left to starve, chewing her own fingers? What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned’s precious little girl.”

— ADWD, The Turncloak

But the wolves insisted; Roose Bolton could not be suffered to hold Winterfell, and the Ned’s girl must be rescued from the clutches of his bastard. So said Morgan Liddle, Brandon Norrey, Big Bucket Wull, the Flints, even the She-Bear.

...

“Ned’s girl,” said Morgan Liddle. He was the second of three sons, so the other wolves called him Middle Liddle, though not often in his hearing.

...

“Ned’s girl,” echoed Big Bucket Wull. “And we should have had her and the castle both if you prancing southron jackanapes didn’t piss your satin breeches at a little snow.”

...

“Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks.”...

— ADWD, The King’s Prize

[thelustybraavosimaid]

"You would not believe half of what is happening in King's Landing, sweetling. Cersei stumbles from one idiocy to the next, helped along by her council of the deaf, the dim, and the blind. I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hoped to have four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now...it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. What little peace and order the five kings left us will not long survive the three queens, I fear."

"Three queens?" She did not understand. (Alayne II, AFfC)

The three queens are Cersei (already stated), Selyse, and Daenerys. Sansa is not part of this equation, as she is not a queen, and no amount of Littlefinger's scheming would make it so. Currently, Littlefinger's plot is to marry "Alayne" to Harry to make her the lady of the Vale, not to give her queenship.

The situation in the north is precarious. Currently, some lords of the north are rebelling against the Boltons, rising up in the name of "valiant Ned's precious little girl," who they think is Arya.

"Not me," the Lady of Barrowton confessed, "but the rest, yes. Old Whoresbane is only here because the Freys hold the Greatjon captive. And do you imagine the Hornwood men have forgotten the Bastard's last marriage, and how his lady wife was left to starve, chewing her own fingers? What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." (The Turncloak, ADwD)

--

But the wolves insisted; Roose Bolton could not be suffered to hold Winterfell, and the Ned's girl must be rescued from the clutches of his bastard. So said Morgan Liddle, Brandon Norrey, Big Bucket Wull, the Flints, even the She-Bear.

...

Finally, after a nightmarish day when the column advanced a bare mile and lost a dozen horses and four men, Lord Peasebury turned against the northmen. "This march was madness. More dying every day, and for what? Some girl?"

"Ned's girl," said Morgan Liddle. [...]

"Ned's girl," echoed Big Bucket Wull. "And we should have had her and the castle both if you prancing southron jackanapes didn't piss your satin breeches at a little snow." (The King's Prize, ADwD)

Lord Hugo Wull says this:

"Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned's little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks. No one sings songs of men who die like that. As for me, I am old. This will be my last winter. Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die. I want to feel it spatter across my face when my axe bites deep into a Bolton skull. I want to lick it off my lips and die with the taste of it on my tongue."

"Aye!" shouted Morgan Liddle. "Blood and battle!" Then all the hillmen were shouting, banging their cups and drinking horns on the table, filling the king's tent with the clangor. (The King's Prize, ADwD)

Manderly wants Davos to retrieve Rickon from Skagos, and says that the direwolf is proof of his identity.

"Roose Bolton has Lord Eddard's daughter. To thwart him White Harbor must have Ned's son…and the direwolf. The wolf will prove the boy is who we say he is, should the Dreadfort attempt to deny him. That is my price, Lord Davos. Smuggle me back my liege lord, and I will take Stannis Baratheon as my king." (Davos IV, ADwD)

Meanwhile, the lords of Houses Norrey and Flint travelled to the Wall for Alys' wedding, and Jon found that perplexing.

Old Flint and The Norrey had been given places of high honor just below the dais. Both men had been too old to march with Stannis; they had sent their sons and grandsons in their stead. But they had been quick enough to descend on Castle Black for the wedding. Each had brought a wet nurse to the Wall as well. The Norrey woman was forty, with the biggest breasts Jon Snow had ever seen. The Flint girl was fourteen and flat-chested as a boy, though she did not lack for milk. Between the two of them, the child Val called Monster seemed to be thriving.

For that much Jon was grateful…but he did not believe for a moment that two such hoary old warriors would have hied down from their hills for that alone. Each had brought a tail of fighting men—five for Old Flint, twelve for The Norrey, all clad in ragged skins and studded leathers, fearsome as the face of winter. Some had long beards, some had scars, some had both; all worshiped the old gods of the north, those same gods worshiped by the free folk beyond the Wall. Yet here they sat, drinking to a marriage hallowed by some queer red god from beyond the seas. (Jon X, ADwD)

There are people on their way to the north to reach Howland Reed, with copies of Robb's will at hand.

I have a question, since Robb actually legitimized Jon and named him his heir for Winterfell and the North before the Red Wedding (granted no one knows about this and is still alive or free, the Greatjon knows as does Edmure, but Idont see them getting out of the Twins any time soon and Catelyn would probably die before telling anyone) does this make Jon's rejection of Stannis' offer moot?

Edmure and the Greatjon are prisoners, true... but you are forgetting the envoys that Robb sent to Howland Reed... Galbart Glover, Maege Mormont, Jason Mallister... they are all alive and free.

As to what is and is not moot... the key point is, only a =king= can legitimize a bastard......

[Source]

Robb most certainly declared Jon his heir:

"No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father's head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya's gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they'll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother that remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice." (Catelyn V, ASoS)

...and was willing to send men to the Night's Watch in exchange for him:

"Jon is a brother of the Night's Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands. Those who take the black serve for life."

"So do the knights of the Kingsguard. That did not stop the Lannisters from stripping the white cloaks from Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Boros Blount when they had no more use for them. If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon's place, I'll wager they find some way to release him from his vows." (Catelyn V, ASoS)

While Robb was away, Bran took on the role of Lord of Winterfell, and while doing so, he encountered the Reed children. Meera and Jojen bent their knees to Bran and swore fealty to him with ancient words:

"To Winterfell we pledge the faith of Greywater," they said together. "Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you."

"I swear it by earth and water," said the boy in green.

"I swear it by bronze and iron," his sister said.

"We swear it by ice and fire," they finished together.

Bran groped for words. Was he supposed to swear something back to them? Their oath was not one he had been taught. "May your winters be short and your summers bountiful," he said. That was usually a good thing to say. "Rise. I'm Brandon Stark."

The girl, Meera, got to her feet and helped her brother up. The boy stared at Bran all the while. (Bran III, ACoK)

And as the oldest of the boys, Bran would be first in line naturally, in the order of succession.

Moreover, the north does not know Sansa as well as they know Arya, as we know from Sansa's chapters that she could make friends with anyone, and that she loves to speak with people:

"I didn't go far. Anyway, Nymeria was with me the whole time. I don't always go off, either. Sometimes it's fun just to ride along with the wagons and talk to people."

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. (Sansa I, AGoT)

...and also from Arya's chapters that she loved to listen to her father's men talk, which made her intimately knowledgeable of who her father's men were:

Back at Winterfell, they had eaten in the Great Hall almost half the time. Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. "Know the men who follow you," she heard him tell Robb once, "and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger." At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was. She'd liked that a lot better than "Arya Horseface." (Arya II, AGoT)

...that she travelled the north with Ned at times.

She had visited White Harbor with her father twice, but she knew King's Landing better. (Arya II, AFfC)

And even still that she could run a household better than Sansa could.

It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward. (Arya I, AGoT)

We also have seen Arya enacting Stark traditional justice already, with the execution of Dareon for desertion.

I killed Cat when I killed that singer. The kindly man had told her that they would have taken her eyes from her anyway, to help her learn to use her other senses, but not for half a year. Blind acolytes were common in the House of Black and White, but few as young as she. The girl was not sorry, though. Dareon had been a deserter from the Night's Watch; he had deserved to die. (The Blind Girl, ADwD)

In regards to Sansa, Jon thinks of the order of succession twice when he puts her name forward. Though his dialogue would have been different if he knew that Bran was alive and was currently beyond the Wall. Both times, Stannis rejects this notion.

So instead, Jon suggests giving the castle of Winterfell to Mors Crowfood Umber.

"Arnolf Karstark is an old man with a crooked back, and even in his youth he was never the fighter Lord Rickard was. The rigors of the campaign may well kill him."

"He has heirs," Stannis snapped. "Two sons, six grandsons, some daughters. If Robert had fathered trueborn sons, many who are dead might still be living."

"Your Grace would do better with Mors Crowfood." (Jon IV, ADwD)

Sansa is also forced into hiding as "Alayne Stone" because she is wanted by the Crown for kinslaying, which is a taboo. The only thing considered worse than it is kingslaying.

Kinslaying was worse than kingslaying, in the eyes of gods and men. (Jaime VII, ASoS)

Jaime's words seem to reflect the opinion of the Crown here.

Brienne looked at him. "You do not believe he did it."

Jaime gave her a hard smile. "See, wench? We know each other too well. Tyrion's wanted to be me since he took his first step, but he'd never follow me in kingslaying. Sansa Stark killed Joffrey. My brother's kept silent to protect her. He gets these fits of gallantry from time to time. The last one cost him a nose. This time it will mean his head." (Jaime IX, ASoS)

And now the question is, how would Sansa be able to prove herself to the northern lords when she arrives? Northerners are a hard people, and even Robb had to prove himself in order to get them to follow him completely.

And when Lord Umber, who was called the Greatjon by his men and stood as tall as Hodor and twice as wide, threatened to take his forces home if he was placed behind the Hornwoods or the Cerwyns in the order of march, Robb told him he was welcome to do so. "And when we are done with the Lannisters," he promised, scratching Grey Wind behind the ear, "we will march back north, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oathbreaker." Cursing, the Greatjon flung a flagon of ale into the fire and bellowed that Robb was so green he must piss grass. When Hallis Mollen moved to restrain him, he knocked him to the floor, kicked over a table, and unsheathed the biggest, ugliest greatsword that Bran had ever seen. All along the benches, his sons and brothers and sworn swords leapt to their feet, grabbing for their steel.

Yet Robb only said a quiet word, and in a snarl and the blink of an eye Lord Umber was on his back, his sword spinning on the floor three feet away and his hand dripping blood where Grey Wind had bitten off two fingers. "My lord father taught me that it was death to bare steel against your liege lord," Robb said, "but doubtless you only meant to cut my meat." Bran's bowels went to water as the Greatjon struggled to rise, sucking at the red stumps of fingers…but then, astonishingly, the huge man laughed. "Your meat," he roared, "is bloody tough."

And somehow after that the Greatjon became Robb's right hand, his staunchest champion, loudly telling all and sundry that the boy lord was a Stark after all, and they'd damn well better bend their knees if they didn't fancy having them chewed off. (Bran VI, AGoT)

All of these opposing forces to the Stark children by various lords is quite obviously grounds for a succession crisis. If Sansa wants to become queen, let alone Queen of the North, she will have much and more to prove.

[nooneeverlookedforagirl]

Rickard dies, and Lyarra rules in his place. She married for political reasons, and her marriage fell apart, so her children will marry for love.

Brandon Stark x Ashara Dayne.

Ned Stark x Catelyn Tully

Lyanna Stark x Jorah Mormont

Benjen Stark x Berena Hornwood

[jackoshadows]

This is another Sansa stan who uses the character of Jon as a prop for Sansa and then pretends that the Dany hate is because she was 'abusive' to Jon and not because they want Sansa to have Dany's narrative importance and relationships in the story.

This is their pfp : Yeah, the blue roses is all about Sansa...

They are the typical Sansa stan who writes stuff like this

but they just really stan Sansa while Jon, Arya and Bran are side props to support Sansa's story.

For example when Sansa stans say they are an 'Arya enthusiast' what do they mean? It means Arya's endgame is her fucking off in a boat (They really want her gone from Winterfell and Jon lol) and also Arya hates duty and work and cannot make complex decisions unlike the excellent Sansa who has the education, skills, determination and confidence to be ruler!! Undermines and deliberately twists the Arya/Lyanna parallels because how dare Arya be good looking and then mocks the people pointing this out.

Ned and Sansa are gentle people (Never mind that we were introduced to the story with Ned beheading someone!) unlike Arya and Catelyn! Also this quote is hilarious:

"Hell, they (Ned and Sansa) even try to save others from harm even if it was cause them harm in return."

I mean, one of the first things that happens in AGoT is Arya trying to save Mycah from the crown prince at great risk to herself while Sansa selfishly lies and supports Joffrey because she loves him!

The only Arya relationship they care about is Arya/Sansa - not any of the other Stark sibling relationships with deeper connections like Arya/Jon, Arya/Bran or even Arya/Rickon. What an 'Arya enthusiast' this person is!!

What about Jon? What does the person who thinks Dany was 'abusive' to Jon think about book Jon:

Sansa did nothing wrong in treating Jon differently because he's a bastard. She was just being honest you guys! Arya is just too young and ignorant to know that bastards are lesser human beings, hence why she cultivated a relationship with Jon Snow unlike Sansa who was just being real.

Also poor Bran getting dragged into this and equated to Sansa for some reason, when Bran loved Jon so much ("He loved Jon with all his heart at that moment") and advised that a bastard rule Lady Hornwood’s lands because he remembered Jon and Jon's absolute joy at hearing that Bran had woken up.

Undermines Jon Snow's relationship with Arya in favor of Jonsa. 'You know nothing' which phrase is used before Jon remembers Arya and decides to go to war for her is now apparently 'this phrase connected with sansa in his recollection before he dies'. Never mind that Jon does not actually even die here 😂! He dies later and as he is dying he actually thinks 'Stick 'em with the pointy end' - Needle/Arya and because some men just stuck him with lots of pointy ends - and 'Ghost'.

Jon Snow would rather be Ned's bastard than Rhaegar's legitimate son because he thinks he was just a 'stain on Ned's honor'. A complete and deliberate misinterpretation. Jon is angry at Ned for siring a bastard! He is not sad about being a stain on Ned's honor! Again, the Sansa stan fandom loves to portray Jon as self loathing and pathetic - he will feel guilty for what Rhaegar did, he blames himself for being a stain on Ned's honor etc. Fuck that shit! Jon Snow has never been one to embrace the guilt of other character's bad deeds.

Feeling discriminated against for being a bastard is just Jon being 'dramatic' and the same as Sansa being naive. He was just jealous because Robb got a kiss from Sansa...

The younger Starks don't much think about the dead Starks in the generation above theirs. Jon only refers to Ned and Benjen because he interacts with them. However, Jon is apparently traumatized by what happened to Brandon and Rickard

It gets worse: "If anything it should be Jon asking for Catelyn’s forgiveness"....

Catelyn never abused Jon - it's just 'emotional distance' and Jon growing up in Winterfell is 'Ned's love child being paraded before her'.

Nah, I just love how these people make up hypotheticals about Dany 'abusing' Jon so that they can hate her (And what they call 'abuse' is just pretty much two rulers who don't know each other treating each other as negotiating rulers do and farcical gifsets about Dany being LF because they stood the same way! 😂😂😂) and then go on justify and celebrate Sansa's classism towards Jon and Catelyn's very real emotional abuse of Jon Snow in the books, while downplaying book Jon's very real feelings of hurt and trauma.

PS: I find it interesting how Sansa/Jonsa stans falsely slander Catelyn's character to hate on Arya, ex - they are both violent and impulsive and run around biting people unlike gentle Ned/Sansa - and at the same time excuse Catelyn's emotional abuse of Jon Snow as being justified and Jon Snow is just being over sensitive and thin skinned about it. I guess they really want these made up Ned/Sansa parallels for Sansa to be QITN and also their farcical Nedcat/Jonsa metas means that Cat was not really abusive towards Jon, it was just that one time and it was Jon's fault for being 'paraded around Winterfell as Ned's love child'.

what are they smoking?

[bitchin-beskar]

Honorable Intentions

Rating: M 

Word Count: 14.2k holy shit

A/N: Damn. So, this started out as a fun little plot idea and then turned into this absolute monster of a piece. I promise the next thing I work on will be the next chapter in the I See Starlight Series, but this little plot bunny just would not leave me alone. So, here it is, my 14 thousand word one-shot about Oberyn... can I even call it a one-shot? I think it’s at, like, novelette length... 

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

This story is rated M for a rather lengthy sex scene, please only read if 18+

Sighing, you look out at the arena, already bored and the jousts haven’t even started. It isn’t proper for a lady to seem bored however, so you keep your face carefully blank. You glance to your right to see your sister, Lyanna, eagerly awaiting the beginning of the event. She’s always appreciated these events more than you. Lyanna favoured stories of chivalrous knights and charming princes, fantasizing being swept off her feet by the handsome man of her dreams.

You, on the other hand, tended to be more down-to-earth. Yes, you enjoyed stories of knights and princes just as much as any other lady, but you also knew that real life was rarely like the stories. You knew the likelihood of both Lyanna and yourself being married off to your father’s bannermen was high. If you were lucky, you’d be married to lords who weren’t too much older than yourselves, but there were no sureties. 

Your twin was especially excited for this particular event, you knew. Prince Rhaegar would be competing, and Lyanna was entranced by him. Ever since coming to Harrenhal, she’d watched every event he’d completed in, and in your rooms at night, she would talk for hours about him, wondering what he was like. You’d constantly tell her that the Prince was already married, to Princess Elia of Dorne, with a daughter no less, but your words fell on deaf ears. 

Neither of your elder brothers were seated with you. Brandon was recovering from the previous event, and Ned was speaking with some of the sons from Houses Karstark, Hornwood, and Mormont. So, you were left with the ladies from the noble houses of the North and your sister, all of whom were extremely excited for the joust. 

Instead of joining in with the tittering and gossip, you surveyed the arena, taking note of the other Houses present for the joust. You took note of the royals box, with Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia in attendance. King Aerys was nowhere to be seen, and from what you’ve overheard from the maids, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Princess Elia didn’t look pleased to be here, and you supposed you couldn’t blame her. All eyes would be on her if her husband lost the joust, and you didn’t envy her that pressure. 

House Lannister was also in attendance, and you saw the way Cersei Lannister surveyed the stands, much the same as you, although her countenance suggested she felt as though everyone here was beneath her. You were honestly surprised she’d come, especially after being so publicly rejected by Prince Rhaegar previously.

Your eyes skipped over a few other Houses, Baratheon, Tully, Tyrell and Greyjoy, and focused on one particular house. House Martell was seated almost directly across from you, and the box held Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn of Dorne, Princess Elia’s older brothers. You’d first noticed them a few days previously, as your sister’s handmaid had pointed out how attractive Prince Doran was.

While you couldn’t disagree, you however, found your eyes constantly drawn to Prince Oberyn. He was two-and-six, not that much older than your one-and-eight. His beard was neat and trimmed, and his eyes were dark, glittering orbs that seemed to captivate anyone caught in their depths. Despite the warm weather, the Prince wore a rather heavy cloak, and you supposed it must be true, the rumors of the intense heat in the Dornish capital. 

Being from the North, where snow fell no matter the season, the mere thought of a place with no snow or rain was baffling. It was said there were dunes of sand, and much like snow, they stretched on for miles, a solid expanse of singular color. 

As your eyes fell on the box that housed House Martell, Prince Oberyn happened to raise his own gaze, and your eyes connected across the arena. He held your gaze, raising an eyebrow as you refused to duck your head in embarrassment or shame, a sly grin stretching across his lips. You bit one of your own, and found yourself captivated, as you’d often seen others fall victim to the same stare you were now being subjected. 

The sound of the horn signaling the beginning of the joust startled you some, and you reluctantly tore your eyes from the Princes’, looking to the tents where the jousters would emerge from.

“Is everything alright, sister?” 

You looked over at Lyanna, a question clear upon your face. “You’re flushed. Is something wrong?” You raised your hand to your cheek, surprised to feel the skin heated underneath your fingertips. 

“I’m quite alright Lyanna, I suppose I’m just anxious for the jousts to start.”

With a suspicious hum, Lyann turned away from you, focusing her eyes on the tents just as the knights began to emerge. You fought to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as Lyanna and the other ladies began to whisper excitedly when Prince Rhaegar stepped forward. 

You watched, disinterested, as the competitors mounted their horses. The Prince made a grand show of mounting his snow white steed, and you wanted to groan when your twin practically swooned. The Prince led his steed around the arena in a trot, and the ladies in your box titered as he rode by. 

The other competitors in the joust were all Kingsguard, and while you were sure they were perfectly competent, you knew the Prince would be winning this competition. Even if he wasn’t an extremely skilled jouster–which you would admit, reluctantly, that he was–it would be suicidal for any of the Kingsguard to win, what with the King’s fragile sanity. 

You didn’t want to imagine what would happen if one of the Kingsguard managed to best Prince Rhaegar, and clearly they didn’t either, for the first of the four went down quickly after the first charge against the Prince. 

Wincing as he hit the ground, you watched as another took his place, only for the same fate to befall him. And again, to the third man. This competition is much shorter than all the others, but even then, you find it exceedingly dull, especially with your sister practically salivating next to you.

Finally, it is the turn of the fourth Kingsguard. The crowd seems to be sitting in anticipation, but you find no such anxieties when the outcome is all but assured. And, sure enough, the final Kingsguard is unseated, and the crowd roars. The Prince gallops around the arena, a show of misplaced pride, and you glance at the Princess Elia, only to see her looking just as unamused as yourself.

“Prince Rhaegar will now present the crown of blue winter roses to his Queen of Love and Beauty!” The voice of the announcer boomed out from his place beneath the royal box, and it seemed as though everyone held their breath, the loud cheers ceasing at once, as the Prince was handed the crown. 

You watched in stunned silence and absolute horror as the Prince rode past the royal box, past his wife, to stop in front of your own box. He reached out, placing the crown on Lyanna’s lap, and you watched, mute, as he gave a stunning smile to your twin sister, which she returned, blushing furiously. 

She held the crown in her lap for a moment, before placing it among her curls, grinning as Prince Rhaegar rode away from the box. Suddenly, the arena burst into noise, members of all the houses shouting over one another at what had just occurred. You watched as Lyanna continued to blush a brilliant red, a smile dancing on her lips, a smile that died as she turned and saw your look of horror. 

Before she could open her mouth, you stood from your seat, leaving the box in a rush. You descended the steps and walked furiously towards the woods behind the arena, sure that if you spoke to your sister, you would be unable to control your temper, and praying to the gods old and new that she would not follow. Unfortunately, the gods did not grant your wish, and you heard Lyanna run after you, stopping you with a hand on your arm.

“Sister! Why did you storm off so? What has gotten into you?”

You spun around to face her. “Me? What’s gotten into me? Lyanna have you lost all sense? Have you gone as mad as the king?” Your voice was an angry whisper, words sharp and biting as her eyes widened. “What in the name of the gods possessed you to accept that crown?” You gestured to the blue winter roses atop her head. 

“Prince Rhaegar named me his Queen of Love and Beauty! Why should I not accept?” Her voice was petulant and whiny, and for a moment, you wondered how it was possible the two of you were the same age, let alone related. 

“Prince Rhaegar is married, Lyanna! He is married to a Princess of Dorne! She has already given him a daughter! You are the daughter of Lord Stark, Warden of the North! You cannot possibly be so foolish as to not understand the consequences of this!” Your voice rose louder and louder until you were practically yelling. “For the Prince to name anyone else other than his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty is a grave insult, for him to so name the daughter of a Great House different than the one he married into is an insult even more so! I would not be surprised if Dorne does not take offence to his actions, and refuse trade with the North!”

Lyanna didn’t look repentant however. “So? We do not need Dorne! We are perfectly fine trading with the other kingdoms, we don’t need them!” You wanted to grab your sister around the shoulders and shake her. 

“We have trade agreements with Dorne, Lyanna! They provide most of the exotic trades for all of fucking Westeros! To destroy the alliance between our houses would be unforgivable, and quite frankly, terrible for our people!” You saw your brothers quickly moving towards the two of you, and you sighed heavily. “You should return the damn crown, and we should leave Harrenhal, and hope that you have not just single-handedly destroyed one of the North’s alliances!” 

You stormed away, and as Brandon tried to stop you, you shrugged him off. “If I continue to speak to my sister, I may smack her. I suggest you attempt to talk some sense into her.” Your words were curt and sharp, and the word sister was spat with contempt and disgust. You continued to storm away, only to see Princess Elia ahead of you, walking with her ladies-in-waiting. 

You sped up slightly, approaching her. “My lady, if I could speak with you for a moment?” Her handmaids eyed you distrustfully, but Princess Elia surprisingly waved them on. She waited until they were out of earshot before turning to you. 

“What can I do for you, Lady Stark?” Her words were perfectly polite, but cold and unemotional. If you hadn’t been looking into her eyes, you would have thought she’d been completely unaffected by what had just occurred. 

“I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies for the stupidity and arrogance my sister displayed at the end of the joust, my lady.” It was clear that was not what the Princess was expecting you to say, and her cold, indifferent mask cracked. 

“Oh?”

You sighed, suddenly feeling much older than one-and-eight. “I will not lie to you my lady. My sister has been rather infatuated with your husband since the beginning of the tourney. I have attempted to talk to her on multiple occasions, but she refuses to listen to my council. I am truly very sorry for the pain this may have caused.” You didn’t want to presume any hurt on the part of Princess Elia, but neither were you willing to just let this go unaddressed. “I never could have imagined anything such as this happening, and if there is anything I can do…?” You trailed off once more, once again not wanting to presume anything on her part.

To your surprise, Princess Elia smiled softly. “Your words bring me some comfort Lady Stark. I thank you for the kindness you have shown me. You did not need to speak to me, but you have, and I greatly appreciate it.” 

You shook your head slowly. “I did need to speak with you, my lady. My honor would demand nothing less. I am only sorry my sister seems to possess none.” 

Princess Elia let out a soft laugh at your words, and you briefly found yourself wondering at how Prince Rhaegar could have named anyone but his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty. “Your honesty is refreshing, Lady Stark. Would you care to dine with me this evening? Ladies of your character are few and far between in court it would seem, and I would not be opposed to another friend.” 

Stunned, it took you a moment before you nodded. “Of course, my lady. I only insist that you call me by my name. It seems rather rude to insist upon a friend referring to myself as Lady Stark.” You gave her your name, and she smiled once more. 

“Of course. But I fear I must insist for you to call me Elia.” 

You agreed, and Elia told you that she would have someone stop by your rooms to escort you to her private chambers. You watched as she rejoined her handmaids and continued towards the castle. Hearing the raised voices of your sister and brothers, you sighed, turning back to rejoin the familial argument, your eyes missing the slightly hidden figure observing you. 

***

Later that evening, you were in your rooms awaiting whoever the Princess–Elia–sent to escort you. Brandon had argued fiercely with you, wanting to leave Harrenhal immediately, but you’d argued that if you had the chance to try and repair at least some of the friendship between House Martell and House Stark, you should take it. 

Ned had been quiet, like always, only giving his opinion once directly asked, but surprisingly he agreed with you. Lyanna refused to make comment, sitting forlornly at one of the windows in the solar, glaring at you every so often. She was convinced Prince Rhaegar had fallen in love with her, and it infuriated you beyond belief. You had no idea your twin could be this dense, and it was only made worse when Brandon informed the two of you that your father had decided just before Harrenhal to sign a betrothal between House Stark and House Baratheon. Specifically, between Lyanna and Robert. 

Oh how Lyanna had raged, screaming one second and then crying the next, swearing to the gods that she would never marry that “whoring and uncouth oaf of a man” and that her destiny was to be with Prince Rhaegar. While you understood her desire to not marry Baratheon–you had seen the many, many comings and goings of serving girls from his tents and quarters at inappropriate hours–you knew it was not up to her to decide. Your lord father had always made clear that the two of you were going to be used to strengthen alliances, and you’d thought Lyanna had understood that.

Clearly not. 

A sharp knock resonated from the door to your chambers, and Brandon looked up at you as you moved to answer. “Are you sure–” He barely got the words out before you turned to him in a huff.

“Yes Bran, I’m sure. I have nothing to fear from Princess Elia, she’s been perfectly cordial, and I am looking forward to dining with her.” You pinned your brother to his seat with a glare, and turned to open the door.

Your eyes widened somewhat when you saw who awaited you. 

“Prince Oberyn,” you greeted, dropping into a small curtsey. You heard your brother’s sharp intakes of breath at your words, and you tried very hard not to smirk. It had always amused you how cautious they were around the famed Red Viper of Dorne. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe the stories, oh no, you were quite sure a good many of them were true, you just weren’t afraid of him. Your brothers on the other hand had always been convinced that if you spent more than a few seconds in the Prince’s presence, you’d lose your life. Or your virtue. You weren’t sure which they considered to be worse.

“My lady.” His voice was low and smooth, and fit him perfectly. It took all you had to not react, especially when he raised your hand to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles. His eyes were just as intense as earlier during the tournament, and up close, the strong line of his jaw and the sliver of bare skin on his chest were quite distracting. You hardly noticed when Brandon appeared behind you.

Prince Oberyn gently dropped your hand before greeting your brother. “Lord Stark,” he began, bowing his head briefly. “My sister, Princess Elia, has sent me to escort Lady Stark to her chambers for the evening meal.” 

Brandon nodded jerkily, his distrusting eyes focused on the Prince’s face. “Very well.” His words were forced, as though he spoke through clenched teeth, and oh you wanted to laugh.

Prince Oberyn offered his arm to you, and you tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow. With a smirking nod at your brother, he began to lead you down the hallway. You flinched somewhat at the loud bang of your door as it closed, and you fought back a grin.

“It seems, my lady,” Prince Oberyn began. “That your brother is rather displeased that I am to be escorting you.” You could hear the underlying question in his words, and you chuckled softly.

“Indeed.” You peered up at him, and his eyes bored into yours. “My brothers are quite convinced I will become your victim, although from poison or licentiousness they can’t seem to decide.” The Prince let out a startled laugh at your words, looking away from your gaze.

“My sister seemed quite eager to dine with you. I promise you are at no risk of any poisons from me this evening.” You raised your eyebrow at what was very clearly not said. 

“And your licentious nature? Am I not also safe in that regard?” You knew it was dangerous to prod a viper, and doubly so to prod this particular Viper. You looked ahead down the hall, even when you could feel his gaze upon you. 

You tried to not show your reaction as his head lowered next to yours, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered to you. “I am afraid I can make no promises to you in that regard, Lady Stark.” Before you could retort, you’d arrived at Princess Elia’s chambers. “This is where I leave you, Lady Stark.” Prince Oberyn once more took your hand in his own, pressing a lingering kiss against it. “I will escort you back to your chambers once you’ve finished.”

“Thank you, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you could practically taste the tension in the air. He pressed one more kiss to your knuckles before he turned on his heel and left. You secretly pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, where his lips had just been, and imagined you could still feel the warmth he left behind.

You turned and knocked on the door, almost surprised at how quickly it opened. One of Princess Elia’s handmaids stood to the side, and you entered the room.

You’d spent entirely too long in Elia’s rooms, but you found it hard to care. The Princess was wonderful company, despite being older than you. She had an innocence about her, an innocence that even marriage and a child could not dull. You’d once more expressed your regret at your sister’s actions, and your rage over Prince Rhaegar’s, and Elia spent much of the evening speaking to you of her frustrations with Rhaegar, as she finally found someone just as aggrieved as herself.

You’d been shocked to learn just how hard Rhaegar was pushing for Elia to have more children, despite her daughter having been born not many moons prior. She told you of the prophecy King Aerys was obsessed with, and her fears that she would be unable to provide the third child called for in the prophecy, as she was already pregnant with her second babe. 

You were sworn to secrecy, as no one knew yet of the second pregnancy. The maesters had advised against another child so quickly, but Elia hadn’t had a choice. You listened to her fears, and comforted her as best as you were able. She apologized for burdening you, but you waved her off. You’d found a friend in Elia, one who seemed to truly understand you, and it was no burden at all to support her. 

“When are you to leave Harrenhal?” 

You sighed, setting down the glass of dornish red after taking a sip. “Likely soon. I know my brothers do not wish to stay for long, and with my sister’s actions... “ your voice trailed off. “I fear it would be best for House Stark to go back to the North sooner rather than wait.” 

Elia sighed sadly. “I will miss your presence,” she admitted, turning to look at you. “I know we’ve just met, but you’ve already become such a dear friend. Would you write to me?” You nodded, smiling widely.

“Aye,” you agreed. “Only if you promise to write back.” Giggling, Elia nodded her acquiescence, and she was still giggling when there was a knock at her chamber’s door. 

“Tis likely my brother, here to escort you back,” her words were plain, but the look in her eyes was mischievous. “I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable on the way here?” 

Flushing brightly, you shook your head. “No, Elia. He didn’t do anything of the sort.” She grinned, as though knowing you were lying to her, but she didn’t press. “I’ll take my leave now, my lady.” Your words were cheeky, and Elia grinned, unrepentant, as she stood to offer you a brief hug. 

You left the rooms, and true to her words, found Prince Oberyn standing at the door, waiting for you. “May I escort you, Lady Stark?” His grin was just as mischievous as his sister’s and you were sure your cheeks were still red, and not from the wine. 

“I would appreciate it, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you allowed him to tuck your arm into the crook of his elbow once more, leading you out into the hallway. “I greatly enjoyed my time with your sister.”

You didn’t see the way Prince Oberyn looked down at you with a fond smile. “I am glad, my lady,” he murmured. “Elia has precious few friends in Westeros, and I am glad she has found one as fierce as you.” 

His words caused you to look up at him in confusion, only for him to smirk. “Your argument with your sister was rather loud, and I will admit, it drew my attention.” He paused in front of one of the windows lining the halls, looking at you with an intensity you couldn’t hope to match. “I was rather furious with your House, you see, when Elia was slighted at the joust.” A shadow crossed your face, and he grinned darkly. “I was… pleased to see that at least one member of House Stark also took great offence.”

You flushed, tearing your eyes away from his and stepping away for a moment, looking out the window. “My family likes to pride ourselves on our honor,” you whispered, and the Prince moved closer to hear you. “I could not stand by as my sister acted so dishonorably at the tourney. Mine own honor wouldn’t stand for it.” 

You were surprised to feel his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His lips were next to your ear, and his words caused a heat to rush through your veins. “Indeed, my little shewolf,” his voice was a low growl, and desire pooled in your belly. “And it only makes me want you more.” His lips attacked your neck, sucking directly over your pulse point. Letting out a soft gasp, you sag in the Prince’s arms, one hand over his on your ribs, the other reaching up to tangle in his dark locks of hair. 

He bit at your pulse harshly, before soothing the sting with his tongue. Your legs felt weak from his ministrations, and though you knew he would leave marks upon your skin, you could not bring yourself to care. You gasped suddenly as he spun you around, pressing your back against the cold stone of the palace walls, his hands bringing your wrists up to cross them above your head, leaving you on display for him. He pinned your wrists with one hand, the other tangling in your tresses as he tilted your head up and claimed your lips for his own.

His taste was intoxicating, luxurious and heavenly all at once. His tongue begged your lips for entrance, and once granted, he tilted your head and devoured you. His tongue fought with your own, but his experience was far greater than yours, and he won the duel for domination easily. Pressing the length of his body against yours, you moaned into his mouth, wanton and lascivious and licentious and downright whorish as he took and took and took what he wanted from you. 

You felt as though you couldn’t breath, tearing your mouth from his for a few gasping lungfuls of air, but he dived back in immediately, stealing that air right back. You were breathless, panting as the Prince ground himself into you, unable to do much more than just accept his advances, although you were certainly not going to complain. His lips sought to own yours, and you gladly gave control to him. 

Finally he pulled back, just barely, and his breath ghosted across your spit-slicked lips. “Sweet suffering gods, woman,” he whispered, and you felt a flush of pleasure as you realized what you–you–had reduced the Red Viper of Dorne to. You craned your neck, inviting his lips to touch yours once more, and he gave in with a groan.

You’re not sure how long Prince Oberyn had you pinned against the wall, ravishing your lips like you were a common brothel whore, but you loved every second. You’d kissed a few boys back home in Winterfell, but nothing could ever compare to this. Prince Oberyn was no boy, he was a man, and oh it showed. Your tongues tangled together in an intimate dance, leaving you breathless and gasping for more all the same. 

His hand stayed buried in your hair, anchoring you to him, and you weren’t sure you could escape, even if you wanted to. He finally pulled away, although it seemed to cause him great pain to do so. He was panting softly, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen, dark with a desire you only barely recognized.

“As much as I’d like to continue, little shewolf,” he practically growled at you. “Your lord brothers will be missing you, and I rather think they would be quite cross with us if they found me ravishing you in a palace alcove.” You flushed at his words, blinking up dazedly at the Prince as your heart raced in your chest. 

He groaned softly as you looked up at him, the near-perfect picture of innocence, if not for your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. He released your wrists, and you slowly brought your arms down, only to clutch at the front of his tunic. His hand cupped your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip, his eyes darkening as you wrapped your tongue around the digit, pulling it into your mouth and slowly sucking. 

You twirled your tongue around his thumb, delighting at the way his features twisted in pleasure as you were sure he was imagining your mouth on other parts of him. You released him with a wet pop, watching his face as his eyes followed his hand as he trailed it down your chest, before cupping your breast, brushing his still spit covered thumb against your nipple. You whined, the noise high in your throat as he squeezed gently, and if your brothers had come around the corner at that very moment, you weren’t sure you could have stopped, even if you’d wanted to.

But they didn’t, and you panted as the Prince fondled you through the thin gown you wore, watching as he smirked at you before leaning down and taking your breast into his mouth, sucking over the fabric. Your hands flew to his hair, gasping at the sensation. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt, and you never wanted him to stop.

Alas, he pulled away, eying the darkened fabric around your breast with a dark smirk. You whimpered at the loss, and he leaned down to press one, two, three quick kisses to your still swollen lips. 

He stood up straight, offering his arm to you once more, and you took it, flushing. As you continued down the hall, you prayed that you wouldn’t run into any servants, or–gods forbid–nobles. You were sure you looked a right sight, disheveled and thoroughly ravished by the Red Viper. You knew what your brothers would assume if they saw you, so you were very pleased when you arrived at your rooms, and found them to be absent. 

You went to let go of the Prince’s arm and go into your rooms, but he spun you suddenly and pressed you hard against the wood, his thigh wedged between your own. His eyes were still dark with lust, and you felt every inch the prey, nothing like the predator of your family’s House. 

“How irresponsible,” Prince Oberyn tsked as he looked down at you, “of your lord brothers to leave your rooms empty, without so much as a guard. Anyone could be waiting, lurking in the shadows.” His voice was low, and he practically hissed at you, very much reminiscent of the viper for which he was so named. “There could be dangerous men, hiding out, waiting to take the virtue of a young maiden such as yourself.”

You bit your lip, debating with yourself, before letting the words slip from between your lips. “I think there’s only one man here who wants to take my virtue this night, my prince,” you whispered, watching as Prince Oberyn’s jaw clenched tight. You stood on your tiptoes, bringing your lips close to his ear. “And I am inclined to let him.”

The Prince’s reaction was swift, striking at you before you could blink. His arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you flush against his chest before bending you back, his hand tangling in your hair and yanking your head back even farther as his lips claimed yours. You clutched desperately at his shoulders, sure you were falling, but his hold was too tight to prevent such a thing.

You could feel his desire for you, in the way his hands gripped you, the way his lips moved over yours. You pulled back to try to speak, but his mouth chased yours, causing you to speak in broken gasps. 

“M–My… my… my room!” Your hand frantically grasping at the door handle, it swung open, and Prince Oberyn allowed you to straighten only briefly as he shoved you inside, shutting the door and pushing you against it once more. “Y–you… you seem to–to have… a–a passion…” you gasped, moaning brokenly as his hand gripped your hip tightly. “F–For pushing m–me… against things…” 

Prince Oberyn nipped at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as you tried to speak. His lips trailed across your cheek, pressing fluttering kisses against your skin until he could suck at your ear. You moaned, uncaring if you could be heard, focused only on the pleasure this Prince was willingly providing you. 

His fingers danced among the laces of your dress, toying with the ties. “Indeed,” he muttered, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “It’s not often a viper has a shewolf willing to submit to him.” With a sharp tug, the ties come undone, and your dress begins to fall, stopped only by the press of the Prince’s body against yours. 

His head pulls back, eyes locked onto yours as he looks for permission to continue. Taking matters into your own hands, you push onto his chest, causing him to step back, allowing your dress to pool on the floor, leaving you bare except for your smallclothes. You’re flushed at your boldness, but the way Prince Oberyn’s eyes rove over your figure more than makes up for your brief flash of uncertainty. 

He’s well within distance to be able to touch you, and touch you he does, his fingers ghosting over your bare side, trailing up until they run across the fabric of the band covering your breasts. He steps forward until your chests are nearly pressed together, but not quite. 

“May I?” His voice is a whisper, breathy with want as his fingers trace the clasps. His other hand gently brushes against the small patch of wet fabric from his earlier ministrations in the hallways, and your whole body shudders. 

With your nod, he releases the clasp holding the binding together, and gently unwinds the fabric from around your chest. His hands leave your skin long enough to drop the fabric to the floor, but not a second longer, rough fingers coming back to brush against the skin of your breasts, drawing tantalizing shapes and teasing your tender flesh until your nipples harden into peaks. 

You’re unable to stop yourself from gasping at the sensation. Until this very moment the only hands to touch you there were your own, and oh gods the sensations are so, so very different. One of his hands reluctantly leaves your breast, grasping at your hip as he pulls you around, moving you towards the bed. You go willingly, allowing the Prince to move your body as you focus on his fingers, brushing gently over your breast, over and over and–

The air whooshes out of your lungs as you fall back onto the bed, hair fanning out onto the sheets beneath you as your Prince hovers above you, dark eyes trained on yours, watching for any signs of discomfort. But you’re comfortable, more comfortable than you think you’ve ever been before, comfortable laying under this man, being touched by hands you knew had killed, because you knew those hands would show you nothing but adoration. 

He must see something in your eyes, acceptance or some other encouragement, because he dips forward until he can take a nipple into his mouth, suckling, not unlike a babe. Crying out at the sensation, your back arches, pushing your breast into his mouth, and he suckles harder. It feels as though he is trying to draw your very soul out of your body through your breast, but you couldn’t care less. The feeling is heavenly, and the desire that has been simmering in your belly since he first escorted you to Elia’s rooms increases, threatening to overwhelm you with forbidden pleasure. 

Gods, if only your brothers could see you now, writhing underneath the Red Viper, a shewolf willingly submitting to a man not her husband, not even her betrothed, and loving it. Your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging this way and that, and with a particularly harsh yank, the Viper above you moans. 

His voice sends streaks of desire racing through your veins, and by the gods, you want to hear that again. You yank once more on his strands, and he actually releases your skin as a groan escapes his throat. Suddenly ravenous, you pull him up to your lips once more, slotting your mouth against his own, and kissing him with a fervor you’ve never experienced before. 

As you moan into his mouth, your hands are busy, tugging at his own tunic, desperate to feel his bare skin against your own. Dornish fashion certainly had the benefit of being able to disrobe quickly, as with one tug of the belt around his waist, his long tunic came apart, and you pushed it off his shoulders, greedily running your hands across the bare expanse of his chest. 

His skin is bare, unlike many of the men of your household. Northmen often grew hair on their chest, but Prince Oberyn’s skin is smooth, unmarred. You rake your nails down his chest and he growls against your lips, fingers gripping the sheets tightly, refraining from touching you as you explore his body. Trailing your fingers down, you find that the Prince is not completely free of hair, as there is a small trail just underneath his navel, leading down into his breeches. 

You run your fingers through the fine hairs, scratching gently, and you can feel the Prince’s muscles tense at your actions. He grabs your wrist and pins it above your head, and you blink up at him innocently. His chest is heaving, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. Using your free hand, you guide his lips back to yours, and at the same time, you wrap one leg around his waist, pulling his hips flush to yours.

Moaning into his mouth, you encourage him to grind into you, and Prince Oberyn does so, gladly. His tongue dances with yours, and you can feel the heat of him between your legs, so close, flesh only separated by a few layers of cloth. Breaking away with a gasp, he releases your wrist, only to grasp your smallclothes with both hands, ripping them away from you, the soft fabric tearing at the seams. 

You cry out in shock, not expecting the sudden, violent act, but it does nothing to dampen your desire. The Prince easily lifts you further up the bed, his hands running over your bared skin before clasping the insides of your thighs, holding them apart. He moves down your body, and you’re confused for a moment, unsure of his intentions–

Oh gods.

You can’t even think, not when his tongue is there, not when he’s licking at you like you’re the last source of water on this continent, oh–

“F–Fuck!” 

The curse forces itself from your lips as Prince Oberyn takes your clit between his own lips and sucks. Your back arches, and he quickly winds an arm around your waist to keep you anchored to the bed, to stop you from moving as he laves between your legs. You don’t even try to keep quiet, even though your brothers or your sister could come back at any time, you can’t keep quiet, Prince Oberyn’s tongue feels like nothing you’ve ever done to yourself, it feels incredible–

Your groan pierces the air just as Prince Oberyn’s finger pierces you, and you throw a hand over your mouth to try and stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure. It’s clear the Prince disapproves of your intentions however, as he begins to pump his finger in and out, setting a brutal pace that just gets more and more intense. Just as you think it can’t possibly feel any better, with his tongue on your clit and his finger in your cunt, he adds a second one, and you’re pretty sure you screamed. 

The Prince chuckles, and the vibrations against your clit only increase your pleasure, the coil in your belly tightening beyond what you thought possible, but it’s when he adds a third finger that the coil snaps. Your hands are clenched in his hair, your hips undulating as much as his iron grip will allow, moans and gasps escaping your lips as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your muscles all tense with the release, and he never stops moving his fingers, doesn’t halt the movement of his tongue until you collapse back onto the bed, panting. He slowly removes his lips from you, but his fingers continue to pump lazily. He looks up at your face, taking in the way your eyes are closed in bliss, your lips parted as little puffs of air escape, desperately trying to catch your breath.

He pulls himself up with one hand, and watches as your eyes open to look at his face, his lips and chin smeared and glistening with your release. He looks so utterly pleased with himself that you can’t help but pull him down, crashing his lips to yours, tasting yourself on him. It turns you on more than you’d thought it might. 

You lazily exchange kisses, tongues slowly tangling together as he continues to gently massage your inner walls with his fingers. His slow movements have only been stoking the fire, not extinguishing it, and you find yourself wanting that release again. You push on his shoulder, and he detaches from your lips with a small frown. He tries to ask you what’s wrong, but you don’t want to talk, so you take control, flipping your Prince over til he’s on his back, and you’re straddling his waist. His fingers are forced from your cunt and you whimper at the loss, but the promise of something more spurns you on. 

You tug at the laces on his breeches as he watches with hooded eyes, hissing as you yank the cloth down his legs and take him into your hands. He’s big, a lot bigger than you were expecting, but the sight excites you. You watch your Prince’s face carefully as you dip your fingers between your legs, moaning as you brush against your sensitive folds, before wrapping your slick fingers around his length. 

Prince Oberyn’s mouth falls open at the sight, his hands clenched so tight on your hips that he’s likely to leave bruises. Oh gods, you want him to leave bruises. You want to be able to feel where his hands clutched at your skin days from now. You slowly stroke him, biting your lip as you wonder if he’ll fit. He barely fits in your hand, and he’s supposed to fit inside you?

You’re distracted out of your musings as he brushes a thumb gently over your hip bone. You look back at him to see his eyes peering up at you, strangely tender despite the desire still lingering. “We don’t have to do this, my shewolf.” His words are a comfort, but you have no intentions of stopping this night.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, watching as his jaw clenches when you run your thumb over the head of his cock. “I want you to fuck me, my prince.” You flick your eyes back up to his, watching as he groans when you curse. “I want your cock in my cunt,” you have no idea where the words are coming from, but you feel so, so powerful as you speak. “My lord father is likely planning my betrothal to some loyal bannerman as we speak.” The Prince watches you, trying to keep his attention on your words and not on your hand wrapped around his cock. “Likely some old widower, who cares not for me or my desires.” You shuffle up the bed, guiding his cock to brush against your cunt. “I do not wish to spend my life never knowing the pleasures of sex, my lord. I know that I will be a vessel for heirs, that is all they will wish of my body.” You slowly begin to sink down, biting back a whine as the Prince’s cock nearly splits you in half. “Even if it is only once, I want a man to fuck me.” 

Prince Oberyn watched you, his jaw slack as you slowly sank onto his cock. He watched your face for signs of pain, but you hid your discomfort well. His eyes flickered down, and the sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt, combined with the intense tightness and heat enveloping him, nearly caused him to spill his seed inside of you prematurely, and you could feel the way he clenched his fists in an effort to hold back. 

Finally, your hips were flush with his own, and you gasped for breath at the absolutely overwhelming feeling of being full. You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you adjusted to the sheer size of the Prince. Suddenly, you feel fingers gently brushing against your lower stomach and you open your eyes, only to see the Prince staring at you, stunned.

“W–What?” Your voice is quiet, worried something is wrong, but he’s quick to reassure you. 

“Look at you.” 

It’s all he says, the words reverent and awe-struck, and when you finally look down, you see why. His fingers are brushing over your abdomen, where you can actually see the bump of his cock deep inside you. You gasp, your hand covering his as he presses gently, and you feel pleasure shooting down your spine. 

You clench, on accident from the sudden pressure of your hands, and the Prince groans, low and deep as he feels you squeeze around him. “Oh seven hells,” he breathes, head thrown back. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “I think it is less a matter of me being tight, my prince, and more that you are just big.” His hand, the one not resting on your belly, comes up to cradle your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple. 

“Whatever the cause, you feel divine, sweet girl.” 

You flush at his praise, eyes bright as you look at the powerful man resting between your thighs. You’d never imagined that coming to Harrenhal could lead to this, and you find yourself in awe that the Viper could allow himself to be ridden in such a manner. Most men would not deign to give control over to their women, in any manner, and yet this man has given you more power over him than you’ve ever imagined possible. It’s intoxicating, truly. 

You’d always imagined going to your marriage bed a blushing maid, even though you’d technically lost your maidenhead while riding when you were younger. But this, this act of rebellion–for that’s what it was, a rebellion against all the plans your father had or would ever decide for you–was the one thing you truly had control over, and it delighted you. 

Slowly, you begin to raise your hips, until just the head of your Prince’s cock rests inside you. Pausing, you lean forward and place your hands on his chest for leverage, before slowly lowering your body back down. You both moan at the feeling of once again being fully joined, and thus begins the slow rhythm, the gentle rocking back and forth as you work your inner muscles against his cock. 

You can feel the coil simmering, still tense from your previous release, slowly beginning to tighten again, but slower than you wish. Your Prince must see the frustrations on your face, for he speaks. “You’re doing so beautifully, my shewolf. But I must ask,” his voice is low, dripping with desire. “Do you want more?” 

You suck in a breath, nodding slowly. He searches your eyes, perhaps making sure that this is what you want, before he begins to take control. He plants his feet on the bed, hands gripping your waist tight, and just as you’re about to lower yourself back onto his cock, he surges up, slamming his hips into yours, burying his cock inside you swiftly. 

A silent scream leaves your lips as you throw your head back at the sudden intrusion. You’d thought yourself adjusted to his size, but as he sets a relentless pace, you realize you were not adjusted at all. The wet sounds of skin hitting skin fills the room, punctuated by your pants and moans as your Prince takes you from below. 

He suddenly and abruptly flips the two of you over, and you squeak when your back hits the bed. Yet, his cock never leaves you, and you barely have time to get settled before he restarts his brutal pace, pounding into you. You throw your arms around his neck, raking your nails down his back as he mouths at your breast, his hips never faltering. 

“O–Oh, oh gods, f–fuck.” Your whimpering voice is nearly inaudible, the air in your lungs punched out with every thrust, your words senseless as your mind goes nearly blank from the pleasure. The coil is tightening faster than before, and you feel as though you’ll reach your peak any second.

When the coil snapped for a second time, you dug your nails into the Prince’s shoulders, crying out as he continued to fuck you through your peak. But, to your surprise, he didn’t stop. It took you a moment to realize he was still hard, that he hadn’t spilled yet, and this revelation, along with his relentless movements didn’t allow for your body to come down from the high you’d just achieved. 

“O–Oh, oh, m–my p–prince, I–I can’t,” you were practically sobbing as he slammed his hips against you, over and over, and you feel as though his cock is in your womb he’s so deep inside you. 

But he does not heed your words, does not slow his pace as he chases his own release. “I’m going to ruin you, my little shewolf,” he hisses in your ear, teeth nipping at your skin. “You’ll never be able to take another cock without thinking of me.” He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust. “When you lay in your marriage bed, and your lord husband takes you, he’s going to know that I was here first. That your sweet little cunt belongs to me, only me.” He circles your clit with rough fingers, and that’s the final push you need to fall over the edge. You come apart, legs shaking with the intensity, crying out into Prince Oberyn’s mouth as his lips take yours. He pulls away, thrusts beginning to falter. “W–Where, sweet girl?” His plea is desperate. “Tell me where.”

“I–Inside!” You gasp, and as he looks at you in shock, you repeat yourself. “Inside, please Oberyn, please!” 

He comes with a violent growl, biting harshly at the skin of your shoulder as he pumps his hips once, twice, before he finally grows still. Despite feeling him grow softer inside you, the feeling of fullness remains. He does not pull out like you would expect, but falls to the side and pulls your sweaty body against his, hand stroking through your hair and down your bare back. 

You lay your hands against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your palm, racing, but slowing as you lay together. His arms around you are warm and sturdy, and you wish that the two of you could lay here for the rest of your lives. 

Unfortunately, you knew he had to leave before your brothers or sister come back. Brandon and Ned would likely kill the Prince if they thought he’d shamed you in any way, although, could it really be shameful if you wanted it?

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as Prince Oberyn breathed deeply. “I wish I could stay here with you, my love.” His hands toyed with your hair, admiring the way it slid through his fingers. “I am not in the habit of leaving a woman’s bed in the middle of the night,” he admitted softly. “If I could, I would wait til morning comes.”

You pressed your lips against his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his skin and the rush of his pulse. “I know, I wish you could stay, but I will not ask it of you. It would be too dangerous.” You whisper your words against his skin, closing your eyes tightly against the traitorous tears, but it is no use.

Oberyn must feel your tears against his skin, because he tilts your chin up to press a gentle kiss against your lips. When he draws away, he brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping away your tears. “Please, do not cry, my shewolf. I do not wish to cause you pain.” 

You laugh, throat tightening up as you try to stop the flow of tears. “I know this cannot last,” you say softly. “But I wish it did not have to end so soon.” Your Prince’s eyes are sorrowful as they look at you, but the both of you know there is nothing you can do. Your father would never agree to allow you to marry so far south, even for a prince. 

The two of you lay in bed for a few minutes more, pressing gentle kisses upon each other’s skin, trying to memorize as much as you can before Oberyn must leave. 

Before he leaves, he helps you clean up with a wet rag, watching as you pull your shift over your head, eyes dark as he sees the numerous marks littering your skin. He feels a vicious pleasure at seeing the imprint of his fingers at your hips, the bite marks across your chest and thighs. You will hopefully remember his touch for many weeks after this. 

He dresses slowly, allowing you to sit on your bed and watch as inch after inch of bronzed skin is covered up by his tunic and breeches. He’s about to leave, when he turns suddenly, and marches back to where you sit, his hands resting on your neck as he tilts your head up and claims your lips one last time. 

This kiss is different from all the others. The hard press of his lips conveys his sorrow and regret at leaving you like this, his fingers tightening on your skin to keep you still underneath him. Your mouth is pliant under his, letting him lead you in one last dance of passion and desire. When he breaks away, there are tears in his eyes, and you cup his cheek. 

“I will never forget you, my Viper of Dorne.” 

“Nor I you, my Shewolf of Winterfell.”

***

You were such a fool.

You’d woken up the next morning when Brandon had burst into your room, demanding to know if you’d seen Lyanna. He’d blushed when he’d seen you were still abed, but the worry clear on his face caused you to ignore the fact that he’d entered your private chambers without permission. When you’d told him that you hadn’t seen her since you’d left for Princess Elia’s chambers, he stormed out of your room, causing you to grab a dressing gown and rush out after him.

You found Ned, sitting in a chair, head in his hands, and Brandon was pacing frantically back and forth. When you demanded to know what was going on, Ned looked at you, and you were shocked to see tears in his eyes. You rushed forward, falling to your knees before your brother, taking his hands in yours and begging to know what happened. 

“Lyanna’s been kidnapped.”

Eyes wide, you stared at Ned, mind blank as you tried to understand the words he’d said. You whipped your head around to look at Brandon, and the desolate look on his face told you all you needed to know. “Who? Who took her?” 

Ned’s sorrow turned to anger. “The Silver Prince,” he spat. “Rhaegar Targaryen stole away with her in the night.” You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips, and both of your brothers stared at you, confused. 

“This isn’t a jape, a servant saw Rhaegar riding away with Lyanna on his steed, this is an act of war!” Brandon yelled, and you laughed bitterly, standing and turning to face him.

“Trust me on this, brother.” Your voice was cold, your previous panic and concern gone. “Prince Rhaegar committed no crime. Lyanna went with him willingly.” Your brothers both began to protest, but you held up your hand. “She has been smitten with him since we arrived. I told you that you should have dealt with her obsession, but you didn’t listen.” You sighed, dropping into a chair. “She was furious when you told her of her betrothal to Robert Baratheon. There is no doubt in my mind that she went with him willingly.” 

Brandon sighed deeply. “It won’t matter if she went with him or if he kidnapped her. House Baratheon will not take this lying down. Robert has already declared that he will gather his men to march on the capitol.” You covered your mouth in shock.

“He didn’t ever speak with her and he’s willing to attack the Mad King, just to get Lyanna back? Is he insane?” You weren’t surprised, if you were being honest with yourself. You’d seen the lusty gaze of Robert on both you and Lyanna throughout the tourney.

Ned winced. “He loves her,” he protested, but the words sounded hollow, and you could tell he thought so too. You knew Robert didn’t love Lyanna. He lusted after her, there was no doubt, but it wasn’t love. But now that she was gone, he felt slighted, and wanted revenge. Sometimes she hated that she’d been born a girl, destined for men to sell her like cattle. She didn’t doubt that there would be war, and that her family would be right in the middle of it all. 

Brandon stood, and she could see the tension throughout his frame. “Pack your bags, sister. You’ll leave with Ned for Winterfell as soon as possible. I need to write father, as I’ll be staying here, rallying the Houses in our alliance.” Ned began to protest, but Bran cut him off. “No, Ned, I need you to go to Winterfell, you have to protect her,” your brother’s voice was quiet, but you could hear it break as he looked at you. Standing, you rushed into his arms, burying your face in his chest as Brandon wrapped his arms around you, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in your hair. 

You’d never seen your brother this scared, and it silenced any and all protests you might’ve had. You’d dressed quickly, and as soon as your things were packed, you were on your way back to Winterfell. The trip took just under two days, and by the time you arrived, your father was just about to leave. He explained that Brandon had arrived in King’s Landing, only for King Aerys to take him hostage when he demanded Rhaegar return Lyanna. Lord Stark was going to King’s Landing to get his son and heir back, and that meant that Ned would be the acting Warden of the North.

Rickard Stark ordered you to stay inside, terrified that you would be taken next. You tried to argue, but your heart wasn’t in it. You knew how it looked, the Prince of Westeros kidnapping the daughter of the Warden of the North and the betrothed of Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The North and the Stormlands would not let this insult go without punishment. But with the King’s madness, you were terrified for the safety of your father and eldest brother. You watched him leave, a pit in your stomach as you felt with a grim certainty that this would be the last time you saw your father.

When word arrived that Lord Rickard Stark and Lord Brandon Stark had been put to death by the Mad King, you were in Ned’s solar with him. You collapsed in shock and horror as the maester read the missive sent by King Aerys, demanding Ned and yourself present at King’s Landing, along with Robert Baratheon. You clutched at Ned as he cradled you in his arms, sobbing as he promised you that he’d never let the Mad King touch you, that he would get revenge for your family. You begged and pleaded with him to not go, but he told you that he didn’t have a choice. Jon Arryn was calling the bannermen to arms, and they were going to march on King’s Landing. 

For the first two moons of fighting, you moved through Winterfell as a ghost. You spoke little, rarely leaving your rooms, and the only one you spoke to on any regular basis was your little brother, Benjen. You knew there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and you tried to help run the household as best you could, but your mind constantly wandered, worrying about your brother, and the attacks. You even worried about Lyanna, despite your anger at her. 

You wrote somewhat regularly with Princess Elia, who told you of how she was being held in King’s Landing by King Aerys, to force Dorne to fight for the crown. Queen Rhaella protected her as best as possible, but now that she was showing, the King demanded she be kept guarded at all times. Your letters were disguised as being those written by a lady in the court in Sunspear, so that Elia couldn’t be accused of aiding the enemy. 

At the start of the third moon after the beginning of what they were calling Robert’s Rebellion, you noticed that you were feeling sick with alarming regularity. You had a hard time keeping food down, and you were tired often. You wrote of your sickness in your letters to Elia, and all she could tell you was that your sickness sounded similar to how she felt when she was pregnant with Rhaenys. 

And that’s when it hit you.

You hadn’t drunk moon tea after your night with Oberyn. 

You wanted to hit yourself. You knew that he had a history of lying with women for a night, only for them to get with child. Gods, he had three bastards that he’d claimed, and who knew how many others could possibly be out there across Westeros and Essos. You lay a hand against your stomach, and noticed it felt firmer, hardened. You stared at the letter from Elia, the words seeming to float off the page. You were with child, Oberyn’s child. 

You’d never imagined that any child of yours would be a bastard. You parents had told you often while growing up that you would marry some lord, to strengthen one alliance or another. You knew you’d be required to provide heirs. You’d thought about your future children with little fondness, knowing that you’d never love their father, and that they’d either be heirs or sold to other lords to forge yet more alliances. 

But now that you were with child? A bastard child no less? You knew how Ned would react. He would be furious. You found yourself with a small sense of relief that Ned was off fighting, so that you might have time to figure out what to do. You knew if you asked the maester, he would give you a medicine to remove the child from your womb, but you didn’t want that. You couldn’t deny the excitement you felt at the idea of having a child with equal parts of you and Oberyn. 

You decided to keep the child a secret as long as possible. The fewer who knew of your condition, the safer your babe would be. 

***

The Mad King was dead. Prince Rhaegar was dead. Robert Baratheon was victorious over the armies of King’s Landing. You’d been summoned to the capitol, and Ned had sent word that he would be on his way as well, from the Tower of Joy. You were confused as to why your brother had been in Dorne, but didn’t press for answers. His letters had been getting shorter and shorter as of late, and you didn’t know why. 

You didn’t know how, but you’d managed to keep the fact that you were with child a secret throughout the entirety of your pregnancy. You hardly showed, and you knew it had to be a sign from the gods, that you had done the right thing in not telling anyone. Your sickness had been easily explained away, and your tiredness was blamed on the loss of your father and brother.

But you were scared. As you arrived at the capitol, you knew you could give birth any day now, and giving birth in King’s Landing would be extremely dangerous. Robert Baratheon held no love for the Dornish, like most of Westeros, but the fact that Rhaegar had been rumored to have fled to Dorne with Lyanna ignited Robert’s temper.

As you walked into the throne room, you were shocked to see Elia, kneeling and in chains in front of the Iron Throne. Little Rhaenys was chained as well, and baby Aegon, not even half a year old, was in his crib, with a Kingsguard standing over him, weapon drawn. Robert was sitting on the throne, anger making his cheeks turn a ruddy color, and Ned stood next to him, looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

Running forward, you fell to your knees by Elia, ignoring the shouts of the men around you as you drew Rhaenys into your arms, shielding her as best you could. Elia looked shocked to see you, and you could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. 

Whipping your head around, you glared viciously at Robert and your brother. “What is the meaning of this?” Your voice carried around the room, the tone as cold as a Northern winter. Robert and Ned looked at you, stunned. “I said, what is the meaning of this?!” You yelled, watching as your brother flinched.

But it wasn’t him who spoke. “The former princess and her children have been charged with crimes against House Stark and House Baratheon.” Jon Arryn swallowed harshly as you turned your glare on him. “They are to be put to death.”

You gasped, and Elia let out a sob next to you. You looked wildly from Robert to Ned and back to Robert. “What crimes could they have possibly committed? I was under the impression that hostages of war are not held accountable for the actions of their captors!” Your brother tried to speak but you would not let him. “You won the fucking war! Let it end! Peace has been brought back to Westeros, do not start this new era with the death of an innocent woman, a small child and a babe!” 

“INNOCENT?” Robert roared, standing from the throne. “YOU WOULD CALL THEM INNOCENT? THEY’RE THE FAMILY OF THAT SILVER HAIRED BASTARD!” You saw your brother trying to frantically shush Robert, but he would not be quieted. “THE SAME BASTARD WHO KILLED YOUR TWIN SISTER! YOU DARE CALL THEM INNOCENT?”

Robert stood, chest heaving as he looked around the room. When his eyes landed on you, he took a step back. You were still kneeling, a look of shock on your face, tears in your eyes. 

Fuck.

You hadn’t known.

Ned hadn’t told you of Lyanna’s death.

Faintly you heard Elia speaking to you, whispering frantically, apologizing over and over, swearing to the gods Old and New that she hadn’t known, that she’d had no idea Rhaegar had killed her, that she was so, so very sorry–

You cut her off with a hug, clinging to her dirty gown as you shook silently. Only Elia had known all of the emotions you’d run through during Lyanna’s disappearance. Only Elia had known that no matter how much you were mad at her, that you couldn’t hate your sister. That even though she’d been the catalyst to throw Westeros into war, you loved her still.

“You didn’t know.”

Robert’s voice was quiet, and you slowly pulled away from Elia to look at him. You were sure you looked a sight, tears in your eyes, an angry scowl upon your face. “No, Lord Robert, I did not know of my sister’s demise. Thank you, for informing me.” Your voice was thick with sarcasm, and you could see both men wince at your tone. “But if you think for one second that I would ever blame Elia and her babies for Lyanna’s death then you are as mad as King Aerys was!” 

Ned’s eyes widened, and Robert stumbled back, sitting heavily on the throne as he stared at you. You were wrapped protectively around Rhaenys, glaring at the new king and your brother. You knew that your words could spark another conflict, but you would not sit back while Elia and her children burned for Rhaegar’s mistakes. You couldn’t. 

“Exile.” 

You looked at your brother, surprised. He looked surprised at himself, but when Robert made a confused noise, he continued. “Exile Elia and her children to Dorne. If her children swear to abdicate any right to the Iron Throne, they will be no threat to your rule. My sister is right, Robert.” Elia began sobbing anew at Ned’s words, but they were tears of hope. “Do not start your rule by executing a woman and her children for the crimes of her husband. Lyanna wouldn’t want that.” 

It was Ned’s final sentence that seemed to break Robert out of his stupor. “Y–Yes, your right, as always Ned,” he muttered, and you dared hold your breath in hope. “Exile. They will be put on the first ship to Dorne. Elia Martell, you will forfeit on behalf of your children their right to the Iron Throne, and when they each reach the age of one-and-ten, they will reaffirm their forfeiture of the Iron Throne.” 

It took Elia a moment to be able to speak, her voice breaking. “I so swear it, my lord,” she said, bowing her body, her nose almost touching the floor. “My children forfeit their right to the throne, and we will remain in Dorne for the rest of our days, my lord.” 

There was a clanking as little Rhaenys tugged on your dress, trying to get your attention. You looked down at her, not noticing as the room fell silent around the two of you. 

“I don’ want it,” the little girl’s voice was quiet, and she looked up at you with tears in her eyes. “‘M sorry, I don’ want the.. the…” She trailed off, little brow scrunching up as she tried to finish her sentence. 

“Throne? You don’t want the throne, sweetheart? Is that it?” She nodded vigorously, and the rattling of the chains around her wrists as she shook in your arms made you flinch. “See, your highness? Rhaenys has declared she doesn’t want the Iron Throne. Is that enough for you?” Robert nodded weakly, gesturing for one of the Kingsguard to unchain Elia and Rhaenys. You hovered protectively, glaring at the guard, you thought it might have been Jaimie Lannister, when he was too rough in the handling of the former princesses. 

As soon as Elia was unchained, she scooped Aegon into her arms, cradling him protectively to her breast. She bowed low, still shaking with fear, before Robert ordered one of the Kingsguard to escort her and her children to the docks. Ser Barristan Selmy stepped forward, gently laying a hand against Elia’s back as he began to lead her out. You went to follow, still hovering by Rhaenys, when Robert called for you to stay behind. You stopped, and Elia turned, nodding at your worried glance, telling you to stay behind. You nudged Rhaenys forward, before turning back to your brother and Robert.Robert looked uncomfortable as you continued to glare at him, and you finally turned to Ned for answers as to why you’d been asked to stay back. 

“It was suggested…” Your brother looked just as uncomfortable as Robert. “That since Lyanna is… gone, the best way to show our support of Robert’s reign would be to join the two of you in marriage.” 

You raised your eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two men as neither of them would meet your eyes. As your eyes fell on Jon Arryn, you realized that he must have been the one to suggest it, as neither your brother, nor Robert would have come up with marriage being the best way to join your houses. He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed at plotting the marriage between the new king and the twin sister of his newly-dead betrothed. 

“Absolutely not.” Your eyes bored holes into Jon Arryn’s, refusing to back down, as would have been proper for a lady of your station. “I will not marry Robert Baratheon, now or ever. House Stark has lost more to this rebellion than any other of your allies, we have given enough. Now if you excuse me, I am going to say goodbye to Elia, as I will likely never see her again.” 

You turned abruptly, storming from the throne room, and almost immediately, you ran into Lord Howland Reed. He was standing outside the throne room, holding a bundle in his arms. You stopped, surprised, and before he was able to hide the bundle, you saw what he was holding. 

A babe. 

A babe that looked like Lyanna. 

Eyes wide, you grasped him by the arm and began to drag him with you as you continued out of the keep. “Lord Reed, whose babe is that?” You asked, almost afraid of the answer. He glanced at you cautiously, and you gripped his arm tighter. “Whose. Babe. Is. That?” 

He sighed, looking around before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “When we found Lyanna, she had just given birth to Rhaegar’s child. She died soon after, but not before making Lord Stark promise to protect him.” 

You stumbled. Lyanna? Pregnant? You clasped a hand over your mouth, and you feared you were going to be sick. And the fact that Rhaegar was the father? If Robert had wanted to kill Rhaenys and Aegon, just for being Rhaegar’s children, what would he do to this babe? You knew Robert would never accept that Lyanna had gone with Rhaegar willingly, and if he thought Rhaegar had raped her? He would kill this babe. You knew it. 

“How does Ned expect to explain him to Robert?” 

Lord Reed sighed. “Lord Stark plans to tell the King that the babe is his bastard–” You cut him off with a laugh. 

“Ned? With a bastard? My brother must be insane,” you muttered. “The whole realm knows of the honor of House Stark, my brother the most of all. No one will believe he broke his marriage vows and sired a bastard.” You stopped, and held your arms out, gesturing for Lord Reed to give you the babe. “I will take him.” 

Lord Reed looked at you, confused. “My lady, no one will believe him to be yours, I–” you cut him off once more, mind racing as you thought through your half-baked plan. 

“People will more readily believe I gave birth to two bastards than Ned having just the one.” Lord Reed’s eyes widened, and they flickered down to your stomach before he flushed in embarrassment. “I will ride with Elia to Dorne. They are more accepting of bastards there, and while I will miss Ned and Benjen, it is difficult to stay in Winterfell when the rest of my family has perished. Please, give me the babe.”

Lord Reed handed you the child, and you looked down at the sleeping babe, his features thankfully purely Lyanna. “What’s his name?” Lord Reed winced.

“Lyanna named him Aegon.” 

You frowned, anger coursing through you. How dare she? How dare your sister name her bastard the same name as Rhaegar’s trueborn son? You were sad at her passing, but the more you learned about what she’d done, the angrier you became. “Please explain to Ned what I’ve done. Tell him I will send a raven once I’ve reached Dorne. I do not wish to have contact with him until then.” At Lord Reed’s questioning glance, you sighed heavily. “His part in this war has angered me greatly. I need some time before I am able to speak to him rationally.” 

Lord Reed nodded, and proceeded to escort you the rest of the way to the docks. When you reached them, you saw Ser Barristan, and quickly asked him which ship Elia was on. As he pointed it out to you, you curtsied to the men quickly, before rushing to the gangplank.

Elia was standing on the deck, and as she saw you approach, she rushed to meet you. When she saw the child in your arms, her confusion only grew, but you begged her to allow the ship to leave before you explained.

***

“What is going on? Why did you come with me? And where did the babe come from?”

Elia had been patient, explaining to the captain the change in circumstances, and waiting until nightfall to interrogate you. But now that the two of you were alone, with Rhaenys, Aegon, and Lyanna’s babe sleeping next door, she wanted answers. 

“They wanted me to marry Robert, Elia. I couldn’t marry him, I refused.” Elia nodded in understanding. She wouldn’t want to be married to him either. “As for the babe? I’m so sorry, but he’s Lyanna’s son.” 

Elia looked confused for a moment before she realized what you meant. Gasping, she threw her hands over her mouth, shock in her eyes. “H–He’s… he’s Rhaegar’s son, isn’t he?” You nodded, and she let out a small sob. “I–I never thought…” 

“I didn’t think either of them capable of it either, Elia. I’m so sorry. I’m going to raise him as my son, as my own bastard.” 

Elia shook her head frantically. “No! No, you can’t! That will ruin you, I know how they view bastards in Westeros. Your honor–” You smiled sadly. 

“My honor will be besmirched any day now, Elia,” you told her softly, grasping her wrist and bringing her hand to rest against your stomach. “I will raise Lyanna’s son as my own, as a twin to my own bastard, and no one will know the difference. Besides,” You watched as her eyes widened when she felt your babe kick. “Mine own babe’s father is in Dorne.” 

It took her a moment to realize what you had said, but you could tell when she did. She gasped loudly, eyes flying between your own and your stomach, before she swore. “Oh seven hells,” she groaned, and you laughed softly. “It’s my brother’s, isn’t it? It’s Oberyn’s.” When you nodded, she groaned again. “I should have known, especially when you wrote about being sick! Oh, I’m going to kill that man!” 

“Please don’t!” You replied, laughing. “I rather like him, as it turns out.” You blushed as Elia smirked at you. 

“I should force him to marry you,” she replied, looking at you critically. “I’d rather like having a sister, and it’s the honorable thing for him to do.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t care about marriage. So long as he is willing to love his son or daughter, I will be happy,” you paused, thinking for a moment. “I do not expect him to love Lyanna’s babe, but as long as he respects my decision to raise him as my own, I think I can live with that.”

Elia looked pensieve. “I think he will be willing to overlook the babe’s parents. And if he doesn’t, well I can always smack him around.” The two of you laughed, giggling on the bed like a pair of young maidens, and everything was right with the world, just for a moment. “What will you name him? Lyanna’s son, I mean?” 

You looked at her thoughtfully. “Jon. Jon Snow will be his name.”

***

You had hoped to arrive in Dorne before you gave birth, but the gods had other plans. Your water had broken one night, and Elia had called for the maester immediately. She’d stayed by your side the entire night, and after you gave birth, she was the one who handed your daughter to you. You looked down at her, and you could already tell that she was a perfect blend of your features and Oberyn’s. Her little eyes were scrunched shut, but when you held her against your breast, she latched on, clearly hungry. You had decided that you wanted to nurse your babe early on in your pregnancy, and when Jon had come into your life, you decided to nurse him as well. 

As your daughter gently suckled at your breast, Elia came over, carrying Jon. You looked up at her, tired and sweaty, but overjoyed to finally be holding your daughter in your arms. 

“What will you name her?” 

You barely even had to think, as you had picked a name moons prior, and looking at your daughter, you knew it was perfect. “Sarella. Sarella Snow.” Elia cooed softly, stroking the soft hair on her head as she drank from your breast.

“A beautiful name. But are you sure she should be a Snow and not a Sand?” 

You shook your head. “I want her to have a connection to the North, no matter how small. She is my daughter, and I am still a direwolf of House Stark, no matter where I reside.” Elia nodded in agreement, taking Sarella from you as she finished feeding, placing both babes on the bed next to you.

“We’ll be arriving in Dorne in a few days. I sent a letter ahead to Doran and Oberyn, so they know to meet us, but they do not know you are with me.” You looked at Elia, and she continued. “I figured my brother does not know of his daughter, and I assumed you wanted to be the one to tell him.”

You nodded. “Indeed. Thank you, Elia.” She left to allow you to get some rest, and you closed your eyes, knowing that your children were safe next to you.

***

You stood on the deck of the ship, watching as Sunspear came into view. Elia had come to get you a few minutes prior, telling you that you would be docking soon. You held both your children in your arms, Elia held Aegon, and Rhaenys stood between the two of you. As you got closer to shore, you could feel your pulse beginning to speed up, especially when you noticed the two Princes of Dorne standing on the docks, awaiting your arrival.

Elia lay a hand upon your arm. “Are you nervous?”

You laughed shakily. “Of course. I’d be mad if I wasn’t, I should think.” Elia squeezed your arm gently, and you smiled at her, thankful. 

You could tell the minute Oberyn recognized you on board. You were close enough to see him physically react, grasping at his brother’s arm. You smiled, hoping he could see. You watched him as the ship pulled into port, gasping when he didn’t wait for the gangplank, instead he jumped, grabbing onto the ladder on the side of the ship. You stepped back, watching as he rose over the side of the ship, jumping over the railing and striding towards you, only to fall short as he realized what you were holding. 

He stood in front of you staring intently at the babes in your arms, before his eyes raised to yours, the question clear. You took a small step forward, face deadly serious as you watched his reactions to your words. “This,” you said, gesturing as best you could, “is your daughter, Sarella.” You allowed him to slowly take Sarella from you, watching as he looked down at her, an expression of adoration clear on his features. 

“And this,” you continued, drawing his eyes to the other babe in your arms. “Is my son, Jon.” You could tell he was confused, and you took a deep breath. “He is mine, in name and heart, and even partially in blood. My twin may have given him life, but he is mine son, and I will not allow anyone to take him from me.” 

You waited with bated breath, for Oberyn’s reaction. You watched the emotions flicker across his face, confusion, understanding, then anger, and finally, acceptance. He raised Sarella up, pressing his lips against her forehead, before striding towards you, his hand not currently holding your daughter coming up to rest against Jon’s back, looking down at him. He pressed a gentle kiss to Jon’s forehead as well, and tears sprang to your eyes. 

Oberyn looked at you intently, and you couldn’t look away. 

“I think you must be confused, my love,” he began, his voice soft. “This is our son, Jon. He is our son, in name and heart and blood. You have given me two beautiful children, my shewolf. And I would take you for my wife, if you’ll have me.”

You gasped softly, somehow surprised, despite Elia’s reassurances that Oberyn would not reject you or Jon. Nodding, you smiled at your prince, the father of your children, and as he pressed his lips against yours, you felt peace for the first time in a long time.

Tagging, as promised: @din-damn-djarin, and @chibi-liz05​! (And @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​!!)

[ladycatofwinterfell]

A little something that always bugged me, but considering your research on harrenhal I was hoping you might find out an answer sooo

What tf was howland reed doing there? The crannogmen rarely leave their place in the neck like ever 'unless obviously they are called to war' that's number 1

Number 2... The north doesn't have knight? The tourneys are majorly just southern stuff? The only northern 'knights' we are aware of are the manderlys as they follow the seven and see jorah who was knighted by the king. And the crannogmen are old gods-aholic so why was he there? He doesn't compete either way. And the north mostly hold a certain amount of disdain to these affairs. Especially now with 'the mad king' and the 'cursed harrenhal' not a fun place to be in

Number 3, I believe it's quite dubious that they asked for the presence of every single house, not to mention the only time our guy got below the neck he was horribly bullied

I don't take coincidence for an answer in ASOIAF with George R R freaking Martin, and we only know the consequences of him being there, NOT the reasons (maybe a message from the old Gods? Since his torment kick-started everything?)...

I was hoping maybe you found something interesting or maybe you could discuss this??? :)

Love your posts by the way, thank you.

I’m happy to report that I (a Harrenhal expert at this point) have both answers and speculations surrounding your questions!

And maybe I should start by saying that I’m in no way actually an expert and if something I say here is wrong, please correct me.

1. Howland did not go south for the tourney, he left the neck and travelled down the Green Fork to go to the Isle of Faces in search of the green men. He stayed there all through that winter and left in 281 AC, to find the tourney at Harrenhal. It was a coincidence, in other words. He stayed after Lyanna saved him from the three squires that bulled him and introduced him to her brothers, as Ned offered to share his tent with him.

2. First I want to add Ser Rodrik to the list of northern knights. And then I say that you don’t have to be a knight to compete in tourneys, for example Brandon and Robert competed in the tourney at Harrenhal and neither of them were knights.

You are right in that tourneys are only held in the south, but I don’t see why northerners wouldn’t enjoy it. I don’t think it’s fair to say they have a disdain for all southern affairs, I just don’t think they have the means and climate to host tourneys of their own. We are shown northerners like feasts and gatherings even though theirs are not as lavish as the southerners’. I also have this little theory of that we interpret Ned’s feelings about certain things, such as southern business, as something all northerners feel despite Ned on many occasions being noticeably different than your average northerner.

3. I don’t think they asked for the presence of any house, I think they announced the tourney and anyone was free to attend. It is confirmed that from northern houses there were men of House Dustin, House Hornwood, House Manderly and House Mormont. And while we don’t anything for sure about other northern houses chances are high that many were there, as this was a big event for people of all seven kingdoms, not exclusively the southern ones. Not every southern house in attendance is mentioned either, but as just the joust went on for five days I guess there were a lot of people in the ranks and therefore a lot of houses.

I’m honoured by that you asked me about this, and thank you! Hope you got the answers you wanted!

[holyscream]

I did the ASoIaF Favorite Character Sorter! The top 20 are definitely accurate, after that we enter "I don't really know who this is"-territory.

And RIP to my favorite projection screen Theon coming in at 49, lmao.

Full list + text form under the cut if you're interested.

There are so many characters, I feel like a good quarter of them I coudn't tell you a single thing about. I also realized I can't tell the Sand Snakes apart outside of what weapons they use.

Alt-Text can only be 200 characters long, so here's the entire list in case you're interested:

1. Fat Walda Frey / Ramsay Snow 3. Dolorous Edd 4. Samwell Tarly (POV) 5. Maester Aemon Targaryen 6. Kevan Lannister (POV) 7. Jon Snow (POV) 8. Old Nan 9. Yoren 10. Brienne of Tarth (POV) / Meera Reed 12. Ned Stark (POV) 13. Robb Stark / Domeric Bolton 15. Coldhands 16. The Kindly Man 17. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont 18. Penny 19. Tyrion Lannister (POV) 20. Salladhor Saan

21. Olenna Redwyne / Willas Tyrell (idk who this is) 23. Sansa Stark (POV) 24. Maester Luwin 25. Jaqen H'ghar 26. Patchface 27. Mirri Maz Durr 28. Missandei / Wylla Manderly (idk who this is) / Cleos Frey (idk who this is) 31. Dontos Hollard 32. Jojen Reed 33. Shireen Baratheon 34. Catelyn Tully (POV) 35. Alannys Harlaw / Rodrik Harlaw 37. Daenerys Targaryen (POV) 38. Lollys Stokeworth 39. Varys / Qyburn

41. Theon Greyjoy (POV) / Davos Seaworth (POV) 43. Moon Boy / Roose Bolton / Stannis Baratheon 46. Mya Stone 47. Thoros of Myr / Barristan Selmy (POV) / Jon Arryn / Myrcella Baratheon / Jeyne Poole 52. Hodor / Tysha / Maege Mormont 55. Satin 56. Vargo Hoat 57. Alayaya 58. Chella of the Black Ears 59. Shagga, son of Dolf 60. Donella Hornwood / Barbrey Dustin / Jeyne Westerling / Irri / Syrio Forel 65. Hoster Tully

66. Podrick Payne / Brynden Tully / Garin (idk who this is) / Ygritte / Jhiqui / Tommen Baratheon 72. Lady Stoneheart / Marillion 74. Strong Belwas 75. Shae 76. Mance Rayder / Cotter Pyke / Bowen Marsh (idk who this is) / Hyle Hunt (idk who this is) / Hot Pie / Pyp / Grenn / Chataya / Gendry / Septa Mordane / Osha / Val / Edric Dayne (idk who this is) / Sigorn of Thenn / Grand Maester Pycelle / Benjen Stark

92. Wyman Manderly / Euron Greyjoy 94. Bran Stark (POV) 95. Margaery Tyrell / Rodrik Cassel / Asha Greyjoy (POV) 98. Biter / Tom of Sevenstreams / Arys Oakheart (POV) / Balon Swann (idk who this is) / Taena Merryweather (idk who this is) / Meryn Trant / Mandon Moore (idk who this is) / Septa Lemore (idk who this is) / Mellario of Norvos (idk who this is) / Joanna Lannister / Howland Reed / Dalla / Arya Stark (POV) / Tywin Lannister 112. Beth Cassel / Jory Cassel / Oberyn Martell 115. Dagmer Cleftjaw 116. Bronn / Dacey Mormont / Arthur Dayne / Ashara Dayne / Orell (idk who this is) / Andrey Dalt (idk who this is) / Quaithe / Lyanna Stark / Vayon Poole / Edmure Tully

126. Jaime Lannister (POV) 127. Alliser Thorne / Lord of Bones / Gyles Rosby (idk who this is) / Jon Connington (POV) / Tormund Giantsbane / The Tickler / Walder Frey / Edric Storm / Roslin Frey / Lysa Tully / Tristifer Botley / Greatjon Umber / Alys Karstark / Genna Lannister (idk who this is) / Robert Arryn / Shagwell (idk who this is) / Gilly / Jyana Reed (idk who this is) / Styr, Magnar of Thenn / Hizdahr zo Loraq / Xaro Xhoan Daxos / Lyanna Mormont / Petyr Baelish / Garlan Tyrell (idk who this is) / Beric Dondarrion / Mace Tyrell (idk who this is) / Alerie Hightower (idk who this is) / Robert Baratheon / Renly Baratheon / Brandon Stark

157. The Waif 158. Cersei Lannister (POV) 159. Lem Lemoncloak / Pyat Pree / Polliver / Rorge / Gerris Drinkwater (idk who this is) / Ilyn Payne / Tygett Lannister (idk who this is) / Daemon Sand (idk who this is) / Gerold Dayne / Daario Naharis / Alysane Mormont / Illyrio Mopatis / Grey Worm / Aurane Waters (idk who this is) / Loras Tyrell / Rickon Stark / Victarion Greyjoy (POV) / Doran Martell / Ellaria Sand

178. Arianne Martell (POV) / Nymeria Sand / Tyene Sand / Gregor Clegane 182. Sarella Sand / Obara Sand (idk which Sand Snake ist which) / Trystane Martell (idk who this is) / Jorah Mormont / Janos Slynt / Reznak mo Reznak (idk who this is) / Donal Noye (idk who this is) / Qhorin Halfhand (idk who this is) / Yohn Royce (idk who this is) / Cortnay Penrose (idk who this is) / Devan Seaworth / Boros Blount (idk who this is) / Varamyr Sixskins / Brown Ben Plumm (idk who this is) / Kraznys mo Nakloz (idk who this is) / Young Griff / Elia Martell / Skahaz mo Kandaq (idk who this is) / Craster / Joffrey Baratheon / Viserys Targaryen / Melisandre (POV) / Selyse Florent

205. Lancel Lannister / Areo Hotah (POV) 207. Quentyn Martell (POV) / Bonifer Hasty (idk who this is) / Aerys II Targaryen / Amory Lorch (idk who this is) / Khal Drogo / Moqorro (idk who this is) / Forley Prester (idk who this is) / Lothar Brune (idk who this is) / Addam Marbrand (idk who this is) / Black Walder / Big Walder / Myranda Royce (idk who this is) / Doreah 220. Randyll Tarly / Rickard Karstark / Kojja Mo (idk who this is) / Little Walder / Sandor Clegane / Rhaegar Targaryen / Balon Greyjoy 227. Osmund Kettleblack / Gerion Lannister (idk who this is) / Rhaella Targaryen (idk who this is) / Aeron Greyjoy (POV)

[goodqueenaly]

Do you think Alys Karstark and Robb would have made a good match personally and politically?

Personally, we have no idea. Alys only appears to have met Robb once, when she was six and he was about seven or eight; she noted that little Robb was “very courteous” when he danced with her, but that along is not nearly enough to judge what personal relationship they might have had as husband and wife. Given how very little we can say about Robb’s taste in women, and even less so Alys Karstark’s taste in men, any personal relationship between Robb and Ays Karstark is a blank page.

Politically ... it’s not uncommon for Stark men to marry Karstark women: Bennard Stark married Margaret Karstark, Lord Brandon Stark married another Alys Karstark, and Artos Stark married Lysara Karstark. I think both Catelyn and Ned would have recognized the value of Robb marrying a woman from an old Northern family. As the Tully-looking, Riverrun-born son of a southron, seven-worshiping mother, Robb was not as obviously Stark in appearance as some of his forbears; Ays Karstark was not only the scion of an old and important Northern noble family, but with her traditionally northern appearance might have brought more of that look back into the Stark line, with Robb’s heirs. Too, to the extent that Ned distrusted Roose Bolton (and he did), having a tie to the Boltons’ neighbors to the North might have been a subtle way of keeping the Dreadfort in check. 

Of course, such a marriage would never have happened, given that even before the War of the Five Kings Alys was betrothed to Daryn Hornwood (perhaps after Halys Hornwood realized the Manderly plot to take over the Hornwood). Too, once the war kicked into gear, there was no way to see an Alys Karstark marriage as any sort of strategic advantage for Robb.

[victorian-muff-daddy]

Chapters: 24/? Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton/Sansa Stark, Satin Flowers/Jon Snow, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Jon Snow/Ygritte (mentioned) Characters: Ramsay Bolton, Sansa Stark, Petyr Baelish, Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow, Myranda (Game of Thrones), Tormund Giantsbane, Davos Seaworth, Edd Tollett, Original Female Character(s), Arya Stark, Rickon Stark, Bran Stark, Lyanna Mormont, Lysa Tully Arryn, Original Male Character(s), Robb Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark, Ned Stark, Maege Mormont, Dacey Mormont, Brynden Tully, Robett Glover, Melisandre of Asshai, Cley Cerwyn, Donella Hornwood, Roose Bolton, Barbrey Dustin, Jonelle Cerwyn, Walda Frey, Jaime Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Bronn (ASoIaF), Satin Flowers, Ghost (ASoIaF), Medger Cerwyn, Maester Rhodry, Varys (ASoIaF), Daenerys Targaryen, Sandor Clegane, Cersei Lannister, Margaery Tyrell, Loras Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell, Qyburn (ASoIaF), Gregor Clegane, Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion, Hugo Wull, Yohn Royce, Robin Arryn, Theon Greyjoy, Samwell Tarly, Gilly (ASoIaF), Alys Karstark, Sigorn (ASoIaF), Wildlings, Maester Wolkan, Donnel Flint, Artos Flint, Meera Reed, Howland Reed, Harald Karstark, Wyman Manderly, Jorah Mormont, Wun Wun, Borroq (ASoIaF), Brandon Norrey, Brandon Stark, Podrick Payne, Gendry Waters, Jon "The Smalljon" Umber, Edmure Tully, Roslin Frey, Lyanna Stark, Jaqen H'ghar, Larence Snow, Ellaria Sand, Beth Cassel, Yara Greyjoy, Grey Worm, Missandei (ASoIaF), Lady (ASoIaF), Nymeria (ASoIaF), Ramsay Bolton's Dogs Additional Tags: Older Man/Younger Woman, Scars, Dominance, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Dark Sansa, Jon Snow is a clueless disaster bi, Wargs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Control Issues, Kink, Trust Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Trauma, Everybody has daddy issues, Queen in the North, Partners to Lovers, War, Minor Canonical Character(s), The Prince That Was Promised, Valonqar Prophecy, Warging, Warg Jon Snow, Warg Sansa Stark, Strategy & Tactics, House Stark, The North Remembers (ASoIaF), R Plus L Equals J, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Redemption, Execution, Abortion, moon tea, Bran Stark Has Emotions, Bran Stark is also on a power trip Summary:

Sansa Stark has fled Winterfell, and has reunited with Jon Snow. His army plans to take back Winterfell and the control of the North. A raven carries a message, a promise of a meeting on the wind. Sansa and Brienne of Tarth ride to Molestown to meet with Petyr Baelish. She thinks she understands Petyr Baelish more now than ever, after her treatment at Ramsay's hands. She comes to this meeting with ideas of her own.

Canon divergence from the scene in Molestown.

[secretlyatargaryen]

hey just wanted to say that your metas (especially the ones about cat) are so good and awesome. It really bothers me when people either treat her as either a horrible b**ch or a poor angel with no agency who did nothing wrong because society and jon’s a bastard who should be grateful for anything he gets. Would you mind talking more about how cat deals with the patriarchy. I have always felt that short of her problem with Jon she seemed content and i’m curious as to why you think she was not?

Thanks so much!

Well, short of her problem with Jon is a short phrase to talk about a big fucking problem. Catelyn’s problem with Jon isn’t something small, especially when you consider that Catelyn is an essentially good person who is rational and compassionate about everything else. Someone who treats a child that way is not perfectly content. Her problem with Jon is not an isolated incident that comes out of nowhere, it’s something that comes from years and years of pain. And Catelyn’s chapters are full of pain, and sorrow, and loss, even before everything goes to shit in the series.

I think it’s easy to see Catelyn as the exceptional woman who thrives under patriarchy especially because she’s the “good mom,” in contrast to Cersei’s “bad mom.” But Catelyn, like all the women in the series, has suffered her fair share of traumas under the patriarchy. And she reflects on them quite often.

Since she was a little girl she’s been raised to believe, like Sansa, that her greatest accomplishment in life is to be a wife and a mother. It’s even in her house words, “family, duty, honor.” I know those words apply to the whole of house Tully but on a meta-textual level, they are entirely about Catelyn. Throughout Catelyn’s chapters there is a sense of…resignation to duty. It feels like she lives in a world which she isn’t really truly a part of. She loves Ned but she feels out of place in his world. Right from her first chapter, when she seeks Ned in the godswood, there is a sense that she’s sort of apart from everything. And part of that is because death and tragedy has haunted their marriage since the start. She’s been told since she was twelve that she would be married to Brandon, and then Brandon died and she was passed along to a person who was a “solemn stranger,” a person who carried his own ghosts.

Eddard Stark had married her in Brandon’s place, as custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the other, the shadow of the woman he would not name, the woman who had borne him his bastard son.

Catelyn’s POVs show an acceptance of duty, but underneath it all there’s an emotional cost to herself. Catelyn is smart and strong-willed, but she does temper that a bit for the sake of what she considers her duty. You can see the edges of it in her POV. You can see it in her uneasiness when she thinks about Brandon and Ned and Jon. Like, part of the thing with Jon isn’t just the other woman thing, it’s that Jon’s existence in Winterfell is ALSO a symptom of the way this world brutalizes women. Cat of course doesn’t know that Jon’s mother is Lyanna and what really happened to her, but the phrasing up above talks about her and Brandon as shadows, implying a connection there. Brandon died horribly, and if whatever happened with Jon’s mother is something that Ned won’t even talk about, it kind of implies that something horrible happened to her, too. Ned is kind of like Rochester here with this nameless woman hidden in his attic, and Catelyn knows that this world is not kind to women.

You can see it when she questions Robb and the Northern lords, and several times she questions them on point relating to gender:

The Greatjon bellowed his approval, and other men added their voices, shouting and drawing swords and pounding their fists on the table. Catelyn waited until they had quieted. “My lords,” she said then, “Lord Eddard was your liege, but I shared his bed and bore his children. Do you think I love him any less than you?” Her voice almost broke with her grief, but Catelyn took a long breath and steadied herself. “Robb, if that sword could bring him back, I should never let you sheathe it until Ned stood at my side once more … but he is gone, and a hundred Whispering Woods will not change that. Ned is gone, and Daryn Hornwood, and Lord Karstark’s valiant sons, and many other good men besides, and none of them will return to us. Must we have more deaths still?”

“You are a woman, my lady,” the Greatjon rumbled in his deep voice. “Women do not understand these things.”

“You are the gentle sex,” said Lord Karstark, with the lines of grief fresh on his face. “A man has a need for vengeance.”

“Give me Cersei Lannister, Lord Karstark, and you would see how gentle a woman can be,” Catelyn replied.

Catelyn is incredibly aware of how disadvantaged she is as a woman in her society. She’s aware of it and aware of the stress it puts on her daughters as well.

“… but not for the girls?” Her voice was icy quiet. “Girls are not important enough, are they?”

I think it’s interesting to think of Arya’s “the woman is important, too” in this context.

Catelyn also empathizes with Brienne in a way that only a woman could. It’s not just that she sees her own daughter Arya in Brienne, although that’s there too. I think this exchange between them is particularly telling:

“Knights die in battle,” Catelyn reminded her.

Brienne looked at her with those blue and beautiful eyes. “As ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them.”

“Children are a battle of a different sort.” Catelyn started across the yard. “A battle without banners or warhorns, but no less fierce.

Here they are acknowledging that a woman’s role in this world is both painful and thankless, although Catelyn also makes it clear that she thinks it no less worthy of respect than a man’s. This relationship between these two ladies is one of my favorites because it underscores both the pain of conforming and the pain of refusing to conform for women, and Catelyn at times does both. She never thinks less of herself just because she is a woman, though, never accepts the attempts of the men around her to belittle her. She keeps fighting right up until the end of her life, even after losing her husband. And conventional storytelling says that losing Ned SHOULD be the end of her story, that her life ended with hers, but it doesn’t. Like Dany refusing to grow old in the cloistered Dosh Khaleen as a used woman, Catelyn doesn’t sit back and let men dictate her life even when she feels like she WANTS to. If she did, she would have never taken on the role of a lord and accepted Brienne into her service.

Another thing that shows Catelyn’s awareness of the restrictions placed on women is her relationship with and reflections on her sister Lysa.

When Catelyn visits her father and first learns about what really happened to Lysa’s first child, she at first doesn’t understand, and this part is interesting because it parallels her feelings about Ned and the shadow of Jon’s mother:

Could there have been another woman in her father’s life? Some village maiden he had wronged when he was young, perhaps? Could he have found comfort in some serving wench’s arms after Mother died? It was a queer thought, unsettling. Suddenly she felt as though she had not known her father at all.

[…]

His words disturbed her more than she could say, though she could make no sense of them. Blood, she thought. Must it all come back to blood? Father, who was this woman, and what did you do to her that needs so much forgiveness?

She starts to come to the conclusion that her father may have fathered a bastard on some woman named Tansy, and this thought greatly disturbs her, in part almost certainly because it is so like the situation with Ned. Women die in childbed, men father bastards, this is the world that Cat lives in, and she is deeply, deeply aware of the cost of it.

I mean…Lysa. Lysa’s story is so, so sad. She gets pregnant by a man who will never return her love, and then married off to a man way too old for her, only to have miscarriage after miscarriage. Lysa and Catelyn were married on the same day, to boot, and both to men who were strangers they did not love. How can Cat NOT be aware of the cost?

“Father,” she said, “Father, I know what you did.” She was no longer an innocent bride with a head full of dreams. She was a widow, a traitor, a grieving mother, and wise, wise in the ways of the world. “You made him take her,” she whispered.

That “wise, wise in the ways of the world” is so heavy.

[my-arya-underfoot]

Titles in Westeros

I know D&D are Just Don’t Care but the shitfest of the Stark’s titles in s7-8 makes my head hurt. I.e.

Jon = King in the North? But not legitimized as a Stark?

Sansa = Lady Stark? Even though Bran is technically Lord of Winterfell? 

Bran and Arya = Siblings of a King, still nobles, but hey no titles for you guys?

Lord/Lady of Winterfell = Separate from Kingship? Who the fucks knows.

According to GRRM, he roughly modelled titles off the English style of peerage and they are used consistently in the books – and hell even in the show for a while.  But the whole treatment of the Starks at the end, totally upends that because hey, what’s one more piece of crap in this monstrosity. 

Because D&D apparently need it and for any fans who want to be accurate, here’s a crash course in how titles in Westeros (apart from Dorne) work:

For Women

Born title for women = Lady + first name.

E.g. Lady Arya, Lady Sansa, Lady Catelyn before she was married, as the daughters of lords.

Married title for women = Lady + surname.

E.g. Lady Stark after Cat is married; Lady Arryn after Lysa married; Lady Baratheon after Selyse married Stannis.

If ladies marry an untitled guy, they still get to be Lady + first-name.

To compare to the system they’re based on, see how these titles operate in Downton Abbey – Cora is addressed as Lady Grantham because she’s married to the Earl of Grantham. Her daughters are Lady Mary, Lady Edith, Lady Sybil etc. not Lady Grantham – in the same way Arya and Sansa were never called Lady Stark as children. When Sybil married common old Tom Branson, she was still Lady Sybil even if she didn’t want to use it.

So overall: If Arya never married, she’d still get to keep Lady Arya for the rest of her life; if she married a titled Gendry, she’d become Lady Baratheon; if she married an untitled Gendry, she’d be Lady Arya.

For Men

Interestingly male nobles don’t automatically get called Lord + first-name, if they’re the sons of lords. If they’re a first-born, they’ll inherit the title lord when their father dies. If they’re a second, third born etc., they don’t technically get anything. However, they may become knights and get Ser.

Title of ruling lord = Lord + First-name and Surname

E.g. Lord Ned Stark, Renly Baratheon, Leyton Hightower and Wyman Manderly as lords of the North, Stormlands, Hightower and White Harbour respectively.

First-born sons of ruling lords = Lord + First name and Surname after their father’s death

E.g. Robert became Lord Robert Baratheon, after Steffon Baratheon died; Robb would have become Lord Robert Stark had he not become King. Edmure became Lord Edmure Tully but he got hella told off by Catelyn for referring to himself as Lord before his father died

Not first-born sons of ruling lords = technically no Lord title

E.g. Bryden Tully is never referred to as a Lord.

Knights = Ser + First-name Last-name

E.g. Ser Bryden Tully, Ser Loras Tyrell, Ser Barristan Selmy.

UNUSUAL CASE: Daughters as heirs = Lady + First name and Surname (and pass through matrilineal line)

 E.g. Lady Lyanna Mormont in the show; Lady Wynafryd Manderly (once her father dies)

Seats

Titles are attached to seats.

Seats: E.g. Hightower, Casterly Rock, Hornwood. The titles and seats come with lands to rule over and in some cases vassal houses.

E.g. Garlan Tyrell initially wasn’t Lord of anything and became Lord of Brightwater Keep and all its lands, thus getting to be Lord Garlan Tyrell

Great houses ruling over entire areas of Westeros = Lord Paramounts

It seems to be the Great houses get Lord Paramount, though that’s a bit hazier.

E.g. Ned is Lord Paramount of the North and Lord of Winterfell (his seat); Jon Arryn is Lord Paramount of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie.

There’s also Wardens of the North, East, West etc. but that’s another thing.

Interestingly GRRM said his one regret around titles was not giving the ‘Great’ Houses a separate title from Lord and Lady to make it clear they were a step up from normal nobles.

When the North seceded from the Seven Kingdoms Robb became King in the North instead of Lord Paramount but was still Lord of Winterfell.

It’s very unusual for seats to get separated from their lands - who becomes Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and who gets Riverrun as a seat is a massive headache for the Lannisters to sort out in the books. And in that case the separation is forced.  

Generally

Complicating things further is all nobles are generally referred to as my lord or my lady or some version thereof, by commoners. Because, your average Westerosi peasant sees a highborn and uses their common sense. Whether their current Lord, or first-born Lord-to-be, or second-born Lordless; first-name Lady or last-name Lady sure as hell doesn’t matter to them, they just want to get on with life.  

 Back to whatever the hell happened to the Starks in s7 and s8

So, following the established laws of the universe. After the Starks defeat the Boltons, their titles should be as follows:

Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell/Lord Paramount of the North  

Lady Arya

Jon would still be titleless

Sansa is a weird case – she’d be Lady Sansa as she was born to the title; but she was technically Lady Bolton so could still hold that title. (And that’s not even getting into her marriage with Tyrion – her legally not being allowed to marry Ramsay is a whole other thing).

Instead, as said at the beginning we have King Jon Snow; Lady Stark and titleless Arya and Bran. *face palm* *deep breath*

Let’s break this down: 

The Northern lords making Jon, King in the North means two options:

Option A: By making Jon King in the North, he also becomes Lord of Winterfell so –

He could legitimize himself as a Stark – then arguably Bran, Arya and Sansa all become Princes/Princesses as younger siblings of a King, as with Robb. (Tbh, this seems like the most logical option, as he was made King on the basis of being Ned Stark’s son, as King could legitimise himself and having a Snow as a King would set a lot of teeth on edge. This also makes sense to keep Lord of Winterfell and King in the North linked, due to the above mentioned importance of ancestral seats. But whatever). 

House Stark is officially off the table and House Snow is now ruling the North and Winterfell. (In this case, his half siblings have lost their ancestral home and have zero titles).

Option B: Jon is King in the North but has…no seat, no land, men or vassal houses and it’s effectively a meaningless title. The Starks are still Lords of Winterfell and hold their lands, while he’s King Snow of Nothing except fickle lords.  What’s he meant to do? Go pick some land and build his own castle I guess.

But anyway, logic aside (ha), the show seems to suggest it’s Option B?

But in this case, Bran would be Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell. However, we get Sansa being referred to as Lady Stark even when Bran is alive, instead of Lady Sansa.

Even with Bran turning the title down, there would need to be some sticky, legal means of that happening – Sansa wouldn’t just be called Lady Stark on whim. There aren’t many examples of titles being given away while the person is still living – they’re either forcibly stripped of them or go into an order than removes them from succession (become a Maester or member of the Nights Watch).

Plus, given the sexism of the Northern lords and their deafening rejection of Sansa as leader at the end of s6, it seems unlikely they’d be fine with her stealing her brother’s birthright once he turned up. (Especially as Bran would be seen as an easily controllable puppet). The most likely thing is Sansa would be acting Lady of Winterfell – but she’d still referred to as Lady Sansa, just as her sister is Lady Arya. (No matter how much Arya complains about the title).

 Then again, when has logic come in to anything? 

No wonder Arya was hella confused when she turned up at the door and they said Lady Stark was ruling.

[amaidasfairassummer]

The next instalment of my ACOK reread... 

1. Another Bran chapter, yay!

2. Bran standing up for Hodor like a babe <3 

3. Bran being a fucking brilliant lord already at the age of eight <3 

4. poor lady hornwood :( can’t help but feel sorry for her, particularly knowing what’s going to happen. 

5. Bran Stark said bastard rights!! 

6. the way most people treat hodor is horrible, that story about those boys poking him with sticks in the market place :( 

7. maester luwin’s pretty great in this chapter tho :) 

8. ... i swear, he and rodrik seem to know robb is going to die childless?? 

9. baby boy wants to gallop about the country singing songs of chivalry, love him <3 

10. bran remembering what he saw at the top of the tower and how he fell :(

11.  another tyrion chapter, and it’s a great one! him at his clever scheming best- counting down the three conversations with pycelle, littlefinger and varys... 

12. i love the prominence george always gives food, particularly in tyrion’s chapters! even if it’s bad food, it’s always fun to read about

13. Oh yes, she’s a frail dove, just ask Eddard Stark. Love it! I mean, Ned’s  death was far more joffrey’s fault than cersei’s, but the point that she is no frail dove still stands :) 

13. love the fact that lady tanda is trying to bribe tyrion with food... clearly she believes the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! 

15. tyrion and bronn being bros <3 

16. yep, stannis is the real threat. and it’s really interesting about none of the spies coming back from dragonstone with any info! 

17. pod being adorable as always :) 

18. how come everyone forgets petyr baelish is a fashion icon?? “I’m wounded. I strive to look elegant every day.” <3 

19. The hare stood on his hind legs and twitched his nose at the king. One of my favourite lines! 

20. Drink with the dwarf, it’s said, and you wake up walking the Wall. Love it! 

21. Can we appreciate the fact that, when petyr says he had the tully girls’ maidenheads, there’s a good chance he genuinely thinks it’s true? i reckon he still thinks, sixteen odd years later (?) that he had sex with cat when he was drunk the night her betrothal to brandon stark was announced. Still shitty to go around spreading gossip about it, of course...  

22. “If I gave her Jon Arryn’s true killer, she might think more kindly of me.” Oh my god the dramatic irony here is so perfect! not just the fact that lysa herself was one of jon’s killers, but the fact that he is talking to petyr, the other one?! perfect! and littlefinger handles it so well... 

23. “Prince Tommen is a good boy.” Aww, he certainly is <3 

More coming soon! 

[disregardcanon]

noble houses of the north in alphabetical order, in the style of a maester at the citadel with the knowledge a maester at the citadel would likely have after adwd 

house bolton of the dreadfort

house words: our knives are sharp

sigil: a red flayed man on a pink background

notable members: the former red kings. roose bolton, the current lord of the dreadfort and warden of the north. his late son, domeric, and his living son, ramsay bolton, nee snow, married to arya stark. ramsay is currently styled as lord of hornwood and lord of winterfell. 

house cerwyn of castle cerwyn

house words: honed and ready

sigil: a black battle ax on silver

notable members: the current lady jonelle cerwyn

house dustin of barrow town

house words: unknown 

sigil two black crossed long axes with a crown above them on a yellow background

notable members: william dustin, slain at the tower of joy, and his widow barbrey ryswell dustin. house dustin is currently among the most loyal of the northern houses to the bolton overlords. the dustins claim descent from the first king and the barrow kings of old. 

house flint of the mountains with cadet branches in widow’s watch and flint’s fingers

house words: unknown

sigil: unknown

notable members: arya flint, mother of lyarra stark and grandmother to ned stark

house glover of deepwood motte

house words: unknown 

sigil: a silver fist on a red background

house hornwood of hornwood

house words: unknown 

sigil: a brown bull moose with antlers on an orange background

notable members: donella manderly hornwood, widow of the former lord of hornwood, forcibly married to and murdered by ramsay then snow. the man claimed the title of lord hornwood through the action. 

house karstark of karhold

house words: the sun of winter

sigil: a white sun on a black background

notable members: lord rickard karstark, executed by robb stark. harrion karstark, his heir, a hostage to the iron throne. alys karstark, his daughter, recently married to signor of the new house thenn. 

house locke of oldcastle

house words: unknown 

sigil: two golden keys on a purple and white background

notable members:  marna locke stark, mother of rickard stark and grandmother of ned stark.

house manderly of white harbor

house words: unknown 

sigil: a green and white merman with a trident on a blue-green background

notable members: the current lord wyman manderly, his second son wendel, slain at the red wedding, and his granddaughter wylla, vocally still loyal to the starks. 

house mormont of bear island

house words: here we stand

sigil: a black bear in a green wood 

notable members: current lady maege mormont, her eldest daughter dacey, guard of robb stark, slain with him at the red wedding. alysane, the current heir. lyanna mormont, who told stannis that house mormont would bend no knee unless it was to a stark. jeor mormont, former lord commander of the night’s watch. jorah mormont, exiled knight and formerly in the service of daenerys targaryen.

house reed of greywater watch

house words: unknown 

sigil: a green lizard lion on a green background 

notable members: the last marsh king’s daughter, who married king rickard stark and brought the neck into stark rule. the current lord, howland, who was present at both the tourney of harrenhal and the tower of joy, and his two children, meera and jojen, formerly staying at winterfell with prince bran, then held hostage at winterfell by prince theon, the two are currently missing and presumed dead. 

house ryswell of the rills

house words: unknown 

sigil: a black horse with a red mane on a tan background

notable members: the current lord, rodrick, his late daughter bethany, married to roose bolton and mother to domeric, and his younger daughter barbrey, current lady of barrowtown and widow of william dustin. the ryswells are one of the most loyal northern houses to the bolton overlords. 

house stark of winterfell 

house words: winter is coming

sigil: a grey direwolf on a white background

notable historic members: brandon the builder, a legendary figure from the age of heroes said to have built winterfell and sometimes both storm’s end and hightower. king rickard defeated the last marsh king and married his daughter, bringing the neck into stark rule. king theon, who made common cause with the boltons to prevent the north from slipping into andal rule. king brandon, who burned the northern fleet after his father (also brandon) was lost at sea. king torrhen, who knelt to the targaryen invaders and became the first warden of the north. 

current members: eddard stark, married to catelyn tully , executed by king joffrey baratheon 

their children

king robb, killed at the red wedding

princess sansa, married to tyrion lannister, missing and presumed dead

princess arya, married to ramsay bolton

prince bran, killed by theon greyjoy during the occupation of winterfell

prince rickon, killed by theon greyjoy during the occupation of winterfell 

jon snow, eddard’s natural son, lord commander of the night’s watch

the name stark is likely to be erased entirely from history, as the only remaining living member is a married woman. 

house tallhart of torrhen’s square

house words: proud and free

sigil: three green pine trees on a brown background

notable members: the current lady eddara tallhart

house umber of last hearth 

house words: unknown 

sigil: a giant with broken silver chains on a red background

notable members: jon “the greatjon” currently hostage at the twins, his son jon “the smalljon” slain at the red wedding, and jon umber, husband to serena stark. the two had no children. 

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

Bran as King in the North/Lord of Winterfell.

In most fandom’s conversations about which Stark will be the one to inherit Winterfell, Bran’s name is rarely even mentioned. Maybe that’s because fans tend to ignore Bran altogether or because they wish their favourites to rule Winterfell, like the castle is some kind of gift that the best/most deserving character should get. 

In any case, I believe that Bran has actually the most chances to be Winterfell’s Lord in the end. After all, he’s the character who is more linked to Winterfell and the one who actually spends more time than any other point of view Stark in their home. Furthermore, he’s currently the heir to Winterfell and if he survives the series - something I believe that will happen - I see no reason why he should be denied his inheritance.

In order to further prove my point, I gathered some interesting quotes that possibly foreshadow Bran’s endgame as Lord of Winterfell. 

When Ned and Arya were discussing Bran’s fate, Ned told his daughter that his son could no longer become a knight like he wished. According to Ned, Bran could become a lord and even raise castles like  Brandon the Builder.

He was going to be a knight,” Arya was saying now. “A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he still be a knight?” “No,” Ned said. He saw no use in lying to her. “Yet someday he may be the lord of a great holdfast and sit on the king’s council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or sail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother’s Faith and become the High Septon."

 It’s interesting that Ned linked his son to this legendary man who is said that built both Winterfell and the Wall. After the battle of Winterfell in ACOK, the castle is burned by the Boltons and it’s currently occupied by them while being  in a half ruined state. The Stark who will reclaim it, will need to rebuild it,too. And who would make a better choice than the boy who was linked to the legendary Brandon the Builder and who not only shares his name but his nickname,too (Bran)?

Continuing with the hints that Bran will rebuild Winterfell, this passage also seems to contain hints about the future:

[...]The stone is strong, Bran told himself, the roots of the trees go deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained. It was not dead, just broken. Like me, he thought. I’m not dead either.

Before departing from Winterfell, Bran turns to have a final look to the castle that had been all his life. While he looks at it, he takes notice that the stone remains and that the roots of the trees go deep underground where the Kings of Winter  still sit on their thrones. 

He proceeds to compare the castle to his own disability calling it “broken” but still refusing to declare it “dead”. Because  he hasn’t given up on himself and  he refuses to give up on Winterfell,too. After all, this castle has always been an important part of who he is. And just like Bran will one day return to Westeros and in Winterfell after gaining knowledge from Bloodraven, his home will be raised from its ashes again. Bran will make sure of it.

After all, Bran is the character that has the stronger links to Winterfell. He says so in one of his first point of view chapters:

When he got out from under it and scrambled up near the sky, Bran could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, only birds wheeling over his head while all the life of the castle went on below. Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know.

In the above passage, Bran confesses that he feels like the lord of the castle because he’s tied to Winterfell in a way that not even Robb (the current heir at that time) knew.

I personally consider it foreshadowing of the future, since we already know that Robb died and can no longer be Winterfell’s lord, while Bran, who as himself says knows Winterfell the best, is the current heir.

A similar foreshadowing comes from the mouths of Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik, who both are loyal and respectable followers of his father.

"Your notion about the bastard may have merit, Bran," Maester Luwin said after. "One day you will be a good lord for Winterfell, I think." "No I won't." Bran knew he would never be a lord, no more than he could be a knight. "Robb's to marry some Frey girl, you told me so yourself, and the Walders say the same. He'll have sons, and they'll be the lords of Winterfell after him, not me." "It may be so, Bran," Ser Rodrik said, "but I was wed three times and my wives gave me daughters. Now only Beth remains to me. My brother Martyn fathered four strong sons, yet only Jory lived to be a man. When he was slain, Martyn's line died with him. When we speak of the morrow nothing is ever certain." 

Maester Luwin praises Bran for his solution to the Lady Hornwood’s problem and considers that the boy will make a good lord of Winterfell one day. And while Bran protests that Robb will be the one to inherit their home, Ser Rodrik notes that nothing is set on stone and that future is always uncertain.

While those two have no means to see the future, they are actually right because Robb died in the Red Wedding and therefore it is impossible for him to be the lord of Winterfell any longer. I suspect that it is the author, who unlike Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick knows what will happen in the future of his story, who put that  presage via the characters’ mouth.

Finally, I want to note that unlike the rest of his siblings (at least the ones with POV), Bran identifies as a prince.  

“Bran,” he said sullenly. Bran the Broken. “Brandon Stark.” The cripple boy. “The Prince of Winterfell.”

What was he now? Only Bran the broken boy, Brandon of House Stark, prince of a lost kingdom, lord of a burned castle, heir to ruins.

Bran is the one who is called the prince of Winterfell, just like it’s Bran the one who is the rightful heir.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Why was Ned never betrothed to anyone in his youth? + Who would have been a potential match for him, had Rickard and Brandon lived as they expected to?

Well, Ned was only about 18 as of the Tourney at Harrenhal, and men in Westeros often marry much later than girls. (Who may marry after flowering, but far more typically near adulthood at 16.) With Brandon and Lyanna betrothed south, Rickard was probably holding out for something else with Ned… possibly another southern match, if the Southron Ambitions theory is correct. Or possibly Rickard was considering a northern match for Ned, to mollify his bannermen who would have been expecting a Stark for one of their children. (Such as Lord Rodrick Ryswell, who pretty much threw his daughter Barbrey at Brandon, and tried for Ned too.) A second son isn’t as prestigious as the next lord or only daughter, but any Stark is nothing to turn up your nose at. Either way, most likely Rickard was judging all the options, waiting for feedback from his bannermen after Brandon and Lyanna’s weddings, waiting to see how things were going with Mad King Aerys, before deciding to do anything definite with Ned.

So, of southern ladies, there’s lots of possibilities. To match the Stark connections to the Riverlands and Stormlands, a Vale lady could be an option, maybe a Royce or a distant cousin via Jocelyn Stark (Waynwood, Corbray, or Templeton), though Ned’s fostering with Jon Arryn was probably alliance enough. For Dorne, @goodqueenaly​ has a great post about the pros/cons re a marriage to Ashara Dayne re Southron Ambitions, which would apply to other Dornish bannermen too. The Westerlands were being handled by the Tullys at the time, and Tywin would have said hell no for Cersei anyway, and any other house there wouldn’t have been much use. And if SA was trying to reach out to the Reach too, there’s Janna or Mina Tyrell, or maybe a Hightower girl (though not Alerie, she was already married).

But if Rickard was planning on keeping Ned in the North, for balance and bannermen-sweetening (which Barbrey thinks unlikely, but y’know she is slightly paranoid), there’s quite a few northern ladies to list. Though first I should note that Rickard might have considered Barbrey Ryswell damaged goods because of Brandon, and if so it’s possible there weren’t any other sufficiently highborn northern ladies who’d flowered yet, which could also be why there hadn’t been any betrothals made. For example, Sybelle Locke (now Glover) has rather young children now, so it’s probable she would have been way too young at the time. Berena Hornwood’s eldest child was born c.285, so she’s probably a little closer to the right age, but perhaps was still too young for marriage or betrothal back then. Donella Manderly would certainly have been old enough (if not too old), but was probably already married or betrothed to Halys Hornwood. Jonelle Cerwyn would actually have been just the right age (14, in 281) for betrothal at least, though she’s “plump and homely” so maybe Rickard thought she wasn’t good enough. And Bethany Ryswell was also married already (Domeric Bolton was born c.281 or before that), as was the unnamed Glover girl (married to Jorah Mormont). After them… um… Leona Woolfield (now Manderly)? Nope, the Woolfields are likely sworn to the Manderlys, and therefore not a house high enough for Ned, or for Rickard’s plans rather. Jyana Reed (whatever her maiden name might be) would also likely be not quite highborn enough as she’s a crannogwoman from a house sworn to the Reeds. And, well, that’s it for named Northern ladies – there would have been others, I’m sure, in the mountain clans and in the rest of the North, but I don’t know their names so I can’t judge their matchability.

Anyway, there’s a nice list of possibilities for Ned for you. Hope that helps!