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loggiepj · 3 months ago

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To Love A Lannister

chapter 9 | chapter 10

You had always thought being betrothed to the one you love would finally make you happy. The one you'd remember as you grew old. A memory you'd cherish forever.

Yet you never thought it would be a complete torture — wanting someone who doesn't want you. Not even a bit.

Queen Mother Cersei continued to ignore you through the days that come, as if you were a common guest in the Red Keep. Queen Margaery however, were already talking nonstop with you, asking how the two of you first met and interacted with each other.

Everyone had apparently heard the news. Tommen had avoided you. Jaime looked bitter everytime you saw him at dining halls and hear his father Lord Tywin discuss your engagement to Cersei and where to hold such event.

The Tyrells did not take it lightly at first, but knowing Ser Loras' character, the decision was for the best. In fact, the Tyrell Lord was happy he was set free from marrying the vicious queen, he'd always talk about inviting you both to see Highgarden to spend time as newlyweds.

Of course, there was always the talk about your sexuality and your special appendage, and you knew Cersei was shamed about all of it as she kept shoving glass of wine into her mouth, as if she needed to be drunk for that kind of conversation. You knew then her father meant this proposal as her punishment. And yours.

Tommen was crowned as King the following day, finally diminishing the gossip.

Yet, the continuing appearance of Jaime inside Cersei's chambers, or along side her at times, never not following her, only made your blood boil. Even after the engagement, he knew how to make you furious, he knew what was your weakest point.

One time you even stopped Jaime by holding unto his fake hand, making him almost stumble. He was about to follow Cersei into her chambers once again. You knew he was part of the Kingsguard, yet it didn't sit well on you for him to guard Cersei. You'd request Lord Tywin to change that once you had the courage.

"What are you doing?" you spat, glaring at the golden haired man.

"Following the Queen—"

"You don't have to do that," you interjected, maintaining your hold. "I trust another loyal Kingsguard can do your job."

He then laughed. "Are you jealous I might start another scandal?"

"You—"

"He's my Queensguard and my brother, Lady Y/n," Cersei spoke, making you both glance her way. "Let him go."

You swallowed a lump in your throat before your grasp weaken.

~~~

"I hear congratulations are in order," Tyrion said, laughing. "Here I thought you had listened to my advice. Yet you had to wear the noose or lay your head down unto the guillotine."

You sighed as you looked at the ground, kicking dirt after dirt. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to hide, you decided to visit Tyrion in his cells in the castle's dungeons.

"I . . . I don't know what I'm going to do," you said. "I . . . I have sent a raven to ask for my father's help. She . . . She doesn't . . . doesn't return my feelings."

"See, I told you she's cruel."

"I . . . I have loved her, you know. I . . . I know she has done terrible things in life, but I. . . I still find myself at a loss of words around her. My heart would still skip a beat every time she's near me. And I hate it. She's . . . She's my weakness and I hate it."

Tyrion looked at you sympathetically. "She's always adored when she doesn't deserve it."

You only stayed silent. Tyrion observed your dilemma and sighed. "I was once betrayed by the one I truly loved."

You glanced at him. "Surely you're not talking about Sansa—"

"No, no." He laughed. "Shae. She's a whore. I fell in love with a whore. And I truly believed my feelings were reciprocated. I should've trusted my gut that it was all a farce. I thought she was different. I thought she'd love a dwarf like me. Funny how that turned out when she told the court the other day how I was guilty in killing Joffrey."

You both stayed silent for a moment, regretting about your past actions.

"I mean, it can't be that bad, right?" you asked expectantly. "Marrying Cersei."

"She'd torment you, of course."

He coughed, leaning against the wall. "I want to feel sorry for you though. However, I might no longer be there to give my sympathies."

"What do you mean?"

"I requested for a trial by combat as a result of betrayal in court," he began. "And Cersei picked the Mountain as her champion."

You stared at him in disbelief. "The Mountain?"

The Mountain. Gregor Clegane. He was the largest, strongest and most feared man in Westeros. No one had ever outmatched him.

"You see, Y/n. When my sister hates someone, she'd do everything in her power to get rid of them. I have lost Bronn to my father's nicer offers. I lost my brother Jaime to Cersei even since birth, but I doubt he can even fight with one hand against the Mountain."

"What are you going to do then?"

"Well, Y/n," he said, smiling weakly. "I have always enjoyed having our talks, no matter how brief. But I believe this is goodbye."

~~~

You were heading back to your chambers when you accidentally bumped into Jaime only coming out from Cersei's. It made you push him against the nearby wall and clutch his armor.

You were envy, it wasn't a question anymore. You couldn't decipher how attached the twins were, and how no one could intervene.

"What do you think you're doing inside? Queensguard are supposed to stay outside the doors."

He chuckled, making you let him go. "She's in a good mood right now, Y/n. Don't try to break it."

"You—"

"I told you we have each other's backs no matter what," he went on in a whisper. "I know you'll be married one day. And one day, Cersei will finally bear another child. I'm sure you couldn't help but wonder once your son or daughter would be born with golden hair," he leaned closer into your ear, "Would it be yours or mine? Robert didn't notice. But I know you're clever enough to see."

The argument stopped when Cersei stepped out the door of her chambers. Your gazes met, and somehow underneath you could still see the Cersei you had known the past couple of weeks. And you knew then you had to let her go. For your own sanity. And hers.

What was once a hardened gaze softened as you stepped away from the Knight.

"Your Grace." You bowed at Cersei before hurriedly leaving.

~~~

You had avoided the Lannisters the following days. It was the only way you could move forward without getting affected. You knew you had to face them one day, but at the moment, you'd savor the time away from them.

At dinners, your seat was always empty, making Lord Tywin ask Oberyn of your daily activities.

You had found a secluded place in the Capital, one that's rarely visited. You could see the entire King's Landing from where you sat and wondered how you wanted to leave that place, how you wouldn't want to be tied down to Cersei in such a depressing place.

If she could only love you, her love would make this view bearable. But she didn't. She wouldn't.

You were still waiting for your father's response to your letter. The violent way was to offer Princess Myrcella, Cersei's daughter, in exchange. But you doubted Tywin would see that as a threat. And you knew you wouldn't choose that way anyway.

You met with Tyrion in his cells later that night when a certain idea finally came to you.

It was the only thing keeping you sane as you finally made your presence known inside the Red Keep. Oberyn even wondered why you were suddenly enthusiastic out of nowhere.

And even when you saw Cersei and Jaime as they entered the dining halls together, you didn't let it affect you. Oblivious of the way Cersei's eyes widened when she saw you at your seat, you went on talking to Margaery about her upcoming marriage to Tommen. You then could see why Cersei never liked Margaery. She was a parasite. And she thought you were too, marrying the Queen Mother and all.

~~~

Offer him Castle Yronwood. He'd set you free from the arrangement.

Yronwood. The castle you won fighting against the lords from the Stormlands when you were young. It was the reply your father sent to your raven.

You knew you had to offer it to Tywin to set you and Cersei free. She wouldn't ever have to marry anyone she doesn't like. She wouldn't have to marry you.

Deep in your thoughts, you didn't notice Cersei approaching you in the balcony.

You greeted and stepped back as she approached the railing and stared at the horizon.

The Queen would always stay beautiful in your eyes, no matter how ugly she was inside.

"Can't sleep?"

You shook your head. "Been thinking a lot."

She snorted a soft chuckle. "Aren't we all these days?"

You smiled at the horizon. There was a long silence before you spoke, "Don't you feel like running away from all this?"

"To where?"

"Anywhere."

"Having cold feet?"

And you laughed, realizing she was referring to your marriage.

"I am not," you managed to reply. "It would be an insult to deny your hand, Your Grace."

She looked at you. "Why are you still nice to me when I'm nothing but awful to you?"

You fell silent as you avoided her gaze. She went on. "Kindness is a weakness, Y/n. For women like us. You should know that by now."

You could see Jaime on the grounds below, talking at another Kingsguard and when you finally looked at Cersei, she was also looking at him. And if your heart could only break more, it would.

"I am cold," you announced as you shivered, stepping away from the Queen. "I'm heading back inside. And I suggest you do too, Your Grace. It won't be wise to catch a cold these days."

"Y/n?"

You stopped in your tracks. "Yes, Your Grace?"

"Nothing happened between me and Jaime," she said, making you glance at her. She sported a genuine look in her face. Yet, you didn't know if you should believe her or not. Maybe, she did care for you. Or maybe she's scared you'd tell her father about it.

But what was the difference if she was saying the truth. She didn't want you. She'd never love you. She hadn't ever loved you once. And you knew that now.

"It's okay, Cersei." You gave her a weak smile before leaving.

~~~

"What the seven hells is this, Y/n?" Oberyn's yell surprised you when you entered the breakfast hall where the Martells dine the next morning. Ellaria was holding back his hand as if to control his temper. But you knew, she had no chance of doing that.

You then looked at the scroll he threw at you, giving him a sarcastic smile before reading the contents.

"Your father would kill me, Y/n!" he said. "The Mountain would kill you."

Yes, you had offered yourself as Tyrion's champion for his upcoming trial.

"I had to help him, Oberyn. Someone has to help him—"

"It doesn't have to be you!"

"Come on, my dear," Ellaria interrupted, rubbing Oberyn's chest to calm him down. "I'm sure Y/n can still back down-"

"And let the innocent man die? There's no justice in the world unless we make it."

You had never seen Oberyn this furious before. And you were at the receiving end. He then looked around the soldiers and ordered, "Leave us."

You then added once the Dornish soldiers had left, "Besides, Cersei won't get to marry me if I die—"

"You can't die, Y/n. Not in my watch. I won't let you die," he said with gritted teeth.

"Thank you for your support. I can fight well on my own—"

"The Mountain has his own mind. He only knows two things, and that is to kill and kill."

"I've fought worse enemies than him, you know that, Oberyn."

"You can't die because you are one of the rightful heirs to the throne," he said in a whisper.

"What?"

"You're my brother Doran's bastard daughter."

"Our cousin Prince Doran? You must be losing your mind."

"He had an affair before Robert's Rebellion, before the Mad King became madder. And Doran had no idea, of course. Still has no idea. For he would have given you away, Y/n. Your mother hid you under her Maester's care in the Capital, but before your mother left for Dragonstone, she sent for me to take you to Dorne. Me and Elia took you to Y/f/n, a distant relative of ours, under your father's care."

"Why would he give me away?"

"Because your house was meant to be removed from existence. Because you weren't supposed to be alive. Your mother is none other than Rhaella Targaryen."

#cersei lannister x reader #cersei lannister #game of thrones #g!p reader #angst #song of ice and fire

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silverflameataraxia · 4 months ago

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Arya never hates Sansa or any other traditionally feminine woman for being able to sing, dance, sew, and mind their courtesies. She hates herself for not being able to do those things. She thinks her family would love her more, or that Catelyn would have been more willing to ransom her, if she was more feminine and could do those things.

On the other hand, you have Sansa who wishes that Arya was a bastard and that she could have another - more feminine - sister.

Why couldn't Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Marcella? She would have liked a sister like that.

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their Lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon's mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn't been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her real sister.

- Sansa I, AGoT

Sansa is ashamed of Arya for being a tomboy instead of being more feminine.

They don't know me, Arya realized. They don't even know I'm a girl. Small wonder; she was barefoot and dirty, her hair tangled from the long run through the castle, clad in a jerkin ripped by cat claws and brown rough-spun pants hacked off above her scabby knees. You don't wear skirts and silks when you're catching cats. Quickly she lowered her head and dropped to one knee. Maybe they wouldn't recognize her. If they did, she would never hear the end of it. Septa Mordane would be mortified, and Sansa would never speak to her again from the shame.

- Arya III, AGoT

Sansa attacks Arya for not being good at something traditionally feminine.

Sansa threw her head back in disdain. "You?" You couldn't sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties."

- Sansa III, AGoT

Sansa thinks that Arya was unsatisfactory as a sister because she wasn't feminine.

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world's graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went.

- Sansa II, ASoS

Now where does Sansa get her sexism from? Catelyn (and Septa Mordane).

Arya wonders if her family would even want to ransom her because she's not traditionally feminine.

"What if my brother doesn't want to ransom me?"

"Why would you think that?" asked Lord Beric.

"Well," Arya said, "my hair's messy and my nails are dirty and my feet are all hard." Robb wouldn't care about that, probably, but her mother would. Lady Catelyn always wanted her to be like Sansa, to sing and dance and sew and mind her courtesies.

- Arya VII, ASoS

Catelyn telling Arya she could be pretty...if only she were more feminine.

Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. To her sister and sister's friends and all the rest, she had just been Arya Horseface.

- The Blind Girl, ADwD

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catsteeth · 7 months ago

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Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader

+:✿ Chapter 3 ✿:+ : Waves Of Emotion

Chapters: 1 | 2 | _ | 4

Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister. You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his.

CW: afab reader, SMUT, MDNI, Oral (Mutual), unprotected P in V sex, praise, insanely sweet fluff, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of NSFW themes.

Word Count: 5125

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

It had been some time since your night with Podrick.

Since then you and he rarely had a moment together alone longer than a few moments. On the walks back from Tyrion's chambers you would speak quietly. About anything. And when you arrived at your chamber if there were no one around you would kiss him. However, that was all.

Ever since Margery and Joffrey were engaged, your moments together had grown fewer and far between.

Tonight was the wedding of Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa. One that you knew was not going to be a happy one. But with this wedding on the way it would seem Margerys was becoming closer. With her as queen you’d be free soon enough.

“What was it like?” Margery asked as she rummaged through her gowns in her wardrobe.

“He finished me first. No man has ever done that.” You said as laid on a lounge chair while you chewed on some grapes.

“If you were paid to do it, would you refuse the money?” She said not turning her attention away from the dresses in front of her.

“I never refuse money.” You said as you plucked another grape off its vine.

“Do you believe another would?” She asked looking back at you,

“Perhaps.” You looked at the grape vine you stripped clean. You realized you’d no interest in disclosing any intimate details about Podrick. As if it were a betrayal to him. You changed the subject as you threw the bare grape vine onto a tray next to you. “What was your evening with Joffrey like?”

She looked back at the dresses in front of her. “Enchanting as always.” She said sarcastically, “Let's change the subject shall we?” She spun around holding two dresses, “Black or Red?”

“We already dressed you.” You said with a raised eyebrow

“This one is for you.” She said with a smirk

“I have to come to that repulsive ceremony?” You whined

“You are my lady,”

“I am your handmaiden.” You corrected her,

“And I wish for you to be with me during such a repulsive ceremony.” She held the dresses up higher trying to direct your attention back to them.

“No green?” You pout your lips.

“It’s a Lannister wedding, you are fortunate I am not making you wear gold. Or perhaps one of those terrible wrapped gowns Cersei wears.” You continued to pout and she felt the need to convince you, “Joffrey already does not like all the green you wear.” She sighed

“Black.” You conceded, at least black was the second color of your house.

Margery buttoned and tied you into the gown. she turned you around and rested her chin on your shoulder as you looked into the mirror.

“You are going to need moon tea after that boy sees you tonight.”

“No need, he won’t finish in me. He says he does not want to “sully my body”” You said the last part in a mocking tone

“He said that?” Her eyes widened and you nodded, “I’d say he does love you.”

“No, he doesn’t” You shook your head.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The ceremony was as droll as you imagined.

However it did once again give you an opportunity to dance and drink.

As the night went on you tried your best to get on with the things that brought you joy, like drinking and dancing however none of them were helping. You danced from man to man, all of them pleasant enough but none of them made you feel the way Podrick did.

You looked around the room that night and saw Podrick standing behind Tyrion’s wedding table. He was dressed somewhat nicer than normal, wearing a cape. He stood there with his arms crossed and a timid yet stoic expression. As soon as your eyes found him, his eyes met yours.

You took a break from dancing and grabbed a chalice of wine. You made your way over to Podrick, once he noticed this he stood up straighter.

“Podrick,” You said with a slight nod, greeting him.

“Lady (Y/N),” He looked flustered, “You look beautiful.” He said softly

“It’s Lady Margery's dress,” You said, running your hands over the fabric of the gown.

“No, I meant you.” He said softer, and your eyes went back to him. “I would like to ask you for a dance, really I would but I cannot leave my Lord.” He said, keeping his eyes low as if he were disappointed in himself.

“I see,” You said looking over to Tyrion, who was drowning himself in his cups. “He seems to be enjoying himself. In one way or another I suppose.” You said with a smirk, making Podrick smile “Besides, I have grown tired of dancing. Hardly seems appropriate.” You said into your chalice.

“How do you mean?” He asked

“Does this appear to be a happy or willing union?” You asked as your eyes wandered from the drunk older lord to the young to the miserable young lady.

“Well I-“ He began but was interrupted by the shouting of Joffrey.

“Come, everyone! Time for the bedding ceremony!” Joffrey shouted pulling Sansa along with him

“Bedding ceremony, a great joke.” You said sarcastically lower.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Tyrion said,

“Where is your respect for tradition, uncle? Come everyone pick her up and take her to her wedding bed, rid her of her gown she won't be needing it any longer.” Joffrey commanded Podrick however took a step backwards,

“Ladies attend to my uncle, he’s not heavy.” Joffrey said mockingly

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Tyrion reaserted.

“There will be if I command it!” Joffrey Shouted back,

“Then you will be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock!” Tyrion shouted as he stabbed the table with his knife.

As the tension grew, Podrick slowly moved his arm in front of you and gently pushed you behind him. You were unsure of how he planned to protect you if anything did happen but the gesture made you feel a warmth growing in your belly.

You stood behind Podrick, standing closer to his back as you watched the exchange dwindle out. As Tywin was able to play Tyrion’s justified rage filled outburst as a joke and drunken foolishness.

Tyrion eventually got up and began to walk away with his new bride.

As the two of them walked off, you leaned toward over Podricks shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Not quite a happy union, would you say?”

You then walked past him and out of the feasting hall.

The scene that played out in front of you made you feel sick. How Joffrey's cruelty may lay dormant towards Margery for now it may not forever.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You went for a walk outside. Walking along the stone walls that stand beside the ocean sea. You took in the sounds of the sea, how comforting it was to hear. It reminded you of the Island, how the ocean wrapped around it beautifully. You held yourself tightly as the cold air blew past.

“Are you running away?” Podrick’s voice beckoned uncharacteristically loud, it made you jump. You turned around and saw him standing there, like a scared puppy.

“You scared me!” You clenched your neck,

Podrick walked closer towards you, “I am sorry- are you leaving?” He reiterated his question,

“No, no I’m not.” You relaxed a bit, walking closer to him, “How’d you find me?” You questioned.

“I-I-” He stammered

“Were you following me?” You asked with narrow eyes.

“I wanted to be sure you got to your room safely.” He kept his eyes low

“I can ensure my own safety.” You said, still a little angry how he scared you.

“I know, I know you can, I’m sorry.” He said about to leave you,

“Podrick,” You said as you walked to him, grabbing ahold of his arm, “It’s alright, I’m sorry. I was only frightened.”

“I didn’t want to scare you,” He said as his hand found yours, “I just saw you out here and I-” He stammered again, “I thought you might be leaving.”

“I’m not. I needed to get away for a moment.” You pulled him along, walking along the water. “The water calms me.”

“Reminds you of home?” He asked softly.

You nodded, “I miss it terribly.”

“I’m glad you’re not leaving.” he pulled your arm closer, pulling you closer. “I’m sorry I did not dance with you tonight.” He looked at you, his eyes were deep and loving, it scared you.

“I didn’t ask you to,” You say, looking away from his gaze.

“No but I regret not doing it.”

“You had a duty.” You say lowering your head, before looking back at him “Besides, you still can.”

“Now?” He asked as he stopped walking.

“Why not?” You smiled softly,

“There's no music-” He began as you pulled him closer in front of you, wrapping one of your arms around his neck and the other taking his hand.

“There is, there is the sound of the ocean.” You said as you rested your head on his shoulder. His hand found your waist as you both swayed together. Using the sounds of the waves to keep your rhythm.

“I know nothing of your life.” You said sweet and soft into his ear.

“I told you, I squired for ser-”

“I know that but I don’t know about your life. Before all of that.”

“Not much to say I fear. I mean there is, but it's not interesting.” He stammered slightly as your hand trailed across his back, “I was born in the Westlands. My father died in Greyjoy’s Rebellion, my mother left when I was young. I was taken in by my cousin.”

“Was he kind to you?” You asked sweetly into his ear as you continued to sway back and forth.

“I suppose he gave me shelter. I did things for him, tended his horses, cleaned his mail-”

“You were his squire.”

He couldn’t argue with it, it was true.

“I had a dog, Hero.” His voice was softer than velvet.

“Was he one?”

“No, but he was a good dog.”

“Do you ever miss it? Your home?” You asked as you let go of his hand, wrapping both arms now around his neck.

“No. I didn’t really have one, I mean I did but… I didn’t.”

“You must think I’m silly for wanting to leave mine.” You lifted your head from his shoulder, now having the courage to look him in the eye.

“I wouldn’t think that. But I am curious as to why you did.”

“When you’re on the Island, they believe there is nothing outside of it. Nothing of value or beauty. Life there had become dull, but I miss it. The dull is comfortable.” You said with a sadness in your voice,

“What was it like?” He asked you, wanting to know more about you desperately.

“I’ve told you, cold and dark.” You smirked,

“No, not the Island, your life. What kind of clothes did you wear, what did you do everyday, what kind of foods did you eat, who did you know?” He asked you softly

“Well,” You sighed, “I wore much more than this,” You looked down at your dress. “Furs, leathers, armors,”

“I’d like to see you in that.” He said with a uncharacteristically confident smirk,

“Would you?” You said with a flirtatious smile.

“Mhm” He said, his hand coming up to brush some of your hair behind your ear, “Keep going,”

“What was next?”

“What did I do everyday?” “What did you do everyday?” You asked in unison, making you giggle,

“Mm lets see, riding, archery, and sword trainings. But I grew tired of that quickly, and turned my attention to healing.”

“You’re quite good at it.”

“Thank you,” You smiled, and he nodded at you wanting you to continue with his questions, “Right… Foods were less decadent as the foods here. Hardly ever any fruits. Kidney or liver pie, soup, really anything hot. And as for people, I knew everyone on that Island.”

“Any men?”

“Yes, many men.” You smiled holding back a giggle

“Did you love any of them?” He held you slightly tighter,

“No.” You shook your head, “I had been with men, not many. However none of them I loved, much less did they perform well enough to inspire any interest.”

“Do I do well enough?” He leaned in closer and spoke softly, just in case anyone was around to hear it.

“Very well,” You smiled, “but you already know that.” You said leaning your forehead against his, rubbing your nose against his. When you pulled away you asked softly, “Have you ever loved a woman?”

“No.” He responded quickly

“You’ve been with a woman before though,” You asked with a raised eyebrow

“Yes. But, it was… only.. Physical.” He seemed flustered by the question.

“Other handmaidens?” You teased

It only flustered him more, “No- no, no, they were…”

“Whores?”

“How did you-”

“Rumors spread quickly, though I suppose worse rumors have been told.”

“You do not judge me for it?”

“Every man has done it. Very little of them admit it. Even fewer of them would admit it to a woman, I’d not judge your honesty.” You smiled softly

“I won’t be doing it again.”

“You’d not enjoyed it?”

He shook his head “I wouldn’t anymore.” His eyes became desperate, and filled with longing “I’ve missed being near you.” His voice was lower, and his grip on you tighter. It didn’t feel like lust. It felt like something that scared you terribly.

“Stop that.” You said, almost a plea.

“I don’t believe you see how wonderful you are. I don’t know how you don’t, but you don’t.” His hands went from your waist to your face, cupping your jaw. “When you asked me if I had ever loved a woman. I said no, but that was a lie because the answer was yes and it was now. I love you.” His voice was desperate.

“Stop that I said-“ You said pulling his hands away from your face,

“I can’t, I can’t hold it inside any longer, I love you.” He said as you passed him, almost running away.

Spending so long being used for one thing, it didn’t make sense for someone to love you. And for you to love someone else.

How could you love someone when you were so close to leaving this place. As you walked down the halls, tears in your eyes. You realized you weren’t walking back to your own room but his. You realized that you did love him. And you realized that he loved you. If you were going home once Margery was queen and you’d never see him again. You wanted, no you needed to tell him at least.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

When you walked into his chamber you waited for him. It wasn’t long till he arrived.

Podrick walked into his chamber. He looked like he had cried. A he noticed you and you could see the relief wash over him.

“I thought I scared you off.” You said, breathing a sigh of relief as he approached you.

“It wasn’t you that scared me. But you were right, I am frightened.” You said as you wrapped your arms around him

“Tell me why?” He pleaded as you petted your hair.

“Once Margery is queen, she had promised me that she’d send me home. I was frightened of how much pain I’m going to be in when that happens.” You held his face in your hands, “But I could be content here. If you were with me.” You smiled softly, eyes still glassy from the tears.

“I can’t make you stay somewhere like this if you’ve a chance to leave it. A chance to be somewhere where you’d be treated as you deserve. Where your name has weight. Where you’d have power.” He said softly his eyes filled with a heavy sorrow

“You wouldn’t be making me.” You shook your head.

“(Y/N),” He began

“Stop,.. I admit I find it hard to find the language to describe this. Where I come from we don’t speak of such things. It’s silly and pathetic to us. But I find the urge to tell you this now.” You pleaded, “I’ve not felt this emotion toward another. Ever. It is greater than any ambition or desire I have. It makes me forget the things I miss because I know if I’m without you, I’ll miss you far greater than all that. I believe this to be what they say love is. Tell me, have you felt what you feel for me for anyone other than myself? If you have, say it now, plainly. And I will not burden you-“

Podrick took you by your face and kissed you deeply. Desperately.

He broke your kiss, he held his grasp on your cheeks.

“It’s a feeling that consumes me and my thoughts. I feel it surrounds me whenever I am near you, and I feel it’s absence when I am without you. Like a cold emptiness in my chest. Each night, when I lay alone I think of your face. No, no I have never felt this for another.” He brushed your cheek with his thumb, he looked into your eyes in awe. “This must be that companionship they talk about in songs and books, but it feels like we’re inventing something.” He said, a small smile pulling slightly at the corners of his mouth.

“Do all lovers feel that way?” You asked, breathlessly as you held him close.

“I only care for us, how we feel, how you feel.”

“I miss your lips on mine, kiss me again.” You said into his lips as he kissed you again.

This kiss was desperate, passionate, and loving. His lips were gentle but firm. Your lips left his as they kissed his jaw and his neck. Your hand roamed from his back to shoulder down to his stomach and then to his cock.

Breathlessly Podrick spoke again, “I watched you all night,” He said stifling a moan as you palmed his hardening cock through his breeches.

“Did you?” You whispered into his neck,

“I did,” He moaned softly, “I envied every man who danced with you-”

“Envied?” You whispered into his ear as you kissed and licked at his ear.

“Hated.” He corrected, his voice deeper than it was before.

“You’re the only man I want.” You said, breathlessly as you pulled the ties of his breeches loose

He shook his head, “You’re the only woman I have ever wanted.” He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, you kissed his thumb.

“I want you to feel good.” You said, almost in a moan.

“I feel very good-” He said but was catch off guard by you getting on your knees, he stammered slightly “You don’t have to”

“You don’t want me to?” You asked as you slowly released him from his breeches. You took him in your hand. Admiring just how pretty his cock was. It was girthy enough that you just about couldn’t close your fist around it.

“I- I do but I don’t want you to feel as if you need to.”

“Sweet boy, “ You kissed the head of it making him swallow hard as his cock twitched, “would it change how you think of me if I told you I want to do this.” You asked, looking up at him with doe like eyes.

He shook his head no, and was about to tell you how he would never think of you differently when he let out a moan as you licked up and down his shaft.

He grasped at your hair instinctively but released his grasp almost immediately not wanting to feel like he was forcing you. But his hand stayed on top of your head.

“Beautiful,” He cooed as he petted your hair

You pulled your tongue away from his tip,

“You like it?” you asked sweetly as you took his tip into your mouth.

“Ve-Very m-much” He stammered trying not to moan

You took him out of your mouth once more, “You can tell me,” you said before sinking him into your mouth completely.

“I don’t want to be vulgar to you- mmmm,” He gripped slightly harder onto the crown of your head as you sucked harder, working your tongue so skillfully up and down his shaft “but it’s so good. Gods!” He winced

“(Y/N), please, I need to- to-“ He stammered as he pulled himself out of your mouth. He dropped to his knees and kissed you deeply. “I wasn’t going to last long, I don’t want to finish yet,” He whispered into your mouth.

His mouth moved away from yours to kiss your cheek, and your jaw, then your neck. “I’ll be careful not to bruise you this time, I promise” He said sickeningly sweet.

“I don’t care if you do,” You said as he wrapped an arm around your lower back, he began moving closer and closer to you, slowly pushing you down onto the ground.

You smiled up at him as you laid on the ground. You pulled your skirts up exposing your dampened small clothes. Podrick took your hand, kissed the inside of your wrist, then your palm, then each of your fingers.

“I want you,” You said softly,

He kissed from your hand, to your wrist, down your arm, all the way to your shoulder, til finally he kissed your neck.

“Can I do… something.” He whispered into your neck, you nodded back in return.

He pulled your small clothes off, and kissed your inner thighs gently. “If we were wed,” He kissed your other thighs' delicate inner skin, “I’d never let them perform the bedding ceremony.” He bit your inner thigh delicately making you whimper and squirm, “I’d never let any man handle you that way.” He said into your weeping cunt, the vibration of his voice made you mewl. He began by simply kissing your clit. One of his hands ran up and down your inner thigh, while the other he used to run his thumb up and down your aching slit.

“More, please..” You mewled,

“Whatever you wish,” He said before he pushed a finger into your weeping core as he began to suck on your clit. You arched your back at the sensation, your eyes went to the back of your head as you whimpered out his name.

Then he pushed in a second finger, and curled his fingers upwards into that sweet spot in your cunt. Pulsing his two fingers against it, again and again. It made you moan out, “Podri-Mphm!” you curled your toes and gripped his hair tightly, making him moan into your cunt, the vibration against your clit only making the pleasure that more intense. “Aaawh!” You practically cried out.

You could believe someone would refuse payment for this.

You couldn’t help but buck and grind against his face, which he didn’t seem to mind telling by the way he moaned into your cunt.

But you didn’t want to come undone on his fingers and tongue, you wanted more, needed more.

“Podrick,” You said softly, and he immediately halted his actions and looked up at you.

Those big brown puppy eyes, so sweet and loving. You petted the top of his head, rubbing your thumb against his temple a few times. “I need you, all of you.”

He arose from between your thighs. Panting, and immediately pulling you into a kiss. You could taste the sweetness, the bitterness, the saltiness, it was intoxicating, and it was you.

“You taste so good, so good,” He whispered into your lips as he positioned his aching cock against your soaking entrance.

“I love you,” He said, and before you could say it back he was sliding inside of you, you moaned loudly and clenched around him making him bury his face into your neck and moan out your name so desperately.

You gripped at his back. With his face in your neck, you kissed into his ear between your own desperate moans. As he pumped himself in and out of you, his hand found your face, cupping your cheeks and looking into your eyes with awe and wonder. Love.

“Do- Mmmphm! Do I fe-feel good enough?” You asked breathlessly between moans. It made him smile and thrust even harder into you,

“Very,” He thrusted harder, “Very,” and harder, “Very” and harder again, “Very good.”

As his thrusts continued, faster, and harder, he trailed down your body and to your cunt again. Circling your clit, he somehow always knew just how much pressure to apply. You felt yourself tightening, and so could he.

You thrusted against him, the lewd sounds of your bodies colliding mixed with the sounds of your shared moans filled the room.

As you felt your peak reaching you grabbed ahold of his throat, tightening your grip only slightly. Enough for him to feel the pleasure of it.

“I want it this time, I want it in me.” You whimpered against his lips as you held him by his throat,

He nodded frantically in return as his thrusts became more and more erratic and you clenched down on his cock more and more. The heat is tightening in your stomach more and more.

Soon you finally felt his hot seed spill inside of you, you felt the heat spread inside of you. It was too much for you and you came alongside him.

He stayed in you for a moment. You both held one another panting, sometimes kissing one another before he pulled out of you.

Still panting he laid beside you, on the floor of your chamber, still in your disheveled clothing, your fingers entwined.

You looked over at him, still trying to catch your breath, “How did you get so good at that?” you asked softly.

“I hoped for so long I would find someone I loved. I imagined it all, countless times.” He looked over to you, “Waiting for you.”

“You dreamt of it?” You asked in a whisper,

“No, I thought of you.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE:

If anyone gets the Portrait of a lady on fire reference I will kiss you on the mouth.

BELOVED TAGS:

@ryn-away @boojaynaqueen @holierthancunt @symonedoesart

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llonelygoddess · 1 year ago

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Ned Stark wife headcannons ❤️👀

Being Ned Starks wife

A/N: Thank you for the request!! I'm always so excited to get these<3 I also added what I thought would be a cute wedding dress! Feel free to send more requests!

Marrying Ned after Catelyn's death was not easy and you knew this coming into the relationship. Your father was close friends with Ned, so to help stave off unwanted advances from other houses he offered you.

You knew Ned didn't love you, that this was solely a political move to strengthen both your houses, but you refused to let that get to you. This was your life now and you'd do your duties to the best of your ability.

The first few months after the wedding Ned requested that you slept in separate rooms and you respected his decision. It gave you time to settle into the home but left you quite lonely.

You found yourself watching over the younger children. Rickon, being too young to really know his mother, latches onto you quickly as well as Bran. While Bran knew his mother, he confided in you that they never got to spend time with her the way you were able to. This told you all you needed to know to take care of these kids and hopefully make your husband happy.

In the mornings before breakfast, you made it a habit to greet Ned and wish him well on his daily activities. With Rickon on your hip, you and Bran would spend time reading in the library until the older boys came to train with him. Watching them shoot arrows and spar together was exciting, and more than once you found yourself cheering them on.

You didn’t see it but soon the boys started competing to see who could get you to cheer for them.

Some days you'd sit in on Sansa and Arya's stitching lessons and honestly you could use the lessons as well. Showing off your horrendous stitches made both of the girls laugh and feel better about their own. Sansa felt a sense of pride whenever you complimented her stitching and once gifted you a beautiful flower bouquet she made.

Arya, of course, felt that once again she was being looked over for her sister. You could easily spot the hurt within her and went out of your way to compliment her on the things she was good at even if they weren't "proper".

One day, she sneaks off to the training area and tries shooting arrows. You discover her and instead of calling her back inside you decide to assist her with the little knowledge you’ve picked up from the boys. The first time she gets a bullseye she runs up to you giving you a tight hug. You both hear clapping in the distance and notice Ned standing off to the side with a brilliant smile on his face.

That night Ned asks you to his room for the first time since your wedding night. It caught you off guard but you gathered yourself and made your way over. It started off innocent with the both of you laughing and sharing stories about the kids. Then the discussion of your wedding night comes up, and how it was never truly consummated (because he’s a gentleman and didn’t want to pressure you). A glass of wine later and you both find yourselves under the sheets entangled in each other.

From that day forward you started sleeping in his room together.

The way this man can balance all his responsibilities and still be doting and loving is crazy.

Life with Ned is peaceful. He wakes you up in the morning with a kiss on the cheek, and prefers you to call him Ned in private. It wasn’t often you both had alone time but when you did it was spent reading to each other or talking about the day you had. He loved watching you with the kids, especially the younger ones.

On more than one occasion he’s had to break up a disagreement between the kids only to find out it’s about who can spend more time with you.

He couldn't help but smile at the small piece of happiness he's created with you here.

#ned stark x reader #ned stark #eddard stark #ned stark headcanons #game of thrones #got #game of thrones headccanons #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones preferences #got headcanons #got x reader #got fanfiction

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nobodysuspectsthebutterfly · 3 months ago

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Hi, I was wondering if you could answer a question I had about how much authority a lord has over his extended family members. Like if a lord wants to marry off one of his brother’s daughters, can he do so even if his brother refuses to agree? Who holds the most authority in a situation like that? Does it change depending on the status of the lord in question- like if he was a king, lord paramount or someone from a great house rather than a more typical lord?

Again re feudalism, a lord has as much authority as his vassals allow him, and vassals include family members. (And "allow" includes what they feel they must do per traditions and societal pressures.) Look at how Hoster Tully tried to marry off his brother Brynden to Bethany Redwyne. Brynden refused, and though this pissed off Hoster and strained his relationship with his brother, that's how he left it. A more cruel lord, who loved his brother less and his status more, might use more pressure to get his way. Lords are not bound by any law or custom to support their family members, so in the case you mention, that lord might then tell his brother "fine, then, you and your daughters have to leave". And faced with having to make his own way in the world while supporting his girls, the brother might bow his head and submit. Or maybe he would decide to be a hedge knight after all, or maybe he'd have in-laws he could look to for support, it all depends.

Though again re feudalism (because the feudal contract goes both ways), theoretically this brother could try to go over his lord brother's head and appeal to their overlord. See for example Lord Wyman Webber, who when faced with a daughter, Rohanne, who refused to marry per his command, instead wrote a will that said she had to marry within two years of his death or the lordship and the castle of Coldmoat would go to her cousin instead. It was asked within the story, couldn't Lady Rohanne appeal to her overlord, Lord Rowan, and have him override the will? Well, she tried, but that Webber cousin just happened to be married to Lord Rowan's sister, and so he upheld the will. But maybe in a different situation something could be done -- perhaps the overlord is known to be particularly noble, or perhaps this pressured brother has a connection to the overlord (maybe via his wife, maybe they were companions in battle or as squires). But still, the brother would have to take his daughter with him during this appeal, or he might return to find out she's been married off in his absence.

And as for the girl herself, could she not refuse? Even if she's underage, isn't it true, as Sansa thinks, "Not even the High Septon himself could declare a woman married if she refused to say the vows"? Well, we have Sansa's own example, where when she was faced with marrying Tyrion, Cersei told her she could be dragged to the altar and make a spectacle to be laughed at but they'd still make her do it anyway... and so Sansa submitted and said the vows. See also how Randyll Tarly forced his son Sam to join the Night's Watch. Sam didn't have to submit, there is no law saying he had to obey, but his father threatened to kill him if he didn't, and due to Sam's experience with his father's abuse (and what that abuse did to his personality), he fully believed him. Someone once asked me if an overlord could help there (though weirdly they mentioned Stannis, who wouldn't be able to do anything even if he wanted to), and the point I had to explain was that Sam was so beaten down by the abuse he never would have even considered going over his father's head, even if he could have somehow escaped his father's guards on the way north.

So with these examples, you can see where the status of the lord in question may change things -- a king, for example, has no overlords to appeal to. A lord paramount's brother could only appeal to the king. This status also changes what pressure the lord can bring to bear -- a very small lord may only have a sworn sword to threaten his brother with, a bigger lord could have a whole garrison, and the king would have not just the Kingsguard and the castle guard and the city guard but theoretically every lord and soldier in the country to use as pressure. Again, feudalism works both ways.

And generally none of this is even stated aloud. Everybody just knows the answer to "you and what army?" and so even family members understand what their lord pressuring them means. (Girls particularly innately understand this, along with patriarchal pressure; like Roslin Frey had no real choice at the Red Wedding but to obey her father, brothers, uncles, and cousins.) So, like so many things in ASOIAF's medieval-inspired era, the personal is the political. Only the personalities of the people involved, and their means of pressure or access routes to escape, are what truly defines what can happen in cases like this.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #westeros laws and customs #feudalism #marriage #hoster tully #brynden tully #wyman webber #rohanne webber #sansa stark #samwell tarly #roslin frey #valyrianscrolls

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melrosing · 29 days ago

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I really want sansa to meet brienne to see what she thinks of her. both bc she’ll meet the “true knight” she’s been praying for :’) and also bc brienne will challenge her views of women’s role in society. but what do you think brienne would think of sansa ?

yes i'm really looking forward to it too! I think I wrote something about this a couple years ago but their stories click together in such a sweet way.

Sansa entered the world thinking that beauty = virtue, and received such a harsh awakening that she's unsure whether there is any goodness left in the world. and Brienne has likewise insisted to herself that there is, and yet finds it's not always enough to defeat the horror of it all. I think in TWOW she's going to find herself in a similar position to a young Jaime, feeling somewhat nihilistic. I like the idea that their oath to Catelyn ultimately saves both Jaime and Brienne from this outlook - they both mean to see it fulfilled, no matter how bad things get.

so Sansa and Brienne kind of find each other at precisely the right time. Sansa is falling deeper into Littlefinger's machinations and losing sight of who she is, in the midst of all he wants her to be. life isn't so much a song anymore, but something more cynical. meanwhile Brienne is finding that the world is so much darker that she'd believed, and that good intentions aren't enough to save it.

but i think they can save each other in a way that noone else really could! where Brienne and Sansa have reminded Jaime and Sandor respectively that true knighthood exists, they're now at a point where they can remind one another of that.

Sansa will see again that true knighthood doesn't look as she once thought it did, but that it nonetheless exists. I think that through getting to know Brienne, she might also feel closer to Arya, realising that the differences between them aren't so great a chasm. Brienne's chafing with society might remind her of her sister too, and help her consider a different perspective so that there's a new openness when they meet again. and also I really really want Brienne to be able to tell Sansa how much Catelyn was thinking of her and how badly she wanted to be reunited.... like Sansa hasn't received any true empathy for the loss of her mother, and now here's Brienne who has mourned Cat herself and can offer true comfort to Sansa.... i cry

and then for Brienne's part, I really want Bri to have the satisfaction of knowing that she's fulfilling her oath to Cat, that she wasn't a fool to believe she could, and that in so doing she's found a girl who, though outwardly very different, is a lot like Bri herself. they both love songs and knights and want to believe the world is kind, and they can prove to each other that it is. and also Brienne has often experienced contempt from other girls and women (Cat was one of the few who didn't treat her with such), so I think it'll be nice for her to have a meaningful relationship with a new female character, and to feel accepted and respected by that person. idk I just feel like Sansa represents so much closure for Brienne and that they can really fortify each other.

that said I do think they'll initially be very confused and sceptical of each other lol, like Sansa is in disguise and has had to ally herself closely to Littlefinger, so she's going to struggle to open up to a stranger, much less go off with them. and Bri's going to wonder who the hell Alayne Stone is and also... apparently she's fine here in the Vale? i imagine lots of miscommunication where maybe Brienne has come all this way only for Sansa to be like... you can leave I have this under control.

but Brienne knows who Shadrich is so I imagine she can prove herself to Sansa by taking him out in some kind of mini boss, and then we know that GRRM's notes for AFFC said that Sansa will resolve at the end of her Vale arc to be Sansa Stark, and take the North. so can imagine Brienne helping her to return home, and secure Winterfell. the North will have lost the figurehead they'd believed to be Arya (but who was ofc Jeyne), who had kind of rallied them together... and I think Sansa's return will be where they find a new one out of left field. the kid they considered lost to the south, but who is returning north, maybe with the might of the Vale to help secure it once more. idk.

in any case, I've believed that Brienne and Jaime holding the two halves of Ice represent the fact that they will be helping to secure Winterfell again, and the futures of the Stark children. have said before that I do not see Brienne as a perpetual bodyguard for any Stark kid, but restoring them is a big part of her role for the remaining two books imo. I'd really like to see her meet Arya as well, I think the two will have really great rapport.

anyway that was a long answer but yeah in short. im excited about them.

#ask #brienne of tarth #sansa stark #asoiaf

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eruherdiriel · 2 months ago

Text

Not all tears are an evil

Jonsa ficlet Rating: T Universe: Post-canon, bookverse Other: Fluff and a bit of sadness, Jon POV, King Jon

Also on AO3.

“Why are you crying?” Jon asks.

Sansa is standing by the window of their bedchamber, wrapped in a large fur despite the warmth of the room. Outside, the sun has risen on what might be one of the final summer days before autumn. It has been a good season, bountiful and warmer than Jon remembers summer being when he was a boy.

“I am not,” she lies.

The truth is in the thickness of her voice. Jon hadn’t noticed the signs at first, when he opened his eyes to find her gone from their bed and then rolled over to see her by the window. There was no shake of her shoulders or sounds of weeping coming from her, not until she sniffled. That is when he knew.

Tucking his legs up and settling his feet on the floor, Jon reaches for his sleep shirt and pulls it on over his head so he is not entirely bare when he crosses the room. When he reaches his wife, he wraps his arms around her, her back against his chest, and presses his cheek to the side of her head.

He wants to ask again what upset her. She was coy but elated last night, when she told him of the babe, and then eager in their lovemaking when he did not know how else to properly convey his own happiness.

Did he miss some sign of her distress earlier, or did the feeling come after? He wants to ask.

Instead, he waits.

“I was thinking about how my mother is not here to tell me what it is like,” Sansa says finally. “Having a child, being a mother. And your mother is not here either.”

“There are plenty of women at Winterfell who have had children. And Maester—”

“It’s not the same.”

It is not. He knows it, but he cannot take this reality from her, from both of them.

One of his hands drops lower from where Jon has his arms wrapped around her, and he splays his fingers across her belly, feeling what is not fully there yet.

“I wish they were here,” Sansa says. Fresh tears have sprung from her eyes, and desperation coats her voice. “All of them. Everyone we have lost.”

“As do I,” he murmurs into her hairline.

She twists in his arms until they are facing each other, then presses her forehead to his. She is so close that he can smell the salt of her tears.

“I feel torn in two. I have you and now this child, but so many we loved are dead. It has been years, but it still hurts, and … those wounds may never heal. Every moment of joy will be tinged with loss, won’t it?”

Yes, he thinks, but Jon wants to say something more, something comforting. “At least it will be a shared grief. You do not have to endure it alone.”

This has happened before, he realizes. The day of their wedding, she had cried as they said their vows beneath the heart tree, and when Jon asked what was wrong, she said they were happy tears. He wonders now if the truth was more complicated, that despite their love for each other, she did not know or trust him well enough to speak the whole truth back then.

“I should be happy,” Sansa insists.

Jon lifts his arms so he can take her head in his hands, then leans back slightly so they may see each other better. “It is not wrong to feel sorrow. Or to feel two things at once.”

His own life has always been full of contradictions, so perhaps he is more accustomed to the feeling than his wife is. Highborn, but a bastard. Loyal to his brother and the Starks, but jealous that Robb was to become Lord of Winterfell and then was raised up as King in the North. And when Jon found out who his parents were, it stole from him Ned Stark as his father and Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon as his siblings. But it gave him Sansa as a cousin, then as his love, and finally as his wife.

Two things can be true. Joy and sorrow take flight together.

“You do not find my tears frivolous and weak?”

“Never,” he says, almost too sharply. “They speak to what we have lost. What you survived but did not let steal your tenderheartedness. Whether happy or sad, your tears are your strength, Sansa.”

A small laugh leaves her, then she leans closer and nudges his nose with hers. “You say the most beautiful things sometimes.”

At his look of surprise, she sighs and adds, “You don’t even realize when you are saying something sweet to me, do you?”

Whenever he tries, the words come out wrong, ungainly and inelegant. And while he was attempting to reassure her now, he was not trying to be romantic or sweet, yet that seems to have been what she heard.

“The other day, Arya told me you and I were perfect for each other because we are both romantics.”

Jon scoffs. “She did not.”

It has been three years since they wed, but Arya can still barely look at Jon and Sansa when they are at all affectionate with one another. She keeps a neutral face in public, savvy enough to understand that any derision toward their marriage could be disruptive to Jon’s rule, but as a family, she lets her true feelings be known. It is almost a joke now, and he wonders if that is part of why she keeps up her exaggerated gags, rolled eyes, and disgusted faces.

“She did. And she called us dramatic. The dramatic romantics.”

“That sounds more like her.”

Sansa smiles for a moment, then the edges of her mouth tip down again. “I wish you could have known your mother. She would be so proud of you, Jon. I never meant to suggest that my loss is greater, or that I think about it more.”

“I never thought you did.”

“Whatever we are, whatever we feel, we’ll do it together?”

“Always. Happy, sad, or both,” he promises. “Now come back to bed.”

Her head turns back to the window where the sun stretches over the castle walls, telling the time. “It’s late. We both have much to attend to today, my king.”

“As we do every day. Duty can wait for once, Sansa.”

She looks back at him with a lifted brow. “Can it?”

“Aye.”

Bending at the knee, he scoops one arm under her legs and the other around her back, causing his sweet wife to gasp in surprise. Her hands grab at him, and the fur around her shoulders slips, revealing more of her pale skin.

“Why bother being a bloody king if I cannot decide how to pass my days every once in a while?” Jon says as he carries her to the bed.

“That’s precisely why you are a good king! Sacrifice … being selfless … putting the people’s needs above your own desires.”

He frowns as he sets her on the featherbed. The fur falls all the way open. “A king must bring stability to his realm. Heirs are one part of creating that stability, and you are newly with child, my lady. Ensuring your health and happiness is critical.”

His queen is laid bare before him, but it is her eyes he cannot look away from as he braces himself above her—the deep blue of her irises even more pronounced by the red lines that run through the whites of her eyes, evidence of her earlier tears. “You might even say that it is my duty to the people to spend the day with you.”

She shakes her head and laughs, but when he kisses her, she kisses back, all her protestations gone.

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

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atopvisenyashill · 3 months ago

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What are your thoughts on GRRM’s new notablog post on HOTD S2?

omg i'm sorry so i did not get notified that i had a few new asks, i didn't even see this until i logged in on desktop. tumblr eat shit smh.

ANYWAYS.

I actually agree with Xiran Jay Zhao, here, where they said this was a warning shot. It feels like a warning shot. Like a "hey I'm being nitpicky and pedantic now but if you think I won't go scroched earth you got another thing coming." I've seen so much "this is unprofessional" "this is annoying" "why is he complaining" and I think it is not only mind boggling to side with a corporation and the idiots running these shows (and we know I mostly like Condal and Hess, but come on Condal was the mastermind of Sansa Bolton why are we defending him right now!!), I think everyone is blowing his comments wildly out of proportion. He didn't take a dig at anyone but the writer's room and more specifically Ryan Condal, who he has had a working relationship with for well over a decade. He didn't shittalk any casting, he didn't shittalk any specific writers or directors except one of the main showrunners, he compliments the special effects, he has consistently had (and imo is careful) nothing but praise for the actors, even minor roles like Blood & Cheese. This was an incredibly milqtoast "please remember that every change has huge affects on the narrative later" critique and the people handwringing over his behavior are absolute losers, I'm sorry.

And beyond the fact that he didn't make any huge digs, I think this conversation also wildly ignores the way authors have no control over their own characters once they sign the rights over. They can be completely bamboozled by changes and they have no recourse to go "what the hell are you doing." And yet, signing your book's rights away (even if the production sits in developmental hell for decades) is usually what nets these author's the most money - GRRM surely makes a shitton off his books, but most authors get paid absolutely nothing even when they're wildly popular because of how book deals work now. Take, again, Xiran for example - Iron Widow was a huge runaway hit, a good and fresh take on this new boom of culturally based sff. And yet Xiran has talked about how they immediately set to work writing a middle grade novel because they desperately needed the money because they got paid 16k over two years for their runaway hit that made their publishers significantly more than 16k. I think George is not only mad for authors with less control than he has but also, obviously, for himself - I've said time and again, but I do think Dark Daenerys is where we are headed, and the fact that they completely botched showing it has got to smart. And if the ending for Dany is anything other than Jon killing her, that has got to smart too. So he watched these people fuck up his original series and push him completely out of that writer's room as they made more and more changes, and now he's watching s2 of HOTD and seeing some changes and getting some real bad vibes. It's not doomerism to think s3 is going to go massively off the rails when we have seasons 6-8 of the main show to show us just how off the rails it can go!

So anyways, that part of my rant over (and please believe me when I say I checked myself here because I could rant for hours about how it's genuinely so upsetting to see people call him unprofessional over this when not only did he write the fucking series, but he's lived in this series for three decades!!!!! this is his whole life, this is his legacy, of course he's feeling some type of way about how it's handled jesus christ on a cracker, there's people who have said worse about their mediocre nyt pushed bestsellers getting adapted badly!), when it comes to the actual meat of his post....I'm sorry idk how anyone is annoyed by this post because it was hilarious to me. He spent a whole blog post whinging about how Dead Baby #4 and Kingsguard Man #12 are gonna get cut out of the show. I think he framed it in that goofy way on purpose to hide how annoyed he is but you can see where the real annoyance lies - the changes to Helaena, losing one of his grisly death scenes, and being willfully mislead about potential changes to the plot. I think a lot of people missed those points but EYE am not a goofy ass like those people and I can guarantee you that Condal and HBO got the point too.

Of course, I do think he is also irked about Maelor and Ser Rickard's scenes being cut out. He wrote a long ass, highly meticulous, near unadaptable work, and I think when he handed the IP over he assumed he was giving it to people who would rise to the challenge and only make cuts when absolutely necessary. And that just clearly hasn't happened. Incredibly important characters get cut, main characters get their plots wildly changed for no reason, and people get personality transplants on a near constant basis for no other reason than D&D and Condal thought it would look cooler. I think if there was more dedication to keeping him in the loop and keeping true to the story, he wouldn't have bitched so much. But Hess is on record saying she doesn't feel loyal to the story and at a certain point, you reach your breaking point there and I think he has finally reached his. AND GOOD FOR HIM. LET THAT OLD MAN GO APESHIT THEY'VE COMPLETLEY FUCKED HIS WORLD UP!!!

#asks #grrm #anti D&D #anti ryan condal #anti hotd #like saying this as someone who liked the first season and thought the blacks part of this season was good #he is right to be mad and i can't believe i've seen so many people get angry over this #i would be so much more annoying if i was him

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agentrouka-blog · 3 months ago

Note

"There was hunger in his(Tyrion) green eye, it seemed to her, and fury in the black. Sansa did not know which scared her more."- Sansa(ASOS).

"He wanted something from her, but Sansa did not know what it was. He looks like a starving child, but I have no food to give him."- Sansa(ASOS).

Sansa compared Tyrion lust for her with him hungry for food.

"The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard." - Jon(ADWD)

"He have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it."- Jon(ASOS).

In first quote Jon was thinking about food supply from Vale and in later he was thinking about he wanted to become lord of WF and have a family but feels guilty.

Do you think it's about Jonsa?

Great obervation, please-dot! <3

There's another language parallel involving Tyrion and Sansa and Winterfell that mirrors Jon's thoughts in Winterfell.

I want her, he realized. I want Winterfell, yes, but I want her as well, child or woman or whatever she is. I want to comfort her. I want to hear her laugh. I want her to come to me willingly, to bring me her joys and her sorrows and her lust. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. Yes, and I want to be tall as Jaime and as strong as Ser Gregor the Mountain too, for all the bloody good it does. (ASOS, Tyrion IV)

It compares well with the quote you used above.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . . he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought. (ASOS, Jon XII)

When Tyrion and Sansa do eat together, the food is distasteful, or their appetites incompatible.

Another thematic link would be Sansa refusing the offer of a pomegranate from Littlefinger, where the Hades-Persephone symbolism underlines her rejection of him. The closest he gets to her appetite is the giant lemon cake model of the Eyrie served up at the feast for the upcoming tourney, and yet her thoughts revolve around Harry and she is never seen eating of it.

Jon's relationship with food also turns impersonal. What meals he has aren't joyful, they even congeal uneaten. Long forgotten are the days of sweet summerwine and honeyed chicken, or the celebratory meals taken with his new black brothers. Everything revolves around food but Jon becomes divorced from the joy of eating.

Catelyn voices that connection very well.

I am become a sour woman, Catelyn thought. I take no joy in mead nor meat, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once. (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

The connection to the food stores of the Eyrie becomes doubly interesting in that context. GRRM specifically phrased it as feeding Jon himself.

I strongly suspect that when Jon and Sansa meet again, food will take on as symbolic a role as gifts of clothing or mutual offers of protection. There's a very unnecessary, almost random paragraph during Joffrey's wedding that has never left my mind:

And there was one woman, sitting almost at the foot of the third table on the left . . . the wife of one of the Fossoways, he thought, and heavy with his child. Her delicate beauty was in no way diminished by her belly, nor was her pleasure in the food and frolics. Tyrion watched as her husband fed her morsels off his plate. They drank from the same cup, and would kiss often and unpredictably. Whenever they did, his hand would gently rest upon her stomach, a tender and protective gesture. (ASOS, Tyrion VIII)

It's one of the sweetest interactions of any couple depicted in the series, and it revolves around the simple worldly pleasures of food and drink, affection and new life. They eat together, joyfully. The contrast to Tyrion's empty hunger, and to the stilted tension surrounding food that has crept into so many abusive relationships is evident.

So, yes, I think that repeated imagery is very intentional and will return when it is time to feast, metaphorically.

#jonsa #food symbolism #jon snow #sansa stark #anti tyrion lannister #littlefinger

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julibf · 28 days ago

Text

JON WAS PROMISED TO SANSA

So, one of my favorite theories that I have seen floating sometimes is that Jon Snow is actually The prince that was promised to Sansa. The idea is that Lyanna not only asked Ned Stark to protect Jon, but also, asked him to marry his first born daughter to her son, in order to fulfil an important prophecy and that the breaking of this promised is what led for all this pain and sorrow to fall onto House Stark. This would parallel the pact made by Doran Martell promising his older daughter to Viserys Targaryen, both men made promises to marry their daughters to Targaryen princes, yet both failed to fulfill their promises.

What if Jon and Sansa had been betrothed all their lives since their birth? What if this union is very important for the future of Westeros and the Gods are making everything possible for them to be together? This would be a big twist in the end of the story, because the reader usually associates Ned Stark with someone who takes oaths very seriously, yet, having the hero of the story breaking an oath and disgracing himself its kind the story that George likes to write. In A GAME OF THRONES there is a lot of hints that Ned actually broke his promise to Lyanna.

********************** He slept and woke and slept again. He did not know which was more painful, the waking or the sleeping. When he slept, he dreamed: dark disturbing dreams of blood and broken promises. When he woke, there was nothing to do but think, and his waking thoughts were worse than nightmares. (A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV) **************************

Ned keeps on dreaming about broken promises…….

*************************** The thought of Jon filled Ned with a sense of shame, and a sorrow too deep for words. If only he could see the boy again, sit and talk with him … pain shot through his broken leg, beneath the filthy grey plaster of his cast. (A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV) *****************************

In his lasts moments Ned is thinking of Jon and the memories of him bring immense shame and sorrow. Remember, not only he never told Jon about his mother, he also allowed the boy to join the Nights Watch without ever explain to him how truly terrible that place was. I am certain now that Ned Stark broke a very serious promise to his sister…

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The mention of dreams reminded him. "I dreamed about the crow again last night. The one with three eyes. He flew into my bedchamber and told me to come with him, so I did. We went down to the crypts. Father was there, and we talked. He was sad." "And why was that?" Luwin peered through his tube. "It was something to do about Jon, I think." The dream had been deeply disturbing, more so than any of the other crow dreams. "Hodor won't go down into the crypts."(A Game of Thrones - Bran VII) ************************************

Again, what Ned had to say to Jon was so important that he came back from the death just to tell Bran. I believe that Bran will finally remember about this dream in the last volume of the books, “A dream of Spring”. One of my favorite moments in A CLASH OF KINGS, is the red comet that crosses the sky during the entire opening of the story. In Sansa’s first chapter she asks one of the knights of the kingsguard what does he thinks the comet purpose. Several Jonsas writers have made metas over this idea.

**************************** The morning of King Joffrey's name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. "What do you think it means?" she asked him. "Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet." Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail." "King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies." (A Clash of Kings - Sansa I)

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We know that Jon is the Dragon Heir, since he is the son of Rhaegar, so what if the comet was meant to him???? There are some other hints too, that looked like foreshadowing in my mind…........

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He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?" "You may not. It is promised to...another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone. (The Winds of Winter - Alayne I)

People may think that I am crazy but if you re read the books all over again, paying attention to a small detail, you may start believing this theory too. As I was reading the books again, I started noticing that every single time Sansa’s receives a marriage proposal, the next chapter that follows is a JON SNOW chapter. Isn’t that interesting???? So let me show you.

Right from the beginning we have King Robert arriving at Winterfell and visiting Lyanna Stark tomb in the crypts, there he offers a marriage alliance between House Baratheon and House Stark, with the marriage of Sansa and his son Joffrey Baratheon. This is the only chapter that Sansa will receive a marriage proposal not directly, in this chapter is Ned Stark that receives the proposal since Sansa is only 11 years old in the beginning of the story and her father is her guardian, after that, since Sansa will lose her parents and protectors, the proposals will happen directly to her.

A GAME OF THRONES CHAPTER 4 AND 5

Chapter 4, Eddard I

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"Come south with me, and I'll teach you how to laugh again," the king promised. "You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done." This offer did surprise him. "Sansa is only eleven." Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years." The king smiled. "Now stand up and say yes, curse you." "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace," Ned answered. He hesitated. "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife …""Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." The king reached down, clasped Ned by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."…… For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming. (A Game of Thrones, Eddard I)

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What if the dead were watching Ned break his promise made to his sister and are sensing the Doom of House Stark?? This proposal is immediately followed by Jon Snow first chapter in the books.

Followed by JON I

BTW, in this chapter we have Jon getting completely drunk in the feast. Word in the castle have traveled and everyone knows Sansa has been betrothed to Joffrey. I always assumed that Jon was so upset in the feast, not because he was seating far way from the rest of the family, but because he heard of the news of the betrothal between Sansa and Prince Joffrey.

********************************** He had sated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance. The procession had passed not a foot from the place he had been given on the bench, and Jon had gotten a good long look at them all…… His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall. ***********************************

Jon is jealous, again, in a first glance we may think that he is jealous because he is a bastard and can not be part of such important ceremony, but what if he is jealous because he can not be sited right next to Sansa??? A few moments later, Benjen Stark comes to talk to Jon and that’s when Jon ask Benjen to go to the wall and take the Black…

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTERS 6 AND 7

Now those two chapters are quite interesting, because both are surrounded by SONGS, in Sansa’s chapters, we have the singer singing THE BEAR AND THE MAIDEN FAIR while Sansa is being introduced to the leader of House Tyrell, Lady Olenna also know as the QUEEN OF THORNS, while in Jon’s chapters, we have a singer playing The Dornishman's Wife while Jon is introduced to the leader of the Freefolk, Mance Rayder THE KING BEYOND THE WALL (who just happens to be the singer) Sansa is taken to meet the Tyrells by Ser Loras, someone she clearly desires, Jon is taken by Ygritte, someone who desires him. In both chapters Jon and Sansa are asked to tell the truth and their lives are in danger, Sansa feels like if she tells the truth and the information falls into the Lannisters ears she could be punished and killed and Jon knows that if Mance doesn’t believe what he says, his life is at risk. Sansa tells the truth, Jon lies.

In the end of this chapter Sansa receives a marriage proposal by the Tyrells, while on Jon chapter, Bael the Bard is mentioned in relation to Jon’s sisters. Once again, by the end of the chapter Sansa will receive a marriage proposal followed by a Jon Snow chapter.

The song THE BEAR AND THE MAIDEN FAIR, You may as well wonder where this song comes from, and it seems that Ser Duncan The Tall first heard this song at the Ashford Tourney (yes, that same Tourney that foreshadows the marriage between Sansa and a Targaryen prince)

Sansa I

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"The old woman turned back to Sansa. "Are you frightened, child? No need for that, we're only women here. Tell me the truth, no harm will come to you." "My father always told the truth." Sansa spoke quietly, but even so, it was hard to get the words out. "Lord Eddard, yes, he had that reputation, but they named him traitor and took his head off even so." The old woman's eyes bore into her, sharp and bright as the points of swords.

"Joffrey," Sansa said. "Joffrey did that. He promised me he would be merciful, and cut my father's head off. He said that was mercy, and he took me up on the walls and made me look at it. The head. He wanted me to weep, but . . ." She stopped abruptly, and covered her mouth. I've said too much, oh gods be good, they'll know, they'll hear, someone will tell on me.

That’s when Lady Olenna calls for a Song to cover up the conversation between them and finally makes their proposal.

Next chapter of the book is JON I

In this chapter Jon is brought before Mance Rayder, since Rattleshirt doesn’t trust him. In the King’s tent, Jon mistakes Styr for Mance Rayder. But it is the gray-haired man playing the lute who is the King-Beyond-the-Wall. Rattleshirt reveals his misgivings about Jon to the king, but Mance wishes to speak with Jon alone.

The tent was hot and smoky. Baskets of burning peat stood in all four corners, filling the air with a dim reddish light. More skins carpeted the ground. Jon felt utterly alone as he stood there in his blacks, awaiting the pleasure of the turncloak who called himself King-beyond-the-Wall. When his eyes had adjusted to the smoky red gloom, he saw six people, none of whom paid him any mind. A dark young man and a pretty blonde woman were sharing a horn of mead. A pregnant woman stood over a brazier cooking a brace of hens, while a grey-haired man in a tattered cloak of black and red sat crosslegged on a pillow, playing a lute and singing: The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun, and her kisses were warmer than spring. But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing.

If the show is correct, Jon is Dornish, since he was born in the Tower of Joy and if he marries Sansa she would literally be the Dornishman’s wife. I also like how the song compares the woman to the sun, which brings back to Jon thinking of Sansa as radiant. Jon blade, Longclaw is black since it's made of Valyrian steel and it was with a kiss that Jon killed Daenerys in the end. So this little song its foreshadowing pretty much the end of the story.

While Jon and Mance continue to talk, the King beyond the wall tells Jon that he remembers him from his visits of Winterfell, he tells Jon that he was also present at the Feast for King Robert that happened at the beginning of the novel, that’s when Jon mentions Bael the Bard back to Jon Snow story!!!

" The night your father feasted Robert, I sat in the back of his hall on a bench with the other freeriders, listening to Orland of Oldtown play the high harp and sing of dead kings beneath the sea. I betook of your lord father's meat and mead, had a look at Kingslayer and Imp . . . and made passing note of Lord Eddard's children and the wolf pups that ran at their heels." "Bael the Bard," said Jon, remembering the tale that Ygritte had told him in the Frostfangs, the night he'd almost killed her. "Would that I were. I will not deny that Bael's exploit inspired mine own . . . but I did not steal either of your sisters that I recall. Bael wrote his own songs, and lived them. I only sing the songs that better men have made. More mead?"

NOW LOOK AT THAT!!!!

Now this is the first time in the story, that the idea of one of the Stark sisters be stolen by a freefolk is introduced. Not only George brings back Bael to Jon’s chapter, he starts to associate the story with Jon’s sisters. Based on the end of the tv show, Jon will be the King beyond the Wall, and Sansa will be the last Stark woman in Winterfell.

"He gestured at the board between them, the broken bread and chicken bones. "Here you are the guest, and safe from harm at my hands . . . this night, at least. So tell me truly, Jon Snow. Are you a craven who turned your cloak from fear, or is there another reason that brings you to my tent?" Guest right or no, Jon Snow knew he walked on rotten ice here. One false step and he might plunge through, into water cold enough to stop his heart. Weigh every word before you speak it, he told himself. He took a long draught of mead to buy time for his answer. When he set the horn aside he said, "Tell me why you turned your cloak, and I'll tell you why I turned mine." …….. "And did you see where I was seated, Mance?" He leaned forward. "Did you see where they put the bastard?" Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. "I think we had best find you a new cloak," the king said, holding out his hand.

By the end, just like Sansa, Jon is asked to tell the truth. Mance Rayder ask Jon why he deserted the Nights Watch. Of course, we all know that opposite of Sansa, Jon doesn’t tell the truth, he lies to Mance about being resentful of the Starks.

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTERS 68 AND 69

SANSA VI

Now we have Sansa arriving at the Vale, scaping from Kings Landing. She arrives at the Vale with the help of Littlefinger. As soon as she is introduced to Lady Lysa she receives a marriage proposal to marry her cousin Lord Robert Arryn. The proposal doesn’t bring much joy to Sansa that laments that marrying for love may never happen to her.

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Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry." "I . . . I am married, my lady." "Yes, but soon a widow. Be glad the Imp preferred his whores. It would not be fitting for my son to take that dwarf's leavings, but as he never touched you . . . How would you like to marry your cousin, the Lord Robert?" The thought made Sansa weary. All she knew of Robert Arryn was that he was a little boy, and sickly. It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.

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NEXT CHAPTER????? Once again, JON SNOW!!!

I knew it the moment I saw this line next to jon’s chapter that George was planning this marriage. That’s why I never believe that Jon and Sansa would have a political marriage, this union would be for love.

A STORM OF SWORDS CHAPTER 79 AND 80

JON XII

We start the chapter with Jon practicing sword fighting with Iron Emmet and he can not stop thinking about King Stannis Baratheon offer to legitimize him and make Jon not only a Stark but also the Lord of Winterfell. During his practice with Emmet he remembers another fighting practice many years ago at Winterfell….

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Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. (A Storm of Swords - Jon XII) *****************************************

Jon thinks of rebuilding Winterfell, just like Sansa in the next chapter will literally rebuilt the castle in the snow.

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Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father's heir….. It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins.

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A interesting detail is that, the offer to be legitimized by Stannis comes with a demand. Jon needs to marry Val. Stannis wants the union of a Stark with a wildling princess, to unite the Freefolk with the North (but what if in the end we get a Wildling King marrying a Stark Queen?)

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"Good," King Stannis said, "for the surest way to seal a new alliance is with a marriage. I mean to wed my Lord of Winterfell to this wildling princess." Perhaps Jon had ridden with the free folk too long; he could not help but laugh. "Your Grace," he said, "captive or no, if you think you can just give Val to me, I fear you have a deal to learn about wildling women. Whoever weds her had best be prepared to climb in her tower window and carry her off at swordpoint . . ." (A Storm of Swords - Jon XI)

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset. Would I sooner be hanged for a turncloak by Lord Janos, or forswear my vows, marry Val, and become the Lord of Winterfell? It seemed an easy choice when he thought of it in those terms . . . though if Ygritte had still been alive, it might have been even easier. Val was a stranger to him. She was not hard on the eyes, certainly, and she had been sister to Mance Rayder's queen, but still . . . I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

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Jon is now thinking as a wildling and realizing that he needs to steal Val if he wants the marriage to be valid. Which is why I have no doubt that he is stealing Sansa in the end of the books, this storyline is foreshadow in his chapters numerous of times. But the marriage with Val doesn’t make Jon very happy, he doesn’t love her and hardly know her. Just like Sansa, Jon would like to marry someone he loves, and not have a marriage just for a political alliance. But the truth is that he does longs for a family, for Winterfell, he dreams to one day be a true Stark.

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Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow. He had his answer then. **************************************

Finally Ghost comes back to Jon and he has his answer right there. The wolf brings back the memory when they all found the puppies. Jon belongs to the old Gods like his wolf and he cant turn his back to his old golds. I always assumed Bran sent Ghost to help Jon make his decision.

As he walked toward the armory, Jon chanced to look up and saw Val standing in her tower window. I'm sorry, he thought. I'm not the man to steal you out of there.

So we this chapter Jon Snow was forced to make a decision and turn down not only Winterffell but also the marriage alliance with Val, the wildling princess. He decides he wont be the one stealing her, but he did show a desire for love, family and Winterfell. Next Chapter we are going to have Sansa being “kissed by the Snow” and those kisses are going to rekindle her childhood dreams….

SANSA VII

(gif from https://iheartgot.tumblr.com/post/708718314588946432/glorianas-sophie-turner-as-sansa-stark-in-game)

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She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell. That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning. Hullen had helped her mount, and she'd ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world. I thought my song was beginning that day, but it was almost done….. Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. …. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. *********************************************

Sigh, I will never get over this little foreshadow. The poetry, the romantism, the idea of dreams. This little paragraph will always be one of my favorites written lines in this entire novel. The idea that a new lover can enchant Sansa and bring back all her childhood dreams after all the pain and sorrow that she went through. And again, the dream involves Winterfell….

When Sansa opened her eyes again, she was on her knees. She did not remember falling. It seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey. Dawn, she thought. Another day. Another new day. It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

And then she goes to work, once she starts playing with the snow she wonders what she would like to build…

************************************* The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. She found twigs and fallen branches beneath the snow and broke off the ends to make the trees for the godswood. *****************************************

Again, in the past chapter we had Jon dreaming on rebuilding Winterfell, having a family, marrying for love. In the follow chapter we have Sansa literally rebulding Winterfell with the help of “Snow”. She longs for her old days, the days of her childhood. This for me was always one of the strongest foreshadows of their romance and future.

Then, we also have some interesting scenes that the show drop on us, that also are pointing towards a promise… first we have that scene on season 3 Episode 2 (Dark Winds, Dark Words) where Catelyn Stark tells Talyssa about a broken promise that she made involving Jon Snow and how she believes breaking this promise brought all this pain and sorrow to House Stark.

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Catelyn Stark: Many years before that, one of the boys came down with the pox. Maester Luwin said if he made it through the night, he'd liνe. But it would be a νery long night. So l sat with him all through the darkness. Listened to his ragged little breaths. His coughing, his whimpering. Talissa: Which boy? Catelyn Stark: Jon Snow. When my husband brought that baby home from the war, l couldn't bear to look at him. l didn't want to see those brown stranger's eyes staring up at me. So l prayed to the Gods, take him away. Make him die He got the pox. And l knew l was the worst woman who eνer liνed. A murderer. l'd condemned this poor, nnocent child to a horrible death all because l was jealous of his mother. A woman he didn't eνen know. So l prayed to all seνen Gods, let the boy liνe. Let him liνe and l'll loνe him. l'll be a mother to him. l'll beg my husband to giνe him a true name, to call him Stark and be done with it, to make him one of us. Talissa: And he liνed? Catelyn Stark: And he lived…..And l couldn't keep my promise. And everything that's happened since then, all this horror that's come to my family, it's all because l couldn't love a motherless child.

A BROKEN PROMISE LEADING TO THE FALL OF HOUSE STARK............

Later, in season 6 Episode 10 (The Winds of Winter) we have Jon and Sansa finally taking back the North and Winterfell together. Sansa tells Jon that she sees him as a Stark and Jon tells Sansa they need to start trusting each other, then he kisses her and remind Sansa of a promise made by Ned Stark.. (Interesting fact ton notice that after receiving this kiss from Jon, Sansa never again allows Littlefinger to kiss her).

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Jon Snow: I'm having the lord's chamber prepared for you. Sansa Stark: Mother and Father's room? You should take it. Jon Snow: I'm not a Stark. Sansa Stark: You are to me. Jon Snow: You're the Lady of Winterfell. You deserve it. We're standing here because of you. The battle was lost until the Knights of the Vale rode in. They came because of you. You told me Lord Baelish sold you to the Boltons. Sansa Stark: He did. Jon Snow: And you trust him? Sansa Stark: Only a fool would trust Littlefinger. I should have told you about him, about the Knights of the Vale. I'm sorry. Jon Snow: We need to trust each other. We can't fight a war amongst ourselves. We have so many enemies now. Sansa Stark: Jon. A raven came from the Citadel. A white raven. Winter is here. Jon Snow: (Smiling) Well, Father always promised, didn't he? ************************************

I really wished George had not separated Feast and Dance because we know Sansa receives another marriage proposal In Feast, to marry Harrold Hardying, and I am pretty sure if the books had been released a 1, we would have another Jon Snow chapter following that Alayne chapter, but alas, it didn’t happen. So, that’s my take, I am always paying attention to the change of chapters in the books because I believe that this is how George foreshadows a lot of the events in this book series.

So thats it, I can not wait for THE WINDS OF WINTER..........

#jon x sansa #jonsa #sansa stark #sansa #actually jonsa #jonsa is endgame

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raspberryfingers · 7 months ago

Text

A Lion in the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 12)

A/N: this chapter is probably my favorite addition of the rewrite :)

WARNINGS: NSFW

Word Count: 5.6k

—————

I sighed as I watched the last of my luggage be loaded into the wagon. I had packed light, because hopefully this excursion would only take two weeks at most. Both Sansa and Loras had packed a bit more, however, for if all went well they would not be returning to King’s Landing.

It was so early in the morning that the sun had not yet risen, and the only people at the entrance courtyard of the Red Keep were the nightguards and the men accompanying us. I regretted that we had to leave so damned early, as I’d wanted to say goodbye to Tywin.

It made me rather sad, because I hadn’t a clue if he’d even remember me helping him to the Tower of the Hand when he woke up. His last memory of me might be the feast, and he would not see me again for two weeks.

“Are you alright?”

Feeling Ser Elias’ hand at my shoulder, I turned around and looked up at him with raised eyebrows. Processing what he’d said, I instantly nodded.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just rather anxious, I suppose. Quite a lot relies on this going right,” I said with a sigh, holding my arms and trying not to think about how much could go wrong on this trip. Elias nodded with understanding, removing his hand from me.

“I understand. However, know that if it should go wrong, it is not your fault. If you cannot wager peace, there’s not a soul on earth who would’ve been able to.”

“Yes, well, the peace agreement was also my idea.”

“And one that I consented to.”

Ser Elias and I turned our heads at the sound of another’s voice, and I was surprised to find Tywin approaching us. I instantly smiled, going over to him and meeting him halfway.

“How are you already awake? Do you feel alright?” I questioned, pressing my hand to his forehead and examining him. Even in the darkness he still looked quite miserable. There was no doubt in mind he’d already vomited at least once.

“I feel entirely awful, but I had to come see you off. I told my guards yesterday that they were to wake me early this morning with no exception,” he explained, reaching for my hand and holding it in his. The feeling sent goosebumps up my arm, and I was somewhat flattered by the fact that he was this ill and had still come all the way down here.

“Will you be alright getting back to the Tower of the Hand?” I asked, noting that he had no coat on over his shirt and pants, just a cloak. I was certain he intended to go back to sleep after this. I prayed he would, he desperately needed it.

“I will be fine. My head hurts quite terribly, that’s all. How are you feeling?” Tywin’s free hand came to my arm, and it made me oddly sentimental. I did not want to leave him.

“Nervous, but that’s to be expected. If I tell myself everything I told you, it helps me calm down. I’m rather convincing that way. I just need to focus on rationality instead of my nerves,” I told him, unable to resist the urge to crack a joke as I squeezed his hand. He smiled gently, not enough for anyone else to notice if they were looking.

“Well, you convinced me, and I had no qualms with the messier route. You are doing a good thing, remember that.”

“But… what if… what if things go horribly wrong, Tywin? What if I give Robb Stark his sister and two war prisoners with her? Then what?” I voiced my fears, for Tywin was the only person I felt comfortable voicing them to. He instantly shook his head, an entirely serious look on his face as he did.

“That is not going to happen. You will persuade the Young Wolf and you will end this war. You are capable of that, I am certain. And, in the impossible scenario that Robb Stark is utterly stupid and decides to take you hostage, I will call every last bannerman and come for you. I will be dead and rotting before any harm is ever done to you,” Tywin assured me, raising the hand on my shoulder to my cheek and holding eye contact as he said it. Somehow, his words were more comforting than I’d even thought possible.

“Oh Tywin…”

I embraced him then, my face pressed against his chest as I shut my eyes and just let him hold me. One arm wrapped around my torso, and the other hand came to my head, fingers intertwined with my hair. I could feel his breath on my scalp, and after a moment his lips too.

“You will return to me, (Y/N), safe and victorious. And when you do, I will hold you just like this. Do you understand?” Tywin whispered, pulling back a bit so he could look at me again. I nodded, giving him a frightened, desperate smile as though I was trying my hardest to believe his words. I needed him to be right.

He kissed my forehead then, and I wanted to sob. I had just barely admitted to being in love with him, but either way, knowing that I had to part with him for two weeks was impossible to accept.

“I’m going to miss you, Tywin,” I muttered, looking up at him solemnly. His lips parted, and he looked entirely shattered at my statement. He nodded, closing his eyes.

“I will miss you as well, dear girl.”

We stared at each other for a moment more, but Loras calling my name from across the courtyard made both of us look over. I sighed, knowing it was time for us to leave.

“I will see you in two weeks, Tywin. I will make sure of it,” I said, giving his hand one last squeeze before turning around and going up to my horse. I quickly mounted up, trying my hardest to make the aching go away.

The large gate to the Red Keep opened, and as our small group began to move out, I looked at Tywin one last time. He only stared, but it was reassuring all the same. The fear dissipated, and in its place came determination. Yes, I would see him in two weeks, and when I did, I would smile from ear to ear as I announced the end of a war.

—————

It had only been a few days since you’d left, but Tywin was already utterly miserable. He’d become accustomed to your visits in the morning before either of you had anything to do. It was a pleasant way to start his day, and without it he found himself somewhat aggravated. Now he found that it was hard to get work done without thinking about you or wondering where you were.

He had no idea if you were safe, or if you’d reached Robb Stark yet. He suspected not, but it was a small group and would allow you all to move quickly. Still, it irked him to not be 100% certain of your safety and wellbeing. He was glad you weren’t traveling in a wheelhouse, for that would’ve attracted far too much attention.

Sitting at his desk now, Tywin caught himself considering all these things. It was late morning, and he’d be having lunch soon. He could picture you doing the same, sitting with your brother and his wife. He tried not to think about the fact that Ser Elias was there with you too.

There was the frustration again. Tywin groaned as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling hopelessly. It was a never ending cycle of missing you and wishing you were here, then onto thinking about whatever you might be doing, and finally remembering that Ser Elias was with you the entire time.

He knew that you were probably right, Ser Elias surely only saw you as a sister or a daughter, but how could Tywin not feel any jealousy at all? The man was six and a half feet tall, not to mention tremendously fit and good looking. It made the Old Lion miss his youth, for once upon a time he wouldn’t have felt insecure compared to a man like that.

Tywin sighed, blinking a few times as he considered just how badly he wished to have you all to himself. Gods, what would it be like to kiss you? To hold your cheek and feel the softness of your lips? He couldn’t even fathom it.

He thought back to the day at the inn, remembering how his breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you in the tub. He hadn’t even meant to look, for he’d never wanted to make you uncomfortable, but gods, you were beautiful.

Tywin hated the way that he thought about you, because he knew that whatever had happened to you as a girl had clearly made you wary of men and their intentions. He could not blame you, and yet somehow even he desired you. It made him feel disgusting, almost as though he was no better than the two soldiers whose tongues he’d cut off.

Of course, it was different. Those men had wanted to rape you, he wished to make love to you. The vision of it was only erotic because Tywin pictured you wanting him just as much as he wanted you. And, it was not as if desire was the thing he could feel when he thought of you. The affection and love had come first, then with it the lust.

It was odd, for he had fucked whores at various points in his life, but that was merely to relieve his lust. There had been no desire for any of those women, he had simply paid them to make him feel good. He never kissed them, either. But gods, he wanted to kiss you.

That was the difference, he guessed. When he pictured himself fucking you, it was imagining your moans that made his blood rush. Because yes, he could certainly think about how good it would feel to be inside of you, but it was not nearly as attractive as the thought of you being pleased by him. You would look so pretty that way.

Tywin sighed, lifting his head from the back of his chair and looking down to find what he already knew was there. The strain in his pants had grown uncomfortable as he’d allowed his imagination to run wild, and now he simply felt frustrated.

It had been quite some time since he’d requested a whore from the brothel. Normally just being around you left him content enough to simply touch himself when he grew aroused, but he felt quite insatiable now. Then again, he did not want to fuck a whore, he wanted to fuck you. And thus an idea sparked into his head.

Tywin reached for a blank sheet of parchment, instantly scratching down his instructions on it. He was sending for a whore, though not just any random one. He wanted a girl with your hair color, your eyes, and your height. He pictured every feature of yours perfectly in his head, discovering that if he’d wanted to he might’ve described you in exact detail. But no, the request must be general. Even then, it already was risky enough for him to be doing this.

Before he could think twice, the Lord Hand found himself finishing and sealing the letter. He would take it through the tunnel after he had eaten lunch, and that would be that. He expected a girl would be waiting in his chambers after supper. Somewhere deep down, Tywin knew it would be the last time that tunnel would ever be put to use. It was quite the relieving thought.

—————

Tywin was grateful to be back in his chambers, for he’d just told the king of your plan. True to his word, the Lord Hand informed his grandson about something he ought to know. Unfortunately, Joffrey had not taken well to the news. Tywin hadn’t expected anything less, hence why he’d waited to tell him until after you had left with Loras and Sansa.

But gods, that boy was cumbersome. So much so that Tywin had almost entirely forgotten about the request he’d given to the brothel earlier that day. Entering his bedroom, he was surprised to find a whore there waiting for him. She was still dressed, though only in a transparent fabric, and she had draped herself across the sofa.

Tywin froze as he took in her appearance. In terms of characteristics such as hair and skin, she matched you quite well, but in terms of actual features there was hardly a resemblance. Taking a deep breath, the Lord Hand told himself it was fine. He did not need to look at her face while fucking her, even if he had looked at yours in all his fantasies.

“My Lord,” the girl greeted, slowly sitting up and giving him a seductive smile. Tywin found that her boldness irked him. You were not timid, to be certain, but he’d found there were some respects in which you were surprisingly vulnerable, and this would certainly be one of them.

She stood from the sofa, striding toward him in a somewhat teasing manner, almost as if trying to trigger some sort of instinct. Standing before Tywin now, she began to undo his coat. He did not deny her, but he did not do anything to encourage her either.

With her face closer now, he noted that she was similar to you in age, probably in her mid-20s. That made him feel a bit better, at least. But still, when she smiled up at him it was almost aggravating. You did not smile like that. Yours was much prettier.

Tywin began to wonder if he even really wanted to have sex with this woman. She was not you, and you were all he wanted. But then again, he was still annoyed over the conversation with his grandson, and surely it couldn't hurt to blow off some steam this way.

“Would you like to undress me, my Lord Hand?” she asked with a giggle, completely removing his coat and his shirt. Tywin looked down at her, remaining silent for a moment.

“Undress yourself and go sit on the sofa,” he commanded, not a single hint of emotion in his voice as he did. The whore smiled and nodded, making quite a display of herself as she shed the thin gown off. She moved back to her original spot with a very seductive sway of her hips.

Tywin let himself admire her for a moment, for he couldn’t deny that she was attractive. She had spread her legs as she sat, giving him quite the view. He wished he could see you in such a position; it would be the prettiest painting he ever saw.

Slowly, Tywin removed his boots and then approached the woman. She sat a bit straighter with expectation, batting her eyelashes as she looked up at him. Again, he found himself thinking of you. What might it be like to have you gazing up at him in expectation like this? He could imagine himself brushing your cheek with his fingers and tucking your hair behind your ears.

He would not touch this whore like that, though. Such intimacy was reserved for you alone. Instead, he merely undid the ties on his pants, pushing them down just enough to free himself. Tywin wasn’t fully hard yet, for truthfully the thing arousing him most was picturing you in place of this woman.

But, either way, he welcomed her to touch him as he stood before her. The whore examined his cock with a smile, instantly reaching from him and beginning to stroke. The sensation was pleasant, but Tywin remained entirely composed until she moved forward a bit and took him in her mouth.

In response to that, he let out a deep exhale, looking down at the top of her head and nearly moaning when he realized that she looked just like you from this angle. Her hair was perhaps her largest similarity to you, and Tywin found himself reaching for it eagerly. His fingers weaved through it, and his grip was firm yet tender.

The thought of you licking and sucking him this way fully hardened the Great Lion, and his hips involuntarily bucked into the whore’s mouth as he pretended that it was yours. He groaned rather loudly, fighting back the urge to let your name slip from his tongue.

All sorts of ideas about you began flooding through his head. He could imagine your hands grabbing at his hips, pulling him in even farther. And to have those lips, those soft, convincing lips wrapped around his cock… gods, it sent a shiver up his spine.

The whore swirled her tongue around his tip, but he did not feel that. Instead he felt you doing it, and he cursed out with utter delight. Of course, he could not entirely convince himself. Had it really been you he would’ve laid you across the sofa and buried his face between your legs already. For some odd reason, he also felt that you would be a woman bold enough to grab his balls while doing this. It was no particular fantasy of his, but the idea of you touching him in any way was absolutely titillating.

Tywin felt his abdomen beginning to tighten, and he shook his head, opening the eyes that he hadn’t even remembered closing. He glanced down at the whore, removing his hand from her hair. Feeling this, she glanced up at him.

“Enough of that. Get up and bend over,” he instructed, swallowing and catching his breath as he took a step back. He watched the woman do as he’d requested, hands planted into the sofa with her ass raised toward him, and he nodded to himself. Her build was not exactly like yours, which of course served to disappoint Tywin, but it was close enough that—if he were to really put some effort into it—he could convince himself.

He approached her then, one hand grabbing at her hip and the other reaching for his erection. Tywin found his breath catching in his throat as he lined himself up at the girl’s entrance. He simply kept his eyes focused there as he pushed in, imagining how you might moan his name and arch at the feeling of him stretching you this way.

Well, that was what he had been imagining until he was interrupted by the sound of the whore’s moan. Her voice was nothing like yours, and even if he had never heard your cries of pleasure before, logic told him it would be nothing like the sound he’d just heard.

As he slowly began to thrust into her, he attempted to ignore her whines, simply shutting his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the walls around his cock, because even if she wasn’t you, it obviously still felt rather good. Whores were paid for a reason, after all.

Both of Tywin’s hands were on the woman’s hips now, and again he thought of you. He remembered what it had been like to wake up at the inn with his arm wrapped around you, how his breath had caught in his throat when he realized.

That memory made him thrust a bit faster, and he let out a low moan as he did. The whore replied the same way, though her moans were far louder and much more exaggerated. It made Tywin increasingly annoyed, for not only did it not sound like you, but he knew it was fake.

This kind of stimulation might warrant a few soft moans or gasps, but nothing like the lusty cries that this woman was currently making. Tywin had enjoyed plenty of late nights with Joanna, and was not ignorant to what actually made a woman feel good, which was exactly how he knew that the current moans coming from below him were entirely exaggerated.

Attempting to ignore it, Tywin simply shut his eyes again and chased his own pleasure. He wondered if he even should’ve bothered asking for a woman that looked like you, for he was not spending very much time with his eyes open. Well, it had at least been convincing when she’d taken him in her mouth.

Already thinking of the subject, Tywin found himself imagining how you might moan. More than that, he imagined the way you might gasp his name and shudder as you did. Well, he was trying to. It was hard to do when the whore was quite so loud.

Opening his eyes and looking down at the woman, he decided he’d had enough. Perhaps it was rude, but as he gave the command he did not particularly care. “Hush. Be silent.”

The air felt tense for a moment as the whore silenced herself; she was certainly unaccustomed to men requesting such a thing. Normally, the more she moaned the more they enjoyed it. Well, it didn’t matter. She would stay quiet for the amount that she was being given.

Now that it was quiet besides the slapping of skin, Tywin felt free to give in to his fantasies. He ran his hands over the woman, though really he was running his hands over you. He craved the warmth of your skin, the feeling of you beneath his hands.

His thrusts became stronger now, and Tywin groaned rather loudly as he gave the whore’s ass a firm squeeze. This was pathetic of him, and he knew that, but his lust for you was so immense that he couldn’t help it. More than that, he simply wished to kiss and hold you. He certainly would not do that to a whore.

Tywin licked his lips, swallowing and breathing heavily as he exerted himself. He could feel his orgasm approaching, and so he leaned over the woman a bit to hit a deeper angle inside of her. However, upon doing so, he inhaled her scent.

He thrusted a few more times as he processed it, but for some reason Tywin could not ignore the perfume she was wearing. It was rather nice, but it smelled nothing like yours did. For some reason, he’d been able to ignore every other difference, but this was his breaking point. He could not ignore just how different from you this woman was any longer, and he sighed out with disappointment—more in himself than anything—as he pulled out of her.

The whore turned her head to look back, confused at what had just happened. Tywin was pulling his pants up, and he walked over to his nightstand to fetch the coin purse for her.

“For your time,” he said, bringing it back over to her. She was sitting on the couch now, feeling rather displaced and anxious. She’d never had a man just full on stop without finishing before.

“My lord, I apologize if I was unsatisfactory. Would you- would you like someone else?” she asked, looking up at him with a sort of embarrassment. Tywin took a deep breath as she said it, shaking his head. He suddenly felt bad.

“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t that. And I’m fine, thank you,” he said, trying to reassure her without revealing anything. Had he spent a night with her a year ago, he would’ve found it rather satisfactory. But that was obviously very different now. Tywin could’ve been given the most desired whore in the world and he still wouldn’t have been content.

“Would you like me to be someone else..?” she trailed off, seeing the look in the Lord Hand’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with a man who was clearly imagining another. Usually they had little shame in moaning other girls' names.

Tywin only stared at her, handing her the coin purse and then stepping away. She nodded at him, not wanting to push it. She rose from the couch, grabbing her discarded dress and showing herself out through the tunnel. In the morning, Tywin would have a letter sent to seal the thing off. There was no use for it now.

The Lord Hand merely sighed, going to the small table and pouring himself some wine. Surely he was disgusting for this. He didn’t even want to think about how you would react if you knew he’d fucked a whore with you in mind. Again, the guilt came back to him as he considered that perhaps he was like every other man. Gods, it was horrible to love you and want you this way when he was 100% certain you did not feel the same in any capacity.

Tywin sighed as he set his cup down and made his way over to the bed. He still had an erection to handle, and he supposed he’d get by just fine on his own. He undid his pants completely now, going fully nude and sitting on the edge of the mattress.

He reached toward his nightstand, pulling out a handkerchief from inside the small drawer so he wouldn’t make a mess when he finished. Though, he wiped the whore’s slick off of himself first. As he did that, however, he noticed your handkerchief still sitting on top of the stand. He had eaten the cookie the morning you’d left, but he had not moved the cloth itself at all.

An odd urge gripped Tywin, and he set aside the white cloth in his hand and instead reached for yours. He smiled fondly as he examined it, wondering if perhaps your sister or grandmother had embroidered the red roses around the edges of it, for you had once noted to him that you’d never been quite as good at it as them. The first letter of your name was also there in the corner, big and somewhat dramatic. It was pretty, and Tywin liked it.

He intended to put it back on his nightstand, but a sudden whiff of flowers hit his nose and he instantly stopped. Slowly, with an unparalleled amount of hope, he brought your handkerchief up to his nose and inhaled.

Smelling your perfume on it, he instantly exhaled and shut his eyes, allowing himself to fully take in the scent. Somehow, the familiarity of it made him feel as though he was holding you in his arms, or perhaps even just sitting beside you.

Tywin Lannister had never imagined himself being overly fond of some floral scent, but suddenly he could not get enough of it. He found himself burying his nose in this damn cloth, laying back on the bed and getting comfortable as he continually inhaled. He was so obsessed with your scent that he nearly moaned out.

Before he could even fully process what he was doing, Tywin was reaching down with his free hand, taking a hold of his cock. He was practically throbbing now, and the ache for you was so intense that even the slightest pleasure—combined with the rosy perfume filling his lungs—made him shake.

He began to rub himself, slowly at first, as he moaned out. He could picture you sitting beside him, your hair perfectly messy and a smile on your face as you touched him. You would take joy in seeing him become a mess under your hands like this, wouldn’t you? Tywin gasped, handkerchief still pressed to his face.

He forced memories of you saying his name into his mind, his hold on his erection tightening now. He began to rub a little faster, breathing catching in his throat as he looked down at himself. Compared to the warmth of his hand, the feeling of the cold valyrian steel ring made him shudder. The texture of it was almost painful, but you had given him that ring. You had held it in your hands.

Again, he moaned out, still bathing in the scent of roses. In his mind you were still there beside him, watching him moan as you squeezed and tugged. He could see you, naked and beautiful as you tortured him this way. He wanted to kiss you.

He started to rub himself even more vigorously now, a moaning mess as his hips came up to meet his hand. Tywin practically whimpered, and his legs were beginning to shake. It was never like this when he touched himself. The scent of you alone had turned him into this.

“(Y/N)… (Y/N)! Oh gods… (Y/N)…” Tywin applied extra pressure to the tip of his cock, choking out your name with absolutely ecstasy. He could feel every single muscle in his body tensing, as though he were some sort of wild animal.

He found himself rolling onto his stomach, momentarily stopping and reaching for the body pillow against his headboard. With absolute desperation, he lifted himself up for just long enough to push it under him. Once he’d done that, his hand went straight back to doing what it had been before, and he groaned again.

The handkerchief was still against his nose, and with the pillow beneath Tywin, he could imagine himself on top of you. Not only that, but he felt your stomach pressing against his as your back arched, and he saw you throwing your head back with pleasure.

Tywin moaned as he continued to pleasure himself, not caring at all how hot the room was growing. He was sweaty and tired, but your scent urged him to keep going; he listened quite obediently.

He was thrusting into his hand—and the pillow as well—with extreme vigor, forehead pressed to the mattress as he panted out. Even if he’d wanted to, Tywin could not keep your name from his lips, especially as he imagined how you might shake and quiver beneath him in the midst of an orgasm.

He felt like a madman envisioning all the ways that he would take you. He wanted you beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist. Or perhaps he would kneel before you, thrusting with your legs over his shoulders. Then he would take you from behind, his hand on your back as your forearms collapsed beneath you out of sheer pleasure. Tywin wanted you on top of him, hips rolling against his as your breasts bounced and he sat up to kiss them. There was the scent of roses again.

Tywin shuddered, for there was too much on his mind. That was not all he wished to do to you. He saw himself inserting his fingers into you, curling and pumping as his thumb rubbed your clit. Surely that would make you sing his name, which was erotic enough as it was. Not only that, but the Great Lion imagined what it might be like to bury his face between your legs, holding them open as they shook. He would feast like a man starved.

Gods, it was a euphoric vision, and he’d found a particularly enjoyable rhythm with his hand. Tywin knew he was close, and his moans had become entirely pathetic, whiny and loud in a way they hadn’t been in years.

Suddenly, his abdomen squeezed tighter than before, his hand clenching around the handkerchief as he took another good inhale. Roses, roses and you. That was all that existed as he felt an all-consuming pleasure in his groin.

The fresh cloth from earlier was entirely forgotten about, and Tywin did not care whatsoever as his seed spurted from his cock onto the pillow beneath him. He had surely ruined the case, but that was not even a thought to him as he cried your name out, so overwhelmed that his hand was forced to slow itself.

For a few seconds, the Great Lion was entirely frozen, moans becoming quieter and more relaxed as he came down from the peak of his orgasm. He had to swallow and catch his breath, exhaling deeply and blinking a few times to reorient himself.

Tywin was so exhausted that he nearly fell asleep then and there, but the thirst in his throat forced him to roll over onto his back so that he’d wake up. He glanced over at the pillow, surprised at just how large his spend had been. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spilled so much.

Your handkerchief was still in his hand, and he stared at it for a few seconds before bringing it to his nose again. The scent had previously aroused him, but now it was comforting. He suddenly wished to hold you, to pet your hair and kiss your head.

Though, the reality of what he’d just done also hit him and drove utter shame and guilt into the Hand of the King. As if he had not degraded you enough by imagining you when he was with a whore.

Tywin sighed, sitting up slowly and reaching for the cup on his nightstand. The wine felt good in his throat, not to mention it soothed whatever nerves were gathering in his stomach. He was overthinking now.

As he laid back in bed and cleaned himself up, Tywin also thought about how you were doing at the present moment. It was weird having no contact with you, and it would stay that way until you arrived back at the Red Keep. At least, he prayed that was what would happen.

He merely sighed as he contemplated, pushing the body pillow off the bed and onto the floor. He slipped under the covers then too, trying to get comfortable. It was extremely late now, and there was no doubt in Tywin’s mind that he’d fall asleep rather quickly.

After all, the scent of roses still hung in the air around him, and he prayed that it would never fade away. Perhaps, for once in his life, the gods would listen.

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#tywin lannister #tywin lannister x reader #charles dance #a lion in the garden #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

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first-edition · 1 year ago

Text

Fox and the Hound

Sandor Clegane x reader

Chapter 4

1 - 2 -3 -4

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more.

Cw for chapter, cussing, 18+ language and themes, insults, fighting, gossiping, alcohol consumption.

Standing next to the hound you watch as Marcella cries as she's rowed out to seat the larger journey ship. Tommen cries as his sister leaves his sight past the rocks. Joffrey rolls his eyes at all the attention she's getting.

Your ladies stand a distance away from the hound and yourself not wanting to be near him. He looks down to you briefly before Joffrey gets bored and walks up the stairs calling him along with him.

“Come, dog!” he spits out hound follows him with an eye roll.

“My lady you've been invited to a tea party in the garden with a few of the fellow court ladies' ' your lady in waiting says about to lead you out.

“Can it wait.” you ask, looking at a cersi whose tears fall silently. She doesn't answer when she sees Sansa follow after her ladies. Your eyes avert to the water again, the light splashes of the water against the rocks before you watch cersei exit the ceremony following shortly after her.

—-----

Your ladies continue to follow you as you walk through the garden. You huff and stop turning around to them.

“Will you please possibly go do something else besides follow me like abandoned dogs on the street! I don't need to be followed everywhere I go” you snap at them. They curtsy and scurry off. You sigh, shaking your head. You turn back again seeing the other ladies and Sansa sitting under the gazebo giggling and drinking tea.

“y/n how lovely for you to join us. We've saved you a seat as well as a cross stitch fold.” lady tyrell says as a guard pulls out the spare chair for you and you take a seat in between lady nighall, and lady cricket. You nod at her smile and a servant pours a cup of tea for you. You take the cross stitch in hand and work on it to occupy the time before the ladies barrel you with questions.

“You wed the hound, sandor clegane yesterday, how exciting.” lady ebsings speak. She's a skinny woman with dark black hair that she keeps in a high ponytail. Her dresses are always too elaborate to function yet she finds a way somehow. She married a man who's rich because he's the top ship seller.

“Yes I did.” you reply.

“And what I mean can't be much of a fun experience between a king's guard and a legitimate princess.” lady cricket, a larger woman with brown hair she keeps half up and half down always with a decorative hair pin holding it back. She wears green dresses even though it clashes with her skin tone.

“It's…new. Being married isn't something I would have thought about for a while but the king thought we’d be a good match so we were wed.” you answer. Lady Tyrell gives you a small smile and nod knowing it was fully forced although liking the way you answered the question.

“Oh come now spare us the sugar and get to the gritty, the consummation…he’s big?” Lady Nighall retorts, a woman of particular size but on the older side around her mid 40s who doesn't get much action as her husband is flaccid all the time so she indulges herself in self pleasure and pleasure houses as she is the country side's top broker for silver coin. You don't answer her question however.

“you , did, consummate correct.” She digs for answers.

Once again the uneasy feeling erupts from your stomach as all anyone ever wants to talk about is if you and sandor have bedded. Opening your mouth to tell the truth you're sick of people asking so you lie.

“Yes…he's very adequate.” you say into your teacup trying to fake a description of the act of sex. You sip on your tea before placing the cup back onto the tray. They all accept Sansa and Lady Tyrell, giggle and quickly speak about their husbands in bed for a short period of time.

Your eyes attached downwards at the table of various sweets and tea. Lady ebsing speaks once again.

“A-and how…was he.” she smiles at you.

“Adequate.” you answer once again.

“Oh come now you're a deflowered princess with a large husband. I was so sure he might split you in two or least break your neck while holding onto you.” she says as they continue to go back to gossip.

“The hound is a big ugly brute. I'm surprised. After all, if he were to get married he doesn't deserve a small thing like yourself. No wonder all the maidens fear him. His best quality I guess would be being able to kill a man.” lady nighall says. I look up seeing him standing behind her.

“Sandor.” you say.

“I know his name, my dear. I just chose not to use a name. Did you know his mother wouldn't even look at him? Mhm heard that from the grape vein.” she says, sipping her tea.

“My apologies for disturbing your chatter.” Sandor says through gritted teeth as he had to listen to everything that bitch said about him. His deep gruff voice hitting the ears like a clash of steel.

“OH!” Lady nighall squeals, dropping her tea cup, spilling the tea on her dress.

“Damn! Sneaking up on a woman is never a good quality” she exclaims

“Apologize” he says knowing he's not really sorry.

“Are you alright sandor?” you ask him. He nods before turning to Sansa who is still scared to look at him.

“The king requests your presence my lady” he says as she nods and stands.

“Thank you for having me, it was lovely.” she says and stands before walking off a guard that was standing post walks behind her.

“Lady nighall maybe instead of indulging yourself in the insulting of other maybe you can focus more on the coin you spend daily to indulge yourself in lord baelish's pleasure house, or more rather hoe he indulges himself in you.'' Sandor retorts. Lady nighalls mouth opens in a gasp.

“And close that yapper its using up more words than the kingdom” he says which makes her shut her mouth. And the other ladies snorted a giggle at his comment. Nighall looks at you square anger on her face as the hound begins to walk away.

“I apologize for him.” you say getting up, gathering your skirt and running after your husband.

“Sandor!” You yell gathering your dress chasing after him.

“Sandor, I'm talking to you!” You yell out to him.

He grumbles, continuing walking away. You stop, stamping your foot against the ground and shout at him.

“SANDOR CLEGANE! YOU STOP THIS INSTANT” You shout. He stops and turns to you before walking back to you.

“Go back to picking flowers and sewing with the other ladies. I bet there will be more gossip about fox and hound eh!” He barks at you.

“You made me look rude, you should go and apologize to her.” you say

He scoffs

“Apologize? APOLOGIZE? My whole damn life I've been apologizing to highborns like yourself not as if any of you are worth it so speaking my mind once in a while..yeah I'll do that especially to over entitled cunts who drown themselves at pleasure houses.” he barks out.

“Why are you always so hateful!” You snap back at him.

“You’ll be glad of the hateful things I say someday! When I’m the only thing in your way of a good life and a bad one.” he says.

“I’ve got 3 bad things in my life and if you think you're one of them you’re wrong! I didn’t choose to marry you, but Fuck I’ll make the most of it!” You yell at him. Looking him dead in the eyes. Never in his life has he had someone yell at him and look at him square. His look softens ever so slightly.

“Go finish your tea party. Eat your cakes and don't spill on your shiny gown and dont fucking call me that.” He spits out before turning away from you walking off.

“GAH! I hate you!” You huff and turn walking away. Back to the other women.

You ignore the hound for the rest of the day purposefully feeling your distance when Joffrey and Jaime knight the new king's guard, when you see him following the other guard to look the opposite direction pretending not to notice him. You don't know how much good he will care about it, you're damn sure getting a reaction out of it.

Night falls and for the second time sandor does not join the room, the mester came to watch the consummation but you had him sent away wanting no one in the room and nothing. Sitting in the bath the water filled in oils and scents making the room smell nice as well. You sigh dipping into the hot water dunking your head under the water. The quiet of nothing for a few seconds before you come back to the surface.

Moving your wet hair out of your face. You sit to the side and rest your head on your arm and you and your other out of the bathtub letting the water dripping off your finger tips onto the stone flooring.

The memories of a happier time flood your mouth, your brother and you walking and laughing in the gardens. Him teaching you to ride a horse. Your family in your home's castle. All things you'll never get back. Confined to hatred and stone walls of kings landing.

—------

The next day you continue to ignore the hound. Although has busy supervising the training of the new guards you pass by the courtyard you can feel his eyes on you.

“Marriage troubles already?” meryyn says to him as sandor huffs at you.

“Shut the fuck up trant.” he grumbles.

“What's wrong clegane aren't performing well.” merryn laughs sandor walks towards merryn and grabs his collar.

“You dont fucking shut up ill turn your insides to out side do you understand!” he tells me. Before dropping him into the mud. The other men stop to watch merryn trant get told by the larger man. Merryn gets up and draws his sword to sandor.

“Oh what? You're going to pull out your little sword on me?” Sandor is annoyed with his temper tantrum.

“Go on then swing it. Show everyone what a big strong man you are!” hound yells at trant. Who then swings his sword missing sandor everyone laughs as merryn only prompting him to swing again missing sandor for a second time.

“Fuck sake.” Sandor rolls his eyes at him, grabbing his sword out of Trant's hands, throwing it to the side and landing a punch on his face. Everyone oohs at the site of merryn getting his ass kicked. He gets up and charges at Sandor with a yell barreling into him pushing him back, tackling him.

“You fuckign fat ugly cunt!” Sandor yells at him and pushes him over, holding his face into the mud. Jamie walks over with his arms crossed as he chuckles at Merryns struggle.

“Don't pick a fight you can't win.” Jamie says as Sandor gets up, spitting out the mud that got into his mouth and wiping it off his face.

“Dumb cunt.” Sandor says before spitting out more mud.

—-----

You stand in the throne room staring at the iron throne alone, your handmaidens out of your sight finally. Nothing but peace and quiet as you stare at the throne.

“Beautiful isn't it.” you hear a voice turning to see lord baelish.

“My lord.” you say nodding your head.

“Princess.” he answers, taking his place right next to you.

“It was forged after all the battles against the Targaryens were done. People say that the throne room used to be covered in swords from all the battles, they would melt the swords right down onto the stairs” he says holding his hand out.

“Where are they now? The other swords?” you ask in wonder.

“Removed when the chair had a new sitter. Children running around. They say servers would trip and impale themselves so often they had to train staff to a speciality. Out of all the brutality the targaryens ensued…they cared for the weary.” he says you continue to look at the throne.

“You are lady clegane now, yes?” he says

“You were at the wedding banquet, surely you must know.” you say reluctantly.

“You don't sound pleased.” he says

“I…it's just for the past few days that's all anyone speaks of my being lady clegane the princess away from home…i just…” you trail off.

“Just what my lady?” he asks.

You're about to open your mouth to speak again but the door opens and you both turn around seeing sandor half covered in mud.

“Speak of the demon himself, what brings you? Here to collect for my lady wife?” Baelish says.

“Fuck off you grey haired squirrel” sandor grunts as he walks twords your way.

“Why are you muddy? Are you alright?” You ask.

“Becuase merryn fuckign trant dosnt know when you keep his greasy fucking tits out of the way. Picked a fight while over seeing guarding fucking cock sucker. He says passing you both.

“Don't keep us waiting to tell if you win?” Baelish asks.

“Fuck…off.” he huffs walking down through the hall to the council room. Also reminding lord baelish why he was walking through the throne room.

“I beg pardon my lady, I wish you a good night.” he says bowing before following after sandor.

Chapter 5 here

#sandor clegane x you #sandor clegane x reader #Sandorclegane #sandor the hound clegane #got x reader #princess reader

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theetherealbloom · 2 months ago

Text

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 4 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Four: I Will Be Your Executioner

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attack,

Word Count: 9k

A/N: OMFGGGGGG I’m actually writing non-stop. Wtf. Guys this part is heavily inspired by many quotes from the Glory. It’s so goooooddd! Go watch it. ALSO LMAO sorry for the chonky chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: No Choir by Florence + The Machine

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

THE WEDDING RECEPTION

KING'S LANDING GARDEN, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The once-vibrant garden has turned into a scene from a nightmare. Joffrey’s lifeless body lies in his mother’s lap, the blood trickling from his nose and mingling with the vomit caking his lips. Cersei’s scream cuts through the chaos like a blade, her finger trembling as it points directly at Tyrion.

"You did this! You did this!" she shrieks, her voice cracking with grief and rage.

Tyrion barely has time to react before three guards seize him from behind, their grip firm, dragging him back. The entire court is thrown into disarray, nobles scrambling, unsure where to look or what to say. The shock hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Your eyes flick to Sansa as she watches, wide-eyed and frozen in place. Ser Dontos Hollard, the fool, sidles up to her, his face pale with urgency.

“We have to leave,” he whispers frantically, his hand tugging at her sleeve.

Sansa looks to you, her expression a mix of confusion and terror, searching for an answer. You meet her gaze and give the smallest, subtlest nod, speaking in the quietest voice that only she can hear.

"Run."

You keep your posture relaxed, every movement calculated, as though the chaos around you is nothing but a passing storm. Let it swirl, let them scream, none of it touches you.

Cersei’s piercing voice shatters the air again. “Take him! Take him!”

The guards drag Tyrion away through the crowd, his face a mask of resignation. You shift, sliding further to the edge of the gathering, your eyes tracking Sansa as she and Ser Dontos disappear, swallowed by the throng of horrified nobles. As Cersei’s head whips around, searching for a new target for her grief, her shrill voice rises again.

"Where is his wife? Where's Sansa?!"

Tywin's voice booms over the garden, commanding attention with the force of authority, “Find her. Bar the gates of the city. Seize every ship in the harbor.”

The tension mounts as Cersei, distraught and frenzied, clings to Tywin. “Where is she?!”

“No one leaves the capital!" Tywin's voice echoes like a decree from the gods themselves. "No one!”

The wheels are turning, but you remain steady, unmoved, watching everything unfold like a distant observer.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — DUSK

The bells toll ominously across the city, signaling not just the king's death but the beginning of a lockdown. What had begun as a celebration of young love and power had spiraled into a suffocating horror—a wedding turned funeral. The streets were locked down, the gates barred, and whispers spread like wildfire among the servants. Every corner of the Red Keep hummed with dread.

You sat in the dim light of your chambers, fingers tracing over the pages of your journal. On the list of names you had scrawled, Joffrey’s stood out, now crossed out in thick ink. The weight of his demise did not lift your heart, but there was a cold satisfaction in seeing that line through his name.

A knock on your door broke the silence. You didn’t even look up, your voice calm, measured. “Enter.”

Serena stepped in, her movements quiet and careful as she shut the door behind her, turning the lock with a soft click before coming to sit beside you. Her eyes fell to your journal, to the page you’d been reading, and her gaze lingered on the crossed-out name.

Her voice was soft when she asked, “Did you…”

You didn’t hesitate. “It wasn’t me who slipped the poison.” Your tone was blunt, matter-of-fact. Serena was smart—she could piece together the rest on her own. She nodded slowly, absorbing the truth behind your words.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “I’d still like to thank you. For doing this.”

Her gratitude was real, but it didn’t touch you. Nothing did anymore. You turned to her, your expression as unreadable as stone.

"I didn’t do it for thanks," you said, your voice as cold as the air before a storm. “I did it because people like him—people like them—will only understand one thing from now on.” You paused, holding Serena’s gaze, unblinking. “They will suffer, just as we have.”

Serena nodded, her lips tightening into a thin line. She knew. She understood.

And so, your revenge continued. Joffrey’s name may have been crossed out, but there were others. And as you sat there, cold and detached, you knew this was only the beginning of a longer reckoning. The suffering had only just begun.

THE NEXT DAY

STREETS OF SILK, CHATAYA’S BROTHEL — DAY

The city pulsed with a nervous energy, the fallout of Joffrey’s death rippling through every alleyway, every corner of King’s Landing. It was rare for you to have a day free from the palace, but amidst the chaos, no one had cared when a few servants slipped away. The Red Keep had become a den of paranoia, each person trying to avoid the eye of suspicion. A perfect time to disappear—even if just for a while.

As you walked through the streets, your steps silent, deliberate, you overheard a conversation between two guards. Their voices were low, yet their words unmistakable. Tywin plans to confront Oberyn. The Hand of the King knew of Oberyn's frequent visits to Chataya’s brothel—it was no secret that the Dornish prince indulged himself openly. Tywin’s suspicions were spreading like wildfire, and you needed to be there to hear what he might uncover.

Pulling your cloak tight around you, you kept to the shadows, slipping between the narrow alleys that twisted like veins through the streets of silk. The map of the city was etched into your mind as clearly as the secrets you kept—memorized over years of service, of watching and waiting.

You reached the brothel just as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Slipping through the back door, you moved with the practiced silence of someone who knew how to remain unseen. A shadow among shadows. The moans and laughter of the brothel’s patrons created a cover of noise, perfect for hiding in plain sight.

The scent of incense and sweat filled the air, thick and cloying, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed ahead, scanning for any sign of Tywin or his men. You crept further into the brothel, slipping behind a large stone pillar that stood near one of the darker corners of the room. Hidden in the gloom, you were just another part of the architecture, unseen, unnoticed.

The dagger strapped to your thigh pressed reassuringly against your skin, a small comfort in the uncertainty of the moment. You had long since learned that in King’s Landing, secrets and steel were your best companions. One cut as deep as the other, and both had their uses. If anyone saw you, anyone grew suspicious—you would be ready.

You crouched lower behind the pillar, listening as Oberyn’s voice carried faintly from one of the rooms. His tone was as smooth and dangerous as ever, a man who never feared consequences, not even from Tywin Lannister. You stayed still, your heart steady but your mind sharp, waiting for the moment when Tywin would confront him.

You could feel it—the unraveling was only just beginning. The tension in the city would soon give way to something far darker, and you were determined to be ahead of it, to see everything before it was hidden away in shadows again.

As footsteps echoed down the hall, heavier, more deliberate, you pressed further into the shadows. Tywin. You could not afford to be seen, but you could not afford to miss this either. Information was your weapon. And today, you would sharpen it.

Just in time, you watched as three naked whores and Ellaria Sand stepped out of one of the rooms. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded down her bare shoulders as she laughed softly, her gaze briefly scanning the room before she and the others disappeared down the hall. The guards trailed after them, though one remained standing by the entrance. Close, but not too close.

The door to Oberyn’s room was slightly ajar.

You slipped inside with practiced precision, the heavy scent of incense clinging to the air. The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the midday sun, filtering through the heavy curtains. Oberyn Martell was seated on the bed, shirtless and glistening with sweat, his bronzed skin catching the light as he stretched with the grace of a panther. The gods must have shown you some favor—he was still clothed from the waist down.

His gaze shifted lazily toward you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as if your presence amused him. He knew you were there long before you entered.

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, his voice low, teasing. He gestured casually toward a chair in the corner, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Tywin Lannister stood at the other end of the room, his expression as hard as stone, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. “No, thank you,” Tywin replied curtly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Oberyn’s movements were slow, deliberate, as he rose from the bed, his lean body practically dripping with confidence. He stepped toward a small cart by the window, where a tray of wine and goblets waited. “Some wine?” he offered again, pouring himself a generous amount, the dark liquid swirling in the cup.

Tywin, still standing near the door, remained unmoved. “No, thank you,” he repeated.

Oberyn, with a patterned towel draped over his shoulder, took a slow sip of the wine, his eyes never leaving Tywin’s. “I'm sorry about your grandson,” he said smoothly, though the sincerity in his tone was questionable.

Tywin’s lips twitched, barely containing his disdain. “Are you?” he asked, the question laced with accusation.

Oberyn shrugged, moving across the room like a predator sizing up his prey. “I don't believe a child is responsible for the sins of his father. Or his grandfather. An awful way to die.” His voice was casual, but his eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—were watching Tywin’s every move.

The tension in the room was recognizable, thick enough to choke on. You remained hidden in the shadows, every word falling like stones in a still pond, sending ripples of suspicion through the air.

“Which way is that?” Tywin asked, his voice sharp.

Oberyn tilted his head, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?” he purred, settling onto a plush bed of pillows, lounging with the practiced grace of a man who feared nothing.

“Some believe the king choked,” Tywin mused, watching Oberyn closely.

“Some believe the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant,” Oberyn replied, his tone mocking. He took another sip of wine before adding, “The king was poisoned.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. “I hear you studied poisons at the Citadel.”

Oberyn’s smile widened, like a cat who had caught the scent of a mouse. “I did. This is why I know.”

Tywin’s voice dropped, edged with danger. “Your hatred for my family is rather well known. You arrive at the capital, an expert in poisoning, and days later my grandson dies of poisoning.”

Oberyn didn’t miss a beat. “Rather suspicious,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Why haven’t you thrown me in a dungeon?”

Tywin's gaze hardened. “You spoke with Tyrion in this very brothel on the day that you arrived. What did you discuss?”

“You think we conspired together?” Oberyn raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What did you discuss?”

Oberyn’s playful demeanor faltered, as he moved to stand, approaching Tywin, his voice dropping into something darker, colder. “The death of my sister.”

Tywin did not flinch, though his eyes gave away nothing. “For which you blame me.”

Oberyn leaned forward slightly, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. “She was raped and murdered by the Mountain. The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken threats. You remained perfectly still, your heart a steady drumbeat in your chest as you watched the two men circle each other, both poised for an attack that would never come.

Tywin, calm as ever, gave the faintest shrug. “Here I stand unarmed, unguarded. Should I be concerned?”

Oberyn smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that. I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today, I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow.”

“Men at war commit all kinds of crimes without their superiors' knowledge,” Tywin said, almost conversationally.

“So you deny involvement in Elia's murder?”

Tywin’s voice remained steady. “Categorically.”

Oberyn’s gaze sharpened, his smile fading into something colder. “I would like to speak with the Mountain.”

“I’m sure he would enjoy speaking with you,” Tywin said evenly.

Oberyn’s lips curled into a grim smile. “He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks he would.”

Tywin’s eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. “I could arrange for this meeting.”

Oberyn’s brow arched, intrigued. “But you want something in return.”

Tywin’s voice was calm, measured. “There will be a trial for my son. As custom dictates, three judges will render a verdict. I will preside. Mace Tyrell will serve as the second judge. I would like you to be the third.”

Oberyn’s amusement returned, but his tone remained cautious. “Why?”

“Not long ago, the Tyrells sided with Renly Baratheon. Declared themselves enemies of the throne. Now they are our strongest allies.”

Oberyn shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen. Asking me to judge at your son's trial isn't quite as tempting.”

Tywin stepped forward, his voice dropping low. “I will also invite you to sit on the small council to serve as one of the new king's principal advisors.”

Oberyn studied Tywin, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I never realized you had such respect for Dorne, Lord Tywin.”

“We are not the Seven Kingdoms until Dorne returns to the fold,” Tywin replied, his voice cold, calculated. “The king is dead. The Greyjoys are in open rebellion. A wildling army marches on the Wall. And in the East, a Targaryen girl has three dragons. Before long, she will turn her eyes to Westeros. Only the Dornish managed to resist Aegon Targaryen and his dragons.”

Oberyn’s smile returned, slow and sharp. “You're saying you need us? That must be hard for you to admit.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change. “We need each other. You help me serve justice to the king's assassins, and I will help you serve justice to Elia's.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Oberyn fell silent, his gaze turning inward, distant, as if he were calculating a hundred possibilities all at once. The tension lingered, thick and unspoken, between him and the absent Tywin. The delicate balance of power that had just played out was clear—two predators circling one another, masking threats with diplomacy.

You pressed yourself deeper into the shadows, watching Oberyn with a sharp, practiced gaze. His expression remained contemplative, still lost in the aftermath of his exchange with Tywin. Outside the room, the echo of Tywin’s footsteps faded into the distance, and the door clicked shut with finality, leaving behind an uneasy stillness that hung thick in the air.

But you had lingered too long. In a silent breath, you pulled back into the shadows, slipping toward the door like a shadow yourself. You moved swiftly, soundless, as you had been trained—disappearing without a trace. The world outside was teeming with noise and life, but none of it noticed your departure. You melted into the alleyways, your cloak drawn close, your steps swift and measured as you darted through the maze of streets that threaded King’s Landing.

The market was alive with its usual chaos, the scent of spices mingling with the salt of the sea, merchants shouting over one another, selling everything from silks to stale bread. You wove through the crowds, your face hidden beneath the hood of your cloak, eyes scanning your surroundings. You had always known how to vanish in plain sight.

But then, the sound hit you.

A sharp sizzle, the searing of meat against hot metal. Your steps faltered as the scent of charred pork filled the air, thick and overwhelming, clinging to your skin like smoke. For a moment, the world around you seemed to blur—the market, the people, the shouts—it all dimmed. Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as the memories surged, unbidden, unstoppable.

Flames licking at your skin, the scent of burning flesh, the sound of your own screams echoing in the back of your mind. The fire that had marked you, that had seared itself into your memory, now clawed its way to the surface.

Your hands trembled as you stumbled into a corner of the street, your back pressed hard against the cool stone of a wall. The sounds of the market seemed distant now, drowned out by the roar of the fire in your mind. The panic clawed at your chest, squeezing tighter and tighter until it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

You gasped, desperate for air, the weight of your cloak suddenly too heavy, the noise of the market too loud. The edges of your vision blurred, and the ground beneath you felt like it was spinning. The world seemed to close in on you, suffocating, the past and present melding into one.

Burning.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms in an attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that you were no longer there. But the searing sound, the scent—it was too much. The memories flooded you, pulling you under. You pressed your back harder into the wall, trying to fight your way out of the suffocating panic, trying to escape the fire that only existed in your mind.

But it felt so real.

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision swam. You had to get out. Away from the market, away from the noise, away from the memory that gripped you like a vice. You pushed yourself off the wall, your legs shaky but determined, and forced yourself back into the crowd, pulling your cloak tighter around you.

With every step, you fought to steady your breathing, to clear the haze from your mind. The streets blurred around you as you moved, each footfall feeling heavier than the last, but you pressed on. Away from the market. Away from the sound.

Away from the fire.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

By the time you returned to the castle, fatigue weighed heavily on your limbs. The maze of tunnels under the Red Keep stretched out before you like a winding serpent, familiar yet suffocating. Each step felt heavier than the last, your breath shallow, as the cool stone walls seemed to press closer.

As you rounded a corner, your thoughts interrupted by hurried footsteps, you almost collided with someone—Podrick Payne. His wide-eyed expression immediately softened when he realized it was you.

“Oh, my apologies,” Podrick stammered, stepping back in his usual bashful manner.

You shook your head, waving off the apology. "No, it was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going."

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh well…"

There was something about his awkwardness, a sincerity in the way he held himself. Podrick was kind, genuine—a rarity in King's Landing. You had a peculiar way of prying information from him without much effort. It wasn’t something you set out to do, but it was almost as though the right questions spilled from your lips, and he couldn’t help but answer.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing as you noticed the tension in his shoulders. "Are you heading somewhere urgent?"

Podrick blinked in surprise, glancing at the wineskin he carried. “Yes, I’m on my way to see Lord Tyrion in the cells.”

Your gaze dropped to the wineskin, lips curving into a faint smirk. "You’re bringing him wine?"

He nodded, looking somewhat guilty, as though he’d been caught red-handed.

"The guards will take it from you, you know that, right?"

Podrick’s expression flickered with brief defeat, but he nodded again. The innocence in his eyes spoke volumes, but you weren’t fooled. Deep down, you knew he was smuggling more than just wine. You sighed, rubbing your temples as the exhaustion from the day wore at your patience.

"They've chosen the judges for his trial," you added, your voice soft but deliberate.

Podrick glanced around as if someone might overhear, then leaned in slightly. “I heard. Lord Tywin, Mace Tyrell, and Prince Oberyn of Dorne."

"Word travels fast," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. Your eyes drifted over his face, reading the tension etched into his features. His frown deepened, and you couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong? You’re frowning.”

Podrick’s sigh was almost inaudible, but in the quiet of the dimly lit tunnel, it seemed to echo. He lowered his voice as if confessing a secret. "There’s something else. A man—someone I didn’t know—came to me. He asked if I’d testify against Lord Tyrion. Said I’d be named Ser Podrick Payne if I told the judges Tyrion bought a poison called the Strangler.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of the poison, but your expression remained impassive. You frowned, though, as the weight of his words sank in. Podrick, in his innocence, stood at the crossroads of something much darker than he fully understood.

"You…" You took a slow, deep breath, steadying your tone. "Lord Tyrion has been kind to you."

He met your gaze, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "He has."

There was a heavy silence between you, the kind that lingered just long enough to feel uncomfortable. The weight of your secrets hung in the air, unspoken, but Podrick wasn’t foolish. He knew you were holding back, but he never pressed.

"Do you know what happened?" he asked softly, as though afraid of the answer. His voice was tentative, laced with the hope that you might offer him clarity. "Who did it?"

You blinked, your gaze distant, the apathy you had so carefully cultivated slipping back into place. His question lingered, but you gave him no answer—just a soft pat on his shoulder, a rare gesture of kindness in a world that had none to spare.

"You better be careful, Podrick," you said, your voice low, carrying a quiet weight. "You’re one of the rare ones out there who are truly good. Take care of yourself."

His lips parted as if to say something more, but you had already turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the castle, leaving him standing there beneath the flickering torchlight.

KING’S LANDING, QUAY OF THE PORT BY THE SEA OF THE RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The salty breeze whipped across the sea, crashing waves against jagged rocks below as you crouched beneath the cliffsides. Hidden from sight, you watched with keen eyes as Jaime Lannister and Bronn sparred near the water's edge, the sound of clashing steel ringing in the air.

Jaime’s face was flushed, his breath labored, but his movements were sharper than before. He spun his sword with renewed vigor, pressing the attack against Bronn. But the sellsword was as sharp as ever, his parries quick, his footwork steady. They deadlocked, Jaime’s golden hand clashing with Bronn’s grip. With a wicked grin, Bronn swatted Jaime across the face, sending him sprawling onto the ground with an unceremonious thud.

Jaime let out a grunt, pushing himself up from the dirt. “What the hell was that?” he spat, wiping the dust from his tunic.

Bronn tossed Jaime’s golden hand back to him with a smirk. “That was me knocking your ass to the dirt with your own hand."

Jaime caught it, shaking his head. “You’re a rare talent. When you’re fighting cripples, anyway.”

“You learned to fight like a good little boy," Bronn quipped, his grin widening. "I’ll bet that thrust through the Mad King’s back was pretty as a picture. You want to fight pretty, or you want to win?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched. “You talk to my brother this way?”

“All the time. He got used to it.”

They sat together on a low stone wall, the tension easing between them. Jaime took a swig from a wineskin before handing it to Bronn.

“Do you think he did it?” Jaime asked, his voice low, hesitant.

Bronn shook his head. “No. Oh, he hated the little twat, sure. But who didn’t? Poison’s not his style. Or murder, for that matter. You want to know for sure, why don’t you ask him?”

Jaime remained silent, his gaze distant.

“You haven’t been to see him yet, have you?” Bronn probed, his tone carrying an edge of judgment.

Jaime stood abruptly, tossing the wineskin back to Bronn. “We’re done for today.”

As Jaime walked away, Bronn called out, “Your brother ever tell you how I came into his service?”

Jaime paused, his back still turned. “You stood for him in his trial by combat at the Eyrie.”

“Aye,” Bronn replied, his voice steady. “But only when Lady Arryn demanded the trial take place that day. You were his first choice. He named you for his champion because he knew you’d ride day and night to fight for him. You gonna fight for him now?”

Jaime’s silence lingered, the weight of Bronn’s words hanging in the air as he disappeared into the distance.

Once Jaime was gone, Bronn stood alone, shaking his head. That’s when you emerged from your hiding spot, the faint sound of your boots scraping against the stone catching his attention. He turned, spotting you walking towards him, your loose long-sleeve tunic billowing slightly in the wind, trousers and boots practical for the sparring you had in mind. The sword sheathed at your side glinted in the afternoon light, a far cry from the ladylike appearance most would expect.

You let out a low whistle, drawing a chuckle from Bronn as you approached. “You really handed it to him, huh?” you remarked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Who knew today would be the day you make a joke?” Bronn quipped, his smirk never far from his lips.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Might as well get a laugh in once in a while.”

Bronn gave you a quick once-over, his eyes sharp as always. “You here to practice?”

In response, you tossed a small pouch of gold coins at him, which he caught with a practiced ease. “It’s been a while. Was wondering if you were simply busy or if you’d run off.”

You shrugged, the weight of the past few days pressing on your shoulders. “Well, it hasn’t been quiet at the Red Keep.”

“Aye,” Bronn said with a knowing look, his expression softening for just a moment. Then, with his usual swagger, he added, “Well, let’s see if that sword of yours still works.”

The two of you squared off, the tension of the moment melting into the familiar rhythm of training. Bronn was a formidable opponent—quick, sharp, and never one to play by the rules. He tested you immediately, launching a fast strike aimed at your side. You parried it easily, the weight of your sword light in your hands.

"You've gotten faster," Bronn noted, his tone almost begrudging as he stepped back to assess you, his sharp eyes taking in every movement, every subtle shift of your stance.

You shrugged, gripping your sword a little tighter, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than he realized. Faster—it wasn’t just speed you needed. Strength. Precision. Ruthlessness. All of it would be necessary if you were going to do what needed to be done. Your thoughts flickered briefly to him, to the Mountain, and the moment you had been turning over in your mind, rehearsing endlessly in the quiet of your own head.

One well-placed strike—that’s all it would take. You’d studied his movements, watched how he fought. Brutal. Unforgiving. He crushed his opponents like insects beneath his feet, but there was always a weakness. There had to be. You just had to find it, and when you did, the Mountain would fall.

But you didn’t say that out loud.

Instead, you offered Bronn a casual shrug, masking the storm of thoughts beneath your calm expression. “Learned a few tricks while I was busy,” you replied with a half-smile, keeping your voice light.

Bronn smirked, though his eyes still lingered on you as if trying to peel back the layers of your thoughts. "Busy, huh? Hope those tricks keep you alive long enough to show me more."

He didn’t press, and you were grateful for it. There was no need to tell him, not yet. The time would come soon enough, and when it did, you'd be ready.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KING'S LANDING, THE THRONE ROOM — DAY

You stand off to the side, shrouded in the shadows of the grand pillars, your eyes flickering over the scene before you like a predator studying its prey. The High Septon stands at the heart of it all, his voice booming as he leads the coronation of Tommen Baratheon. The crowd has gathered, a sea of nobles dressed in their finest silks, feigning respect and devotion. Your gaze drifts, settling momentarily on Ser Jaime Lannister, who patrols near the back, his golden hand gleaming in the soft light.

"May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him in these perilous times," the High Septon intoned, his voice heavy with ceremony. "May the Smith grant him strength that he might bear this heavy burden. And may the Crone, she that knows the fate of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him through the dark places that lie ahead."

Tommen’s face, still soft with boyish innocence, betrays the weight of the moment. You can see it in his eyes—the bewilderment, the fear hidden behind a facade of calm. He’s a puppet, and the strings are woven through the hands of those more powerful. But he’s not the one you’re watching.

The High Septon finishes, his hands raised toward the heavens. "In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name. King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!" the crowd echoes in unison, their voices a rehearsed chorus.

Your eyes narrow as Tommen bows, exchanging a fleeting glance with Margaery Tyrell. The hint of a smile plays on her lips, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. It’s the look of a woman who knows exactly what she wants—and how to get it. Cersei sees it too, her expression tightening, though she maintains her grace.

You smirk to yourself. The plot never stops, not for a moment.

The grand hall is quieter now, though the air still buzzes with soft chatter. Tommen sits awkwardly on the Iron Throne, his small frame swallowed by its looming presence. Tywin Lannister stands beside him, commanding the room with nothing but his cold, stern silence. The line of courtiers shuffles forward, each taking their turn to bow and offer hollow pleasantries.

"Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle rasps, his aged voice grating against your ears.

"Your Grace," Varys follows, his tone smooth, unreadable.

Tommen exchanges nods and small smiles, barely keeping up the appearance of a ruler. Margaery lingers nearby, her gaze soft but calculating. It’s Cersei’s eyes that catch yours, though, burning with possessiveness and suspicion as they land on Margaery.

Your fingers twitch at your side, the weight of your dagger pressing against your thigh through the fabric of your cloak. There’s no need for it now, but the comfort of steel is a constant reminder of why you’re here—watching, waiting, collecting secrets like coins.

The crowd parts as Cersei approaches Margaery, offering smiles to the onlookers as she moves through the room with the grace of a lioness on the hunt. You observe it all, taking in the flickers of power, the undercurrents that ripple beneath the surface of every interaction.

You sigh, stepping away from the scene and slipping back into the shadows. There’s nothing more to see here. The coronation is just another piece in the larger puzzle, and the trial—the real battle—is yet to come. Your secrets can wait, for now.

KING'S LANDING, THE GARDEN — DAY

The day was warm, the sun casting a golden glow over the lush greenery of the royal gardens. The scent of blooming flowers mingled with the salty air from the sea, but none of that registered as you went about your tasks. Servant duties, tedious and endless, consumed most of your time. Today, it was carrying supplies from the kitchen to the gardens—bundles of herbs, fresh fruits, a few linens. You balanced them carefully in your arms, eyes scanning for a spot to drop them off before you moved to the next errand.

As you passed through the garden's winding paths, the soft murmur of voices caught your attention. You stilled, instinctively pressing yourself into the shade of a tall shrub, out of sight. The voices were familiar—Cersei Lannister and Oberyn Martell. The temptation to eavesdrop, to gather just a bit more information for yourself, was too great to resist.

You shifted slightly, your heart thudding in your chest, trying not to rustle the bushes as you angled your body closer. From where you stood, you had a clear view of Oberyn sitting on a stone bench, writing on a scroll. He paused as Cersei approached, her guards flanking her.

"Your Grace," Oberyn greeted her, his voice low and polite as he stood.

Cersei’s cold smile barely reached her eyes. "Prince Oberyn. Writing letters?"

"A poem, actually," Oberyn replied, his tone light, yet unreadable.

Cersei’s eyebrow raised slightly, more curious than amused. "May I show you the gardens?"

Oberyn glanced down at the scroll he had been working on before standing fully to his feet. "I couldn’t very well refuse a royal escort."

"No, you couldn’t," Cersei said, a slight edge in her voice. You could almost see the power shift between them as they started walking side by side through the winding paths of the garden, their steps measured, calculated.

You trailed discreetly behind them, clutching your bundle tightly, ears straining to catch every word.

"I didn’t realize you were a poet," Cersei remarked, her voice laced with feigned curiosity.

Oberyn chuckled. "Not a very good one."

"For your paramour?"

"For one of my daughters," Oberyn corrected, his voice softening at the mention of his children.

Cersei’s eyes flicked toward him. "You have several, don’t you?"

"Eight," he said, a touch of pride in his voice.

"Eight? Eight daughters?" Cersei repeated, incredulous.

Oberyn nodded. "The fifth is difficult. I named her after my sister, Elia."

At the mention of Elia’s name, your heart clenched. You had always known the depth of his loss, but hearing it aloud, even in passing, reminded you of the storm that brewed constantly beneath Oberyn’s surface.

"Beautiful name," Cersei mused.

"Yes," Oberyn agreed, though his tone darkened. "But I can’t say it without turning sad. And after I turn sad, I grow angry."

"Perhaps that’s why she’s difficult," Cersei remarked, her tone dripping with cynical wisdom. "The gods love their stupid jokes, don’t they?"

Oberyn's gaze narrowed slightly, intrigued. "Which joke is that?"

Cersei’s smile was sharp, almost mocking. "You’re a prince of Dorne. A legendary fighter. A brilliant man feared throughout Westeros. But you could not save your sister. I’m a Lannister. Queen for nineteen years. Daughter of the most powerful man alive. But I could not save my son. What good is power if you cannot protect the ones you love?"

Her words struck like venom, her bitterness palpable. You watched Oberyn’s face shift, his jaw tightening as the memories of his sister undoubtedly flashed behind his eyes.

"We can avenge them," he said after a pause, his voice resolute, cutting through the air like a blade.

Cersei met his gaze, her lips curling slightly. "Yes, we can avenge them."

Oberyn tilted his head, watching her intently. "You really believe Tyrion murdered your son?"

Without hesitation, Cersei replied, "I know he did."

Oberyn’s expression remained calm, though you could sense his skepticism. "We will have a trial, and we will learn the truth."

"We’ll have a trial, anyway," Cersei muttered, her voice tight with impatience. "I haven’t seen my daughter in over a year."

Oberyn’s face softened slightly. "The last time I saw her, she was swimming with two of my girls in the Water Gardens. Laughing in the sun."

Cersei’s eyes briefly glistened with unshed tears. "I want to believe that. I want to believe she’s happy."

Oberyn’s tone was gentle now, sincere. "You have my word. We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne."

Cersei’s voice was a mere whisper, filled with more sadness than she would ever admit aloud. "Everywhere in the world, they hurt little girls. Would you bring her a gift for me? I wasn’t there for her name day. I don’t know when I’ll see her again."

Oberyn’s gaze softened as he nodded. "Anything at all."

Cersei pointed toward the bay, her eyes lingering on a ship. "The best shipwrights in King’s Landing have been working on it for months. Myrcella loves the open water."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a small, understanding smile. "I will have it sailed down to Sunspear for her."

Cersei turned to face him fully, her expression momentarily vulnerable. "Please tell her... her mother misses her very much."

She left then, her guards following behind as her regal figure disappeared from the garden. Oberyn stood still, watching her go with an unreadable expression.

In the silence that followed, Oberyn’s voice cut through the air, calm and composed. "You can show yourself now."

Your breath hitched, but you stepped out from behind the pillar, clutching the supplies you had been carrying, your heartbeat still racing from all you had overheard.

Oberyn's dark eyes, gleaming with that unspoken intensity, never left yours. The weight of his gaze made the space between you feel smaller, heavier, as though every unspoken word lingered in the air. He took a slow step toward you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity.

"I still don’t know your name," he said, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, though his tone remained casual, as if this was just another conversation, nothing more than passing the time.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you swallowed, straightening slightly. "It’s..." You hesitated for a second, then finally offered, your name.

Oberyn hummed in acknowledgment, his smirk widening just a little, as though your name now held a secret weight between the two of you. He moved closer, studying your face carefully. He repeated your name, tasting the name on his tongue like it was something to be savored.

A silence hung between you for a moment, but Oberyn had a way of piercing through it with his words. His eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting just enough to catch your gaze again. "Tell me," he began, his voice soft but laced with a quiet danger, "did you poison the king?"

Your chest tightened at the question, though you knew it was coming. You didn't flinch, your heart steady despite the accusation hanging in the air. Meeting his gaze, you shook your head firmly, your voice calm but resolute. "No. I didn’t."

Oberyn’s intense gaze lingered on you, as if he was peeling away the layers of who you were, searching for the truth hidden beneath your calm exterior. His dark eyes burned with quiet judgment, tempered by curiosity. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, barely perceptible, when he let out a soft hum, the tension in his posture easing. "Good," he murmured, the single word carrying weight, as though it was meant to confirm something greater. Yet, behind his eyes, the storm never ceased, always swirling, always waiting.

You inhaled deeply, the air between you thick with unspoken things. For a long moment, you said nothing, your mind racing through the years, the faces, and the memories long buried under the weight of time and pain. The ocean waves crashed in the distance, steady and unyielding, much like the man before you. The ships bobbed on the horizon, their sails catching the wind as if they were fleeing toward freedom, away from all that was this city—this place of blood and betrayal.

You turned your gaze toward the sea, your voice low as you spoke, almost as if the memory itself had pulled the words from your lips. "You were right, your grace. I knew her… your sister, Princess Elia."

Oberyn’s expression flickered, a subtle shift from curiosity to something more personal, more vulnerable, as he stepped closer to you. His presence was quiet but commanding, the warmth of him beside you drawing your attention. You didn’t look at him; instead, you watched the ships, the waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance.

"It was a long time ago," you continued, your voice soft, filled with a kind of sorrow that time couldn’t quite erase. "I wasn’t a good person then… I don’t know if I am now." Your words hung in the air, fragile but true.

The wind whipped through your hair as the memory surged forth, pulling you back to that day—the day you first met her. You had been standing on the cliffs near Sunspear, staring down at the waters below. The waves had seemed so inviting, so final. You’d been ready to let go, ready to fall and end the pain that had gripped you for far too long.

But then, you heard a cry.

Princess Elia had been in the water, struggling against the currents, her graceful arms failing to keep her afloat. It was instinct, something primal within you that made you dive into the water, though you had been moments away from letting it take you. You swam with a strength you didn’t know you possessed, reaching her, pulling her to the shore. You’d saved her, though you had been prepared to die.

When you reached the sand, both of you gasping for breath, Elia had looked at you, her deep brown eyes searching yours, knowing, seeing far too much. "You were going to jump, weren’t you?" she had asked, her voice soft but piercing.

You had only nodded, the pressure of your decision still clinging to you like the seaweed wrapped around your legs.

Elia had smiled then, a gentle, sorrowful thing. "Thank you for saving me… even when you couldn’t save yourself." Her words had haunted you ever since.

The memory faded, and you were back in the present, the ocean still stretching before you, endless and indifferent. Oberyn stood beside you, silent for a long moment, absorbing your words. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with understanding, with a shared pain.

"You were the one," he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. "The servant girl… the one who survived." His voice was careful, probing, seeking confirmation of a story long buried under the rubble of war and tragedy.

Your face remained void of emotion as you turned to meet his gaze, your eyes hollowed by the weight of the years and the scars you carried. "I haven't forgotten even a day," you replied, your voice eerily calm, devoid of the turmoil you felt. "Some hatred resembles longing. It's impossible to get rid of."

Oberyn's gaze lingered on you, his expression softening, though the tempest within him still raged. His eyes, dark and intense, mirrored the turmoil that churned beneath your own surface. “I’ve also hit rock bottom before,” he said, his voice carrying a rare gentleness. “So, I understand the weight of your anger.”

His words hung in the salt-tinged air, a bridge between the two of you—both bound by memories of a woman long gone, and a shared desire for something that felt like justice but tasted more like vengeance. The sea continued its relentless assault on the cliffs, indifferent to your pain, your histories, and the scars neither of you could erase. The world moved on, as uncaring as ever, while you stood still in the face of it.

Oberyn turned slightly toward you, his expression more searching now. "Is that why you came to King's Landing?" His question was quiet, but the weight of it settled between you like a stone dropped into a deep well.

Without turning to face him, you let out a bitter laugh, the sound lost in the crash of waves. "Isn’t that why you’re here too?"

The words hit him with a force that made him pause, a flash of something unreadable passing across his face. Oberyn was silent for a moment, studying you as if trying to gauge the depth of your resolve. He shifted, his usual confidence tempered by something more cautious now. "You know what revenge does to people," he said softly, his tone laced with concern. "I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. It devours you, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but the anger. It’s… not something someone like you should carry."

You scoffed, the words cutting through you, sharper than any blade. "Someone like me?" you echoed, turning to face him fully for the first time since the conversation began. Your eyes locked onto his, challenging, as if daring him to explain what he meant.

Oberyn’s brow furrowed, a rare crease in the otherwise unshakeable mask he wore. "You carry enough," he said, voice low but firm. "You shouldn’t be the one to deal with this. It will change you."

His worry was unexpected, disarming even, and for a moment, you saw the weight of his own guilt reflected in his gaze—the burdens he carried, the losses he had never fully avenged. But there was also a flicker of something protective, something he wasn’t ready to admit to.

You turned back toward the sea, your heart heavy with a mix of rage and sorrow. The waves below crashed louder now, their rhythm matching the pounding in your chest. "I’ve already been changed," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the roar of the ocean. "There’s nothing left to take."

Oberyn stepped closer, his presence warm beside you, though the space between you felt vast. “There’s always something left,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the edge of worry still lacing his words. “You just don’t see it yet.”

The silence between you stretched long, as the sea kept its pace, unbothered by the weight of two broken souls standing on the cliffs above it. Neither of you spoke again for some time, each lost in your own thoughts, but bound by an understanding neither of you had expected.

Both here for vengeance. Both already paying its price.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — EVENING

The evening air clung heavily to the Red Keep, filled with the scent of the sea and the distant hum of King’s Landing. After leaving Oberyn by the cliffs, the weight of exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you through the motions of the day. Each task completed, each conversation had, felt like a necessary distraction—an anchor to keep you from drowning in your thoughts. Yet, none of it could quiet the storm within.

Once your duties were done, you retreated to your small chambers, the flickering light of a lone candle casting shadows against the stone walls. You sat at the edge of your bed, a leather journal resting on your lap. The worn pages were a map of your thoughts, your plans, your vengeance. You traced a finger over the spine, staring down at the leather-bound book that held all the pieces of your story. It was here, in the quiet of the night, that you could feel the weight of everything you’d worked for, everything you had planned.

Your revenge.

You glanced at the drawer where your dagger rested, a constant companion in this journey, but tonight you would leave it behind. Tonight was not for the blade, but for something else entirely. Whispered words from the servants confirmed that Ellaria was out in the brothels, and that knowledge settled something within you.

You changed swiftly into a nightgown, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, and draped a dark cloak over your shoulders. It shrouded your form as you slipped through the halls of the Red Keep, every step measured, your path taking you toward the guest quarters. Toward Oberyn.

MAIDENVAULT, GUEST CHAMBERS

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP - EVENING

The corridors were dimly lit, and you moved like a shadow, slipping unnoticed through the Keep. The cold stone beneath your feet did little to deter you as you made your way to the door of Oberyn’s chambers.

You hesitated for only a moment, then pushed the door open, slipping inside before the guards could take notice. The room was dim, lit only by the pale silver of the moonlight filtering in through the window. Oberyn stood near the bed, surprised by your sudden presence, his dark eyes meeting yours as you stepped into the moonlight, the cloak falling away from your shoulders.

He closed the door behind him, his gaze flickering over you, curiosity and something else stirring in his eyes. "I didn’t expect company tonight," he said, his voice low, a touch playful as he stepped closer. "Is this what I think it is?"

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, your fingers moved to the ties of your nightgown, pulling them loose until the fabric slipped down from your shoulders, falling in a whispering heap at your feet. Oberyn’s smirk faltered as the moonlight revealed the truth—scarred, burned, and marred flesh stretching across your body like a grotesque map of past pain.

"It felt like a white night, and sometimes it felt like a polar night, too."

His amusement vanished, replaced by horror, by understanding. "Gods…" he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in the damage that covered every inch of you.

“Ugly, right?” Your voice was toneless, cold. “My scars.”

Oberyn’s eyes darkened, but not with revulsion—only fury, a quiet, simmering rage that burned behind his otherwise calm exterior. He didn’t need to ask who had done this to you. The answer was written in the jagged lines that crisscrossed your skin. He knew. He had always known the darkness that resided in this city, but seeing it on you, it seemed to strike deeper.

“They’re not ugly,” he said softly, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “They’re injuries.” His voice was a mixture of defiance and sympathy, the edges rough with something dangerous.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze with a stark intensity. "I’m not looking for a prince," you said, your voice steady and without emotion. “What I need is not a prince, but a headsman who will join me in the sword dance.”

Oberyn’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words sinking into the space between you. For a moment, you could see the conflict in his eyes—the warrior who knew the toll of vengeance, and the lover who wished to shield you from it. But as he looked at the scars on your body, the decision seemed to solidify within him.

"Once your revenge is over, your world will also be in ruins," he said, his voice still holding the trace of concern, but it was quickly fading.

"I’m already in complete ruins with no dignity left," you replied, your voice like iron. "So, go back. I’d like to stay faithful to my rage and vice"

Oberyn exhaled slowly, the storm within him finally breaking. His fingers flexed at his side, as if already reaching for the hilt of his sword. “I’ll do it,” he said, stepping even closer until his presence was all-encompassing. “I’ll be your headsman. I’ll join the sword dance.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sunk in, the finality of them sending a thrill through you. “I’ll do whatever you say,” he continued, his voice like a vow. “As if it’s a royal command. Anything at all.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the violence in his words. “I’ll show you a wild sword dance,” he promised, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a deadly sort of resolve.

In that moment, you both knew there was no turning back. The sword dance would begin, and neither of you would emerge the same.

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