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ladystoneboobs · 2 years ago

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This time he dreamed he was at a feast, a victory feast in some great hall. He had a high seat on the dais, and men were lifting their goblets and hailing him as hero. Marillion was there, the singer who'd journeyed with them through the Mountains of the Moon. He played his woodharp and sang of the Imp's daring deeds. Even his father was smiling with approval. When the song was over, Jaime rose from his place, commanded Tyrion to kneel, and touched him first on one shoulder and then on the other with his golden sword, and he rose up a knight. Shae was waiting to embrace him. She took him by the hand, laughing and teasing, calling him her giant of Lannister.

[...]He dreamed of a better place, a snug little cottage by the sunset sea. The walls were lopsided and cracked and the floor had been made of packed earth, but he had always been warm there, even when they let the fire go out. She[Tysha] used to tease me about that, he remembered. -Tyrion XV, aCoK

His dreams were strange that night. He was back at Horn Hill, at the castle, but his father was not there. It was Sam's castle now. Jon Snow was with him. Lord Mormont too, the Old Bear, and Grenn and Dolorous Edd and Pyp and Toad and all his other brothers from the Watch, but they wore bright colors instead of black. Sam sat at the high table and feasted them all, cutting thick slices off a roast with his father's greatsword Heartsbane. There were sweet cakes to eat and honeyed wine to drink, there was singing and dancing, and everyone was warm. When the feast was done he went up to sleep; not to the lord's bedchamber where his mother and father lived but to the room he had once shared with his sisters. Only instead of his sisters it was Gilly waiting in the huge soft bed, wearing nothing but a big shaggy fur, milk leaking from her breasts. -Samwell III, aSoS

In her dream they had been man and wife, simple folk who lived a simple life in a tall stone house with a red door. In her dream he[Daario] had been kissing her all over—her mouth, her neck, her breasts. -Daenerys II, aDwD

The owl and the wolf and the nightingale slipped by for once with their passage unseen and unremarked, whilst Cersei dreamed a long sweet dream where Jaime was her husband and their son was still alive. -Cersei I, aDwD

dreams are one of the most interesting parts of asoiaf, and tyrion’s dreams at the end of acok are both echoed later by other character’s dreams. (not unlike theon and jon both dreaming of ghosts in winterfell with a feast for the dead.) i can’t think of any other instance of a dream being shared by more than two characters.

tyrion and sam both dream of happiness at a great feast, but there are differences in the feasts which reveal the differences in their character just as the similarity reflects the common pain and longing of abused children. tyrion dreams of the approval of his father because part of the cruelty of tywin is presenting that chance, of leaving tyrion that impossible hope, trusting him to act as king’s hand in tywin’s place only to refuse to give him any true credit for his work. sam has no such hope for his own father, because his bodycount as a warrior is even smaller than tyrion’s, and more importantly, because randyll is unwaveringly honest in his contempt for sam, having disowned his heir by saying nothing would please him more than to kinslay his own son. sam can only dream of a happy horn hill if his father is absent. tyrion dreams of being knighted by jaime, because he’s always wanted to be like his big brother though his body won’t allow it. sam had no real wish to be a true tarly warrior and instead dreams of using an ancestral valyrian steel greatsword only to carve meat. tyrion dreams of the martial glory denied to him as a hated dwarf, while sam dreams of the bright colors, safety and warmth, sweet food/drink, and dancing denied to him as randyll tarly’s hated son and as a brother of the night’s watch in constant darkness and danger. if tyrion’s dream celebration is a fantasy of masculine knighthood, then sam’s wishes are more feminine (everything after the meat carving could also read like one of sansa’s fantasies), down to not wanting his father’s chambers even as he acts as lordly host and instead only wanting the comfort of his sisters’ chambers. there sam dreams of finding gilly, keeping his love for her private and intimate, while tyrion dreamed of presenting shae publicly, of the world accepting his love for shae (and believing in hers for him as he desperately wanted to believe in it himself) as a knight and his lady, rather than a dwarf and his concubine.

it’s always struck me that cersei’s only real wish of being married to jaime is expressed at her lowest point with this dream. partly, that’s because we only get her pov in feast after the lannicest twins are effectively already broken up, but i also wonder how much of her different priorities (compared to jaime’s delusional wish to come out of the incest closet) are down to her internalizing tywin’s philosophy on love as a weakness the most of all his children. cersei told sansa that love was “poison” and said sansa and tyrion had the same “disease” by wanting to be loved. yet when all else was taken from her, it was a loving domestic life cersei dreamed of, the same as tyrion. and both dreams are equally impossible as cersei/jaime’s firstborn son is dead and gone for good, and though tysha may not dead, tyrion has no way of finding her again so she is just as lost to him and gone for good from the story.

the other striking aspect about cersei’s dream is its simplicity, the same as tyrion’s and dany’s dreams of wedded bliss, with no mention of the iron throne or even casterly rock. sure, they could never go public with the incest and still rule from either seat, but dreams don’t have to run on logic, after all. i’d say this reflects her belief that power and love cannot coexist peacefully, but also her own female perspective unique from tywin’s, that a woman must always lose power to a husband, as she learned all too well during all her time married to robert. so the only way she can enjoy a relationship with jaime without compensating with power over him is if neither of them is wielding much lordly power. and it is only when her own quest for power has brought her so low that she can take comfort in such a dream of simple family life. (which i can’t help but find sad and pitiable, even though cersei brought her downfall on herself through terrible acts and she and jaime are a doomed incestuous couple toxic in so many ways.)

and there’s the big difference between cersei’s dream and dany’s. cersei’s driving focus up until that one dream was the iron throne, whereas dany’s greatest wish was always that dream of safety and a loving family in the house with the red door, both before and after viserys’s death made her a queen. dany views her royal claim as a burden and responsibility to her family legacy and all her peoples, and she was still willing to give all she had to viserys on the day of his death, even her dragon eggs, until he threatened her unborn son. cersei is a queen consort/regent rather than one born into royalty, and she views her position solely in terms of her own power over others, never caring about her/tommen’s subjects’ needs or any duties owed to them. after a childhood under tywin’s thumb and a marital life spent abused by robert, cersei seeks only to grab every scrap of power she can for herself and hoard it all jealously, including guarding against her own surviving family at court. (meaning kevan, jaime, and even tommen who has to learn about ruling if he is ever to survive to grow into a king with power in his own right.)

and cersei’s and dany’s dreams of marriage are impossible in different ways. dany knows that daario would never want such a life, even if she could find the house with the red door again, because daario would only want to marry her as a queen. she knows he is dangerous and untrustworthy, loving her only for her crown and her dragons, and she’s the one who wants a more romantic life away from politics. cersei/jaime pretty much have the opposite dynamic. though their illegal incest precludes jaime’s marriage wishes, their break-up had many contributing factors, including their differing priorities. cersei valued power over love and had interest in politics outside of her relationship with jaime (and was the first to break the trust in that relationship), while he wanted only their love above all else and was very unhealthily devoted to cersei until the moment their relationship hit its breaking point. he may not have loved cersei truly for herself, but it was not for her queenship either. jaime loved her his whole life simply for being his twin, a fellow lannister, and his false mirror. though being a lannister comes with its own vanity and privilege even without a crown. jaime’s first unrealistic marriage plan included joffrey somehow keeping the throne and his only concession later was that tommen could have casterly rock instead. i doubt a simple family life away from honor and glory would have appealed much to him either at that point. (meaning dany values power and status less than either lannister twin.)

#asoiaf meta #valyrianscrolls #tyrion lannister #samwell tarly #cersei lannister #daenerys targaryen #Jaime Lannister #asoiaf #GOLDEN DAYS AND SILVER NIGHTS #Pride of Lions #if this seems more lannister focused than anything it's bc i really don't feel qualified to write dany meta #(c)lsb

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elegantwoes · 2 years ago

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The chapter starts off with Jon defeating boys older, bigger, and stronger than him, and being exhausted in the end. However poor Jon isn't allowed to rest for a small moment by our unfriendly neighbour Alliser Thorne:

Jon took off his helm as the other boys were pulling Grenn to his feet. The frosty morning air felt good on his face. He leaned on his sword, drew a deep breath, and allowed himself a moment to savor the victory. “That is a longsword, not an old man’s cane,” Ser Alliser said sharply. “Are your legs hurting, Lord Snow?”

I gotta say there's something strangely charming about how bitter Alliser is.

Most were two or three years his senior, yet not one was half the fighter Robb had been at fourteen. Dareon was quick but afraid of being hit. Pyp used his sword like a dagger, Jeren was weak as a girl, Grenn slow and clumsy. Halder’s blows were brutally hard but he ran right into your attacks. The more time he spent with them, the more Jon despised them

Jon is delightfully ruthless in the description of his fellow brothers and I am enjoying it immensly. I love it when Jon is so snarky and rude.

No one had told him the Night’s Watch would be like this; no one except Tyrion Lannister. The dwarf had given him the truth on the road north, but by then it had been too late. Jon wondered if his father had known what the Wall would be like. He must have, he thought; that only made it hurt the worse.

I really resent Ned's inability to communicate with his children and condemning them with his inaction. This is the second time he does it. First with Sansa during the trdent incident and now with Jon. He really hurts them both and god dammit I really hate him when he does it. Sure he does sacrifice his honor and life for them, but that still doesn't excuse his behavior.

As he watched his uncle lead his horse into the tunnel, Jon had remembered the things that Tyrion Lannister told him on the kingsroad, and in his mind’s eye he saw Ben Stark lying dead, his blood red on the snow. The thought made him sick. What was he becoming? Afterward he sought out Ghost in the loneliness of his cell, and buried his face in his thick white fur.

Kind of dark, but at the end of the day it's only an impulsive intrusive thought. So it's okay. I forgive you, my dear.

He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but “my half brother” since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant.

A lot of people have a great deal of opinion on this line. Interperting it as Jon resenting Sansa. However that doesn't really go hand in hand with the more fond thoughts he has of her in future chapters. When you keep that in mind this line sounds like Jon wanting to be accepted and validated by Sansa. Anyway, I digress.

The recruits all called him Toad. The other two were the ones Yoren had brought north with them, Jon remembered, rapers taken down in the Fingers. He’d forgotten their names. He hardly ever spoke to them, if he could help it. They were brutes and bullies, without a thimble of honor between them.

I know a lot people of see that Jon's behavior towards his fellow recruits to be rooted in classism, and while that is valid and worth to call out, we should also keep in mind he is just as much judging them for their ugly criminal behavior. Some of them are rapers and Jon is allwowed to hate them. Sorry not sorry.

Jon stood up. “I’ll break the other one for you if you ask nicely.” Grenn was sixteen and a head taller than Jon. All four of them were bigger than he was, but they did not scare him. He’d beaten every one of them in the yard.

I really shouldn't be egging him on, but Jon is so funny when he is an asshole. I. absolutely. love. it.

“You looked bad before I ever met you,” Jon told him. The boy who had his arm jerked upward on him, hard.

Careful, Jon. Don't go around calling people ugly. If you do then the fandom will demand that you end up with ugly, villainous older people who abuse you. Oh wait, the fandom only demands that of Sansa. Edit: Fuck, I just realized. The fandom does demand this of you (i.e Ygritte). So technically you did get the Sansa treatment :(

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.

I can't help be reminded of what GRRM often likes to do. He gives his characters what they desire but in the worst way possible. Based on that Jon's mother cannot be Ashara Dayne. That lacks any conflict. George RR Martin will not make it this easy for Jon.

“A bully?” Jon almost choked on the word. The accusation was so unjust it took his breath away. ... “Don’t call me that!” Jon said sharply, but the force had gone out of his anger. Suddenly he felt ashamed and guilty. “I never … I didn’t think …”

As much there's truth to this statement, I cannot really hold Jon too accountable for his behavior. Sure he's wrong to misdirect his anger at others (particularly Ned, Benjen, and even Alliser) onto the recruits, but at the end of the day, but the injustice done to Jon and how everything he ever wanted is impossible prevents me from judging hm too much.

Jon smiled at him. “I’m sorry about your wrist. Robb used the same move on me once, only with a wooden blade. It hurt like seven hells, but yours must be worse. Look, if you want, I can show you how to defend that.”

Look at Jon, acting so mature and attempting to make friends.

“I’ll take that wager, Ser Alliser,” Jon said. “I’d love to see Ghost juggle.” Ser Alliser never took his eyes from Jon. As the laughter rolled around him, his face darkened, and his sword hand curled into a fist. “That was a grievous error, Lord Snow,” he said at last in the acid tones of an enemy

But then the short moment of peace goes downhill. While this wasn't the most brightest move by Jon, what does it say about Alliser who picks a fight with young boy who is half his age? In this house we don't like the bullies of children, whether their name is Alliser or Cujo come again. Leave the children alone.

#asoiaf reread project #rereading agot #Jon Snow #I sounds like a Jon apologist in this chapter #but I proudly accept that title #Ned Stark critical

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rainhadaenerys · 3 years ago

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Daenerys embodying hope

For Daenerys Targaryen Appreciation Month 2021

Day 26: Hope and Kindness

In ASOIAF, Daenerys embodies hope for plenty of people:

We should have twenty trebuchets, not two, and they should be mounted on sledges and turntables so we could move them. It was a futile thought. He might as well wish for another thousand men, and maybe a dragon or three. - Jon VIII ASOS

On Braavos, it had seemed possible that Aemon might recover. Xhondo's talk of dragons had almost seemed to restore the old man to himself. That night he ate every bite Sam put before him. "No one ever looked for a girl," he said. "It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger."

[...]

"No," the old man said. "It must be you. Tell them. The prophecy . . . my brother's dream . . . Lady Melisandre has misread the signs. Stannis . . . Stannis has some of the dragon blood in him, yes. His brothers did as well. Rhaelle, Egg's little girl, she was how they came by it . . . their father's mother . . . she used to call me Uncle Maester when she was a little girl. I remembered that, so I allowed myself to hope . . . perhaps I wanted to . . . we all deceive ourselves, when we want to believe. Melisandre most of all, I think. The sword is wrong, she has to know that . . . light without heat . . . an empty glamor . . . the sword is wrong, and the false light can only lead us deeper into darkness, Sam. Daenerys is our hope. Tell them that, at the Citadel. Make them listen. They must send her a maester. Daenerys must be counseled, taught, protected. For all these years I've lingered, waiting, watching, and now that the day has dawned I am too old. I am dying, Sam." Tears ran from his blind white eyes at that admission. - Samwell IV AFFC

"Daenerys is the only hope," he concluded. "Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late."

[...]

"Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy . . . her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall." - Samwell V AFFC

Illyrio brushed away the objection as if it were a fly. "Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. When Maelys the Monstrous died upon the Stepstones, it was the end of the male line of House Blackfyre." The cheesemonger smiled through his forked beard. "And Daenerys will give the exiles what Bittersteel and the Blackfyres never could. She will take them home." - Tyrion II ADWD

Safe. The word made Dany's eyes fill up with tears. "I want to keep you safe." Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. "No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don't always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …"

"… mother," whispered Missandei.

"Mother to dragons." Dany shivered.

"No. Mother to us all." Missandei hugged her tighter. - Daenerys II ADWD

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.' " - Daenerys III ADWD

Haldon nodded. "Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …" - Tyrion VI ADWD

"We need swift passage to Meereen."

One word. Tyrion Lannister's world turned upside down.

One word. Meereen. Or had he misheard?

One word. Meereen, he said Meereen, he's taking me to Meereen. Meereen meant life. Or hope for life, at least. - Tyrion VII ADWD

"I am no lady," the widow replied, "just Vogarro's whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis." She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. "Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon." - Tyrion VII ADWD

"She may be," Gerris said, "but she's not. We've heard such talk before. The Astapori were convinced Daenerys was coming south with her dragons to break the siege. She didn't come then, and she's not coming now." - The Windblown ADWD

Penny did not return the smile. "By myself, all I can do is ride around in circles. And even if the queen should laugh, where will I go afterward? We never stay in one place long. The first time they see us they laugh and laugh, but by the fourth or fifth time, they know what we're going to do before we do it. Then they stop laughing, so we have to go somewhere new. We make the most coin in the big cities, but I always liked the little towns the best. Places like that, the people have no silver, but they feed us at their own tables, and the children follow us everywhere."

That's because they have never seen a dwarf before, in their wretched pisspot towns, Tyrion thought. The bloody brats would follow around a two-headed goat if one turned up. Until they got bored with its bleating and slaughtered it for supper. But he had no wish to make her weep again, so instead he said, "Daenerys has a kind heart and a generous nature." It was what she needed to hear. "She will find a place for you at her court, I don't doubt. A safe place, beyond my sister's reach." - Tyrion VIII ADWD

Tyrion gazed across the Yunkish camp to the walls of Meereen. Those gates looked so close … and if the talk in the slave pens could be believed, Meereen remained a free city for the nonce. Within those crumbling walls, slavery and the slave trade were still forbidden. All he had to do was reach those gates and pass beyond, and he would be a free man again. - Tyrion X ADWD

Other slaves insisted that the guards were lying, that Daenerys Targaryen would never make peace with slavers. Mhysa, they called her. Someone told him that meant Mother. Soon the silver queen would come forth from her city, smash the Yunkai'i, and break their chains, they whispered to one another. - Tyrion X ADWD

A quarter mile on, he found good reason to reconsider. A crowd had formed around three slaves taken whilst trying to escape. "I know my little treasures will be sweet and obedient," Nurse said. "See what befalls ones who try to run."

[...]

To the east the massive brick walls of Meereen shimmered through the morning heat. That was the refuge these poor fools had hoped to reach. How long will it remain a refuge, though? - Tyrion X ADWD

Ser Barristan knew no more of dragons than the tales every child hears, but he knew Targaryens. Daenerys had been riding that dragon, as Aegon had once ridden Balerion of old.

"She might be flying home," he told himself, aloud.

"No," murmured a soft voice behind him. "She would not do that, ser. She would not go home without us." - The Queensguard ADWD

Perhaps, thought Arianne, or perhaps Daenerys realized that once her brother was crowned and wed to me, she would be doomed to spend the rest of her life sleeping in a tent and smelling like a horse. "She is the Mad King's daughter," the princess said. "How do we do know -- "

"We cannot know," Ser Daemon said. "We can only hope." - Arianne I TWOW

Ser Barristan Selmy rode past them slowly. The old knight wore the armor his queen had given him—a suit of white enameled steel, inlaid and chased with gold. The cloak that streamed from his shoulders was as white as winter snow, as was the shield slung from his saddle. Beneath him was the queen's own mount, the silver mare Khal Drogo had given her upon their wedding day. That was presumptuous, he knew, but if Daenerys herself could not be with them in their hour of peril, Ser Barristan hoped the sight of her silver in the fray might give heart to her warriors, reminding them of who and what they fought for. - Barristan I TWOW

#danymonth2021 #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #i know some like the golden company one are debatable but i'm including it for the sake of completion #my meta

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fandomficsnstuff · 4 years ago

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Little Dragon - Part 8

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

High Valyrian is in cursive

You were listening intently to the conversations going on in the war room, so many faces that you wanted to remember, their names, their houses, their history, but for now you settled on staying silent and listening, “are you really sure we can discuss this around her?” your head snapped towards the accented voice, seeing a beautiful woman with olive skin, black hair and dark brown eyes, and you wanted to look to your mother for help, but decided that you couldn’t use her as a pillar forever “(Y/N) Targaryen, Lady…?” you couldn’t help your tone, you were not a little girl wearing a collar around her neck anymore, jumping at the slightest of sounds. You were still timid and childish with Daenerys and Missandei, because you knew you could afford it, but you didn’t know these people, they were allies of your mother, but you didn’t know them.

“Ellaria” she sounded tense as she responded, she probably hadn't known you were the daughter of Daenerys, but you merely nodded “well, Lady Ellaria, I would prefer that if you are done questioning who your Queen trusts, perhaps we could get back to planning the war we are currently in” you heard a short laugh, your eyes glancing to none other than Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns, and the only living Tyrell left. “Are you sure you did not birthe her? She has the spirit of a dragon that one” Daenerys did everything to not smirk proudly at Olenna’s comment, and even Ellaria looked a bit surprised at your response “now… I agree that a foreign army would send the wrong signal, but an army from Westeros, it would show that we are not here to raid and pillage, the Dothraki will not do so unless their Khaleesi orders and my mother never will, the Unsullied are obedient and loyal, so they won’t either, but we need Westeros with us, and showing that their own houses are turning on Cercei is a good way to win quickly and without a lot of losses, on either side”, you studied the map as you spoke, unaware of the impressed looks everyone gave you, Tyrion being the first to speak up “well… I agree” you glanced at him and sent him a quick smile, one of the few smiles you had offered him, but you didn’t really know him either, so it was justified that you didn’t treat him, or Varys, as warmly as the rest of your mother’s allies.

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You stood impatiently besides Daenerys in the throne room, and Daenerys couldn’t help the amused glance she shared with Missandei “alright go, but change before you do!” you barely even heard the rest of her sentence, you were already off, heading towards your room. In record breaking time you changed from your formal dress to a special outfit you had made for you. You had been riding Rhaegal much more frequently, and today were the day of the arrival of Jon Snow, King in the North, and you had promised to stay for his arrival and then ride Rhaegal after, but you couldn’t help fidgeting, and were more than happy that Daenerys excused you. You put on your leather trousers, securing them with a harness that was connected to them, ensuring that they didn’t fall down, not even an inch, you had a tunic under your harness, pulling a shortened cloak over your shoulders and tying it to the harness, making sure the knots were tight, the cloak was warm but light, it reached just below your hips, but kept you warm. Next you threw on a pair of gloves made from cloth on the inside and leather on the outside, and then your boots, they were high, they almost reached your knees, and you pulled the laces tight, so they wouldn’t fall off during the flight.

Your room had an open balcony, just like Daenerys’, and you approached the edge, grinning widely as you waited. You couldn’t help the excited giggle you let out as you heard him roar as he came closer, and in a leap of faith you jumped off of the balcony, you let out a little huff as you landed on scales, and a few moments later you got a good grip, holding onto Rhaegal as you flew away from the castle, going high up and then soaring, admiring the landscape below, seeing a ship you presumed belonged to Jon Snow, you flew towards Drogon and Viseryon who were flying on the other side of the island. You could still just about watch Tyrion greet Jon Snow, and saw them making their way towards the entrance.

A wicked smile grazed your lips as you got an idea, and somehow Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal knew what your plan was, Rhaegal let out an ear shattering roar as you held on tightly, flying towards Tyrion and the two men he were leading up the long stone staircase. You leaned forward as you flew closer to the ground, Rhaegal barely managing to not hit the small people below, something that made you laugh loudly and you couldn’t help but cheer, Tyrion seeing you on Rhaegal as you waved at him, and you could see him shake his head, but you also knew of the smile he tried to hide, he was probably telling Jon that he himself wasn’t used to the presence of the dragons.

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You heaved heavily as you ran into the throne room, your hair wild from the wind, your chest rising dramatically as you tried to catch your breath, standing besides Daenerys who did her very best to not smirk at you proudly, instead she tried to look as regal as ever, waiting patiently for this, Jon Snow, to arrive.

Rhaegal had barely managed to throw you off on the open balcony you jumped out of earlier, you almost bumped into a few tables on your way to the throne room, a fact that made you smile amused before trying to hide it. “Well, at least you made it back in time” her words could be mistaken as scolding, but you knew her better, and you couldn’t help the breathless giggle you let out “think I scared an inch or so off of Lord Tyrion” Daenerys let out a short, although quiet, laugh at your comment, shooting you a very poor attempt of a scolding gaze before looking back towards the large doors at the end of the throne room, making you straighten your back, your smile faltering and your hands placed in front of yourself, as you always did when you had attended any court meeting.

You watched the two strangers as Missandei went down the list of titles that your Queen had acquired along the way, something you took great pride in, she was your mother after all.

“And this is (Y/N) Targaryen, daughter of Queen Daenerys Stormborn, princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the throne” Missandei finally ended, and the two men looked at you confused, giving you the impression that they didn’t know that much about your mother, and therefore you, they had probably only heard rumours, lies or other falsehoods, and therefore didn’t know of your existence, which was probably not a bad thing. You had heard of how the usurper King Robert Baratheon had sent assassins to kill Daenerys, even while she was pregnant, so who says they wouldn’t have been sent after you, back then nothing more than a little girl, had the usurper's children heard of your existence, and Daenerys’ love for you. You were snapped out of your day dream as Daenerys got up, approaching Jon Snow and his adviser, and first now you tuned in on their conversation, a small frown resting on your brows, hearing her words, but you couldn’t deny the pride it gave you, despite hearing all that she had suffered, “I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now, of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don't remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I've been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing, through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any god, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries, until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea, any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will, and so will my daughter.” Her gaze turned to you for a brief moment and you smiled proudly, one she proudly returned before turning back to Jon Snow.

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You frowned as you watched your mother study the map in silence, you wanted to say something, you really did, but what could you say? The Iron Fleet was gone, Yara and Ellaria had been taken prisoner and Jon Snow refused to bend the knee and instead only wants to hack away at some mysterious stone somewhere in a cave on the island, claiming that an army of undead people and giants are the true enemy.

You couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips, you being the only one to actually make a sound in the entire map room “maybe…” you dared a glance at your mother, not that you feared her, but more that you knew of the thin ice you were balancing on “maybe you should just let him mine this… ‘dragonglass’... it means nothing to you after all” Daenerys looked to you slowly, and for a second everyone in the room were praying to whoever and whatever that you hadn’t crossed a line, but when you received no response, you continued, “you didn’t know it was there, no one did… there are two options here, either he’s right, in which it doesn’t hurt you or your army or your dragons to comply, or he’s mad, and it won’t hurt you, your army or your dragons either. There’s no outcome here where anything bad is an outcome, you complying will also show that yes, you are to be feared, but you are also complying and reasonable, and allowing one man, one person to mine something of no value is a sign that you are with the people of Westeros” there was another second of silence, but eventually Daenerys smiled at you, walked over to you and placed a gentle hand on your cheek, looking at you with a proud look in her eyes before walking off.

“Where is she going?” Tyrion looked at you baffled and confused, but you simply shrugged “to allow Jon Snow to mine the Dragonglass” you leaned over the map table, studying the different areas, looking at the different highlighted places, such as King’s Landing, Winterfell, all the places you’ve only ever read about, you couldn't wait to see them for real.

#Daenerys Targaryen #Daenerys Targaryen x Child!Reader #GoTFanFic

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musicallisto · 4 years ago

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⚔ — 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥; (tyrion lannister x f!reader)

@multifandomfix requested: Hey, for your start of the year event, could I get #44 with Tyrion Lannister, please? Thanks in advance if you end up choosing it. I hope 2021 will be a great year for you. 😊

song: bazzi - beautiful | 𝄞

summary: How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

author notes: I ain’t never seen a fluffy one-shot written by me, always half of it gotta be depressing

word count: 2.7k (what the HELL)

warnings: language + the typical stuff that’s commonplace in GoT

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 younger, young enough to hear her speak freely around you, you’d often heard the illustrious Cersei Lannister, blessed may her reign be, mutter her implacable adage through slit eyes and arrogant teeth; in Westeros, when one played the game of thrones, they were either crowned or buried. Some win and some die, she’d state with a smug grin, ignoring Jaime rolling his eyes right by her. You would always nod in silence; partly because you, lesser Lady of King’s Landing, certainly did not dare to contradict your most redoubtable playmate; but also because, deep down, you believed in her truths. You’d seen it when your father came back from his battles, commanding the Crown’s armies across the Southern seas, or when you heard the whispers at Court of yet another fallen Lord who believed he could play with fire like the Targaryens; there was little more than victors and vanquished, and you, as a lady-in-waiting to the future Queen, could sleep easy at night knowing you were on the right side of the world.

Yet when the rebellion led by your father’s army of mutineers was crushed by the King’s forces, when your brothers all fled into exile across the continent; when your title, name, and lands became those of a traitor to the Crown; you understood that in the game of thrones, death was the only blessing the powerful bestowed when they were clement; for there was far crueler and harrowing a punishment than torture: humiliation and servitude.

King Robert Baratheon, his mercy guided by Tywin Lannister’s murmurs, decided against sending you to death as he would have any of your brothers, despite the abject crimes your name now carried. In all his bonhomie, he had made you a servant of his wife instead, perpetually condemned to following the Lannisters around and never quite catching up to them.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked Jaime one time, in hushed tones, aware that a servant caught talking to the Kingslayer with such familiarity would cause quite the scandal.

“Probably because he knows you were always a dear friend to Cersei and me.”

That was Jaime, as always; believing what he wanted to believe, and damned would be the one who’d change his mind. And to think he still thought, with a disconcerting assurance, that Cersei and you were still dear friends...

You hadn’t asked her why you were still alive. You knew she’d eye you for a moment, then order you to fetch her some water. She savored the sight of you in rugged clothes and immensely exhausted.

The only one who knew was Tyrion.

He always knew everything.

Even more so when it was about you.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked him one evening, in the quiet banquet hall, only illuminated by flickering candles. He had looked up from his chalice of wine and at you, clearing the last dishes from the grand supper, and he swore his heart ruptured. He loved nothing more than staying absurdly late after dinner so he could catch you alone, but when your misty eyes, still too pure and bright for a world so cold, asked such unfathomable questions...

“I don’t know,” he had muttered casually.

Neither of you believed it. There was nothing Tyrion didn’t know.

But how could he tell you it was Tywin’s sick little pleasure, to keep you in chains at an arm’s length from him, from his embarrassment of a son? How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

“Sometimes I wish he had not,” you had confessed with this outrageous beauty of yours, chin up and prosody of a dame despite the greasy plates in your elegant hands.

Tyrion had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. You were not the King’s prisoner, nor the castle’s, nor your family name’s; you were his, and he loved you so ardently, beyond all the words he knew, that he was utterly paralyzed.

The wine and hall were long cold by the time he went to sleep that night.

The following days, inexplicably, Tyrion was the first of the family to retire to his quarters after dinner. A pang of sullenness stung your throat when you brought the usual wine cup to an empty chair. Never before had he gone to bed without wishing you goodnight. Not since the night, so many years before, when you had run out on Cersei and Jaime to stay with their boring and lame little brother and talk the night away with his electric soul...

“Why didn’t Tyrion wait for you?” Jaime had whispered into your ear as you leaned over to pour him more wine.

You froze, almost long enough for Cersei to flair your discomfort. That was Jaime, as always; surprisingly perceptive when he allowed himself to be...

“I don’t know.”

You and Tyrion were so alike. You had the same inflection in the voice when you admitted to not knowing something... frustration and defeat.

“Maybe he’s not feeling well. You should check on him.”

“I’m certain he is f—”

“Y/N, go tend to my brother, please,” he cut, his voice a little louder.

You stopped, looking at Jaime, strong and tall and almost imperturbable. You were a servant of the Lannisters, but Jaime rarely bossed you around. You looked deep into his eyes, looking for a hint, a glimpse... and found it; a remnant of the boy you once knew, the childhood friend you sparred with wooden swords with. The boy with mischief and connivance.

“Yes, of course, my Lord.”

Your footsteps already echoed in the somber halls when you remembered you hadn’t even brought the wine pitcher back to the kitchens.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Tyrion’s closed door. Years before, you had run up and down all the castle halls in search of passageways and hiding spots with a giggling Cersei on tow; yet you had never felt as lost and out of place as you did then, knuckles hovering over the wooden panel.

“Lord Tyrion, your brother asks to see you,” you called in one breath after knocking sharply. Calling the twins by their titles was disturbing enough to you; but Tyrion, brilliant and dedicated Tyrion, Tyrion you'd find reading hidden in the library and who'd blush when you asked him what his book was about—Tyrion, a Lord of Casterly Rock?

“No, he does not.”

There was nothing he didn't know. Especially when it came to his brother... and you.

“I...,” you sighed, at a loss for words. So many untold truths jostled in your throat, none eloquent enough for his bright soul. “He insisted I check up on you, sir.”

“Well I'm fine, am I not? You can go now.”

His words echoed in your skull with the strength of a thousand storms. Taking a shaky breath, you prepared to turn around and leave him... but a sudden force rumbled deep in you like a menacing earthquake. You might have been stripped of your lands and rights, you might bear the name of a traitor and a criminal, but he had been a general before he was a corpse and you had been an eldest daughter before you were a plaything. Your foot grazed the door, almost with too much violence, when you turned to face it.

“Truth be told, I wanted to check up on you as well, and to tell you that I’m bewildered at your recent behavior towards me, and that I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this shift in your attitude, and that I esteem you dearly and dared to hope that it was the same for you, and that I am frankly hurt by your sudden coldness, and that if you will not deign to tell me whatever is happening, then I will merely wish you a pleasant night and disturb you no further. Sir.”

Catching your breath, you turned on your heels before you could regret any of the words you’d just said. It would be a miracle if Tyrion managed to catch any of them clearly with how fast you had hammered them; let alone answer to them... yet as you were about to leave, the door was unbolted, and there stood a seemingly somber and preoccupied Tyrion.

“Come on in. And please, we’re alone. Don’t give me any of that “sir” crap, I know you hate it.”

And like so many times, so many years before, you stepped into Tyrion’s quarters like inside a forbidden dungeon, but it all seemed twice as small and dark as it did when you were reckless children.

The both of you remained silent for long moments, even after he had motioned for you to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of his bed; the shadows from the fireplace projected onto his face made Tyrion’s unmoving silhouette all the more unreadable.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“Do you wish to know why the King didn’t have your head when your father rebelled? Well — why my father didn’t?”

Your eyes widened for a split second, but your irritation barely subsided. For some reason, despite your never-ending quest for answers, the subject of your family’s treason and fate always prompted you to defensiveness when it was mentioned by others... especially by your best friend. The one who knew too much.

“What does this have to do with anything, Tyrion?”

“Everything, Y/N. It has to do with everything.”

“Enlighten me, then. You always know better than everyone else.”

Tyrion took a deep, interminable breath before continuing. It was only then that you noticed how shaky his hands were; for the first time, you read a disconcerting uncertainty on his face.

“My father knows humiliation is far worse than death, especially among Lords... and he knows how to take the most pleasant acts of revenge on his enemies. Your last name... and myself.”

You kept quiet. The puzzle was starting to piece itself together, spurred by Tyrion’s voice, low and even, albeit a little unsteady — as though the charred logs and crackling fire were confiding in you themselves...

“He’s known you since you were an infant. You were always proud and righteous, a proper Lady and a treasure to your name, but still pure and kind... all the traits I adored in you when I first met you. He knew nothing would hurt you more than stripping you of everything you had - status, respect, poise, and dignity... and your friends. He’s burying your family’s legacy under grime and filth and savoring every second of it...”

His words became progressively spaced, as though he was choosing them carefully. You hadn’t yet noticed your own hands were shaking now, too.

“And he can screw me over as well. Any chance he gets, he takes.”

His shoulders were solid and unmoving, but his words came in ragged breaths and laborious swallowing. He took a step forward, finally breaking free from the backlighting of the fireplace; his eyes were fixated on you, resolute and, despite the nervousness, more tender than ever. You remembered the expression all too well; it was the one he had worn all through the night you had talked until daylight about anything and everything... and seeing the enamored child in the man before you, you started to understand it all.

“He’s always known how much I care about you. How your presence never fails to lighten my mood and ease my worries, or how I’ve always looked for excuses to talk to you alone and catch your eye at supper. Most of all, how you’ve always given me exactly what I wanted... a chance. And he always thought it was the ultimate example of my weakness. To kick you around like an animal when I can’t do anything about it and know it’s all partly because of me is his favorite game...”

You clasped your hands together on your lap to curb your agitation. He had taken another step towards you, and you couldn’t break away from his gaze. Each of his features held more love than you’d ever known; more than when your father would ruffle your hair, or when you’d share your family tart with your brothers and smeared all the jam on their cheeks; and you couldn’t fathom how long it had taken you to discover this warm and fuzzy feeling you got whenever Tyrion was around had a simple name: home.

“Tyrion,” you spoke before the tears invaded your eyes. “Are you saying you fancy me?”

“Ah, to hell with it.”

Eyes entirely bathed in light now, he responded almost immediately and clearer than before.

“I’m saying I love you, Y/N, and that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I first thought that I only liked your company, and admired your grace — that you were just the sister I wish I’d had, but I’ve had to face the fact that your face and voice set me afire in a way that nothing else can. I’m light and naive when you’re around... and you make me believe I have the strength they all won’t stop blabbering about. But I thought that if I could convince my father I saw nothing more in you than a whore like all the others, he would maybe let you go... maybe set you free.”

And the last confession seemed to hurt him more than everything else he had admitted that night, because it cut him right in his pride.

“I was wrong.”

An impossible soreness had taken over your throat during Tyrion's tirade, leaving you struck and mute. For a few seconds, all you could hear was the gentle hooting of the wind outside and the rapid and disjointed thumping of your heart... when you spoke eventually, it was but a hoarse whisper.

“All these years...”

“Yes.”

“And all those girls I had to see you with...”

“None of them mattered. None of them were you.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Tyrion?”

“Why would I?” he puffed with an acerbic laugh, gesturing at his frame, his scars, his cynicism and selfishness, and his wit and brilliant mind and feverish eloquence and golden eyes...

And suddenly your father's voice echoed in your head, unmistakable yet so distant, as he had spoken to you one day when you were little; he had said that angels existed in this world, closer than one might expect, and more often than not they took on unexpected forms, but once could always recognize them as they were the shiniest forces in the world around when everything was grim and black.

Maybe it was the dim lighting of the fire and moonlight that cast abstract shadows on the walls, or maybe your eyes and heart playing tricks on you, but you swore Tyrion was veiled by a pulsating halo, gold and black, that got even more radiant as he half-smiled.

When you leaned over and kissed him, you did not doubt that he truly was the angel your family tales had told you about, and maybe the only remaining angel in Westeros — because kissing him was like every star in the sky falling into place and forming new constellations, and when he grabbed your face to deepen the kiss, you were certain you felt his wings rustle.

“You have the most beautiful soul in this damn city, Tyrion,” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

Had he always looked at you with this unshakeable air of triumph and delight, or was it another trick of the light?

“If you knew how long I've waited to tell you how beautiful you are...”

“Tell me. Over and over.”

There was a smile on his face, the first genuine and devilishly charming one you'd seen in weeks when he stepped back and closed the velvet curtains.

He told you all night.

tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee @softeninglooks (all my writing)

#writing in formal english is so hard? when it's not your first language? you're just like 'does this mean something or am i making this up'#mywriting #game of thrones #got #tyrion lannister #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones one-shot #got imagine #got fanfic #got one-shot #tyrion lannister imagine #tyrion lannister fanfic #tyrion lannister one-shot #tyrion lannister x reader #will spellcheck this tomorrow morning so for now have this #multifandomfix

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what-the--curtains · 4 years ago

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There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

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Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.

Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! I’ve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 😂) I’m so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with you💕💕 as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!

Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.

Word count: 4.5 k

Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)

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3 years later

The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.

The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. You’d stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when you’d stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and they’d asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.

The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. You’d resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadn’t killed before.

Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.

There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how he’d supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.

A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what you’d heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. You’d never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.

Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before he’d sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.

“Where's the money?” you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.

“Where the head?” he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.

“Head was…. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,” you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.

“ Very much so, ” he says taking it and turning it in his hands

“The money then,” you restate, tone flat.

“Well there's one more... proposition I had.” He states, hand resting down on your thigh.

“I'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,” you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.

“You can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,” he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.

“You stupid bitch,” he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.

“The money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,” you say, louder than intended.

Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time he’d seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.

You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.

“Bitch,” he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood “you better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.” He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.

“Clever,” you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didn’t care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an ‘appointment’ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.

Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. “The shadow tracker”. That’s what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom he’d sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.

“Payments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,” you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.

“How much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,” he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.

“Above the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,” you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.

“And what would be your wish, if you could have it?” he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.

“To be left alone,” you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.

“What's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? ” he returns, chuckling slightly.

“I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you…” you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.

“Lady Stark, I was hoping we’d meet face to face,” he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.

“Lady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, haven’t you heard?” you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if he’d recognized it.

“Propaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,” he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.

“I do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,” you mutter.

“I did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called “shadow tracker” however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.”

“Is that what they call me?” you remark “ So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?” you pose shaking your head.

“No, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.” He pauses.

“Which is?” you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.

“One they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.”

“I assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,” you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.

“The desert is no place for a wolf,” he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.

“I shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,” you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.

A week later

You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldn’t have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. You’re lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.

“Dirron, Brant, always a pleasure” you snarl

“No hard feelings Shadow, you’re taking out all the business” Brant responds.

“How much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.” you plead, but they shake their heads.

“I paid you more than your worth,” he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger you’d dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.

“This dagger belonged to Robb Stark.”

“Did it? I stole it from a client months ago,” you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.

“Told you I'd have you from behind,” the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.

“Of all the souvenirs to keep, this…” he starts, examining the blade before continuing “ is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,” he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.

“As I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,” you lie, taking it from him.

“No you didn’t,” he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.

“Yes I did,” you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.

“Shall we debate it over a drink?” he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.

“A prince slumming it with the poor?” you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.

“My enjoyment of life precludes class,” he says offering you his arm

“As you speak from your riches,” you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.

“We are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronounced” he assures you.

“Is it?” you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.

“What will it cost you?” you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.

“What?” he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.

“To let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.” you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.

“I do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,” he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle

“What? Have I said something amusing? “ you question, almost annoyed.

“Untrusting,” he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.

“I am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,” you explain taking a sip.

“You husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,” he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.

“I’ve never been married,” you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.”

“You're good,” he says, eyes giving you the once over.

“At what?”

“Lying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.” he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.

“So, you think I can’t fight,” you say, shaking your head with a laugh

“Your words,” he states.

“I did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,” you scold, sitting up.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently he’d touched a nerve.

“Didn’t you?” you query, tilting your head.

“No, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,” he explains.

“Hard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,” you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a ‘thank you for the drink’ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“That’s privileged information,” you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.

“Come back to the palace with me.” He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.

“I have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldn’t stray from him even in death,” you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.

“While I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldn’t be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.” he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.

“Are you suggesting I got my husband killed?” you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement

“You’re dirty, you’re tired, you’re injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.”

“And what do you expect in return?” you ask.

“I simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.”

Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.

“This is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my services” he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.

“I can bath myself, thank you though,” you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.

“Whatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yours” he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one you’d ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.

You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.

You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew you’d be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.

“Dramatic,” you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it ‘winter is coming’ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.

#oberyn martell x you #prince oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x y/n #game of thrones fanfiction #There Are No Wolves in the Desert #part 2 #pedro pascal characters

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dany-is-my-queen · 4 years ago

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Born To Be Yours | Part IX

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

Season 1-8

Word Count: 2,883

Note: Sorry for the delay :(

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8

“I’m glad nothing serious happened to you or your friend.” Tyrion poured himself some wine and you accepted to drink with him.

“Me too.”

“I know you are a hero but I sense something else here... why you keep taking those risks for her?” He curiously asked.

“She has no one...” That was true, still, you were trying to keep your feelings buried.

“You love her.” You hid your blush behind the silver cup. He chuckled. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. She seems to be a good Lady. With all that your brother has done to her having you is a blessing.”

“You... you’re okay with it?” Loving her in secret was one thing but saying it out loud to someone was a different one.

“Of course! I could never judge you. You don’t dictate your heart, you have all my support, Y/N.” He warmly smiled, you bent down to hug him. This is one of the many reasons you love your uncle so much.

“Thank you, uncle.”

“Now I fully understand why you did that yesterday. Does she know?” He walked to the balcony gesturing you to follow him.

“No. And maybe it’s all in my head.” You brushed it off. “She sees me as her very good chum who saves her from my horrendous family.”

“Or perhaps she’s just afraid to admit it. After all, you are the princess. It’s not that easy. You’ll figure it out.” He tapped your shoulder. Could Sansa really feel the same? Nothing’s impossible, you just have to give it time and be patient. But with the way she looks at you... how you find comfort in her embraces... how she gently touches your hand...

You made your way to the Stark girl’s room to check on her just to find the door wide open and a scared Sansa with the bed stained of blood, her nightgown had red stains too.

The Hound was there, you scowled. You knew he was going to tell Cersei, and that was the last thing the redhead wanted. Shae arrived shortly.

“Good morning.” You said.

“Princess.” Sandor and Shae greeted. Your gaze landed on Sansa, the tears were threatening to come out. She didn’t say anything.

“I will inform the Queen.” He stated and left. Sansa threw herself into your arms. You could feel her tensing and quivering.

“Hey hey, it’s gonna be fine. He’s not gonna touch you.” You promise her, you would do anything to keep him away from her, even if that meant being punished.

“You should take a bath before you meet her grace.” The young handmaid said.

“I’m going to wait outside until you are finished, then I’ll escort you to my mother’s chambers. Don’t worry, my lady. I got you.” You assured. Her features relaxed and you gave her a small nod.

You tried to come with excuses for your mother to not force her to carry Joffrey’s babies immediately but nothing with a valid point seemed to be compelling enough.

After she was done you headed to her big room. “How is your wound?” You added to soothe the hike.

“Better. You are a very good healer.” She shyly answered.

“One of my many gifts.” You winked to ease her nerves. The Queen Regent was already expecting her, yet she was not very surprised when you showed up behind Sansa, you let her entered first.

“My love, what are you doing here?” Cersei asked you, raising her eyebrow.

“I... thought I’d give Lady Sansa some advice, I flowered almost two years ago. I know it is grubby at first.”

“It certainly is. But her mother prepared her, didn’t she?”

“She told me. I thought... it would be different.” Sansa confessed.

“In what way?” You both took a seat.

“I thought it would be less... less messy.”

“Wait until you birth a child. You’re a woman now, do you know what that means?”

“I’m fit to bear children for the King.” Yes, your heart was breaking again.

“Is there any rush?” You intervened and Cersei faked a sympathetic smile.

“The sooner the better.” She made a flick for you to keep your mouth shut. Your jaw tensed. “A prospect that once delighted you. The greatest honor for a queen. Joffrey has always been difficult. Even his birth, I labored one day and a half to bring him into this world. You cannon imagine the pain. I screamed so loud I was sure Robert would hear me in the Kingswood.”

“His grace was not with you?”

“Robert was hunting. Whenever my time was near, he would flee to the trees with his huntsmen and his hounds. The only time he was with me was when Y/N was born. I’ll always remember how she wrapped her little hand around his finger, she smiled at him and that was the only time in my life I saw a tear fell from his cheek. It was too emotional.”

You missed him so badly, the stories he used to tell you about Westeros, the adventures he had when he was a young Lord, the thrill in his eyes when he saw you swing the sword for the first time, he taught you all about archery, about bravery. When you were feeling low because of Joffrey and your mother he would carry you in his arms and then ride far from the city in your horses. You missed those days cause in the dark moments he was your hero.

“You never told me that before.”

“You were your father’s favorite.” Then she referred to Sansa. “Joffrey will show you no such devotion. You may never love the King but you will love his children.” She told her calmly.

“I love his grace with all my heart.” Sansa lied in her usual innocent voice.

“That’s very touching to hear. Permit me to share some womanly wisdom with you on this special day. The more people you love, the weaker you are. You’ll do things for them that you know you shouldn’t do. You’ll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. On that front, a mother has no choice.” Was it so hard for Cersei to love you as much as she loved your siblings? To support you and be there for you?

“But shouldn’t I love Joffrey, your grace?”

“You can try, little dove. My sweet daughter here, she will be marrying some Lord very soon. I think it’s time for you to start your own family.” The blonde abruptly added. Sansa felt her stomach twist itself into an uncomfortable knot.

“That means I will have to leave you, mother.” You complained. Cersei doesn’t want to end up alone, Jaime is a prisoner, you don’t know if you’re going to see him again. But she doesn’t want you to abandon her, deep down does she care? A question you often ask yourself.

“You grew too fast. You are my oldest daughter, any man who has your heart will be very lucky. Many of them are interested in you.” Your eyes were set only on Sansa Stark, even if you couldn’t be together.

“But I’m not interested in them.” You pointed out. Was she trying to send you away just because you were willing to keep protecting Sansa at all costs, or did she really wanted to get rid of you?

You and the northerner walked out. You let go of those thoughts. Focusing on her again you broke the silence. “There’ll be a battle soon. My uncle’s army will arrive anytime. Joffrey is going to be busy. I’m always here for you, Sansa.” You reassured once more, for her to know she’s not alone.

“I feel trapped. But when you’re around... you make everything better.” Hearing that made you feel a wave of joy. She blushed and gods, your face was the color of her hair too.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” You said smiling sincerely at her. She smiled back at you.

The following days passed so very fast, now you were helping uncle Tyrion do some researching on books to find information to use for the incoming battle. The King himself apparently is occupied torturing people and animals to care for his Kingdoms. Bronn was there too, your uncle thought he’d come with some ideas for the defense of the city.

You were distracted, to say the least, your mind wandering in the redhead beauty, in how she seemed to be troubled almost all the time.

“Dear niece, I need your cleverness.” You came out of your trance.

“We are very lucky to have you as Hand of the King, uncle, otherwise we’d be doomed. And I mean it, no sarcasm. I want to join you in the field.” Tyrion wasn’t expecting to hear that statement. You knew you could be effective.

“What? Absolutely not. The last time in the riot the gods were good and you were unharmed. This is way different. I know you are brave, just like Robert was, but I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. Let alone the fact your mother won’t allow it.”

“I can take care of myself. Joffrey won’t last a moment there. Maybe I can coax him to fight along his men.”

“I wish you could. He won’t listen.”

“I’ll do it anyway.”

“So stubborn. My brain might explode before I find something helpful. ‘A History of the Great Sieges of Westeros.’ By Archmaester Shevelathin. Shevelatesh.”

“Ch’Vyalythan.” You corrected him.

“Are you sure?” You shrugged.

“My Princess. Lord Hand. Commander. I must compliment you on the Gold Cloak’s performance last few weeks. Did you know there has been a marked drop in thievery?” Lord Varys said entering the room.

“How did you accomplish this?”

“Me and the lads rounded up all the known thieves.” Bronn nonchalant replied.

“For questioning?”

“No. It’s just the unknown thieves we need to worry about now.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“Have you ever been on a city under siege? Maybe this part is not in your books. See, it’s not the fighting that kills most people. It’s the starving. Food’s worth more than gold. The thieves love a siege. Soon as the gates are sealed they steal all of it. By the time it’s all over, they’re the richest men in town.”

“Yes, I believe extreme measures are warranted. Ah ‘The Great Sieges of Westeros.’ Thrilling subject, shame archmaester Ch’Vyalthan wasn’t a better writer.” Varys referred to the big book on the table.

“Uncle Stannis knows King’s Landing, he knows where we are the strongest and where we are the weakest. We need to be cautious. Take him down before he arrives at the gates.” Now you were focusing, strategy was essential.

“That’s it! The Mud Gate. A good ram will batter it down in minutes, and it’s only fifty yards from the water. That’s where he’ll land.” Tyrion affirmed certainly.

“If he does attack at the Mud Gate, what is our plan?” Varys curiously inquired. Tyrion looked at you, and then back at him.

“Wildfire.” He said.

After discussing the tactics you went to share some time with Sansa, she is one of the few people who gives you peace. Little Tommen was on his reading lessons. She was embroidering a red scarf with two lions on the top. Your heart warmed at the sight of it.

“Shae is not here?”

“I dismissed her an hour ago.” Then she stood up. “A present for you.”

“Why do I owe the pleasure?” You admired her flawless needlework.

“Because you always save me. You are always there for me. I don’t know how can I ever repay you.”

“You don’t have to, you know I do it cause I love you I’m your friend. But I appreciate the gift though. It is a very fine design.” She flushed, seeing her like this is very cute.

“You think... your brother is going to defeat Lord Stannis?”

“Brave men will fight. I have faith in them and in my uncle’s plan. I-I might... get involved.”

“Is this a bad joke?” She looked at you perplexed.

“I’m afraid is not.”

“Y/N, you could die! You are strong but still too young to go to war. And you are a princess.” Sansa winced. You squeezed gently her arm.

“I won’t die. I heard uncle Renly had in his Kingsguard a female warrior. And what about Visenya Targaryen? She was a fantastic skilled warrior as well. She fought alongside Aegon in his conquest, and in the First Dornish War. Also, she was a dragon rider, she bonded with the one called Vhagar. And had a Valyrian steel longsword named Dark Sister. I wish I had one.” You commented, utterly excited. Sansa didn’t really like the topic but her eyes lighted up every time you talked about something you were passionate about.

“You never cease to amaze me, you know so much about these things. I understand now why Arya and you got along so well.” And it’s true, you wished she was here, you missed the youngest Stark girl running around the castle. “But still, I don’t like the idea of you being out there. It’s too dangerous. You said you weren’t going anywhere.” She mumbled the last sentence.

“Trust me.” You held her hands on your own.

“Just be careful, please. Don’t leave me alone.”

“I will be. And I’ll never leave you.”

You were walking side by side with the King, Varys, and Tyrion on the eastern walls.

“If my uncle Stannis lands on the shores of King’s Landing, I’ll ride out to greet him.” Joffrey smugly spoke.

“A brave choice, your grace. I’m sure your men will line up behind you.” Tyrion subtly jeered.

“They say he never smiles. I’ll give him a red smile from ear to ear.” You rolled your eyes, knowing he wouldn’t stand a chance against him on his own. Lord Varys and your uncle began to converse with each other.

“Hey, Y/N. I heard you want to join us in the fight.” He said in a mocking way.

“You think I’m not capable?”

“Exactly. You are a woman. Not that I really care about what happens to you. You’ll die out there.”

“You have little faith in me, big brother. But still, I’m way better than you in almost everything.” You squinted your lips. “No! In absolutely everything. Don’t worry, I’ll pray for our victory.”

“I already know your whore friend has flowered. I’ll come to visit her right after I kill our uncle.” He hissed and you didn’t punch him right away right there cause you held back your fury. He was provoking you, you would get your knuckles bloody for Sansa if he goes too far.

“...They say he burns his enemies alive to honor the Lord of Light.” You joined the conversation between the two men.

“The Lord of Light wants his enemies burnt. The Drowned God wants them drowned. Why are all the gods such vicious cunts? Where is the god of tits and wine?” Tyrion wittily questioned.

“In the Summer Isles, they worship a fertility goddess with sixteen teats.” Varys responded.

“We should sail there immediately.” You smirked.

“Lord Varys, do you know anything new about the Targaryen girl?" Some nights you wonder, if your father hadn't won the Rebellion she would be here, this would be her home, she was exiled so she could survive, she was forced to marry a savage, her family is dead, the world is such a cruel place... and when you are a helpless girl it gets worse, what if things had turned out differently? And you were the one on the other side of the world, maybe that's one of the main reasons why you sympathized with her.

“This morning, I heard a song all the way from Qarth beyond the Red Waste. Daenerys Targaryen lives.”

“That’s a relief.” You said.

“A relief? She has three dragons. But even if what they say is true, it’ll be years before they are fully grown. And then there will be nowhere to hide.” Varys argued.

“She’s on the edge of the world, the least of our problems.” Uncle Tyrion tried to sound unconcerned.

“Three baby dragons? How is that possible?” They were extinct for almost three hundred years. How she managed to bring them back?

“Princess, do you consider it was wise to let her live? If you knew then what you do now... would you persuade his grace to give the order? She might be a threat soon enough, she will claim the throne-“

“Maybe she’s not interested in it. Not everyone is. Especially the rightful heirs. She did nothing wrong.”

“Yet.”

“I don’t regret my choice. I wouldn’t change it if I could.” You were confident, she’s innocent, one game at the time, you thought. Just because her ancestors were evil doesn’t mean she is evil too.

“You are so selfless, and good. Westeros might need a Queen like you.” Varys remarked.

“I’m no Queen, my Lord.” The throne belongs to you more than to Joffrey that was for sure, but how can you overthrow snakes that know your weaknesses and can use them to sting and hurt you the most?

#game of thrones fic #got #game of thrones imagine #sansa stark x reader #sansa x fem baratheon reader #baratheon reader #house baratheon

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magalidragon · 4 years ago

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Ice is Hot Too | another drabble

Woooot, back to Madam Dany we go-- this is another drabble in the Ice is Hot Too universe, in the drabble collection Frostbite and Burns. It’s in answer to an ask from @aenarsnow that I did NOT forget about, but I accidentally answered it so I can’t find the ask anymore, lol, but I did remember it! It’s for the prompt “Prove it” and is spicy spice.

This is set after the angst-filled drabble “Melting” I did for these beans, which is why it is sexy and also ends with some fluffy happiness. But no, Robb isn’t in this one, maybe the next one, lol, I just love this GIF.

Jon Snow was annoying her.

She was furious with him. Furious that he dared leave their house this morning looking the way he looked, all beautiful in his crisp tailored gray suit, his boots shiny and his curls luscious. Furious he smelled like the mix of spearmint gum, faint scent of his e-cigarette, and the pine fresh of his shampoo. Furious he hadn’t tugged those curls back into the knot he usually kept them in at work and they hung free around his fine face, his beard dark and rather messy as he hadn’t been to the barber for a cleanup in a week or so.

There was also the drawl in his voice, the burr of his accent, when he spoke with Missy, Tyrion, Varys, and the other members of the company. She left the room at one point, too annoyed to carry on. There was the other time when he’d had to call a couple clients, dress them down for trying to pressure the boys into sexual conduct when they were not within any rights to do so if they didn’t want to. He was so firm with them, but polite, and of course they apologized. They just really loved her boys, after all.

She sulked, waiting for him to finish, for everyone to leave, and the door to close behind Missy, who smirked at her knowingly. She cocked her head at her best friend, appalled she would think such things. Who am I kidding, she knows us too well.

Jon glanced over at her across the conference room table. She didn’t like coming to the main offices here at the tower in downtown Kings Landing, she preferred the darkness of her lair in the Dragonpit. “I think that went well,” he said, closing his laptop. “And we’ve secured the generous donation from Olenna too.” He scowled. “I’ll have to thank Robb for that one. No doubt he convinced Margaery to convince her.”

“Hmm.”

“Before I forget, we have Arry’s school play tonight.” He beamed, proud father that he was. “She’s so excited, she gets to play Aegon the Conqueror.”

“Hmm.”

He glanced sideways, brow furrowing. “What’s your problem? You’ve been bratty all afternoon.”

“Do you ever get sick of the sound of your own voice?” she snapped. She couldn’t explain why she was just so testy. Her mood had been shifting so rapidly lately. Nothing made her happy. Everything pissed her off. She’d fucking cried when Jorah had to stop the car this morning because a fucking deer jumped across the road.

He drew back, lip curling, wolf-like. “Do you?”

“No.”

He pushed his laptop and folders aside, drawing himself up, walking around the edge of the table, advancing on her. “You’ve been pissy. You want me to make you feel better?”

“You can’t,” she huffed; she wasn’t sure why. She crossed her legs, her heel dangling off her foot. She scowled up at him. He was part of the problem; he couldn’t make her feel better. Looking the way he looked. Talking the way he talked. She slouched further in her seat.

“I bet I can.”

She eyed him. “Oh?”

“Hmm,” it was his turn to murmur. He reached up for his tie, loosening it. He slipped his jacket off, neatly hanging it on an opposite chair and yanked off the tie. He set it down over the jacket. In his crisp black shirt and suspenders, he looked good enough to eat. He smiled again, wolfish, and knelt in front of her. He pushed her knees apart. “I think I can.”

“Prove it,” she sneered.

His fingers danced along her legs, reaching under her skirt. He snapped her garters, the clasps stinging her bare skin. She shivered but gave him no satisfaction. He leaned down, kissing the inside of her calf, slowly stroking along the underside of her legs. “You were like this last night too,” he murmured, his gray eyes fixed on hers, unblinking. “Care to share?”

“No,” she pouted. It was so stupid and she hated herself for feeling like such a foolish girl. She sniffed at him. “Are you going to get to it?”

“My, my, my, the dragon really is upset.”

“Put your tongue to good use then and stop talking.”

So he did. It was never the same, she would give him that much, sliding in the chair as he teased her. That tongue of his should come with a warning label, perhaps even a patent on it. She needed to trademark it. She wasn’t sure how he did it, his fingers tight on the insides of her thighs, holding her apart, one of her legs hiked up and resting on the table, the other over the arm of the chair, one heel off and the other scraping atop the glass tabletop. She grabbed hold of her knee, for something to hold, to dig her fingers into, while her other hand clutched his curls. She babbled in Valyrian, almost begging him, but staved off—he knew what those words meant, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Jon,” she exclaimed, when he edged off of her, she cried, tears trickling down the corners of her eyes, furious with herself. He toyed with her, over and over, almost to the brink before he rocked back on his heels, licked his lips like the wolf finishing his dinner, and then dove back in again. When his fingers joined, she couldn’t handle it, fucking his hand and riding at his face, almost slipping clear off the chair to the floor.

He moaned against her cunt, working her over, jaw moving as he suckled her clit and fucked her with his tongue, drinking up all her desire for him, and crooking his fingers along her silken walls, searching along the nerves for the ones that would send her flying. He certainly did, her climax hard, brutal, and smothering out any sound she could make, her eyes clenched shut as she came.

Then the tears came, but she didn’t know why. She slipped right off the chair into his arms, sobbing against him. “I hate you,” she mumbled into his shirt, wiping her eyes with the lapels. “And I don’t know why, because I love you too.”

He gathered her in his arms, kissing her hair. “I love you too, you’re just tired, come on. You’re working too hard.”

She sniffed, attributing the strange mix of her emotions to that. He helped her up, back into her shoes, her stockings shoved into the pocket of his suit jacket. She leaned against him, her knees a little wobbly still. “You proved it,” she mumbled, trying not to smile.

He smirked. “Thought I did.”

They left the conference room, Tyrion giving her a disgusted look, while Missandei just shook her head. Her best friend walked with them, passing her a small shopping bag. “I took the liberty of stopping at the drugstore and picking you up something…might make you feel better.”

“Thanks Missy.” Dany didn’t think much of it, until they got home. She wondered what it was. Just some aspirin? She opened the bag, staring into it, eyes wide. Oh fuck.

Several minutes later, she stared at the object in her hand. She smiled to herself, tears trickling down her face. She hadn’t allowed herself to think it again. Just in case…well…in case it happened again. Why did they call this? A rainbow baby, she thought with a watery smile, her hand pressing to her belly. She took a deep breath and towed the test away, going to lay down. She had to think about some things. And they had a play to attend.

That night, after tucking Arry in, she went back to her room, Jon taking off his watch and sitting on the edge of the bed. “She go down easy? She was exhausted.”

“Hmm.” She crawled across their big bed to him, kissing his shoulder, whispering. “I love you.”

He smirked. “Yeah? What’d you say to me earlier? Prove it.”

“Oh I think I can.” She reached for the nightstand and took out the box, leaning over and dropping it into his hands.

It took him a moment to realize what it was. He whipped his head up, eyes wide, smile beaming. “Really?”

“Really,” she giggled, pulling him down onto her. “Now prove to your baby mama that you love me, Jon Snow.”

He laughed, kissing her hard. “Oh I certainly will.”

#jonerys drabble #jonerys #reply #aenarsnow #ice is hot too drabble #spicy goodness with side of marshmallow fluff

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 3 years ago

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Like a Dream- Hizdahr zo Loraq x OC

Hizdahr zo Loraq x Kiyara Tallhart

Description: Kiyara awakes from a nightmare where all her dreams had been fake, and begins to question whether her happy life with Hizdahr is real.

Word Count: 1.6k

Kiyara stood in what she recognized as the dungeon of Meereen. It was dark, why was it so dark? Where are the torches?

“Geron naejot (Walk forward),” she heard a woman’s voice nearby followed by what sounded like chains blanking together softly. Kiyara’s eyebrows knit together and she walked cautiously to the source of the noise, an odd feeling of deja vu washing over her.

“Mēre tolī dekūra (Another step),” the woman spoke again, yes again followed by chains rattling.

“Ao daor gaomagon bisa (You cannot do this), a man whimpered. A chill shot up Kiyara’s spine as she realized where she was. Instantly she lifted the bottom of her dress to her ankles and ran the rest of the way there. She nearly ran into an Unsullied, but no one seemed to care. In fact, no one in the dungeon seemed to take notice that she was even there.

“Kessi ipradagon ao, lo nyke ivestragon zirȳ naejot (They will eat you if I tell them to,” Daenerys informed them simply. “They kostagon ipradagon ao sesīr lo nyke don’t. Riñar. Mirri ivestragon nyke should tepagon bē va zirȳ (They may eat you even if I don’t. Children. Some say I should give up on them).” One of the men began mumbling in Valyrian, just like Kiyara remembered. “But iā sȳz muña dōrī tepagon bē va zirȳla riñar. Ziry disciplines zirȳ lo ziry ēdruta (But a good mother never gives up on her children. She disciplines them if she must).” Once again, Daenerys looked at Daario, who walked over and pushed the mumbling man forward onto his knees. Though Daario hadn’t pushed her, Kiyara found herself falling beside the man with a small grunt. It was almost as if some invisible force pushed her.

“Yn ziry gaomas daor tepagon bē va zirȳ (But she does not give up on them.)” Daenerys said nothing to Kiyara, so she assumed that no one could see her still. With the man shaking in his chains beside her, she hesitantly looked into the black void. A sense of dread filled her gut as she squinted, noticing movement in the darkness before a pair of eyes appeared. She had no time to react before the dragon suddenly opened his mouth and exhaled ferocious flames at the two of them. Kiyara screamed and attempted to shield herself, waiting for the fire to hit her.

It never came though, and she slowly dropped her arms. She was amazed to see that she was no longer even in the tunnel. She was in what looked like stands of a stadium. Her brows furrowed and she looked around confusedly. Then, she realized where she was as she looked at the section she was in. Daenerys, Hizdahr, Missandei and Tyrion sat in their designated seats while Daario still stood to the side, but this time there was no empty seat for her. This was very strange, she thought. Her head turned once she heard Tyrion speak over the fighting men in the middle of the ring.

“You can end this,” he informed her urgently.

“No, she can’t,” Hizdahr spoke fiercely.

“You can!” Tyrion exclaimed. The fighter was about to make a move when the other fighter came over and stabbed Jorah’s opponent in the back, killing him. Jorah got up and faced the final opponent. Jorah matched the spearman, was knocked over, but caught the spear before it reached his throat. He stood back up and the two faced off again. Jorah spun, somersaulted, and stabbed him through the stomach, killing him. He looked up to Daenerys.

Wordlessly, Jorah reached for his opponent’s spear, picking it up and hurling it towards Daenerys’ seat. Daario was quick to protect her then got everyone else out of the way. This time around, Kiyara could see what was happening much clearer as Hizdahr didn’t immediately try to shield her. She watched as at least ¼ of the stands stood and put on masks.

“The Sons of Harpy,” she gasped out. The Sons of the Harpy began slitting the throats of former slaves and Unsullied in the crowd. Unsullied guards and Daario surround Daenerys, Kiyara and Missandei, fighting off the Harpies. Kiyara expected to hear the roar of Daenerys’ dragons once again, but nothing ever came. She became alarmed, where were Drogo and Nediss?

“Your Grace, Your Grace, come with me! I know a way out! I know a way-” she heard Hizdahr start, and she turned around just as two Sons of Harpy came up behind him and stabbed him thrice in the chest. It was just as horrible to watch as the first time, and Kiyara found herself crying out yet again. She watched in horror as the two Sons of Harpy stood once again after dropping his body, and before she could process it, one of them ran at her with a knife in hand. She screamed then-

Kiyara shot up in bed, panting heavily. It took her a minute to process where she was, but she was quick to realize that she was in her new home in Gylladhor. Her new home with her new- she paused shortly before looking around the bed in a panicked state. Just as she hoped, Hizdahr was laying beside her, sleeping peacefully. Slowly, her hand moved to his chest, and she felt his heartbeat. Her hand stayed there for a few minutes. To anyone else, she would have looked crazy, but she just had to be sure. After all that had happened to them, she needed the solidarity of knowing that he was alive and well. His wounds had healed well enough that he didn’t have to have bandages anymore, though there were still scars there that Josion and Meralith were afraid would never go away. Neither Kiyara nor Hizdahr cared about that though, as long as they healed and he was okay.

Finally, her shoulders relaxed and her breathing evened out. Her hand moved from his chest to cup his cheek, careful not to wake him. A small smile appeared on her face and she tentatively laid back down, her head now laying on his chest so she could feel his heartbeat. Almost as if it were a subconscious response, Hizdahr’s arm wrapped around her waist and practically pulled her on top of him, continuing to rest peacefully. She let out a small breath then slowly closed her eyes, falling asleep an hour later.

“You’re doing it again,” Hizdahr pointed out gently, his gaze not moving from the book that sat in his right palm. Kiyara’s concentration was broken, and she faced him.

“Doing what?”

“Cracking your knuckles,” he responded simply. Her gaze instantly went to her knuckles, where she recognized that he was right. Her knuckles now ached dully and she shook her hands.

“And?” She questioned flatly.

“Well, you only crack your knuckles when you’re anxious. That means something is bothering you. So,” he closed his book to focus his full attention on her. “Tell me what’s got you so troubled.” She smiled and shook her head.

“It is nothing you need to worry about, my love. If it’s my knuckle cracking that’s bothering you then I can go to another room,” she offered, but Hizdahr shook his head.

“It’s not you cracking your knuckles, what bothers me is that you’re very clearly worried about something yet you do not trust me enough to confide in me.” Kiyara sighed softly.

“It is not that I don’t trust you, I truly do,” she trailed off slowly. Hizdahr offered her a comforting smile and took her hands.

“Take all the time you need, my darling. I just want to help you in any way I can.” That was the small nudge that Kiyara needed. She ranted to her husband about the nightmare she had been having since they had their new house built.

“I think it just feels so much like a dream, being here with you and thriving off of the simple pleasures we have,” she stood from her seat and walked to the window in the living room and stared out into their front yard. “It almost feels too good to be true.” Hizdahr said nothing at first as he processed her words. After a minute of silence, Kiyara heard him stand, his shoes tapping against the floor as he made his way over to her.

“Can you please turn around?” He asked softly, his hands coming up to rest on her shoulders. Kiyara complied immediately and looked at him.

“I know how you feel,” he started softly. “There have been several times where I truly think this is just a dream, but then I look at you, and I feel you. This is real, and I don’t plan on leaving you anytime soon.”

“The future will always be unexpected,” she pointed out, smiling a bit when he cupped her face in his hands.

“But I can be sure that no matter what, we will have each other to help us through it,” he responded matter-of-factly. Kiyara’s grin widened and she nodded, allowing Hizdahr to pull her head closer to kiss her forehead.

“I love you,” she muttered softly, though she meant every word. She felt him smile against her forehead and he pulled away to look into her eyes.

“And I you,” he responded before leading her back to the couch to sit down. He sat first and grabbed his book as Kiyara took a seat. She leaned against him as he opened up to the page he earlier marked and began reading aloud from it. His free arm went around her waist and she laid her head on his chest. Looking back, she felt quite stupid. How could this not be real?

#game of thrones #hizdahr zo loraq #hizdahr zo loraq x oc #i'm joel fry trash

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trumantomlinson · 3 years ago

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marlonhart · 3 years ago

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jamiedc-they-them · 5 years ago

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All for you (Platonic)

To Daenerys Targaryen, you were the last pure thing on earth that hadn’t been taken from her yet. Her younger (brother/sister). You were one of the things that kept her going throughout her struggles. You were the motivation behind every move she made.

It was all for you. To make a better world for you.

She pretty much raised you. Her older brother was cruel to the two of you. She did what she could to shelter you from harm. And, when she failed, she’d comfort you as best she could.

It was all for you. To make you feel more content. To help you get through the bleakest of days.

You both had a rage within you. A burning fire that could burn down the whole world. Your trauma from your brother only brought you closer. Only allowed her maternal instincts around you grow.

When she tipped the pot full of boiling gold on your older brother. Hearing his screams pierce the air. Before a CLANG! When he fell to the ground, finally gone from your lives forever. It felt good. It felt right.

It was for you. To tell you that you were ok now. That he’d never hurt you again. You were safe now.

Whenever she was targeted, so were you. She lived in fear for herself, of course. But you were her main concern. She couldn’t let anything happen to you. So, when she woke up one time to you screaming in horror and what sounded like pain. She entered the room and found you fighting off an assassin.

He endured a long and painful death. Her soldiers beating him and slicing him. You were allowed to add to the pain as well. While she didn’t notice it. Jorah had. Something awoke in you that day. Something broke within you. A dam, that had been holding back all of your pain. The many walls you had built to shelter yourself from your trauma. He saw the look in your eyes. The regular Targaryen fire was there. But there was something else.

Something darker.

Your older sister only watched you with a passive look. No one spoke, there was no sounds from anyone. The only sounds were of the sands blowing around you, and your breathing.

You plunged the knife into your would be killer. Right where he had aimed for you. Right in the chest. Some blood was coughed from his mouth. It stained your clothes. Daenerys frowned at it. But you didn’t seem to mind.

You stabbed him again, and again. Your rage finally hitting its boiling point. One, two, three. A pattern of stabs. Daenerys still kept her gaze passive. Jorah’s turned concerned.

Daenerys had later explained to the man as to why she hadn’t stopped you. Her explanation was simple. It as your moment to enact some kind of justice in a life that had been filled with nothing by injustice.

It was all for you. To make you feel in control.

As your time passed. Your clothes would become stained with blood more regularly. As much as she hated it, you could fight well. As much as she wanted to preserve your innocence, she knew some things had to be sacrificed for this. So, begrudgingly, she allowed you to fight. But you were watched closely by Jorah and the other fighters under her command.

Jorah didn’t need a command to look out for your wellbeing. He had come to care for you both in different ways. But, still, he cared, You’d found a friend in him.

Now you found someone to train you and help you fight better. To not be that weak little boy that hid behind his sister.

Your sister was proud, in a way. Proud that you were finding your own calling. It was like a mother watching their child grow up and finally be ready to leave them.

After all, the meetings she’d allowed you to always seemed to drain the life out of you. Of course, she didn’t want that.

After all, this was all for you. If fighting was your calling, who was she to stop you from following it?

You were nimble with the blade. Your size helping you fight. Giving you an advantage with the taller enemies. When you had both met Tyrion Lannister, you were both cautious of him. You ultimately let Danny decide his fate. But he still gave you a look. One you couldn’t decipher.

It wasn’t one she liked.

“Is there something wrong about my (brother/sister) being here?” The imp cleared his throat, a small bit embarrassed at being caught and called out on the action.

“No, your grace. It’s just that (he/she) hasn’t said a word since I’ve arrived is all.” She turned to you, her look softening a little as she met your eyes. Tyrion noticed it but chose not to comment on it.

She gave you a silent nod. Permission to speak your mind.

“I just follow her. If she grants you stay, then you would’ve found an ally in both of us.” She smiled a little at your words. Tyrion scrunched his face together in confusion. You were loyal to your sister. That much was known. Just as how, at the end of day, Jaime was to him.

But, one question laid in his head, “Where you loyal to her as a sister, or as a queen?”

Seeing you fight, it seemed he had his answer. You fought without question. There were moments where he’d give up hope on ever seeing a shred of your innocence. Only to be there to witness rare moments where you both seemed to reclaim it. Be it with a glass of wine or just a laugh in conversation.

He couldn’t help but envy you two a little. You were close, that much was obvious. You both seemed to be able to communicate without need of vocalising it. She’d protected you. She still did in subtle ways. When you both looked over Mareen. She’d place a hand on your shoulder. Sometimes, if he happened to be walking by when you were in your room. She’d lean her head on your shoulder.

He never had that type of closeness with his siblings. All of them (bar Jaime) hated him with everything they had. But it brought some light to the world that you two were as close as you were.

You’d both crossed the ocean. Both set your feet back on your home ground. Daenerys turned to you after she stood up. Offering you hand, “Come along, little one. We have work to do.”

That included meeting Jon Snow. Bastard son of the north. Daenerys actually looked to you on this one. Everyone on her side knew that no matter what they said, if you disagreed, she’d go with your judgement.

She trusted you the most. And vice-versa.

So, when she’d left her throne room at the sound of laughter. Or a short burst of it, it warmed her a little to see you both getting along at least somewhat. You both seemed to be emotionally stunted at times. You were never one for long conversations. Although, Tyrion had managed to get a few out of you about some philosophical things. Managed to drag something of a personality out of you.

It seemed that you fancied yourself a bit of existentialist. Deep down, he noticed, you wanted to be free. He saw that all your actions were to achieve just that. A sense of freedom and justice.

Jon (for as much as everyone had told him otherwise) had smarts to him. He noticed you want for it as well. But saw that you covered it up with the lie that supporting your sisters claim would be the way to fix that issue inside of you.

If it were the other way round, he could understand it. Family meant everything to him. Just as much as it did to you. That as what you two bonded over. It was nice to find a new friend. One who had the same values as you.

Daenerys had sat by your bed whilst you healed from your time beyond the wall. Finding you unconscious as Jon carried you and helped you onto your exit ride via dragon pained her. Shook her deeply. The next moment, another one of her dragons had fallen.

She’d nearly lost two of the things she held dearly that day.

After all, if you died. If you had left, her. Then this would’ve been for nothing. It would’ve been a hollow victory.

It was all for you.

Winterfell was a nice change of pace. Even if you weren’t welcome entirely there. You were both judged. You didn’t blame them. But you still felt out of place.

Jon introduced you to his siblings. While, with your sister there was a tense moment. With you, it seemed to be more relaxed. The way Sansa’s smile was genuine. Arya had managed more than a sly one as well. Jon looked between both parties. An actual smile on his face, too.

Arya and you had started a friendship. Both bonding over being similar ages and going through your fair share of issues to get to where you were now. It helped her recover a small amount of the child that still lived inside her. Deep, deep down. Locked away. It allowed itself a moment to come back.

You told her about the east, she told you about the west. Both trading stories about your travels. Sansa, Jon, and Danny all saw you looking happy for once. And found themselves a moment to feel it as well.

Your stomach hit you with anxiety. With fear of the unknown. You felt a presence next to you. Looking, you saw that it was Arya. She was stood next to you, looking out at the dark, the void that held the army of the dead. The restless souls that were coming for yours.

“Do you ever think about it? What happens after death?” Her voice was calm. It helped you for a moment. Distracted you as you turned to her with your answer, “Never really thought about it. Always told myself that those I killed went to a place worse than this. But, never really thought about me.”

She nodded at your admission, “Well, if there’s one thing I know. It’s that there’s one thing we say to the god of death,” She waited until you turned to her again. A sly smile upon her face, “Not today.”

It nearly did, several times in that night. The long night.

The time that light really did collide with dark. Living with dead.

You were pinned down, trying to do what you could. Stabbing the walkers that you could. But you knew that this was most likely it. This was how your story was to end. To see if there was anything beyond.

Arya’s words rang true when she was by your side, killing the walkers that held you and helping you up. The two of you back to back. Fighting like a duo who had been their whole lives.

And, depending on how the rest of the night would go. it could very well of been your life’s end fighting by her side.

Daenerys had pulled you into a hug as soon as she saw you. Holding you tightly. Before having to tell you that you’d lost Jorah. She’d tried to comfort you. Only for you to move away and go off on your own.

She’d called after you, trying to reach you once again. Jon had pulled her back, “Just give (him/her) some time. (He’s/She’s) been through a lot.” She didn’t look happy by it but nodded.

Arya, however, had clocked your look. The way your look went from sad to cold as soon as you had turned away. She’d been used to that look. To lock it all away. To force it down. To, in a way, switch yourself off to world. To be dead to it.

She didn’t want that for you. Not when you’d just fought so hard to live.

She hadn’t managed to say goodbye to you, unfortunately. She was off to Kings Landing to get the final person on their list. That being Queen Cersei herself.

It was Kings Landing where Daenerys saw how much your journey had damaged you. How much it had taken from you. Despite her best efforts, she’d let you kill. Let you lose yourself to it. She’d lied to herself about it. Telling herself that you were fine. That it was just a thing of the moment. And, the way you acted after the fights helped instil that lie. Helped her believe it.

She believed it, right up until you both sat on the walls, the bells ringing. For her, it was a moment of peace. A sense of victory. It was until she looked at you.

You, her little (brother/sister). You, who this had all been for. You, who had done nothing but keep your feelings at bay when it came to lose. You, who had locked away (his/her) darkness from others.

You, who had, unfortunately, lost that battle.

“(y/n)” Her voice was fearful. You hadn’t heard it. Your dragon kicked off the wall, diving towards the city. She hoped, prayed even. That you weren’t going to do what she thought you were going to.

“NO!” She screamed as you started burning the city to the ground. People be damned.

Queen Daenerys Targaryen. The mother of dragons. Breaker of chains. The same woman who was now forced to walk through the city that you had burned down. To fully see the destruction that you had reigned on the city to get what you thought was right.

You’d gotten your freedom. But only by surrendering to the dark. By crossing the line, she never wanted to cross.

She’d stopped when she saw a burned body of a child. One not much older than you were when you started this journey. The child’s mother trying to protect it, only to fail.

Just as she had. By doing all this for you, she had destroyed you. She had failed you.

She stood with Jon, both of them sharing a look as they proceeded up the stairs as you started your speech. She saw and heard you. She knew you were gone. Your innocence was gone. The sibling she protected and raised. The one she cared for deeply was gone. This was just a hollow shell of (him/her).

You ended your speech, breath turning shaky for a second as you met your sister’s eyes. Her’s held fear. Yours held resolution and completion them. She couldn’t help but also see the lust for more be mixed in there too.

“No --”

“Danny I --”

“I said, no!” Her voice cracked, but her fierce protection and denial of their want remained. Her lip trembled at their suggestion. She looked to Arya. And, despite her best efforts, her eyes held some sadness and hurt within them. Jon’s held far more. He always wore his emotions on his sleeve.

“....Please don’t do this.” She tried one last time. One last time to save you. One last time to protect you. One last time to be the sister figure who loved and cared for you that she had tried to be. Someone who tried to give you the whole world. A world that you seemed intent on just burning down with no issue.

She saw the error in her ways. The day she let you stop being her (brother/sister) and instead just another member of her army. One she trusted deeply, sure. But, one of her army none the less.

She’d gambled with your life so many times. Now, it was time for it to go the way she’d always feared it would.

A tear ran down her face as she knew her begging was in vain. In truth, she knew it needed to be done. She just hated herself more for having to admit it.

She nearly broke down again as she watched you staring at the throne in awe. The thing that all this pain had been building up to. The object of her desire had now became yours. Becoming a soldier had ruined you. She saw that now; her goal had corrupted you.

Power had corrupted you.

She managed to grow a smile. An unstable and shaky one. But, a smile still.

“Little one.” You turned at her voice. Her emotions calming for a moment as you beamed at her with pride. You weren’t mad. No, that was your father. You were just a child who lost himself to the dark as there seemed to be no light left. A light that slowly dimmed as you killed and did whatever you needed for your sister.

It was all for her.

“Danny, look! We made it. We made it. It’s so much different than how it was described to us!” Her smile wobbled at your words. How you had seemed to revert to the innocent version of yourself in this moment.

It almost made her want to back out of the current plan. She was too far in at this point. You were too far gone.

“Come here.” She said gently, holding out her arms. You were quick to run to them. She closed her eyes as she held you close and tight. Planting a long kiss onto your head. She made sure it passed on the truth. That she loved you dearly. You were her (brother/sister) but one that had stopped being that years ago at this point. It was a kiss of grief. One she gave to Jorah.

Now it was your turn.

You gasped, breath trembling. Your eyes wide as you pulled apart from your sister. She still held onto your arms, tears now freely flowing from her face.

“I’m sorry.” She managed to get out before she fully break down. Your legs buckled. She kept her grasp on you. Lowering you gently onto the ground as you slowly shut down. Slowly died. Slowly left her.

Your breathing was wheezing at this point. You met her eyes as your vision blurred. She kept muttering apologies as your vision darkened.

As you let the dark take you fully.

As your sister slayed the monster that had taken you from her. One that she had allowed to take you in her quest.

It was all for you. Now, it was all for nothing.

It wasn’t even a hollow win. It was just hollow.

She let herself let out a cry that echoed throughout the city.

It was hollow. As was your body.

#daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys targaryen #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader

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ladyalice101 · 5 years ago

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jonsa fic recs

alright, i’ve had a couple requests for recs, so here is my list. these are all fairly recent fics, all written this year i think. all of them are from my bookmarks on ao3, but i picked the recent ones which are my god-tier recs, my oh-my-god-i-love-this-so-much-i-think-i’m-going-to-die, the ones i reread. they have very little in common, but if you don’t find anything on here that tickles your fancy, then feel free to check out my bookmarks. i have just over 100 on there, and every single one on there are fics that i think are absolutely phenomenal.

for @abi117 @why-cant-i-be-careless and @orangeflavoryawp

canon divergent

Victory by moutainsbeyondmountains. one-shot, 5489k.

“You won already, Your Grace,” Tyrion said mournfully. “Enjoy your victory. There are no lands left to conquer. And there are no more dragons.”

if you read no other fic on this list, read this one. seriously. it’s d.ny pov, and glorious. genuinely, i couldn’t give this high enough praise. i reread this A LOT. like, a lot a lot. i could probably quote this fic.

I Want Something so Impure by @asilentfrenzy. one-shot, 10166k.

“You have caused this, you and your queen. You allowed her to speak to me that way, allowed her to order my obedience in my own home as if I’m to be her new dog to train. I am the Lady of Winterfell, and your inbred aunt has no right to-”

“Aye, you are the Lady of Winterfell,” he growled, his eyes flashing with an added flame of fury at the mention of the woman’s newly found relations to him. “The same Lady of Winterfell who not too long ago advised me to be smart, yet it seems that you can’t follow your own advice.”

“Be smart,” she repeated, filling her face with a look of mocking humor. “By kneeling? By allowing her to seize my title and command my people? Perhaps I should offer her these chambers as well. Better, I’ll just offer them to you again, seeing as I’m sure you’ll be sharing a bed. Shall I fuck her as well? As I want to be just as smart as you, Jon.”

so if you couldn’t tell from the summary, this one is sassy af. it features darkish/dominant!jon, which is my jam, and is pretty much just 10k of smut, which is also my jam.

it’s a small crime, and i’ve got no excuse by mxash. 5/5, 8214k.

“did you see her?” sansa snarled, a hand come to pull at his collar, pulling his mouth down only hairs from her own. “your targaryen queen has dressed as though she was a whore to catch your eye.” jon smirked as she bit his lip. what was this? dany had almost recoiled in her disgust and shock, but she hadn’t been able to pull herself away from the horrific sight. my lover and his own sister.

this one serves some dark!jonsa realness, and it deserves more comments/kudos. it is written entirely in lowercase, but don’t let that distract you. the characters are dark, and devoted, and who doesn’t love d.ny catching jon and sansa fucking? seriously, this one is a must-read.

Dark in Bloom by @orangeflavoryawp. oneshot, 8304k.

"His gravity wavers, the axis of his world tilted to the measure of her lips." - Jon and Sansa. The stain of desire bleeds slowly between them.

yeah orange, i’m reccing one of your own fics to you. seriously though, this is just like ... mindblowing. i cannot overstate how much i love this one. i literally will just randomly remember it sometimes, when i’m just going about my daily business, and i’m like “shit, that fic by orange was a masterpiece. love it.” so, yeah, if that doesn’t tell you how much i love it, then idk what will.

what i’m asking by @amymel86. oneshot, 1173k.

"I'm not here to talk about that," Theon says, setting off another, thankfully smaller coughing fit. "I'm here to talk about Sansa."

Jon can feel the blood drain from his face. "Is she ill?"

Theon shakes his head, lifting his eyes to Jon as he coughs into his fist. "No," he finally says, his lungs giving him a small reprieve. "The Queen is in her prime. Which is why you are needed."

okay, ya’ll obvi know of amy. she writes so much fantastic fic. but i feel like this one kind of flew under the radar? which is a CRIME tbh. this fic was so ... it was so heartbreaking, but in the best way. it’s not that divergent from canon, bc the main thing that is truly different is that theon lives. seriously love this fic.

A Toss of the Coin by Paige242. one-shot, 3793.

Years after the war, the Queen in the North and the pardoned Queenslayer welcome their first child. Old traits emerge, and Jon worries about this Dragon in a den of Wolves.

ok, so this is a future fic where jon and sansa married. i don’t even know how to describe this one. it isn’t jonsa focused, but that doesn’t make it any less brilliant. it is so unique, and i’m yet to read another fic that explores the idea of one of jonsa’s kids inheriting some targaryen madness. there IS a part two, which was just as amazing. pls do yourself a favour and read this!

Choose by @esther-dot. oneshot, 5630k

“I know the cost of our loves. I know too well how they fall on the scale, one outweighing the other. I know what you tried to tell me. I know.” She was looking at him now, and he was afraid, but he would say the words that he had been unable to silence. “I never had the chance to choose you, but I would. I would choose you every time.”

THE DIALOGUE IN THIS IS INCREDIBLE. i just reread this to try and find my fave quote, but i actually can’t even pick. there are just so many amazing conversations, between sansa and jon, sansa and d.ny, arya and jon .. ugh, the list goes on. love this, please read.

Wink Wink, Nudge Nudge by alltheshinywords. one-shot, 3187k.

Post 8x03, slightly AU. Tormund and Jaime inexplicably find themselves becoming matchmakers when they notice a certain chemistry between Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. Extreme fluff and silliness.

this one is the least angsty on the list, and honestly it’s just such a good time. i remember reading this while s8 was airing, and honestly it was just so light hearted that i laughed out loud several times, despite being heartbroken over what happening in the show.

canon, but alternative universe

leave behind a love story by aetherae. one-shot, 9562k.

Maybe if things had been different, they wouldn't be like this. They would be worse.

ok, so, despite the summary, i naively went into this expecting a happy ending. yeah, so, no. however, this was one of the most interesting fics i’ve read in a while, because each universe it explored was so different to the ones i usually see floating around. and the writing was SUPERB.

i fell in love with a war (and nobody told me it ended) by mountainsbeyondmountains. one-shot, 18752k.

In which the North and the South have been at war for years, and Sansa unexpectedly finds herself on the run with a certain Targaryen bastard.

this is an avatar/bender au, and it is GLORIOUS. after i read this, i promptly devoured every other fic this author has written bc i loved it so much. the bending is just a backdrop to the amazing enemies-lovers this fic delivers.

modern au

Fuel and Fire by @zarahjoyce. currently 4608k, 4/?, WIP.

"You see?" Sansa says, smiling now. "If you really have to have a room far away from me, seems like you need to move into a different hotel." As an afterthought she adds, "Or to another planet."

"Bet you'd just love that, wouldn't you?" Jon asks her.

"Loads," she snarls.

He takes a deep breath, all the while just looking at her.

Truth be told Jon will give anything in the world to be able to just-- just--

Jon and Sansa, and all the tropes applicable to them.

All. The. Tropes.

ok so zarah in general writes AMAZING fic, they’re always so creative and inventive and i’m always genuinely shook by the fic they write. but like, this one is the god tier one BC TROPES.

when we kiss: mmmm, fire by @dancemajicdance. 8/8, 39705k.

Sansa might be seeing someone casually, but thanks to Arya, Robb, and Theon, it’s Jon who’s got the inside track on how to get Sansa to take him seriously.

aka: the one where jon finds out that sansa has a daddy kink, and he uses it to seduce her away from the dating scene and into his arms, heeeey-oh!

yes yes, it’s a daddy kink fic, and it’s fucking glorious alright. if that’s not your thing though (even though i’m pretty sure this fic is EVERYONE’S thing) then please, for the love of god, check out the rest of their stuff on ao3. you won’t regret it. even though they don’t write much jonsa anymore, the prolific contributions they HAVE made will go down in history as some of the best jonsa ever written imo.

As Long As We're Going Down by @alienor-woods. 9/12, currently 42228k, WIP.

Four years after Stannis Baratheon wins the Battle of the Blackwater, Sansa Stark finds herself summoned back to King's Landing to serve as a bridesmaid at Crown Princess Shireen's wedding. When King Stannis tries to marry Sansa off to his illegitimate nephew, Edric, she thinks quick and tells him she's already married--

--to her bodyguard, Jon Snow.

i actually don’t know how to explain how much i love this. it’s written so beautifully, and it’s so realistic and just ugh. read it. the adaption to modern royalty is the best i’ve ever read, and the characters are very raw, and very realistic. (also, yes, the characters have gotten together at this point in the story, in case you were scared of committing to a wip without the satisfaction of some hot and heavy scenes).

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #fic rec #jonsa fic rec #actuallyjonsa

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targaryenimagines · 5 years ago

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Fractured

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Lannister!Reader

Word Count: 2,641

Summary: You have known for some time that Westeros was in dire need of help. You just didn't know how soon that need for help would arrive. Or how catastrophic the circumstances would be to cause it.

Warnings: None that I can think of. (Brief mention of suicide.)

Note: This is just the introductory chapter so that you all can get familiar with the story.

Tagged: @schroedingershund

You had been born amongst fine silks and jewelry. Everything you could ever want just a few words away. The entire world at your fingertips if you wished to grasp it. Being the eldest of the Lannister children was a blessing and a curse. While you were able to do just about anything you could ever desire it was always with a catch.

If you wanted to go to the marketplace of King's Landing you had to have at least five guards with you.

If you wanted to lay in bed for a little bit longer you had to make up the time, and then some, in your studies.

You know you could be in a worse situation than the one you were in, but a cage is still a cage no matter how pretty it was decorated. The Red Keep with its walls of stone and whispered secrets was just that.

A gilded cage that many wished to be in. A deadly trap that lured you in with the promise of wealth and power, but came at the price of never being able to escape it. A fact that only bore down on you with each year that passed.

You were the trademark Lannister female. Long, wavy, golden hair that was never out of place. Glowing green eyes the color of the first blade of grass in spring. Your perfect porcelain skin without a blemish or any other mark that could hinder it. You moved with the grace and elegance of a lioness. The only thing that made you different was your smile. When you smile it didn't come with a hidden message of deceit. It wasn't a hunters smile that adorned your face. It was an open and honest smile that spoke of nothing but warmth and care.

You were the golden lion amongst black. Your family, although kind on the outside, were no better than anyone else. Their smiles showing only what they wanted people to see, and not what truly went on in their minds. Something that you detested with every fiber of your being. You hated the lies and treachery that seemed to surround the Iron Throne and the game that came with it. At times you wished that you weren't the heir and that the damned throne would be destroyed.

You had dreams of waking up and finding out that the throne had been destroyed. That it's dark affliction upon the land had finally been relinquished. That you would finally be in a place where everyone's true motivation wasn’t to get the throne.

However, your deepest and darkest desire was the one that haunted your dreams and waking mind. It was a desire that would get you hanged or exiled. A wish that would cause everyone you love to turn against you.

It was the hope that one day a Targaryen would take back the throne. That once again the house that was supposed to sit on the throne would return. Maybe that's why such discourse has fallen over Westeros? The balance of power shifted too much for the land to handle. For only a Targaryen could ever, truly, claim Westeros and all its people. After all the Targaryen's were the ones to bring Westeros together in the first place, and without them it was falling apart.

A fact that only became more apparent the longer they were gone.

Despite this want you still loved your family. You cared for your mother and father greatly. You cared for your siblings and uncles, but that love was only rivaled by the love you have for your people. The people that, at birth, you were sworn to protect. You didn't even want to think of the reality of them being in the hands of someone else.

Someone like Joffrey, you muse as you watch your younger brother across the hall. His green eyes glowing with faux charm and warmth, but his smirk giving it away. A sight that caused chills to run down your spine. You did care for your brother but you couldn't say that you loved him. Nor could you say that you would ever be able to put up with his presence for long. His attitude and overall approach to life unnerved you, and you hope that he will grow out of it. You've seen what happens to the type of men Joffrey was becoming and you didn't want that to befall him.

Turning your gaze you scan the hall for your other two siblings. Finally finding familiar golden hair near your mother and uncle. You could see Myrcella and Tommen sitting close to your mother's side. Neither liking to be too far away from her when in public. If they were older you would assume that it was just to show a front for all that saw them. Showing everyone that the Lannister family was a united entity and nothing could make them fall. However, you know that your younger siblings simply wanted the comfort a mother could provide.

The thought of your mother prompts you to level your gaze to her. You watch as she allows a slow smile to take over her lips as she brings her goblet to her lips. You watch as your uncle and her seem to have silent conversations with their eyes. A sight that only hammers in the suspicions you've had for quite a long time. It was a sight that brought your world into a sharper focus but destroyed it at the same time. Before you could make yourself even more uneasy by the thought a gruff voice speaks from beside you.

"Now why is my favorite niece hiding herself away like a recluse?" Tyrion Lannister asks, his quizzical gaze leveled at you. Despite the height difference your uncle always knew how to command a conversation. His mere presence made up for what he lacked in his vertical impairment.

A small smile works its way onto your lips as you speak. Your eyes starting to shine with warmth at the sight of your favorite relative. "Maybe I want to be more like you, uncle. After all the recluse life style does seem to be your forte."

His deep laughter is all you get as a reply for some time. Its timbre and resonance reminding you of a lion’s roar. Deep and forceful with its presence but having a place in your heart that would never leave you. You simply watch as your uncle clutches at his sides and tears of joy run down his cheeks. It was a sight that caused your small smile to grow into a grin. Happy that you were able to make the normally silent man lose all countenance of control. It was a sight that brought renewed hope into your heart. That maybe a person’s feelings or outward mask could be shifted. That with enough care and cultivation even the most weathered stone could be shifted. That not everything was predetermined and people could actually make their own choices based off of what they wanted.

However, like always, your hope dwindles until it completely disappears in your chest. It was foolish to believe that the people so set in their ways could ever change. No one truly cared about peace and prosperity in Westeros. No one cared about the health and livelihood of commoners. No one cared about the people who couldn’t arrive in a horse drawn carriage with an armada of guards escorting them. All anyone cared about was who had the most power in the room, and how to take it. It was the sickly sweet game that has surrounded you your entire life. It was a game that would never have any winners, because any person that fell for its trap would end up losing. Whether it be with their life or what they held most dear, they would lose it all the same.

For no one ever, truly, won the game of thrones.

No one but the Targaryen’s, your mind whispers darkly to you as your eyes once again sweep across the hall. As if it was aware of how serious your thoughts were, and paranoid that someone would be able to tell what you were thinking by just looking at you. If anything the game has taught you one simple rule about life. Trust no one.

You could feel your uncles gaze on you but you don’t turn to meet it. You simply bask in the simple pleasure that his presence gave you, and he seems to understand. For he doesn’t open his mouth or try to get your attention again. He simply stands by your side and observes the room with you.

Both of you a prisoner in a gilded cage that was the Red Keep. As well as reluctant players of the game because of the name you carried. Neither of you knowing how to escape the fate you were given without suffering the consequences.

For when you play the game you either win or you die.

_________________

“Mother I’m fine,” you say with exasperation in your tone as you, once again, nudge your mother’s fussing hands away from your hair. Your annoyance clearly showing on your face by her continued persistence to mess with it.

Grasping your hands your mother begins to speak, her voice low. Only loud enough for you to hear it. “Must you be so difficult? I want you to be on your best behavior tonight and that includes the way you look. So, please, don’t embarrass me or your father tonight.”

A beat of silence passes before you respond.

“I would never dream of it, mother.”

You hope that your voice sounds more genuine then you feel as you respond. Trying with all your might to not roll your eyes at her. Knowing the exact reaction that it would cause if you did. Finally, after a moment of staring at you she turns away and starts fussing over Myrcella. Who readily accepts her mother’s help, not that you were expecting anything else from your younger sister.

It seems that while you were mainly independent when it came to your parents your younger siblings were completely dependent on them. Which, also, caused them to be closer to your parents by a significant amount. Not that there was anything that could be done about that. You were never one for allowing someone to fawn over you. You hated the thought with a burning passion that rivaled the sun. Glancing towards Joffrey you could tell that you were polar opposites in that regard. You could see the annoyance starting to grow in his gaze. Obviously hating the fact that mother was taking too long in returning her attention to him. A sight that caused the familiar queasy feeling all over again.

With a small, almost indecipherable, sigh you turn your gaze to the moving landscape outside of your carriage. You had always enjoyed visiting the North with it’s beautiful fields and mountainous landscapes. The crisp, cool air soothing you in a way you didn’t even know how to describe. You know that your siblings detested cold weather and that they would much rather stay in the South, but you hated how stifling it could get at times.

Just another thing that separated your from them, you suppose.

You had never visited Winterfell before but by the stories you were told, and the paintings you have seen, you know that it will be beyond beautiful. A castle the reflected the ways of the land perfectly. Stationary, immovable and being able to survive any amount of time. It was hardy just like the people and you were excited to finally see it up close. Though by what you could see out of your peripheral vision you were the only one. Tommen was wrapped up tightly in his cloak, his small frame shaking from the frigid air. Myrcella was having her hair brushed by mother and Joffrey had his arms crossed petulantly while he stared out the window. Even though you could tell he wasn’t actually staring at anything. He was more than likely just waiting for mother to realize something was amiss and ask him about it.

You had to resist the urge of rolling your eyes again. For Joffrey would make your life a living hell if he caught it. Something you didn’t you had the energy to deal with at the moment. Not that you ever had the energy to deal with Joffrey in the first place.

Closing your eyes you lean your head against the cool pane of glass beside you. Wishing more than anything that you could be out of the hell hole that was this carriage. No matter how much you may love your family there was only so much you can take of them. What made matters even worse was the fact that Tyrion wasn’t able to ride with you. A fact that saddened you to no end, and when you offered to ride with him your mother had vehemently denied it. Something that you were still upset about even after this long. You don’t know what you would be talking about with your uncle, but it would be a hell of a lot better than the oppressive silence that was this carriage.

You would be lying if you said the thought hadn’t crossed your mind about leaping out.

You refrain, however, after all you did promise your mother to not embarrass her, and a suicide attempt would do just that. You were always one to keep your promises, someone had to in Westeros. Common tongue may be the language in which people of Westeros spoke, but lies are what truly connected everyone. More so than any amount of blood in a person’s body.

The sudden halt of the carriage jarrs you from your thoughts, and your eyes raise to the window. Feeling your breath catch at the sight in front of you. Winterfell stood as proud as you always imagined it to. The beautiful stone architecture speaking of a time long lost but never forgotten. It was a sight that made you reflect on the beautiful history that was the past of Westeros. A time when bloodshed was a burden rather than a benefit. When all the great houses stood together as one. When everything was as it was supposed to be.

When Westeros was whole and not fractured.

The frigid air of the North surrounds you as you step out of the carriage. The sudden chill causes you to wrap your cloak around you. The only defense you have against the biting wind, but you couldn’t help the small smile that curls your lips at the feeling. It was so different from the heat waves that entrenched King’s Landing. The cool feeling against your skin was a welcome change from the heat that normally chokes you.

Moving to stand slightly behind your father you watch as Lord Stark steps from his family. All of whom seem to be watching your own with something that you’ve attributed to northern weariness. You watch as your father and Lord Stark smile at one another with a jovial air between them. Their bond still so strong after all these years apart, but you could see the fractures that are starting to grow between the two men. Fractures that you weren’t sure Westeros could take. You don’t know what would happen if the North and South began to fight once more. All you do know is that it won’t be pretty and it wouldn’t end nicely for many involved.

You watch, with bated breath, as Lord Stark speaks. His words coming out in a gruff timbre that you’ve, also, attributed to northern men.

“Winterfell is yours, your grace.”

If only you had known then how fractured things were about to become.

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