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cdragons · 8 months ago

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The Eastern Wind & Moon Sail to Winterfell

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Summary: 美灵 (Měilíng) and 明阴 (Míng Yīn) visit House Stark after news of Jon Arryn's death and murder arrives at Winterfell. Ned Stark senses a trouble brewing in the air. Are the vultures from King's Landing circling to soon feast on his family's flesh? Is there any way to stop it? Meanwhile, the Young Wolf begins to battle his desires for the heart and affections of one tempestuous YiTish Sea Captain.

Warning(s): MDNI 18+; Canon doesn't exist here *shhhhhhhh*, Ned is having a crisis, Stannis may be OOC; Robb Stark wants to Dom the hot sea captain when he's clearly a Sub; Catelyn Stark is kind of a bitch; GOT is GOT (shit's gonna go down); Yi Tish dialogue is Bold, Italicized, and Green

Author's Note: Author hasn't seen Game of Thrones in a long-ass time, so if the characters are OOC...my bad 🤷🏻‍♀️. I used Mandarin for YiTish, and translations are at the bottom. Game of Thrones belong to GRR Martin, and the regions of Yi Ti are all credited to @anya-snow. If you liked reading this, please check out the masterlist!

Arya continually stabbed her needle in the fabric as Septa Mordane gushed over Sansa’s pretty embroidery. She looked beside her and met eyes with his youngest brother’s betrothed, Shireen Baratheon. The young girl gave an encouraging smile as she also struggled with stitching and embroidery. The young Baratheon heiress preferred to lose herself in the ancient library in Winterfell or with Maester Luwin as they discussed the history of House Targaryen.

The Stark girl smiled back at the young Baratheon. She liked Shireen very much, and thought her excellent company. At night, she would recount tales and stories her sister, Minna, shared from her travels in letters or from herself. Arya felt her mood drop again as he looked at Sansa. Shireen was so lucky to have an older sister as exciting and fun as Minna—someone who would fight and travel the world. The girls were only sisters through marriage. Shireen was from Stannis Baratheon’s first marriage, as Minna was the daughter of her mother’s first in Yi Ti, but they loved each other so fiercely that blood hardly mattered.

Minna didn’t care that Shireen was scarred from Greyscale, nor did she treat her as a pitiful creature to grow with her face. Minna and her mother, Lady Mei, loved the girl to the seven hells and back. The woman loved Shireen so much that she demanded her new husband swear that Shireen’s place as his heir would not be changed if they ever had a son. Arya still remembered the night she overheard Shireen tell Rickon how Minna told her that the gods gave Shireen her scars to prevent the Maiden from cursing her.

“Minnie told me I have the most beautiful soul,” she whispered just loud enough for Arya to hear her from outside an open door. “If I were beautiful both inside and out, the Gods would have cursed me for having too much, like Aphrodite had done to Marcaria.”

Arya bitterly continued with her stitching as a dull thud entered her ears, and she turned her head in the direction of laughter outside in the courtyard.

Bran struggled as he pulled his arm to draw out the bowstring. His older brothers, Jon and Robb, stood beside him in observation to guide his lessons while his younger brother, Rickon, sat above them on a mounted saddle. When he released the bowstring, the arrow shot up and over the target and outside the wall. He looked down in dejection as his brothers began to laugh even harder.

“And which one of you was a mark smith at ten?” his father, Lord Eddard ‘Ned’ Stark, called out above them. He and Lady Catelyn Stark, nee Tully, watched him practice. Ned Stark looked at his young son and encouraged him. “Keep practicing, Bran. Go on.”

Jon Snow lowered to whisper in Bran’s ear. “Don’t think too much about it, Bran.”

“Relax your bow arm,” remarked Robb.

Just when Bran was about to release his draw, an arrow shot past him and pierced the red center of the target. Whipping his head behind him, Bran saw it was Arya with a bow about twice her height. She curtsied with a smile before Bran went after her. She let him chase after her, and soon, they were running around the courtyard.

“Quick, Bran! Faster!” called out Jon as he and Robb watched their two siblings joyfully play.

Rickon remained seated on the mounted saddle. He looked up at the window where Sansa and Shireen should be. When his mother and father told him he would marry Stannis Baratheon’s daughter last year, his mother was enraged. He overheard Mother plead with his father to reconsider the match. She did not want her youngest boy to be with someone deformed by the gods. But Father dismissed her claims.

“Shireen Baratheon is Mei’s daughter now, and she confirmed that the girl’s illness is no longer contagious.” Ned Stark firmly stated.

“You would risk our family’s health over some foreign woman’s ‘confirmation?’’ Catelyn Stark exclaimed. “How is she to know? How can you possibly trust her words so much? A woman from a land as far as hers has no way of knowing such remedies. What if she and that girl–”

Her husband cut her off. “That’s enough, Cat. I understand your worries. I do. But I will not allow you to besmirch Mei’s and her daughter’s good names. She has been a long friend of Stannis Baratheon, and now she is his wife. She would never harm children. Never.”

He noticed his words frustrated his wife, and he placed a gentle hand on her arm before laying a soft kiss on her brow. “Mei is probably the wisest woman I have ever known. And sending Shireen with her daughter isn’t so much for an engagement – but to make her comfortable around others. The boys are long used to her sister’s presence; they will take up nicely with Shireen’s.”

And the matter was settled. Rickon remembered how Mother and Sansa kept their distance from the girl when she first arrived with Minna. Minna would only stay for the first month before leaving to travel to the Reach and then Dorne. When Shireen first approached him during Luwin’s lessons, he was amazed by the book size she was carrying. The moment she opened her mouth about things like Jin and huakaʻi pō, Rickon decided that it would make him extremely happy if he spent the rest of his life with Shireen. His mother was less than pleased and stormed off to lock herself in Winterfell’s Sept. But Father only gave Rickon a proud smile and gave his hair a good tousle.

As Ned Stark and his wife laughed at the scene, they were interrupted by the small pattering of a child’s footsteps running towards them. They turned and saw Shireen Baratheon escorted by Theon Greyjoy, the Ironborn ward. The odd pair first bowed respectfully and greeted Lord and Lady Stark with their titles before Theon stepped aside for Shireen. The young girl was beaming so widely that it warmed the old Lord’s heart. He couldn’t help but pity the child for the hand life dealt her, but it filled his heart to know that she would at least experience some kindness outside her own family.

“Ah, Lady Shireen,” he greeted the girl. “What brings you here? Come to watch Bran practice?”

Shireen shook her head. “No, my lord. I just received news from Shadow. My sister is currently docked at Dragonstone, and she, Mother, and Steffard will be arriving in White Harbor in a week’s time from tomorrow!”

Ned’s eyebrows shot up in bewilderment. “A week? From Dragonstone to White Harbor? How will they make it so fast with her crew and that giant ship of hers?”

“They won’t be coming with her,” Shireen answered. “She’s traveled to after stopping at King’s Landing. Father is Dragonstone to take care of some things while she sails alone. My sister is a very accomplished sailor blessed with the winds’ favor, my lord. I wouldn’t be surprised if she arrived here in just five days or less.”

Ned gave a loud laugh. “Knowing she’s your mother’s daughter, it wouldn’t surprise me either. Thank you for telling me.”

“I’ll be sure to prepare a guest room for them,” Lady Catelyn informed her husband before turning to Shireen. “Will your sister and Lady Baratheon bring their own handmaidens, or will they need one provided? Will your brother need a wet nurse?”

Shireen shook her head. “Oh no, my lady! My sister greatly dislikes the idea of handmaidens and ladies-in-waiting! But Minnie said that she would be bringing Wu! And my mother prefers to nurse my brother.”

Lady Catelyn Stark’s smile faltered slightly while Ned’s widened at the mention of Lady Minna’s ‘pets.’ The beasts resembled more killers than travel companions. Catelyn Stark almost preferred the ruffians that made up her crew to the animals.

Shireen turned to Theon. “Do you think Ari will enjoy spending time with another bird? I would feel awful if he became lonely from Shadow’s arrival.”

Theon gave a sincere smile to the young girl before tousling her hair. “I think nothing would make him happier, my lady. He was bored out of his mind being alone with the ravens before Baleor’s arrival. What’s one more?”

Rodrick walked up to his lord and lady to inform them that they had captured a deserter of the Wall, and they were ready to give his execution. Ned Stark’s expression became somber hearing the news as his eyes darted to the young Shireen. He ordered Theon to escort her and Rickon to Maester Luwin for their lessons before telling Robb and Jon to saddle their horses. When the Greyjoy ward left, he informed Rodrick that Bran would join them. This gave concern to his wife.

“Ned,” she pleaded. “Ten is too young to see such things.”

“He won’t be a boy forever,” her husband replied. “And winter is coming.”

Bran kept thinking about the words his father had imparted to him after he had taken off the deserter’s head with Ice.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

It still confused him. He wanted to ask Robb when Father stopped in the middle of the road. He made a right turn toward the river. Jon was right behind Father while Bran followed. It was a direwolf! But…it was dead, and it had pups! But as excited as Bran was, he made no sound. Everyone around him was silent as they all stood in awe at the dead symbol of their house.

“It’s a freak,’ remarked Theon.

Father corrected him. ‘It’s a direwolf–” he looked at Rodrick for a moment in shock before grabbing the antler lodged in its throat “–tough old beast.”

“There are no direwolves South of the Wall,” commented Robb.

“Now there are five,” remarked Jon, picking one pup in his arms and handing it to Bran. “You want to hold it?”

The pup’s fur was white with speckles of grey across its body. Its body squirmed as it whined and whimpered at the change of its surroundings – and for the death of its mother.

Bran looked up at his brother. “Where will they go? Their mother’s dead.”

With a heavy heart, Rodrick answered the young lordling’s question. “They don’t belong down here.”

Ned Stark stood with his sword in hand. “Better a quick death. They won’t last without their mother.”

“Right,” Theon unsheathed his blade and reached for the pup in Bran’s arms. “Give it here.”

“No!” Bran cried as Theon looked mildly distressed at the boy’s plea.

“Put away your blade,” Robb commanded his friend. He didn’t like to give Theon orders – especially since the boy was more like a brother to him than just a ward his father brought from the Iron Islands, but he didn’t want to spill the direwolf pup’s blood.

Nonetheless, Robb’s words irked Theon. “I take orders from your father, not you.”

But Bran couldn’t allow the pups to die. He continued to plead with his father. “Please, Father!”

“I’m sorry, Bran.” The lord didn’t like seeing his young so upset, but he needed to understand the way of the world. It would be cruel to let the pups live – only to struggle to live and die before winter comes.

“Lord Stark–” Ned turned around to his son’s voice “–there are five pups—one for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them.”

“And what about you?” thought Ned. “Are you not my child? Why should you be denied the right to wear and own the sigil of my house – your house? Even if you carry neither mine nor your mother’s name- are you still not of my blood?”

He looked at his son with sad and hurt eyes as if reliving a memory from another lifetime ago. When everyone turned to him, waiting for an answer, he replied sternly and somberly.

“You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves.” And with bitter anger on his tongue, he spat out. “And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.”

As Jon handed two more direwolf pups in Robb’s arms, Bran turned to his brother. “What about you?”

Jon hesitated before answering. “I’m not a Stark. Get on.”

But as they began to leave, Jon heard small and faint whimpers from below. He walked down to try and locate it. Robb and Theon stopped to ask if there was a problem. For his answer. He held up a sixth direwolf pup – one with stark white fur like snow and piercing blood-red eyes.

“Ah, the runt of the litter,” Theon quipped with a smug smirk. “That one’s yours, Snow.”

Jon looked at Greyjoy with exasperation, while Robb looked pleased and grateful for the albino pup’s existence. At the very least, his favorite brother also had a direwolf. He was a Stark – whether his mother liked it or not.

The ride back to Winterfell was quiet in the front, with the grown men still somber and sullen from the execution. But the boys were speaking with one another with great excitement for bringing home new members of their family. Robb and Theon were riding in front of Jon and Bran. Bran was still thinking about what the deserter said about the white walkers. Was he lying? Was Father right about mad men seeing what they want to see? But…he didn’t look mad.

“Quite the day for the lad. Eh, Bran?” Theon called out to him as Bran broke from his thoughts. “First, your first deserter execution. Next, you and your siblings are getting a direwolf each. And to think, I thought Shireen’s sister’s arrival would be the most exciting news of the day.”

“What?” thought Bran. His thoughts about white walkers and deserters were quickly replaced by news of his friend's arrival.

“Minnie’s coming?” he excitedly asked with a broad smile and bright eyes. “Did she say when? Is she bringing Wu with her?”

Theon’s news also caught Jon’s and Robb’s attention. Jon was lost in his thoughts since finding the albino wolf pup. Robb was thinking about Arya’s and Rickon’s reactions to receiving the privilege of caring for their house’s sigil. But now, something of greater import came to their attention.

“Ming’s coming?” asked Jon. “Are you sure?”

Theon smirked at the bastard’s excitement. “I was with her when Shadow flew up to her with a message tied on its leg – escorted the Lady Shireen myself when she told Lord and Lady Stark. Lass was practically jumping off the walls after reading it.”

“Did she say when she would be arriving? Are Lord Stannis and his lady wife coming with her?” asked Robb.

Theon shook his head. “She says she’s in Dragonstone to prepare for her stay. She’ll be at White Harbor in a week. She’s bringing their mother and brother, too. But Lord Stannis won’t be joining them this time.”

This greatly confused Bran and his brothers. Lord Stannis was infamous for his sour expressions and austereness – but anyone who had the privilege of meeting him now would see how much the company of his second wife softened his hard nature. Stannis Baratheon was a man who showed no love for his brothers, but he adored the women and girls in his life. An adoration now extended to his youngest child, his only son.

For such a man to not travel with his wife was a strange and unusual occurrence.

“Why is Lord Stannis not traveling with Minnie and Lady Mei?” asked Bran. His brows furrowed before worry took hold of him. “Did he and Lady Mei fight, and she’s running away with their son?”

“Bran, that’s enough,” ordered Jon. “Everyone knows how much Lord Stannis respects Lady Mei’s advice. I’m sure he's not joining them because there’s too much to do at King’s Landing. Being King Robert’s brother gives him a great number of duties.”

Theon turned to Jon with a wide smirk. “Awfully defensive of Lady Mei’s honor – aren’t you, Snow? Think that’ll grant you any favors from her daughter, ‘Minion’?”

“Don’t call her that!” Bran called out.

Jon sputtered his response with red-tipped ears. “You know how much she hates being called that. Or do you want a repeat of what happened in the courtyard when you and Robb first called her that? And, of course, I care about Minna’s mother – I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t.”

Jon shouldn’t be as excited as he was at that moment. But he couldn’t help himself. Ming – his Ming – was coming to Winterfell. She was everything Jon wanted in an older sibling. She was invincible and told him as such. She and her mother had never once treated him differently from the rest of the Stark Children after learning of his bastard status. Whenever he got in over his head about his birth, she would always manage to ground him in some way. Once, he asked her if she was trying to trick him. She stared at him briefly before rolling up a piece of paper and swatting his head.

He still remembered her scowl with fondness.

“Do I look as stupid as Catelyn Stark to you?” she interrogated. “Who cares if you’re a bastard? You care about your siblings and work hard to be a worthy son despite the world giving you an excuse not to. I’ve given you some of my favorite fruits from my homeland, and you dare ask me if my friendship towards you was a ruse?! Don’t be stupid, Jon.”

He wept like a baby. He had never felt so happy in his life, and all he could do was thank his friend while weeping for joy. And to make him stop crying, she let him cry on her shoulder as she softly stroked his hair.

“Yeah,” snorted Theon. “Friend – sure.”

“That’s enough,” Robb cut in. “All of you. You want Father to scold us?”

Robb could tell his brothers were ecstatic about Ming’s arrival, but he had conflicting emotions about the news. Ming Yin Baratheon was a woman grown who was older than him by two years, the same age as Theon. Ming always had a wicked and brash tongue on her. When they first met, she was his height but so skinny and dressed so plainly with dirt streaks on her face.

Was it really so bad if he assumed she was smallfolk?

Then Theon dared him to tug on her braid while she was reading a book in the courtyard. A stupid dare between stupid boys resulted in them running for their lives with tears down their cheeks as a short and bookish girl chased them with a broom twice her height. She shouted out curses and promises of all the vile things she would do to them as she violently swung the broom through the air with fire in her eyes and poison on her tongue.

It took the combined efforts of Stannis, his father, Rodrick, and Jory to pry her off when she caught up to them. In the end, Robb’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as Luwin treated his bleeding nose, black eye, and bruises across his body while he and Father occasionally snickered to themselves. His mother nearly had a heart attack at the state of her eldest child. When she heard what had happened and tried to scold the girl, Ming only responded by blowing her tongue and spraying her spittle at the Tully woman. Even with more dirt on her cheeks than before and her braid ruined, she carried herself in such an unrelenting dignified manner that Robb couldn’t help but envy it.

At the very least, Theon was in no better state than him.

How in the Seven Hells could a girl of nine years manage to fight off four grown men? The memory stumped Robb then and still stumped him now.

“Scared of meeting the Demoness from Dragonstone?” Theon smugly asked when he saw his friend staring in the distance. “Or are you worried she won’t be impressed with your new height and strength when she sees you haven’t improved your writing?”

Robb scoffed at Theon’s words. “No, don’t be ridiculous.”

He refused to believe that he cared so much for some quick-tempered girl who always teased him– even if she had shiny black hair that ended at her waist and sharp, expressive dark eyes with full lips. It didn’t matter that she haunted his dreams every night since she was in Winterfell when she turned fourteen. It didn’t matter to Robb that Minna was the epitome of an exotic beauty with enough fire in her soul for any Northern winter to freeze her. It didn’t matter to Robb that she was closer to Jon than to him.

“I’ll kiss you when you finally beat me.”

It didn’t matter to Robb – none of it.

“I’m not scared of Minna, Theon – so stop trying to bait me.” Robb let that be the final word before riding ahead just behind his father.

Meanwhile, Ned had heard everything passed between the boys while riding in the front. He chuckled at Bran’s excitement. He was sure he would be climbing the gates of Winterfell every day to wait for Minna’s arrival. It was no secret to anyone in the Stark family or those working in Winterfell that Bran had a bit of a crush on the tempestuous sailor. While his wife disliked the girl, Ned was very fond of her. Her temper and sharp tongue reminded him of Mei when he first met her. Not to mention that she was the spitting image of Mei at that age.

He wasn’t too old to be oblivious to how his sons acted around pretty girls – especially girls like her. Northern women were one thing, but Mei and Minna were an entire league of women. There had never been two women who would turn Westeros upside down and inside out as much as them. Mei had turned the forever stoic Stannis Baratheon into a feeling human, became the most respected woman in the Keep, and opened trade opportunities for Westeros. At the same time, Minna tore down every obstacle in her path to pursue knowledge and made Dragonstone one of the richest keeps in the Seven Kingdoms – not that Robert or his queen will ever get a hold of a single coin from her.

When Ned and his sons returned to Winterfell, he was immediately bombarded with questions from the rest of his children about whether Minnie was really coming to Winterfell. They asked if he knew about whether he knew she was bringing gifts from her travels. Arya wanted to know if she would give her a dagger forged by the Master blacksmiths from Qohor. Rickon hoped she would bring any sweets and candied fruits.

Even Sansa couldn’t hide her excitement. Despite the girls' differences, Minna would bring Sansa the most exquisite fabrics, accessories, and books. The gifts were more often than not used as a way to distract her from any pranks or tricks pulled on her. Thankfully, Mei would be here as well. Sansa held Lady Mei Baratheon on nearly the same high pedestal as her mother. She would tell how beautiful Sansa was growing and how her grace and charm rivaled the most beautiful empresses from her homeland. She would sing praises of how her stitching looked more impressive than the last time she’d seen it while sharing news of the latest trends worn among noble women worldwide.

Excitement filled the halls of Winterfell at the news of their guests. Preparations were underway for their arrival. Ned went to the Godswood and shone his sword under the branches of the Old Weirwood tree for some peace. He was grateful for the life the Old Gods blessed him with. This was not the life he was meant to have. Everything of his should have been Brandon’s – his wife, his title, his responsibilities – but he wouldn’t change any of it, not for all of the power and gold in the world.

But his world would be crashing down around him when his wife arrived with a message from King’s Landing.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Catelyn told him with sympathetic eyes. Then she told him Jon Arryn had died, and Robert and his wife would travel to Winterfell with their children and the Queen’s brothers.

Ned looked down at his feet. “If he’s traveling this far North, it’s for one thing.” He looked at his wife in hidden fear. “He wants to make me his Hand.”

“First Mei, now Robert,” thought Ned when he shared the news to his children. “May the Old Gods and New protect my family for what’s to come.”

Bran watched the road to his father’s keep from the top of the gates. He saw a single dot moving closer and closer until the dot became a wheelhouse. His eyes widened in excitement as his smile broadened in anticipation for his friend in the horse-drawn carriage that carried House Baratheon’s banner. He stood up and ran across the edge or beginning to climb down the tower. He reached the ground to run to his father at the stables.

“They’re here! They’re here!” he exclaimed when he reached him. The boy was practically bouncing on his heels for barely containing his elation.

Ned chuckled at the sight of his son. “Who, Bran?”

“Minnie! There’s a wheelhouse coming! It carries the sigil of House Baratheon!”

“Was anyone carrying the banner?” his father asked with a quizzical brow raised.

Bran shook his head. “No, but I saw it painted on the top of it.”

“Alright, then,” nodded Ned as he gave his son instructions. “Gather your brothers, sisters, and Shireen. I’ll prepare your mother. Tell them to gather in the courtyard to greet them.”

Bran nodded before doing as his father instructed. He swiftly ran through the familiar halls of the Winterfell keep that was his home. He found Sansa, Arya, and Shireen with Septa Morgane. They were learning their sums when Bran burst into the room. Septa Morgane scolded him for acting so brashly, but her words were quickly ignored when Bran told the girls that Minnie and her mother would soon arrive. As soon as the news left his mouth, Shireen dashed right past him, followed by his sisters.

Jon, Robb, and Theon were already in the courtyard, sparring with wooden swords, when Bran found them. They immediately put away their wooden swords and met their father with Rodrick right behind them. Father and Mother stood side-by-side when Robb stood to Father’s left. Rickon stood next to their mother, and Shireen stood next to him with an eager smile beaming on her face. Sansa stood to Robb’s left, Arya on her right, and Bran was on hers. Jon and Theon were behind them – Theon was a Greyjoy, but Ned Stark’s ward. Jon was a Stark by blood…but not by name.

Shireen was bouncing on the tips of her toes in hopes that time would move faster. The days since her sister’s letter of her arrival moved so slowly, and she could hardly sleep a wink last night for this moment.

“Do you think she missed me?” she whispered to Rickon.

“Of course! Minnie loves you more than anything!” Rickon replied. “Even more than her own ship, I think.”

The loud creaks and groans of the aged wood crept closer and closer until the wheelhouse stopped in the courtyard’s center. The driver ensured the horses were calm and stable before leaping from his seat and opening the doors. A vision in a marigold silk tunic with trumpet sleeves and gold floral patterns paired with a gold belt around her waist. It was a shame that such finery was hidden underneath a thick wool cloak with a thick fur mantle. Her lustrous, flowing, jet-black tresses were bound with a green ribbon and golden stitching in a single braid trailing down her back. The pendant of her husband’s sigil hung down from a simple gold chain over her bosom.

Lady Měilíng Baratheon was the second wife of Stannis Baratheon and the mother of his only son. As she stepped down from the wheelhouse, she stepped on the dirt with such grace and poise that it seemed the Mother of the Seven had come instead of a highborn lord’s wife. A woman over forty years of age who still managed to get pregnant and carry a son to term – she looked far too young to be her age.

A small boy who could not have been taller than Ned Stark’s knee shuffled behind her. It was the little lording, Steffard Baratheon, the only son of his father and second-in-line to inherit Dragonstone after his older sister, Shireen. He wore a fine coat from a stag’s hide and little shoes to protect his feet. Like his mother, he too wore a gold pendant of his father’s sigil hung from a simple chain. Despite being blessed with most of his mother’s soft features, he certainly inherited his father’s bright blue Baratheon eyes and inky-black curls.

Seeing the boy standing next to his mother, Ned felt a hundred years older than he was. Where had the time gone? He, Mei, and Robert were all children once – children involved in a war to decide the fate of a country for its future years. Ned had once pitied the YiTish girl for the hand she was dealt in life. As a foreigner, she should have had no part in Robert’s Rebellion, but she experienced loss and grief like the rest of them nonetheless.

And now, all three of them were leaders with their own children and carrying burdens on their shoulders that their children would inherit – how the years escaped them.

Měilíng searched for her young daughter and beamed when she found her. She nudged her little son and guided his eyes to his sister. His eyes lit up as he toddled to her, warming her heart. “希希 (XīXī)!” he exclaimed as Shireen ran towards him. Her arms were spread open as Steffard leaped into her arms and wrapped his arms around her neck. “I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!”

“I missed you too!” Shireen giggled as her body was flooded with her baby brother’s warmth.

Still locked in their reunion, the two young siblings spun in circles before falling on the ground in laughter. The scene loosened the tension as House Stark looked at the pair warmly.

When they stopped laughing, Shireen helped her brother as she looked at their mother. Mei’s smile shined as she squatted on the ground, balanced her body with her feet, and spread her arms wide open to greet her daughter. Shireen needed no instructions to race into her mother’s arms. A cocoon of love and happiness blanketed the young Baratheon girl as her face was dotted with pecks and kisses. She buried her face in the crook of her mother’s neck and breathed in her scent – her mother always smelled like the salty sea breeze of Dragonstone and peonies. To Shireen, it was as if she was transported home, and if she closed her eyes, she was back on the shores of the Dragonstone beaches, walking alongside Minnie.

“How are you, my little doe?” her mother asked as she tenderly stroked the back of her head. “Did you enjoy the books your sister and I sent you? Did you enjoy your lessons with Maester Luwin and Septa Morgane?”

Shireen answered her mother with a broad smile and starry eyes. “I am well, mother. I loved the books! But–” Shireen looked behind her mother to try to find her sister “–where is Minnie? Was she not in the wheelhouse with you and Steffard?”

Meiling shook her head as she laughed to herself. “Do not worry, little doe, your sister is here. But she is a little worse for wear after days in the wheelhouse.”

Their mother rose from her feet as her hands remained grasped with Shireen’s. She turned to the wheelhouse behind her and called out her daughter in the language of their homeland. “明阴 (Míng Yīn)! How long do you intend to keep your sister waiting?”

A weary and pained groan exited the horse-drawn transport in response. “Would you give me a minute? I’m a little busy trying not to die here!”

“You are not dying!” Měilíng scoffed. “How long do you want to keep Ned and his family waiting?”

“As soon as I’m done making sure I won’t shit or vomit my guts out! I don’t want to have to pay any additional fees for this torture device on wheels!”

“Do you need a brush for your hair?”

“NO!” A few moments passed. “OKAY! I’m good!”

The giant wooden box creaked as Shireen’s sister finally exited the wheelhouse, and she immediately breathed in the fresh air only found in the North. A young woman an entire head taller than Měilíng stepped into the light – despite the bags under her eyes and the slightly tired look on her face, she was every bit as beautiful and poised as her mother.

Míng Yīn was exactly how Ned Stark imagined her mother would have looked if Mei trained herself in combat and fighting as a child. Her dark almond-shaped eyes could either enchant a man enough to willingly give her his life or scare the souls of all her enemies. Her muscles grew and hardened after years of training under her biological father in Yi Ti before traveling around the world on open seas – fighting anyone who dared cross blades with her and leaving a trail of blood and corpses for fish to nibble on. Ned did not doubt that she would bankrupt his boys if they even dared to try and bet against her in combat.

Míng Yīn wore her hair in a half-up-down style with a part of her hair bound in a simple braid on the back of her head. Her outfit was more fitting of a sailor than a highborn noblewoman. She wore a mid-length dark blue wool robe with a silver border stitched on the hem and long sleeves. The robe was wrapped around her body in a way that left her neck, collarbones, and the slightest hint of her cleavage out in the open. The dark linen sash that held her sword and dagger further emphasized the curve of her hips and waist. The black leather breeches hugged her lower body, and the tall black leather boots highlighted the muscles of her calves.

A large black jaguar had quickly come outside the wheelhouse as well. Its pristine and shiny coat shone in the faint sunlight that bathed Winterfell. Without missing a beat, it promptly stood beside its mistress, scanning the new environment for any dangers that would risk his beloved mistress’ safety and well-being.

So, Míng had indeed brought Wu. Robb’s mother wouldn’t like that.

But unlike her mother and brother, Míng Yīn did not wear the sigil of her mother’s second husband’s house. On her neck and sitting on her breasts was a black jade pendant with a small dragon with a white eye carved into it hung from a red string. On each side of the pendant was a tiny Dragon’s Bloodstone bead.

Robb unconsciously straightened his posture at the sight of her. He felt himself release a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding until Ming came into view. Years’ worth of memories flooded his mind as she reached for her younger sister.

The young Baratheon girl launched herself in her sister’s arms. “Minnie! You’re here!”

Robb watched on the sidelines as Ming greeted Shireen with a dozen kisses for each month since they last saw one another. He wondered if she still smelled as cool and crisp as the ocean’s wind that blew through her hair. Or if her skin would taste as warm and bright as the sunshine soaking her skin while she stood on her ship’s dock on cloudless days.

He longed for a sample – anything would be enough.

When the two sisters parted, Wu gently lowered himself to nudge his head against Shireen. Loud purrs came from his throat as the young girl scratched that spot under his chin and stroked his back.

“Oh, Wu! You’ve become even more beautiful! Thank you for protecting Minnie!”

The beast preened at the attention. Míng Yīn was his mistress and savior and, therefore, his favorite. His eternal loyalty and love would forever belong to her. But if he had to choose a second favorite, it would belong to Shireen Baratheon – for she had the purest soul and kindest heart in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Rickon could also not contain himself and joined his betrothed to embrace her sister. The sight of two small children clinging to the person who brought fear and awe to every sailor, sea merchant, and trading company from Westeros to Essos was both comical and heartwarming. A scene that became more comical was when Míng Yīn grabbed one child each and flung them on her shoulders as if they were small sacks of flour. Wu jumped on his hind legs to play as he licked their tiny hands.

Finally, Lady Měilíng of House Baratheon and her children brought themselves to stand before the Lord of the Winterfell and knelt with one knee on the ground in a show of respect. Ned told them to raise before bringing his old friend in a tight embrace.

When they parted, he gave her a look-down to take the sight of her in fully. “Gods, look at you. How many years has it been?"

Měilíng gave a kind smile in response. “I’d say almost two years – far shorter compared to when you’ve last seen Robert.”

“How is Robert in King’s Landing? Is he working Stannis to the ground?”

Měilíng huffed in annoyance at the mention of her brother-in-law’s name. “Oh, of course. The man’s too stupid and fat to do anything else but order his brother, my husband, and his Hand to run his kingdom while he eats, drinks, and whores himself to ruin.”

Everyone apart from Ned widened their eyes in shock at the woman’s words. Did she not fear for her head? Was it alright if the wife of the King’s brother said such things of him? But Mei only turned to Ned’s wife as she bowed in respect for Lady Stark.

“Lady Stark,” she spoke in a clear and calm voice. “On behalf of my husband and House Baratheon, I humbly thank you for opening your home to allow my daughter to stay with your children this past year. Your generosity was further extended to allow room for my family’s visit. I cannot imagine the stress my eldest daughter gave you when her letter stated that we would be here in less than two weeks.”

Catelyn bowed her head in response. “Think nothing of it, my lady. Lady Shireen Baratheon had been our home's most polite and wonderful guest. I am grateful you and your husband sent her to my family’s home to host her. She had quickly become my youngest son’s most favorite playmate.”

Měilíng smiled at the woman’s words. She then turned to the Stark children before greeting each and every one of them. She marveled at how tall and handsome Robb had become since childhood. She softly whispered in his ear if he were hopeful that his sparring skills improved enough to beat her daughter. Seeing him sputtering and pale skin blushing made a very amusing scene. When she came across Sansa, she gasped and held the girl’s hands in her own.

“Oh, Sansa!” she exclaimed. “Look at you! You’ve grown so beautiful and tall since I last saw you. I thought you were a princess! And your cloak – tell me, did you do the stitching?”

Sansa softly giggled as she blushed from the praise. “Yes, Lady Baratheon. I’ve improved a lot in my stitching and needlework since you last saw me – I’m sure I could even make you something, if you’d like.”

Měilíng put a gentle palm on the girl’s cheek. “I would love nothing more. Perhaps you would even convince my eldest to practice her needlework. Or even try to persuade her to stop wearing breeches and trousers when she’s not at sea.”

“Never going to happen, Mother,” interjected Míng Yīn, who had finally put Shireen and Rickon on the ground after greeting Lord and Lady Stark. “I do enough needlework on my own. Thank you very much.”

Míng Yīn’s mother turned to her daughter in exasperation. “The only time you practiced as a child for needlework was to sew wounds close after training with your father.”

“…Yeah, exactly,” Míng Yīn nodded with a slight shrug and a blank expression. “What more needlework skills are necessary after that?”

“Minnie!” shouted Arya and Bran as they both made their way to crowd the woman. After exchanging warm greetings and kind words, the most essential questions came from the younger Stark daughter’s mouth.

“Did you bring gifts?” she asked in an eager tone.

“Arya!” exclaimed her sister and mother. Both women’s faces turned red at Arya’s impoliteness as Ned and his friend only laughed at the girl’s bluntness.

Míng Yīn stroked her chin as if deep in thought. “Did I bring gifts? Huh…I wonder…that doesn’t sound like something I’d do. Is it?”

Bran jumped like a child of four after eating too much sugar. “You did! Can we see them? Please?” He turned to his father with pleading eyes.

Ned slightly shook his head. “Come on now, Bran. Let our guests first get settled in their rooms. Judging from Lady Minna’s expression, she could do for a bit of rest.”

“But after they get settled, can they give us the presents?” Rickon sweetly asked while holding Steffard’s hand on one side while Shireen held the other as they placed the baby on Wu’s back.

His mother answered as she softly stroked his head. “After they rest for a bit, then we will have supper. The cooks prepared a feast for our guests’ arrival. There will be plenty of time tomorrow.”

Even Sansa deflated a bit with her younger siblings that they couldn’t receive their presents sooner rather than later.

Míng Yīn grabbed Shireen by the back of her cloak before placing her sister on her back. Shireen was a bit shocked before she giggled at the display of her sister’s open affection and wrapped her arms around her neck as Míng Yīn looped her arms around her little legs.

“Anyone been doing this for you while I’ve been gone?” she smirked.

Shireen responded with glee. “No! I only like you doing these!”

As Robb watched his parents and sister walk off with Lady Meiling and Steffard, he figured now was as good a time as any to approach Ming. Shireen jumped off her back to her mother’s side to try and hold her brother the rest of the way to their rooms.

“Ming!” he called out. He felt his palms grow sweaty when she turned around in his direction.

He walked towards her with long, confident strides. He thought he looked intimidating, but he realized that wasn’t the case when she burst out laughing. The young lord’s ears burned at her reaction, and they only grew hotter when he heard Theon and Jon snickering behind him.

She only stopped laughing long enough to gasp out a response. “What’s with that face? You look like you swallowed a lemon!”

…Fuck, what was Robb to say in response to that? He had to be smart about this. He would not make a fool of himself. He tried his best not to stare at the jaguar staring at him with hollow eyes.

“…I’m finally taller than you,” he dumbly stated.

“Shit,” was the only echoing in Robb’s mind as he heard Jon and Theon loudly guffawed as they heard him.

He didn’t have to look behind him to know that the bastards collapsed on the ground, gasping for air.

But Míng Yīn only walked toward him while Wu did not come any closer before stopping a few feet away as she traced her eyes over his face and down his form. He saw her dark eyes crinkle with appreciation as a sweet smile spread. She snorted out through her nose as she stepped even closer until only a few inches of air were between them. Wu still hadn’t moved, but he was staring more intensely than before, and Robb wondered if his death would be from a jaguar clawing out his throat.

“Yes,” she whispered as her eyes darted to his lips. “You’re much taller now.”

Blue met black as only the noises came from their parents walking farther and farther away. Their growing distance made the space between them seem more like a separate reality. One where it was only the two of them and no one else. Robb’s eyes quickly glanced down to Ming’s lips, and his Adam’s apple bobbed at the thought of them around his cock.

But that bubble burst when Míng Yīn bumped her fist into Robb’s chest and backed away with a cheeky grin and mischievous eyes.

“笨蛋 (Bèndàn), I’m still going to kick your ass in the courtyard, though.” She turned to Wu before walking. “Come on, 无牙 (Wú yá)! Let’s catch up to 小希 (Xiǎo xī )! I want to take a bath before dinner.” She turned to walk back to her family and called out to him without looking back. “You’ll always be a hundred years too early to beat me in a fight!”

Robb only stood in a daze as he watched her walk away. When Theon slapped his back, he finally came to and saw that Jon was beside him.

Theon snickered at the glare his friend gave him. “Stare at her ass any longer, and I’ll think you’ve become more scarecrow than wolf. Plus, I think the cat can sense your eyes.”

Robb only shrugged. “It’s a good ass to stare at.”

“It’s a great ass to stare at. That doesn’t make you look less stupid.”

“Can we stop talking about Ming’s backside?” Jon begged. He didn’t like talking about their friend in such a disrespectful manner, and he liked the idea of Wu tearing out their throats even less. “Let’s get back to sparring with Rodrick before the feast.”

Another reason to adore Míng Yīn – she hated it when Jon wasn’t included in the feasts while she was staying at Winterfell. The feast of her first coming to Winterfell with her mother was marked mainly by how she walked out of the Great Hall and returned with Jon. She dragged him by the wrist before seating him right next to her at the table.

Jon was terrified Lady Stark would berate his new friend for deliberately bringing the bastard to the feast. But all that came was a stare-down between the Lady Stark and Ming Yin. Lady Stark’s face was red with embarrassment, and she stared down at the girl with the most terrifying look Jon had ever seen. Just remembering the expression gave chills down his spine.

But Ming refused to back down. She unblinkingly returned the lady’s stare with her own, and it was as if a silent war had broken out. Ming wasn’t afraid of the red-haired fish with crow’s feet under her eyes. A wolf by marriage was hardly a wolf at all. She wasn’t going to be beaten in a battle of wills – not then, not ever.

Ned sat by his wife, wondering if Mei would bring war to his feet if his wife killed her beloved daughter. Meiling sat beside Lady Stark in rapt interest for the events unfolding. She always loved it when her little goblin decided to enact her idea of justice. She loved it even more when she took charge.

After what seemed like hours, Lady Stark conceded to the girl as she returned to her meal. Ming turned to Jon with bright stars in her clever eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you?” she asked with a broad smile. “I’m invincible.”

Since then, Jon has always included every time a feast was held for the YiTish women. An act of genuine kindness that was appreciated by all of Jon’s siblings and his father.

An act that only deepened the infatuation of a confident young wolf with dark auburn curls and bright blue eyes.

An infatuation that the Gods saw morph into obsession as they felt shivers course through their divine forms in anticipation of the future ahead.

*Additional Notes:

The characters from Yi Ti and other countries in this stories will different ways of how they are referred

Míng Yīn's Nicknames and Who uses them:

Ming - Robb, Theon, Jon, Sansa, and Catelyn Stark

Minna - Ned (he is the only one allowed)

Míng Yīn - Luwin

Minnie - Shireen, Rickon, Arya, Bran

Měilíng's Nicknames and Who uses them:

Mei - Robert, Ned, Renly, and Stannis

Translations:

希希 (XīXī) - Hope Hope; 希 means "hope"; Shireen's name in Chinese is written as 希琳 (Xī lín), in which 希 means "hope," and 琳 means "forest." Because Steffard is a baby who grew up hearing Yi Tish and Westerosi Common, it makes sense he would refer to Shireen with a nickname.

小希 (Xiǎo xī ) - Little Hope; another nickname for Shireen, but specifically from her older sister. Míng Yīn is a girl who is thousands of miles away from her hometown, Wan, in Yi Ti. When her mother married Stannis, she had to leave everyone she ever loved, including her older brother. But seeing baby Shireen have her hope that everything would turn out for the better.

明阴 (Míng Yīn) - 明 means "bright," and 阴 is the character used for "yin" in the Chinese philosophy of "yin and yang". The character's direct translation is "negative," but it is also used to describe "femininity, moon, water, and earth" as it represents the female principle of the universe

笨蛋 (Bèndàn) - Fool or dumbass; 笨 means "fool," while 蛋 means "egg." Technically, the direct translation is "foolish egg," but most people will use it to call someone an idiot.

无牙 (Wú yá) - toothless; 无 means "none," while 牙 means "tooth"; Míng Yīn named him this because when she first found him as a cub, he didn't have any teeth.

杀手 (Shāshǒu) - killer; this is Shadow's actual name; Shadow is a Peregrine Falcon

Tagging: @succnfuccubus, @valeskafics, @arcielee, @anya-snow, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @jamera-ash, @lillian-morningstar, @strangedragonqueen, @writingsofwesteros, @a-libra-writes, @leonkennedyslefthand, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @hd-junglebook, @what-the--curtains, @axelsagewrites

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eismaedchenxiii · 2 months ago

Text

What the Weirwood Knows, Chapter 3

Summary: 170AC, forty years after the end of the Dance of the Dragons, the realm has enjoyed a long peace. Serena Stark, granddaughter of King Jacaerys I and Lord Cregan Stark has come into young adulthood and has been thrust into the serpentine politics of King's Landing and the southron lords. Armed with only her wits, her loyal friends, and her dragon, she must learn to navigate this unknown territory--lest she lose it all.

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Characters: Stark!OC x Targaryen!OC. I would say 85-90% of the characters are original with 10-15% characters from GRRM's writings. Some of the names are lifted from canon family trees. The Targaryen!OC is a very OOC, self-indulgent mixture of Aegon III and Aegon IV. Make of that information what you will. This takes place in an AU where Jacaerys was crowned king of the Seven Kingdoms after the Dance.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: brothels briefly mentioned, alcohol (Please let me know if I've missed anything!)

Author'sNote: "<Text>" denotes dialogue in a foreign language, such as High Valyrian that I did not have an exact translation for.

For the second time in as many days, Serena stood outside the gates of Winterfell with her family. Except, unlike the last time the castle had assembled, Prince Aegon joined them, standing to the side of Lord Cregan. He stood out like a resplendent raven in his pure black finery.

Serena had not seen the prince gracing the halls of the castle with his presence since the impromptu feast held in his honor. She knew a room had been made up for him—as was the case with every royal guest—but when she inquired about his disappearance, Ser Brandon had played uncharacteristically coy.

”He left for the winter town after dusk. When Gerrit and Fergus asked if he required an escort, he declined. Acted as if he knew where he was headed.”

”Winter town? There’s nothing to do there.” Most of the small village just outside of Winterfell’s walls had left to return to their farms and hovels after the ice had begun to melt.

”There are…certain things a man can do there to entertain himself.” A rosy blush bloomed across his nose. When pressed, he refused to say anymore. Serena didn’t understand why. She wasn’t so naive as to not know what a brothel was. She just didn’t understand why someone would want to trudge through the cold mud in the dark to visit one.

Just hours ago, scouts had spotted the royal carriage train coming up the kingsroad and sent word to prepare the welcome party. The castle staff and the lord’s family had been thrown into an organized chaos to prepare. Lord Cregan and all his present family had gathered in the castle courtyard. Cregan, of course, stood at the front, flanked by Princess Laena and Prince Aegon. Serena and her sister stood close to their mother. Although they weren’t in her sight, Serena knew Missy and Brandon were somewhere in the assembled crowd.

Serena attempted to stand somehow casually and regally, but she grasped her hands in her sleeves nervously, hoping her mother didn’t notice. Laena currently had her hand firmly on Sansa’s shoulder. Ten minutes ago the girl had begun to fidget and shift her weight from foot to foot. Serena couldn’t blame her—waiting in the chill was less than fun.

Serena heard a sigh behind her. She risked a look over her shoulder and saw Ser Lucien Vypren, her aunt Mariah’s new husband, rolling his eyes as he spoke quickly in his wife’s ear.

“Is there a reason all of us needed to be present for the wait?” the riverlander knight hissed. He shivered and rubbed his gloved hands up his arms. “My cock is going to freeze off before I—“

A growl silenced him. Serena saw that her uncle Jonnel was shooting a glare in his good-brother’s direction. The look seemed to work, as Ser Lucien’s flapping mouth turned into a tight frown. During the entire exchange, Mariah had stood passively, saying nothing.

The exchange behind her had drawn her attention for so long that the lead carriage was in sight of the gate. It was a beautiful work of craftsmanship—a blaze of red, gold, and black against the grays and browns of the landscape. It was pulled by a team of pure black horses, their coats shiny and heads held high. Intricate dragon designs graced almost every inch of barding. With all of this splendor before her, it was hard for Serena to not feel so very small in its wake.

The carriage finally shuddered to a halt, and two footmen in black-and-red tabards swiftly appeared to place a block at the door of the carriage. They stood at attention as the door opened to reveal Queen Baela Targaryen.

Queen Baela, although only in her fifties, used a cane to assist her as she stepped out of the carriage. Her cane tapped on the block as she stepped, and one of the footmen held out an arm for her to settle onto the dirt ground. Serena was glad it had not recently rained or snowed and the ground was mostly solid. As she walked toward the gathered Starks, she pulled her white fur-lined cloak tighter around her body.

“Seven hells, it’s cold. Let’s dispense with the pomp and ritual and move into the Great Hall, shall we?”

Serena had had little prior experience with her grandmother, or any of her mother’s family. But she very quickly discovered that her preconceived picture of the queen of the Seven Kingdoms was lacking.

After her arrival, the queen had ushered herself and a small retinue inside to warm themselves. With a quick bow, Prince Aegon swiftly moved to his aunt’s side and offered his arm. Leaning down, he whispered a few quick words in her ear. Whatever it had been, it had made the queen smile.

When the doors to the Great Hall were closed and those assembled were finally enclosed in the warmth of the surrounding fires, Serena finally felt herself relax a little. She felt like a wolf pup settling into the safety of its den, secure from any dangers outside.

Queen Baela, flanked by three of her ladies, stopped to examine the Starks before her.

Serena’s mother, more timid than she had ever seen her, stepped forward. “Mother?” her voice barely raised over a soft murmur.

In seconds, Baela had moved to her daughter and grasped her in a tight embrace. Laena wrapped her own arms around her mother in return. The two women stood in place for several moments, simply existing and breathing in the same air after so long apart. Serena stood silently and observed her mother be the most vulnerable she had ever seen. After an indiscriminate amount of time, the queen pulled away to gaze upon her daughter properly. She gave a small laugh and a sniffle, and pushed a lock of Laena’s hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. Tapping her cane on the cold, gray stone, she turned to Serena’s grandfather.

”Cregan,” she began wryly. “Gods be good, you’ve gotten old.”

“And yet, you are the same as you’ve always been, my queen.”

The queen smiled at Lord Cregan, offering a hand gloved in white kidskin to be taken by the Warden of the North as he bowed. The skin around her violet eyes crinkled as her eyes searched the faces of Serena’s family.

Besides Serena, her sister, grandfather, and mother stood most of her half-uncles and aunts born from Lord Cregan’s marriage to the late Lady Alysanne. Jonnel, the spitting image of his father in youth, stood close behind his lord. His wife, Lady Robyn of House Ryswell, stood silently near her good-sisters Mariah and Lyanna. Edric, the next eldest son, stood off to the side a few paces away from his family, eyeing the scene with apprehensive black eyes.

When at last Baela’s gaze fell on her and her sister, Serena felt herself blush. “My beautiful granddaughters,” she sighed, walking toward them.

With a tap of Serena’s hand on her shoulder, Sansa joined her sister in a deep curtsy, reciting the words they had been relentlessly taught by their mother for this day. “Welcome to Winterfell, Your Grace.”

Baela had taken off her gloves and raised a brown hand to stroke her granddaughters’ faces. “You both look so much like your father as I remember him.”

Serena saw her mother stiffen. “I think we favor our mother too. Perhaps not in look but in spirit,” Serena said in her most polite tone. She saw Laena soften at her words, a small smile flashing across her lips.

The queen chuckled. “I would say so. All the best parts of your forebears. I will be wanting to see your dragon as well.” She patted Serena’s cheek as she spoke.

“Of course, Your Grace. I’ll land him in the courtyard for you to see if you’d like.”

“I’d very much prefer you didn’t,” her grandfather spoke up.

Baela laughed and leaned her weight on her cane. Upon closer inspection, Serena was able to examine the cane and see that the ornate dragon’s head had been carved out of a piece of weirwood. The artistry of the carving held Serena’s attention long enough for servants carrying a myriad of trunks and other luggage to enter. Some servants carried sacks full of grain and other foodstuffs.

“A gift from the king,” the queen waved her hand at the flurry of action behind her. “It will not be said that House Targaryen are not good guests. We are dragons, not locusts.”

Lord Cregan once more, awe in his gray eyes. “Many thanks, Your Grace. This is a mighty gift indeed. We can’t possibly repay this–”

“Don’t grovel, Cregan, it's unbecoming. Let me feast and drink tonight and we’ll consider it even.”

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

Whereas the feast held in Prince Aegon’s honor had been of a more sedate affair, the true welcoming feast for the Targaryens was nothing of the sort. Every inch of the Great Hall had been draped with crimson and black finery and every table was covered in the most sumptuous of foods. A great roast pig was displayed below the lord’s dais, pieces being sliced off to fill the plates of the guests of honor first. The castle as a whole had been restricting their meals for weeks to provide for their royal guests. This event, coupled with a harsh three-year winter, had left many bellies–highborn and low–rumbling on several evenings.

Now, at the dais, sat the queen in the high seat of honor. Lord Cregan and Princess Laena sat on both sides of her, with several members of House Stark and Targaryen flanking either side. Prince Aegon sat beside his cousin, sometimes whispering a comment in her ear and engaging in polite conversation. Serena, sitting next to her sister on the other side of her grandfather, could see that her mother had not become more comfortable in her family’s company.

“My Lord Cregan,” Baela put down her fork and licked her lips. “Your youngest boys–are they well?”

“Barth is being fostered at Last Hearth, and Lord Manderly took Brandon to White Harbor. Hopefully, they come back having learned something.”

“Hard to think they’re old enough for fostering. I remember when they were but little boys. And Sarra, I heard she had lost a babe?”

At the mention of his and Alysanne’s eldest child, Lord Cregan's eyes fell to the table. “Aye, Your Grace. A year ago. She’s with child again and near as ready to give birth. Otherwise, she and Lord Karel would have come.”

“I am very sorry to hear that. When you lose a child, part of you dies with them, and you never recover. I’ll send a raven to Karhold with my regards. I wish her well.”

Serena kept quiet and listened during her conversation. She had eaten her fill of food and had begun sampling some of the wine the queen had brought north with her retinue. It was stronger than she was used to, and with a sour taste that coated her throat every time she swallowed a mouthful.

Before the wine had been served, the most curious thing had occurred on the other end of the table. A servant–a Targaryen servant, in black and red–had brought forward a bottle to offer to the queen and her Stark hosts. Serena could barely hear the servant describe the vintage over the din of the Great Hall, but she did catch him describing it as a “sweet Dornish red with notes of dark oak and cherries.” Almost everyone present requested a taste, a rarity to see so far north and inland. Everyone, that is, except for the Prince, whose demeanor changed as soon as the servant uttered the word “Dornish.” He pointedly refused a glass and instead requested a mug of northern ale. His stormy disposition had not adjusted since as he sipped his ale, frowning at the taste.

It was an odd thing to see, but Serena was not overly concerned. At least he had not stared at her during the feast. Actually, he had not so much as looked at her since the queen’s arrival. No matter, there were more important things to think about.

Excusing herself, Serena pulled away from the dais, goblet in hand. She had seen Missy’s dark head bobbing through the crowd and had decided to seek her out. Weaving between people—northerner and southerner alike—she finally found her friend grasping her goblet and in conversation with two finely dressed highborn ladies.

As Serena approached, she recognized them as two of Queen Baela’s ladies. One, a girl with red hair tied in intricate plaits turned her thin, angular face towards Serena as she closed in. Her dress was a dark silver color, and as she turned, Serena could see the fine details of the beading and embroidery on her bodice forming the shape of a brilliant blue swordfish. A Bar Emmon…if I’m remembering correctly.

The other girl was harder to place. Her black dress was striped in bright yellow and her curly brown hair was tied in a black hairnet jeweled with small topaz stones. She spoke so quickly at Missy that her small lips seemed to blur at the speed. Whatever the topic was, Serena could tell Missy was not remotely interested as she sipped her wine. When her Bar Emmon companion cleared her throat, she stopped mid-sentence with a squeak. “My lady!”

Both ladies curtsied and bowed their heads at Serena. Serena allowed herself a small smile—she could get used to this. “My name is Cosella Bar Emmon,” the red-haired girl began. “And this is Beatrix Beesbury.”

Beesbury. Of course. ”Please, don’t let me interrupt,” she glanced at Missy. “It seemed to be a riveting conversation.”

Missy’s dark eyes widened, and she gave a nod, smiling politely. “It was. Lady Beatrix was describing their journey up the kingsroad. Not a single detail spared.”

”Oh? I do hope you didn’t run into too much trouble.”

“Well, not much, my lady…as I was saying to Lady Melissa, I…um…” Lady Beatrix, previously so animated and verbose, struggled to find her tongue. Luckily for her, Cosella stepped in.

”What Beatrix was saying is we were harried by mountain men as we passed the Mountains of the Moon. The carriage train was caught between the Green Fork and the mountains. They would attack, then retreat into their holes to hide. They proved so elusive, Prince Aegon could not rain fire upon them from above. Ser Amaury, Ser Robin, and Ser Jon took some men to flush them out.”

”They’re kingsguard,” Beatrix added, the curls loose from her hairnet bouncing as she spoke.

”Any casualties?” Serena asked, legitimately curious.

Cosella frowned and scrunched her nose. “However am I supposed to know that? I was in the wheelhouse with Her Grace the whole time. I was more annoyed that they left Ser Mervyn behind to guard us.”

”He’s in love with Cosella.”

”Shut up Bea.” Cosella glared at her friend. “He’s kingsguard, and old. Just an up-jumped reachman who gained his position due to being the bastard half-brother to the Master of Laws.”

Missy and Serena stood silently, sipping their wine. Serena’s head was starting to grow fuzzy, she’d need to slow down soon.

”The mountain clans are most fearsome.” Missy interjected. “But honorable in their way. They trade with each other, rule over each other, they have their own traditions going back to the Age of Heroes. Some are not so different from ours.”

“They are savages,” Cosella spat.

”And heathens,” whispered Beatrix.

Both Serena and Missy, educated by a castle maester, understood that there was a difference between the mountain clans that clashed with the knights of the Vale of Arryn and those who swore fealty to the Lord of Winterfell in the north. Lord Cregan’s first wife, Serena’s grandmother, had been a Norrey from the high mountains north of the wolfswood. But it rankled Serena listening to southron ladies fret when there were far worse things than a mountain man. The “heathen” comment had turned both girls’ knuckles white as they gripped their goblets, too.

”Mountain clans are not so fearsome,” Serena ventured, emboldened by the sweet wine in her cup. “The ironmen are far more terrifying. Unlike the mountain clans, they don’t lack numbers or commanders. They come in their ships and raid all along the coast from Bear Island to the Shield Islands. They steal women and take them back as saltwives. Then they put castles to the torch, killing everyone within.”

”W-what’s a saltwife?” Beatrix’s lip trembled, her round face looking more childlike.

”Like a slave, but worse.” Missy’s eyes bet Serena’s. “Lady Morgane Flint was taken during a raid last summer.”

”Whatever happened to her?” Cosella asked. She did not seem as terrified as her companion, but she was chewing her bottom lip most nervously.

”She waited till the captain and crew had gone to rest and escaped. Killed the men with an axe and leapt off the ship. She swam all the way back to shore and reunited with her father at Flint’s Finger.”

Beatrix had grown pale and Cosella had looped her arm through her friend’s. Both girls had gone deathly silent as their eyes darted back towards the dais.

“That was such an…interesting tale! Bea, don’t you think we should see if the queen requires us? I believe we’ve indulged for long enough, don't you agree?”

”Yes…Yes, Cosella, I believe you are right.”

They both curtsied hastily and hurried away, lifting their skirts to move swiftly through the crowd back to the queen. When they arrived at the dais, Serena could see Cosella whispering to another girl with a Bar Emmon swordfish on her dress. They both made glances at Serena and Missy with less-than-happy looks on their faces.

”Was that cruel?” Missy asked.

“Did you want to listen to them disparaging wicked ‘heathens’ any longer?” Serena raised her cup to take another swallow of wine, only to find it empty. Sighing, she placed it on a tray carried by a servant striding past them.

“No.” Missy turned her back to the southerners at the dais. “It was rather rude.”

”Exactly.”

”It will only get worse when we go to King’s Landing, you know. We will be the outsiders,” Missy sighed as she eased herself onto a bench that had just become vacant. “With nary a surface around us not covered in a seven-pointed star.”

”I know, I know.” Serena groaned as she sat beside her. She gazed at her dear friend and spoke quietly. “You can always stay here if you’d like.”

Missy looked taken aback by her words. “You don’t want me with you?”

”No! That’s not what I meant. What I’m saying is, you’re right. Things are different in the capital. I cannot guarantee people will be kind just because you are with me. I cannot even be sure people will be kind to me just because I marry the Prince of Dragonstone.”

Missy still looked hurt. “My place is by your side.”

”My duty is to my family. I don’t have a choice in leaving,” she said sadly. “I’m opening a way out for you if you’d like to take it.”

Missy looked at Serena with her giant, brown eyes. It was not often, but there had been times in the past when her friend had looked at her and Serena could see her grandmother staring back at her. This was one of those times.

”I’m coming with you. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Smiling and lovingly taking hold of Serena’s arm, she continued. “Furthermore, we both need to keep Brandon out of trouble.”

They both laughed, and Serena looked around at the walls of Winterfell’s Great Hall. The gray stone was alight with the warm glow of candles and braziers, and her people surrounded her laughing, drinking, and dancing together. She felt like a piece of stone being hewn from the masonry, chipped away but leaving parts of her behind.

Clattering from the dais brought Serena out of her thoughts. The queen had risen from her seat and was bidding goodnight to her hosts. Her three ladies trailed behind her as she left, Cosella and Beatrix seemingly recovered from the frightful storytelling. Many other guests made to take their leave as well. There was not much point in celebrating the queen’s arrival when the queen herself had retired.

”Gods be good I’m exhausted,” Missy sighed.

Serena echoed the sentiment and made her way out of the Great Hall by way of one of the hallways that would lead to her bedchamber amongst the other rooms. Before she could be free of the crowd, she heard her name trilling over the noise of the feast breaking down.

“Serena!” She turned to see Sansa hurrying after her. “Wait for me!”

Serena groaned in exhaustion. “What is it?” She tried her best not to sound mean.

”Can I stay in your room tonight?” She asked her sister meekly. “I don’t want to be alone. There are too many strangers here.”

Rolling her eyes, Serena took her by the hand. “There is no one here who will harm you. You know that, Sansa.” But as she looked at her sister’s gray eyes beginning to bubble up with tears, Serena relented. “Fine. But you must sleep. No fooling around. Do you understand?”

”Yes! I promise!”

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

Sansa did not, in fact, fall asleep quickly. It seemed that the excitement of the feast had given her a second wind while Serena attempted to shrug off her dress and take apart the many braids in her hair by herself, her head beginning to feel heavy with exhaustion mixed with too much wine. It took until she had changed into her nightgown, climbed into her bed, pulled up the covers, and rolled over for Sansa to see she was serious about getting some rest. It was after she stopped grunting in response to Sansa’s pestering that she finally heard the candle being snuffed out and felt the smaller body of her sister slide into bed beside her. After a moment of silence, Sansa’s whisper penetrated the darkness.

”I don’t like the prince.”

Serena was taken aback at the girl’s words. ”Oh? Did he mistreat you at the feast?” Truth be told, she had barely seen the odd man during the festivities.

”No.” Sansa buried her nose into the furs, not meeting Serena’s gaze. “I just don’t like him.”

Serena held her sister a little tighter. She felt her heart ache for her. Sansa was twelve, but in a lot of ways, hadn’t begun to grow up in the same way Serena had. She hadn’t yet bled and still seemed to have the heart and mind of a little girl. Serena hoped beyond logic that she would stay that way for a little while longer.

After a few more beats of silence, Sansa asked in a whisper, “Do you have to get married?”

She means, ‘Do you have to leave me?’ The words rolled in Serena’s head like dice in a cup. “Yes. It’s my duty.” The last word, “duty,” caught on her tongue like a burr.

“That’s stupid.”

”That’s life.”

The girls laid in silence for as long as it took for both of them to start drifting off to sleep. Serena withstood the cloying tendrils of slumber the longest, only succumbing when her sister’s breathing slowed and turned to soft snores, but as she was beginning to fall into the deep she felt her sister jolt. She put her hand comfortingly on Sansa’s arm and held her close.

Since she was very small, Sansa had rarely had a night not interrupted by dreams. Serena could remember when she was barely three-and-ten, and her sister had begun to climb into her bed when she was awoken by her nightmares. When pressed about what she had dreamt, Sansa would be as an iron lock, shaking her head silently—sometimes even beginning to weep.

Their mother had taken Sansa to Maester Manfrey to see what could be done about her daughter’s affliction. The maester’s learned opinion was that without knowing the manner of the dreams, there was naught to be done to cease them. It was then that Sansa revealed that her dreams were a series of scenes and images that made no sense to a small child. Sometimes it was a flock of crows coming to attack her, at times she was being hunted by a shadowcat while riding a great hind, but the most striking of all, and the dream their mother paid most mind to, was the dream where two great dragons—black and red—battled above her, only to crash down in flames.

Princess Laena had forbidden Maester Manfrey from using milk of the poppy to send Sansa to a deep, dreamless sleep. She had gotten it in her mind that Sansa could be what the sorcerers of Old Valyria had called a “dreamer” and that her nonsensical nightmares were really portents from the gods and were not to be interfered with. Serena didn’t much care what a “dreamer” was, but she could see the growing darkness under her little sister’s eyes morning after morning when she had failed to fall back asleep. It broke her heart, but there was very little she could do about it without offending their mother.

When Sansa turned to Serena, her eyes were open. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she apologized quietly.

”I wasn’t asleep yet,” Serena lied. “Would you like me to get you some dreamwine from Maester Manfrey?” As much as she wasn’t fond of procuring medicine out from under her mother’s nose, Sansa had slept soundly the few times she had gotten it for her. Surely, there would be no one roaming the halls so late after a raucous feast to tell on her.

”Yes…I think so.”

Serena nodded and slipped out of bed. With what little light came through the window, she padded around her room until she found her slippers, nearly ramming her toes into the hearth. Groping around, she reached her thick robe at last and pulled it on, relishing the soft warmth it gave. Looking back, she took a moment to gaze at her sweet sister, the moonlight casting a glow across her tranquil face.

#game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #Stark!OC #Targaryen!OC

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the-king-andthe-lionheart · 2 years ago

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I do think Arya likes adventure, but it comes with limits. She always wants the option to go home when she wants. She is a homebody first and foremost, but she does like to explore new things. Like she went to White Harbor twice with Ned. She had fun exploring the Neck. She wanted to visit Braavos, and she wanted to see Jon at the Wall. But the thing is her wants of going places is more like a short vacation for her rather than anything else. At the end of the day she would always want to go home. This is why the ending at the end of GOT made no sense. Arya was leaving her home and family permanently which is wildly OOC for book Arya. Now I can see an ending for Arya, when she’s older, where she travels as part of being involved in political work. As in if Arya ends up becoming a counselor for either Bran or Dany. I could see her being an ambassador/diplomat, but the thing is those jobs are still temporary and Arya would always still come home, wherever her home ends up residing, be it Winterfell or with specific people. There is nothing in the books however that even suggests that Arya is some full time explorer who doesn’t care one lick about her family though. It was such a ridiculous and frankly insulting ending for Arya and the only reason I believe D&D did it was to get Arya out of the way for Sansa, because logically, I think the Northerners would have supported Arya more so than Sansa. I mean considering their harsh patriarchal environment it’s logical they’d support the woman who saved the world as opposed to the woman who hid in the crypts.

Its so funny that jonsas get triggered when anyone even mentions sansa having anything less than a perferct ending. lmao. These are the same people who create "theorys" for arya to sail away and live on the sae or something. Whlie sansa lives safe in a castle. And arya should always be on the run and in danger. And followed by their clownery we love BOTH stark sisters, and BOTH should have happy endings. Because clearly, both these scenarios are equally happy. right?? Right??

Not to mention sansa stans are the only ones still holding onto the shows ending. When the rest of the world knows that its bullshit.

Also anyone saying ''arya always wanted adventure and thats why she would sail away'' is either an illiterate or never ever came near asoiaf.

Arya never wanted to leave her home. She was always happiest at winterfell. It was sansa who wanted to leave and see other places and have "adventures" so to say. So that sailing away ending is more appropriate for sansa than for arya. Arya loves her home and she is miserable anywhere else.

"It won't be so bad, Sansa," Arya said. "We're going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we'll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest." She touched her on the arm.

The only adventure arya was ever interested in was the one taking her to her home.

Also adventure doesn't only mean sailing away. Arya can have adventures in winterfell as well. As she always did. Arya never enjoyed being away from home. She has always been longing to return home. And she was forced to stay away. Its not something she did by choice. So why would she ever do it again? Its absurd to think that. Its not something she wants to do. she is not having fun there.

When you smell our candles burning, what does it make you think of, my child?"

Winterfell, she might have said. I smell snow and smoke and pine needles. I smell the stables. I smell Hodor laughing, and Jon and Robb battling in the yard, and Sansa singing about some stupid lady fair. I smell the crypts where the stone kings sit, I smell hot bread baking, I smell the godswood. I smell my wolf, I smell her fur, almost as if she were still beside me. "I don't smell anything," she said, to see what he would say.

"You lie," he said, "but you may keep your secrets if you wish, Arya of House Stark." He only called her that when she displeased him. "You know that you may leave this place. You are not one of us, not yet. You may go home anytime you wish."

It's just a sword," she said, aloud this time . . .

. . . but it wasn't.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile.

The gods wanted me to have it. Not the Seven, nor Him of Many Faces, but her father's gods, the old gods of the north. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can't have this.

Arya has spent five books trying to get back home. When she finds her home again, there is no chance she is ever going to leave. That would be the most out of character thing ever. The show ending is bs and so are antis "theories" about it. And it is obviously not happening in the books.

#arya stark #anti jonsa stans #anti sansa stans #anti got #asoiaf

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steeledstark-blog · 5 years ago

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short starter call !!

#out of the walls of winterfell || ooc #not even sure i will get to these tonight just need some shorter stuff for getting back into my writing #and by shorter probably a paragraph or two bc i physically fail at one liners #and got some new followers so- if you want to plot ims are always open :)

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usetheeauthor · 2 years ago

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How To Be King

Sub!Viserys III Targaryen x Wildling!Fem!Plus!Reader

Fluff/Smut/Angst (18+ MDNI)

Enemies to Lovers

Summary: You find the very drunk Viserys stumbling into your village. Although, you find his abrasiveness to be quite irritating, you take pity on him when you learn of his past. All he wants is an army and to reclaim his position. You willingly decide to teach him the ways of gaining support in exchange for an alliance between your people. What you didn’t expect was to find love within each other. A love that Viserys has been starved of for so long.

A/N: Wrote this for myself but I’ve decided to share it with anyone interested because sharing is caring. Even though this guy’s a monster he can get it. Idk I have such a thing for villains. I hope you enjoy. It’s s long one but the story’s worth it, I think. I also pulled some dialogue from the show to capture his personality so he’s not too ooc. This is probably inaccurately based on the show, I watch the show but know little history about it or the books so it’s all loosely based.

Word Count: 8.9k+

Warnings: loosely based GOT knowledge, blood and violence, graphic language, Viserys being an annoying brat, Reader and Viserys slap each other, lots of kissing, touch!starved Viserys, pining, mommy kink, soft dom!reader, p in v unprotected, spit kink, creampie, breeding kink, dacryphilia, passionate sex, handjob, lots of fluff and angst, sad ending

The air was cool. The leaves on the abundant trees were slowly dying, falling to the ground in colors of red, orange, and brown. Winter would only come a month from now but your people were prepared for anything.

Your people came from all over the Seven Kingdoms. All of you having in common the idea that freedom was better than kneel before a King or Queen who couldn’t give a horse’s ass about its people. You’d rather fight to be free. Why worship false gods when the Old Gods of forest were there watching over you all, hoping its people will one day return to their rightful place under their heavenly kingdom?

You took pride in the decision you made to renounce your herd mentality. Once the wife of a nobleman in the Winterfell, you were immediately banished from the land when you expressed your concerns of worshipping a leader when the Gods intended you to be free from the ruling of man.

Tormund Giantsbane took you in seeing you as his adoptive sister. You were the one to help him make any decisions in case he faced any challenges. Together, Tormund and you worked to strengthen your people as a rogue tribe. People tend to look down on you free folk but neither of you cared. The words of “kneelers” or those within the walls of the seven kingdoms meant nothing to you. You were all happy.

It was a lively night. Your people were celebrating the night away with no particular occasion in mind. People drank from the special wine, music swelled in the air, children played, a silly theater show was broadcasted for entertainment, young lovers fucking whomever they desired…a typical wildling celebration.

Tormund was pissed drunk but you enjoyed seeing him smile. Ygritte enjoyed her time, as well, drinking amongst the men and telling hunting stories of her time in the woods with the hunting pack. You walked through the camp, admiring the joy of your people when you spotted a figured in the dark stumbling towards your direction.

You carefully drew your bow and arrow from you back holster, pointing it in the direction of the intruder.

“Who goes there?” You call out.

The dark figure continues forward until the orange light from the flaming torches cascaded over them. It was a handsome young man with silver white and quite visibly drunk. You couldn’t see him as a threat for how thin he was compared to you but once you noticed the sword he carried you raised your bow higher and aimed.

“Don’t take a step any closer or I will shoot,” You threatened. “Who are you?”

“I am the rightful king of the iron throne. I am the dragon. Kneel before me.” His words are slurred and trips over his feet.

A look of confusion paints your face. This man was clearly not well. Not only had he shown up unannounced to your territory with no aide in sight but he claims to be a king.

“I will not kneel. I kneel to no one. I’ll ask that you leave where you’ve came or else it will not end well for you.”

“Are you threatening me?” He says through gritted teeth.

“Yes.” You challenged.

The man makes his way towards you and, without thinking, you let go of the bow. The arrow shoots straight through his shoulder and, not a second after, he’s howling in pain. Alerting the warriors of the camp, including Tormund, to make their way over the end of the camp where you stood.

“What goes on here?” Tormund questions, looking down at the man wailing and cradling his shoulder then back at you.

“This man…” You were in a panic. “He came to our grounds claiming to be the King of the Iron Throne. He approached me further when I specifically asked him not to do so. I let go in fear. I would’ve only let go for a warning shot. Not to hurt him.”

“You did what you could to defend yourself. Do you wish to put him out of his misery? I can take him somewhere so no one will see.”

“No, brother. I’d like to take him to our healer’s tent. He’s only but a drunken fool. It’s not merely enough a reason for a death sentence.”

Tormund sighs his frustration. “You are too nice for your own good. Men please carry the cunt to our healer for some attention to the wound.”

You smiled, greatly appreciating him for taking in your suggestions. Ygritte looks wry with the decision.

“Everything alright, sister?”

“That silver hair. I’ve heard stories about it. About a family who all shared that color hair. Maybe he’s a king after all.” Ygritte says, downing her wine before heading back with the others.

You stood there alone in the path between shadow and light. Looking down at the pool of blood, you reflected on his words. Maybe when he came to you could inquire him about the meaning of his behavior. If he’s not dead by morning, that is.

————

You awoke and your mind immediately thought back to the silver-haired man. You had a vision last night. The vision told you the story of a family of silver hair like the ones Ygritte told you about. Only it went further. They were royalty. They had power, dragons, the iron thrown built of swords. Yet, there rise quickly reached its peak before crashing and burning at the hands of the Lannisters.

You needed to see him. You hoped he’s okay. Your intentions weren’t to hurt him. Maybe there were some truths to his statements. If he were a beggar, would he be dressed in neatly kept garbs? Would he don a sword made of Valyrion steel? Of course not. This man was of some importance.

Visiting the medic tent, you spotted the man in his cot. He’s sound asleep. He actually looked so sweet and innocent. Tormund had beat you to the visit, currently conversing with the Healer about the foreigner.

You slowly approached them, giving your greetings. “I take that I’ve not murdered anyone. I hope.”

The healer laughs. “No. He’s in stable condition just in slumber from the doses of medicine that I’ve given him to ingest. I’ll look further into his wounds. Clean them up.”

The medic walks away leaving you and Tormund for conversation. Tormund glares at you clearly still processing why he’d decided to listen to your request to save the man.

“We’re wasting good herbs on this man, Y/N. Herbs that could be supplied to our people who could be in need of it someday.”

“You understand that we can scavenge for more. We do it nearly every time we go for a hunt. It’s not a waste to save the life of a man especially if he is who he says he is.”

“You couldn’t possibly believe this loiter-sack was once king.”

“Maybe not once king. But he could’ve been sworn to be one someday. I had a vision of a royal family. All with silver hair. They were the true rulers of the Seven Kingdoms until conquered by Lannister swines.”

“Okay,” He nods, knowing that the information from your dreams are usually true. “But even if he’s sworn to be king, what should it matter to us? We serve no one.”

“Yes, but we could possibly have an ally. Winter is coming, Tormund. We’ve prepared for it yet not enough. If we have him as an ally, we could receive goods for our people.”

“This man owns nothing. He’s as useful as a cum rag. The Lannisters own his arse, if anything. Why not throw him to the lions and get our reward?”

“Because that’s not who we are, brother. Regardless of what the kneelers say about us, we are not barbaric or savage. I just want more for our people. I understand you wish the same. You’re a great leader. Everyone sees it. Your daughters, your men…me. But just listen to this option. You don’t have to if you don’t wish to but at least spare the man’s life.”

“If I were to agree, what is your plan?”

“This man’s family once ruled dragons. It’s possible they still do.”

“Own dragons and yet still lost the war to the Lannisters? How?”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure but it’s possible he can conquer the throne again. If you’d let me, I’d like to speak with him and have a word. Maybe figuring out his motivations for being here.”

“It’s dangerous game you’re playing, sister. We can’t involve ourselves in these petty fights between kingdoms.”

“I understand but what’s a little bit of risk for a big amount of payoff. I know you’ve always wanted to own enough booze to make a grown man cry. Here’s our chance!” You say, smiling and nudging him.

He groans. “You’re incredibly stubborn but I will give this scheme some thought. You may speak to the man. After all, you’ve nearly killed him. It’s only right to face him.”

You hugged him. “Thank you! You will not regret it.”

“Not sure if you could say that just yet. How are you going to turn the bumbling fool into a king?” He asks.

You looked down at the man sleeping soundly and contemplated. “Well, I was once the wife of a nobleman. If this man needs an army, then diplomacy is the start.”

—————

Viserys opened his eyes to find you sitting in a chair beside his bed. He groans in pain, sitting up. As if the recollections of what happened last night crashed into him all at once, his pained look quickly shifts to anger.

“You! You shot me.” He sneers.

“I warned you not to step any further. You did so I made my choice. We both made choices last night.”

“Enlighten me. What was my choice, then? To die!”

“Yes! If you wished to attack me, then death would of been the result for you. You’re not dead because I simply chose to spare your life. You’re welcome.”

“Should I be gratuitous? I was at death’s door. You spared me not. I clawed my way back to life simply because I am a dragon.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to me? I don’t understand the language of kneelers.”

“You wretched uncultured swine. You and your people have disrespected me enough. I don’t know what I was thinking coming to wildling territory for any negotiations.”

“You sickly little weasel. I should’ve let you rot on the ground where you sobbed for your mommy.”

“Slandering of a king is punishable by death.”

“Good thing there is no king here.” You hissed.

Raising a hand, he smacks you across your face. Your face turned to the side and your hair sprawled across it by the impact. You turned back to face him slowly, licking lips to taste the saltiness of blood on them. You’re lip split from the hit. You see red. Red with pure rage like a bull locked on its target.

“That’ll teach you, pudgy woman.”

Jumping up on the bed and straddling him, you smacked one cheek then the other. He lets out a high-pitched yelps with each smack before taking his good arm to choke you. You choke him back.

Suddenly, a throat clears behind you. The two of you halting in your actions, eyes following the sound. It was the healer, standing awkwardly while he tried to understand what exactly he’d just witnessed.

You cleared your throat. “Sorry about that, Oden. This was nothing. I just felt the need to help this man with his poor, poor shoulder,” You slammed a fist hard against his wounded shoulder causing him to cry out and let your throat go. You hop off the bed and awkwardly played with your braid. “Well, I should be going now. The hunt begins soon.”

With that, you scurried out of the room feeling the healer and the silver haired man’s burning stare on you. Of course, this conversation had been an epic fail and you’ve accomplished nothing. The nerve of this man. How was one supposed to obtain an army if he was this unbelievably insufferable? No one would ever want to rule under this man. Maybe Tormund had been right.

—————

Tormund could see that you were noticeably pissed during the hunt. Whenever you’re pissed, you get extremely scary yet extremely good at hunting. Tormund and Ygritte exchange looks before turning to you.

“Something troubling you, dear sister? You have the aim of a seasoned archer. Most days, you could hardly hit a target that’s within breathing space.” Tormund asks, laying a concerned hand on your shoulder as you reached for another arrow.

“Maybe I just got really good. Nearly killed a man last night, did I not?” You muttered, shooting the arrow and perfectly hitting a wild boar in it’s side. The beast falls over. You go over to it, whispering a quiet prayer before jabbing the arrow deeper ending its life. “We’re eating boar tonight.” You say turning to see the horrified looks on their faces.

You hated the act of killing an animal so much so that you could never being yourself to stand close to a dying one. Yet in this evening, you’d done it without batting an eye. This was worrisome for the leader of the wildlings.

He pulls you to the side, squinting at your face.“Why’s your lip bruised?”

“It’s nothing. I clumsily bit it this morning.” You lied.

“It has something to do with that cunt, does it?” His eyes are wild and wide. “When I get my hands on him I’ll—”

“No! It’s fine. Yes, he did put his hands on me but I defended myself. You should see the state I left him in. He hollered like a bitch.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“Because I still believe this could work. I didn’t get any information from him so technically my plan hasn’t failed just yet.”

“Are you going to allow him to continue hitting you all for a hint of his name?”

“Of course not. He won’t dare to rest hands on me again. Just give me one more chance to prove this to you.”

“You’re a foolish woman.”

“The love of our people does that to a woman. Makes your stupid with ambition.”

“I’ll let you have this one last chance but no more.”

“Wonderful, brother,” You beamed. “So, should we be on our way home? I would kill for some supper.”

“No more killings for you, little one.” He shakes a hand in your hair then walks off to pick up the boar, throwing it over his back. You followed after along with the group as you made your way back to the camp.

When you all arrived, the healer is the first to approach the group. A look of frustration on his face as he explains himself. Apparently, ‘the king’ wasn’t pleased that his garments were removed and that he was made to wear the traditional free folk clothing. He’s in the tent as of now, throwing a tantrum and literally throwing things.

It took the strength of 4 men and Ygritte to stop him from entering the tent. You went in the line of fire eyes locking with the man-child.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve been fed, given a bed to rest in, treated for, dressed--”

“These rags smell like manure! Everything does!” He says, throwing some medical supplies across the room.

“Well, now the medic wishes you not to be here. Hmm. Where will you stay? It seems you’ve nowhere to go.”

“I have somewhere. My sister’s waiting for me. Her and those Dothraki animals.”

“Dothraki? You’ve got allies?”

“Yes and if you try to attack me again. I shall have the rain fire on this very camp.”

“I don’t believe you. Besides, we aren’t scared of the Dothraki. We have mutual understandings with them. Something you wouldn’t know because you know nothing.”

“I want to leave!”

“Leave then! Feel free to do so. No one’s held you captive. But I must warn you, beggars will be on you like flies to honey when they see that you’re wounded. You’ll be in no shape to defend yourself. Not that I believed you could defend yourself even if you had your two hands.”

“Oh, fuck off!” He says, swinging his legs to the side bed.

“Gladly. Goodbye.” Just as you turned to walk out of the tent, you hear him struggling to walk forward. He’s still weak from the blood loss.

He takes a step forward and just as he’s about to fall you catch him. Your eyes locked once more. It’s the first time you’d been this close up to his face. Your both breathing heavy for a reason you dare not to explore.

“I told you you’re in no condition to leave.”

He looks at you and it’s almost as if he’s enamored by your appearance. He is, in fact, charmed by you. You were quite attractive. Nicely shaped and robust. He can feel himself melting to your embrace. He breaks your enchanting touch, shaking off any thoughts of lust.

“I’m fine.” He says, teeth clenched. He stands himself up, walking in a jerky motion before finding his footing.

“Will you quit being so stubborn? I am willing to let you stay in home to rest.”

“You’re trying to torture me.”

You pull him by the medic’s gown, forcing him close to you. “You listen and you listen well. I have been patient with you long enough. I saved your life when I’ve had numerous occasions to leave you for dead. I’ve taken up for you despite my leader’s constant objections. All because I wished to know you and have my questions answered. So quit being a whiny little fuck for once in your godforsaken life and do some good for once.”

“Alright.” He grumbles, finally dropping the attitude.

“Good. Now I’m not too excited about you staying in home. Neither will my leader but it will be what must be accepted because the healer wants nothing to do with you unless it’s to check your injury.”

“That moron couldn’t tell a baby’s breath from sage. I don’t understand why he’s your healer.”

“I won’t tolerate any insults aimed at my people. So you either keep your comments to yourself or I’ll be force to physically silence you.”

He glares at you and you retort with an expression of your own. “Fine.” He crosses his arms.

“Good boy,” You smiled. Good boy. The sound of that stirred something within Viserys that he wasn’t sure he’s ever felt before. “Now why don’t we meet the others for supper. You are to be on your best behavior and answer all of my questions and in return…I’ll teach you to be king.”

“How on earth will a wildling woman teach me, a royal, how to be king?”

“That’s a talk saved for supper. Follow me.” You take his hand in yours, leading him.

Viserys never had a woman take charge so boldly the way you did. It was culturally shocking yet so refreshing. When you’d climbed his lap in the noon to slap him around, he did all he could to suppress an erection that begged to stand tall. No! He could not be willing to fuck a wildling girl. Clearly, he’s lost all common sense being in the presence of your people for so long. Once he’s healed enough, he’ll be gone and out of this hell never daring to look back.

————-

“So your sister is married to the Great Khal and she’s the tribe’s Khaleesi.” You reiterate, then took a bite of your meal. The two of you were sitting off somewhere within the camp alone, having a meal. You learned of his name, Viserys. You’d also learned of his sister Daenerys who sounded like a sweetheart compared to the man beside you.

“Yes, but those beasts have no need for me. They simply pretend as if I’m not there. Like I’m not there king.”

“I know Dothraki people to be of their word. If they say they’ll give you an army, they will fight for you. Did you not say that your sister is pregnant?”

“Yes, so.”

You rolled your eyes. “So…the Great Khal wishes for the birth of his child before he wishes to give his life to you. I don’t see that as unreasonable. Do you not wish for your nephew or niece to lay eyes upon their father before war?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Well, I’m not a cold-hearted person.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Hey! If I can’t make any insults than neither can you towards me.”

“Fine.”

“Anyway, the child will have Dany to care for her. Now is the time to act. I want my crown and if they don’t act, I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands.”

“Is that what you wished to do when you came here drunk as a lord? Was that taking matters into your own hands?”

“I came here by mistake. I was tired from walking. Those Dothraki cunts robbed me of my steed then named me ‘Sorefoot King’.”

You chuckled and he immediately shoots daggers in his stare. You quickly stifle your laughter. “Sorry.”

“They never liked me. Neither of ‘em. If they did, they’d treat me to gifts the way they did for my sister. They’re all fools.”

“I’m sorry that you feel that way,” You put a hand on his shoulder and he looks at you in surprise. “You shouldn’t harbor these negative emotions and hatred towards your sister. This is a win for the both of you. Your issue is your approach. And that’s where I come in. As a former wife of a nobleman, I picked up a few things about playing the game of thrones.”

“What could you possibly know about ruling a kingdom?”

“I know a lot more than you do. Like for starters, calling the people who will serve under names isn’t doing well for your campaign. Neither is going on and on about being the dragon. You sound like a child. People want a man to rule. You’ve shown no indications of maturity.”

“You don’t know me. I did things to get where I am today yet my sister receives the praise. I have every right to be angry. My sister was gifted 3 dragon eggs for which I wished to sell off and find a better more capable army. If that’s not maturity I’m not sure what is.”

“You know nothing, Viserys. Even if you were to sell those eggs, whose to say whomever you’ve sold them to wouldn’t just kill you and use them to conquer lands. It’s exactly why I grew tiresome of being within the walls. I’m tired of the wars. Innocent people dying because of foolish mistakes made by those in power. You should wish to be different if you wish to rule. Stealing those eggs would be a huge mistake. Leave them be.”

“You don’t know my life. I’m the last hope of a dynasty. The greatest dynasty this world has ever seen, on my shoulders since I was five years old, and no one has ever given me what they gave to her. Never. Not a piece of it. How can I take my crown without making these moves, hmm? Who can rule without wealth or fear or love?”

You stared hard at him. You pitied the man. He’d lost his parents, siblings, cousins, and people to the Lannisters and the crown was taken from him. What exactly was a five year old to do in those times other than to take this as their reality.

After supper, the group all said their goodnights. Obviously, Tormund had not been pleased to see you and Viserys going into a tent together. Viserys goes into your home first and before you could Tormund stop you.

“You need me to keep guard?”

“Look at him and me, dear brother. I can easily overpower him.”

“I know but I just can’t imagine you dealing with the bastard.”

“I’ll be fine. I got some great information. So far, I know that he’s got an army. The Dothrakis.”

“Wow. How’d he managed to get them?”

“His sister is their Khalessi. You see, things could look up for them and possibly for us for the winter.”

“You’re optimism is your best attribute but also your biggest disadvantage. I love the hope you carry but please but cautious of this man. I still don’t fucking trust him.”

“I know and you’re right. I just want to take that leap of faith. You know what life for me was like behind those walls. I was subjected to my husband who beat me senselessly everyday and never gave me the freedom for my own choices. I get to make the choices now. I just want to find a way to repay you and my people for taking me in.”

“You don’t have to go through crazy measures for that. We already love and accept you.”

“I know but this is something that I need to do.”

“If it means to you that much, then I won’t stop you. Have a goodnight, sister. And don’t fuck that bastard.”

You scoffed, blushing profusely. “You have an active imagination. In what way have I shown any interest that I’ve wished to do that with him?”

“Oden told me about this afternoon in the medic tent.” Tormund laughs.

“I was simply fixing the arsehole’s shoulder.” You defended.

The two of you said your goodnights and he headed to his tent. When you went into the tent, you noticed that Viserys had laid in your bed instead of on the ground where you’d made a place for him to sleep,

“You wish to share the bed?” You asked.

“Well, I’m not sleeping on the floor. It’s filthy.” He says in disgust.

“Fine.”

You began to strip down from your heavy clothing and Viserys eyes widened.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m stripping down to my night gown.”

“You’re naked.”

“Like you’ve never seen tits before.”

“O-of course, I’ve seen tits but a lady shouldn’t strip in front of a man who isn’t her lover.”

You noticed he’s flustered and you can’t help but smile.

“Oh so I’m a lady now? Not a wretched swine?” You teased. “Well, luckily for you those customs matter not here. Besides… I’m no lady.” You slipped on your night gown then got into the bed beside him.

You and Viserys made an effort to stay as far away from each other as possible. In your mind, you felt like the moment your skin touched his you’d immediately jump his bones as twisted as it was. You couldn’t sleep and although his back was facing you, you knew based off his stirring that he was awake, too.

He breaks the silence. “Me and My sister had to live off as street urchins struggling for food and shelter. I’ve been called plenty names but ‘The Beggar King’ hurts the most. I use to steal food from merchant carts for us to have something to eat. Once they recognized me as a thief, I sold myself off for sex in exchange for money. All to keep us afloat. We were the only family we had. So yes, sometimes I have some hatred towards her because it feels like she had it easy. I had to grow up.”

You stayed silent, letting him vent. He may have been a terrible person but he wasn’t always so bitter.

“I overheard you speaking with your leader. You’ve also had to fight for your place in this world even as a noblewoman. It’s probably why you didn’t hesitate to hit me back. I guess I deserved that,” He clears his throat. “Anyway, that’s off my chest. I’ve told you everything.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes, well, how could I not when you’ve constantly threatened,” He laughs. For the first time you heard him laughs, you assumed he was incapable of joy unless inflicting pain on others. “Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.” You whispered.

Silence again. Then, he breaks it once more. “C-could you play in my hair?”

“What?”

“It’s just that I’d do it myself but my dominant arm is out of service. I usually twirl a finger in my hair to calm me as I sleep.”

“I can’t believe you’re admitting that to me.”

“Me neither. It could just be the hallucinogenic herbs that healer gave me. Makes me talk nonstop and say stupid things. Forget what I said about playing in my hair.” He says, squeezing his eyes shut hoping to sleep and forget the conversation. Then, he felt your fingers running through his hair. It’s soft and silky. You’re fascinated by it’s beautiful near florescence.

He sighs from your touch, heart beating fast when he feels your breasts pressed up into his back now. Your hands leave his hair, going under his shirt now to feel his stomach.

“Does that feel good?” You whispered his ear.

“Uh huh.” Was all he could manage to say, his focus centered around your hand exploring his abdomen.

You kissed the shell of his ear, biting the earlobe as you made your way down his pants. You played with the pubic hair sticking out just above the waistband of his underwear. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want it.” He says in breathy voice.

You bring your hand up to his mouth. “Spit.”

He obliges, spitting into your hand. You use this hand to go into his underwear, wrapping your hand around the thick base to coat in his saliva.

“Oh Gods.” He groans. He helps you lower his pants a bit, his cock fully released from its restraint. You get to look down and see the white perfectly trimmed pubic hairs frame around a beautifully thick cock. He’s uncircumcised and usually it’d turn you off but you found it to be so alluring. You jacked him slowly, feeling him writher against you.

“Your cock is so big, Viserys. I want to feel it inside deep, deep, deep inside me.”

His eyes flutter close. He wished he could talk back and say anything but he was in such bliss that his mouth couldn’t allow him to waste energy of speaking. He turns his head to the side and captured his lips in a sensual kiss. Your tongues wrangling with one another. In the meantime, your grip tightened d around him and you began to stroke harder.

He began to whimper a little too loud for your liking. If you didn’t stop him, he’d wake the whole camp by the time he climaxes. You break from your kiss and place your free hand over his mouth while you continued to stroke him. He got louder and louder with each tug. Sometimes, you’d give some attention to his balls before going back up to his stroke the base once more.

“You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

He nods, frantically.

“Go on and cum for me, love. Make a mess in my hands.”

It was all the permission he needed to let go, he violently shook against you, whined and sobbed into your hand as you milked him for all he’s worth. Ropes of thick white cum shoot onto the mattress and on your hand.

You removed your hand from his mouth still stroking his sensitive cock but giving him the time to breathe the air around him. He whines with every tug until finally he couldn’t take it anymore placing his hand over yours to prevent you from continuing on.

“I’m sorry I might’ve overdone it.” You say against his neck in between kissing and sucking at the skin.

“That was possibly the hardest I’ve ever orgasmed.” He says, panting.

“It was a beautiful sight. You look so pretty under my control.”

“No woman can control me.” He refutes.

“We’ll see about that.” You smirked.

—————

You hardly had any rest last night. The night was spent with you and Viserys making out the entire night and heavy groping each other. With all the women Viserys has been with, none of then compared to you. Your touch went beyond sex. He could only imagine what it’d be like when he finally gets to have you. You being a wildling meant nothing to him. You were just two people starving for one another regardless of any titles.

When you had to get up in the morning, he couldn’t bare the thought of not having you pressed up against him. Not after knowing how incredible it felt to have your soft thick thigh wrapped around his waist or your arms that wrapped around him so tightly in a warm embrace. He’s only known you about a day and a half or 2 and he already couldn’t imagine being without you.

“I have to go.”

“5 more minutes.” Viserys says, muffled by his face buried your bosom.

“You said that 5 minutes ago,” You say, bringing his head up to look at you. “I must go. I have chores to do. Everyone contributes their part in our home.”

“Then, I’ll…join you.” He says, not sure if he meant it himself.

“You really don’t have to.”

“Aren’t you the one who said you’d help me be king? Today’s first lesson.”

“I guess you’re right. You won’t do any strenuous activities but I will want you to be kind to all that you encounter. That’s your first lesson.”

“Just to be kind,” He scoffs. “That’s easy.”

“Um, right.” You say, keeping your comments to yourself. You hop out of bed and got dressed, handing Viserys his original clothing to dress in again now that it was cleaned of the blood and patched up at the shoulder.

Going out into the camp meant that neither you nor Viserys can show any signs of affection. Tormund can sniff out the slightest indistinct movement and relate it to romantic advances like a pure bred hound.

Walking through the camp, the first task that you’ve decided would help Viserys break down his walls is going fruit picking with the children.

“Children? Ughh, I hate children.” Viserys groans.

“No, you don’t. Your just unfamiliar with them. Haven’t had to take care of another child since your sister. Now you get show of your kindness to children whom you don’t know for the simple fact that you want to be kind and nothing more in return.”

“How does this help me obtain my crown?”

“Because parents see how well you treat their children, they’ll see you as a charitable leader. People want to follow leaders that are charitable and kind. Why don’t you help those girls pick those berries from the bushes? You can talk and ask them questions. I’ll be right behind you.”

He sighs but, nonetheless, he persists. Heading over to the group of children, he picked the berries with them and instead if having to ask them questions the girls were quick to ask him questions about his hair and where he came. It was a wholesome moment that had you smiling like an idiot. The moment was only slightly ruined when he brought up being the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

You’d actually caught few smiles every now and then. He’s slowly learning the ways of kindness. It was enough…for now. But Viserys was a work in progress, he had a lot to learn about being king. Unlearning certain negative traits was only the beginning.

By the end of the day, Viserys had been eager to help nearly everyone all for the exchange of praises. If you’d known that praising him would make him this much of a pleasant surprise, you would’ve kissed his ass a day ago.

He runs up to you after building the fire for supper and he’s beaming with joy. “Did you see that? I practically taught your tribe a new way of building a fire. A sufficient way.”

“Yeah. I see that.”

“So does this mean your people will work with me?”

“Oh, sweet, Viserys. We’re not nearly enough for an army. Also, you this already…my people submit to no one. They’ll never willingly wish to be ruled. You must apply what you’ve learned when you get back to your sister. Show those Dothrakis that you’re there and you matter, too.”

He nods. “That’s sound advice.”

“Of course, it’s sound advice. I’ve not steered you wrong yet.”

You noticed Tormund, staring between you while he helped prepare the meat. That look only meant that he’d seen something between you and Viserys.

“Excuse me, Viserys. I must go speak with the leader.”

He nods and your briskly made your way to over to Tormund. The moment you got to him, you crossed your arms and pouted like a kid that didn’t have it their way.

“Why are you looking at me like this?” He asks.

“You were staring first.” You answered.

“Could I not stare?”

“Not the way you were. You looked at me as if your disappointed in me. What’d I do?”

He sighs, no long beating around the bush. “You fucked him?”

“Of course not.”

“There are love bites littered all over his neck.”

“So this deduces to the conclusion that I’ve fucked him? That’s just bruising from yesterday when I choked him, okay. Nothing more.” You lied. You hadn’t fucked him but he didn’t need to know that you’ve thought about it and that you’ve been thinking about it all day. You hated lying to a man who you cared for so dearly but you don’t wish for him to see you as a king’s whore for bedding Viserys.

“I apologize, sister. I’m just protective of you. That’s all. I don’t want your heartbroken once you see him for what he is the way I do.”

“It’s not like I’m so lovesick damsel. I just want to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

He nods. “You’re not a love sick damsel. You have the right to your decisions. I just hope one of those decisions aren’t to have him stick his cock in you.”

“Must you be so vulgar?” You groaned.

————

It was a week and a half since Viserys has arrived to your camp. He was practically a wildling by this point helping out your people even without your supervision. But he’s healed which meant that he’ll be leaving soon. You’d given him all that he needed to know about controlling his allies and gaining followers to regain his empire.

Of course, there were moments of push back by the arrogant fool, believing himself to gain power without the commands of a woman. You’d straightened him up whenever you were alone in your tent denying him from orgasm when every you stroked his cock. It was torturous for you not being able to sleep with him whenever you’d seen his large member. But you swore not to go that far unless you’d end up attached.

“Gently relax your fingers to release your bow. Trust in yourself.” You stayed behind from the hunt to help prepare for dinner with the others when you ended up giving a lesson to Viserys about shooting with a bow and arrow.

He lets go of the arrow and it flies passed the tree he’s aimed at. “What the fuck? I specifically targeted that tree.”

“It takes a time to measure whether your aimed exactly on your target or not.”

“Bows and arrows are a waste of time. Why not just use a sword like everyone else?” He pulls out his sword from the holster.

“I just choose not to. Not everyone could find sword of Valyrion steel. Also, I don’t know how to use a sword.”

“I can teach you to use mine.”

“You know how to use your sword.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing.”

He shoots you an annoyed look. “Anyway, let me teach you how to swing.”

He hands you his sword before coming up behind you. Placing his hands over yours, he helps you get comfortable swinging it around. It’s heavy and the weapon frightened you yet you felt so secure in his arms.

At one point, your ass brushed against his erection and he lets out a low groan. Closing the space between your bodies, you melt into him. Your bodies flushed against one another as he lightly grinds his hard cock into your plush bottom. You look back at him. The two of you forgetting the task at hand, the sword drops to the floor.

“We should stop. Tormund will show up any moment.”

“To hell with him. I want you to fuck you apart.”

“No, he’s my leader and I will not disrespect him in this way.”

“Because your both in love with one another?”

“What? Absolutely not. He’s like family. My brother.”

“That’s typical Targaryen custom.”

“To fuck family? You’ve done it…with your sister.”

“Of course not.”

“Do then why my brother?”

“How can you not see that he cares for you? He’s constantly staring at us. He won’t allow you and I to fuck as we please. He’s always trying to attack me on your behalf.”

“That’s just what brothers do. You should understand this from someone who’s had to fight for their survival along with their sister.”

He exhales deeply. “I think it’s different. I think he cares for you more than that and you’re to in denial to see it.”

“You’re wrong and you don’t know him or me.”

“Apparently neither do you.”

You glared at him for while when you heard the chortling and laughter of the hunting group. Pushing passed Viserys, you went to greet the group.

For the rest of the night, you avoided both Tormund and Viserys. You needed to rethink everything. No way did Tormund see you more than just family. Absolutely not! Viserys believes he has your people all figured out when in reality he was as clueless as the kneelers within the walls.

When the time for slumber fell, you decided to stay out and drink with the watchmen instead of going into your tent. You’d gotten slightly intoxicated and the men quickly cut you off and escorting you to your tent.

You stomped inside your tent annoyed that the men believed you to be a lightweight. Viserys wasn’t there. Nowhere in your tent. Had he left? His sword wasn’t put up anywhere either.

You felt yourself slowly begin to tear up at the thought of him leaving without saying goodbye. Of course he’d leave. He had no obligations to you and he’s practically. He had his people to return to, as well. Tormund said that he’s break your heart. You never thought you’d become so attached so soon but here you were sobbing in your cot for him.

The tent entrance opens up and you quickly sprung up. It’s Viserys. He hadn’t left after all.

“What’s wrong? Why do you shed tears?”

You wiped at your face. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s about what I said? About Tormund being in love with you.”

“No. I just don’t know. Okay?! I don’t understand these feelings that I have for you right now but just moments ago I thought you’d left. I was so scared I’d never see you again.”

“I was only trying to practice the bow and arrow,” He says sitting at your bedside. “I felt like a failure for not being able to shoot the darn thing. I’ve never even raised a sword in combat. Real combat. I thought if I could shoot at least one arrow at a target, I’d be worthy enough to be king. But I’d never leave you without saying goodbye. If I’m honest, I’ve healed for quite some time ago. I simply stayed because I can’t leave yet. Not without you. I only questioned your love for your leader because I knew you wouldn’t leave with me.”

“As much as I yearn for you, I can’t follow you. This is where I belong. I’ve left a life of nobility for my freedom. Going with you will only continue the pattern.”

“I won’t lay a hand on you. Not ever again. I will be better than your husband. I will treat you as a queen should.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to be queen. I just want you.”

You crawled over to him on all fours and pressed a soft kiss to his lips then slowly pulled away.

“I leave tomorrow,” He whispers. “If I leave here without you. We will never meet again. But I will protect your people. I will make sure your given clothes, food, weapons—anything you need really. It will be my appreciation to you. For teaching me how to be a leader and how to let go of the anger I have inside me.”

You breathed our your relief. “Thank you.”

He nods. “I should get some rest. I have a long road ahead of me.”

He removes his shoes and most of his clothes remaining in his underwear. He crawls into laying on his side. You lay back as well, your eyes taking in each other’s faces to commit them to your memories.

“That night when you first touched me,” Viserys begins. “Why did you do it? I enjoyed it, yes, but you showed no signs that you wanted me in this way.”

“If I can be honest, I wanted you the moment I learned your name. When you told me about your life, I just wanted to protect you and show you the love you’ve never received. It turns out I needed this a lot more than you.”

“I need you more than you could ever know. Kiss me once more. I can’t imagine leaving without feeling your lips on mine.”

You soothe down his hair then cupped his face, pulling him into a sensual kiss. It’s deep and your tongues play a massive part in eliciting moans from one another. You roll your bodes so that you’d rest on top of him. Pulling off your night gown, you rock back and forth over his hard erection.

He gasps at the feeling. He swore he could feel how wet you were through the barriers of cloth.

Rising up just enough, you lowered his underwear to around his knees then pushed your panties to the side. You were aching badly enough that you could burden yourself to go into foreplay. You wanted him now.

He lines his cock with your dripping core then you sunk down, taking all 10 inches of him into your warm channel.

You both moan simultaneously. He grips you hips but you remove them, pinning them above his head.

“Don’t move them.” You bounced on his cock and already the unmistakable squelching fills the room.

He’s whimpering and will soon get louder. He knows he should be keeping quiet. Usually, he wouldn’t care to make noise regardless of your need to hide your relationship with him but he knew if he did you’d stop. If you were to stop, he’d for sure die. So, his best bet to stifle his moans were simply to bite his lip.

You were rocking and grinding against him your clit rubbing against his bony pelvis. There was something about having this man beneath you that set you in a frenzy. You could easily overpower him and toss him around like your little boy toy but you’d remained gentle enough because he needed some tenderness.

You hover your face over his taking his bottom lip into your mouth. This was a bad idea as he reverted back to loud moaning. He sounded so pathetic yet so erotic causing more of your slick to run down his length and inner thighs. Sadly, you needed to silence him or this could end shortly. You french kissed him once more a hand wrapped loosely around his throat while you did so.

You felt so good around him. Your plump ass colliding against his lap along with the pillowy sensation of your cunt and thighs made his eyes roll into the back of his skull. He wished to worship your body. To kiss every fold, every curve, every part of you. He figured he’d have the whole night to do this. Being well-rested meant nothing to him in this moment.

“Ungh, fuck mommy please.” He whispers against your lips. His eyes snapped to your looking slightly embarrassed.

“Mommy will take care of you, baby. Let me make you feel good.” You assured.

“Can I touch you now, mommy?”

“Yes, you may.”

He sits up, sucking on your hardened nipple while his hands were on your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

“Spit in my mouth, Viserys. Please.”

He’s shocked to see you give this one chance of power over you. It swelled pride in his chest and for a moment he already felt like a true king.

He digs his thumb and index finger into your cheeks forcing your mouth open. You hold out your tongue and spits on it. You immediately retracted your tongue into your mouth swallowing and savoring his taste.

“So good. I’m so close.”

Viserys fucks up into you. Your hungry cunt swallowing him inside as if it didn’t want to let go. He felt you flooding him with each hit against you g-spot.

“Such a good boy. You love making mommy cream all over you.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” He chants, timing it with his thrusts. He can feel his balls drawing up. He was going to cum hard and soon. “I’m going to cum.”

“Me, too. Please cum in me. Want to have a piece of you inside me.”

“Shit! Ah, oh fuck. You’re making me cum,” He says breathless, eyes rolling into the back of his head once again. His back is against the mattress, letting you have your way with him as his warm essence coats your walls. As exhausted as he was, he managed to bring a hand up to your clitoris, rubbing profusely.

You tighten around him so hard that after spurt of cum shoot through you. You cum hard, your world shattering before you. You bite into you arm to keep from screaming. Viserys senses your clenching and unclenching pussy soaking him and he takes the added lubrication to fuck faster into you, adding heightened sense sensation to your orgasm. He’s ruthless with his movements on your clit as well and you convulse, squirting your juices all over him.

Once you’d calmed down enough, the two of you ground into each other to the point if sensitivity. The aftershocks ran through your bodies until you were both spent. You finally removed yourself on top lying beside, both panting for air in the now thick atmosphere.

“I love you.” Viserys says then kisses your forehead.

“I love you, too.” You admitted.

“If you ask me to stay here with you and your people. I’d say yes.”

“What about the crown? Your throne?”

“None of it matters if I don’t have you. I want to spend my life with you. For you to be the mother of my children.”

You cradled his face. “There’s nothing more I would love than for you to stay here with me…but you can’t. You’ve wanted the crown for so long. Fought to survive for the chance to one day rightfully gain your title. I don’t wish to take that from you. I don’t want you to regret. You belong on the throne. You’ll be the only man I’ll ever see truly as a king because you know what it is to suffer and you don’t wish this for your people. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. I’ll always love you, Viserys.”

“I’ll always love you, Y/N.” He could feel himself getting teary-eyed. He felt ashamed to be so vulnerable in front of you. But you wiped away his tears and kissed him softly. He immediately forgot his shame.

The rest of the night you held each other, your naked bodies intertwined. It was the happiest you’ve been in love in a long time. You slept soundly against warm body, hoping tomorrow will never come.

————

A few years went by and you’ve not heard a word from Viserys. At first, you were convinced he forgot about you and that you’ve failed your people. But it was much worse. You learned that he was dead and that his sister was the last of her people. The one who’d take the throne.

You felt sick. Cried many nights. Even after so many years, your love for him was never displaced. You blamed yourself for not asking him to stay. Had he stayed, he’d be alive…with you. With his son.

“Mother,” Your son, Haegarth, runs towards you straight into your arms. The silver white of his hair the striking resemblance of his father. “How was your hunt?”

“It went well.”

“I’d love to hunt someday, mother. I want to be as brave and tough as you.” He points.

You laugh. “And that you will.”

“W-was my father brave, too?” He says looking nervously at the ground then back at you.

You give him a sincere smile. “He was more than brave. He was truly like a king.”

Your boy smiles widely and you both walk hand and hand, joining the rest of the group. The future of your life was to be decided by the Gods but you hoped someday you’ll one day be reunited with your love again.

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esther-dot · 2 years ago

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Remember when some fans claim that Sansa was given Barbery Dustin story in show because of her icy nature and politically shrewd. They also pointed out that maybe Barbery will be leading North and fight against Boltons. So Sansa being Stark heir leading North against Boltons who wronged her family and ruling WF effectively is impossible. I want TWOW to put and Sansa to succeed just to see antis how will they accuse her of stealing other character story.

Hey! I’m a firm believer in QitN Barbrey, y’all are just haters. 😂

I love both versions of Sansa, and comparing show Sansa to a woman who plans to give Ned’s bones to her dogs is offensive to me as show Sansa dearly loved her father. Also, show Sansa wasn’t bitter even when she believed Jon betrayed her. She was heartbroken, but remained loyal to the family, to him, and thought of him as her king until the end. Barb’s hatred for Ned burns bright years later for what I would argue is a much smaller grievance. These are not remotely similar characters.

However, as someone who thinks D&D were using info from Martin, I understand the impulse to draw connections between book stuff and show stuff and think that it can be helpful in guessing where things are going. But, I did laugh that the people who latched onto this idea were the very same people who insist the show has nothing to do with the books, that all the plot points are wrong/that Sansa isn’t going North, so it makes no sense to then say, “it will be totally different because D&D read the books and gave Sansa the characterization of this minor character.”

As if D&D didn’t alter everyone’s characterization from the beginning.

And yet, I have to point out that in the books, Tyrion compares Sansa’s courtesy to the Wall, which is the tiniest bit icy, so I’m not sure why Sansa, once she is pushed into a political arena trying to guide people who don’t initially respect her, having a little coolness to her interactions was suddenly such a problem.

In s6-8 she had plenty of soft moments, she is the one who showed the most open affection to the other Starks, and even in s8 when everything was off kilter, she still had moments of raw emotion that broke through the bullshit, so it isn’t the case that she truly had an icy nature, either. She was wearing her armor save when she felt safe enough not to do so (her reunion with Bran, a few moments with Arya, with Theon, several scenes with Jon…), so I don’t think the basic idea is as far removed from the book as people pretend. Obviously D&D reinterpreted her, but I think it’s weird that fans act like later seasons Sansa was more ooc than earlier seasons Sansa. They interpreted her differently all along but all along, I still saw traces of my girl.

I suppose since Barb mentioned her dogs and hates Ramsay, we could say that having Ramsay eaten by his own dogs is something that she might oversee rather than Sansa (who will not be married to him or raped by him), so maybe the idea was that it would be ooc for book Sansa to watch someone get eaten alive. And I guess this would be similar to how they had Arya do some Lady Stoneheart-y things, so, maybe there was a swticheroo there?

That specific scene aside, there’s a line about how every battle for Winterfell has had a Stark present, and I don’t think Martin dropped that in there for it to be retaken by someone other than a Stark. I mean, Barb does hate Ramsay in addition to hating Ned, so I guess she can betray the Boltons and decide she wants to be QitN instead of letting them have all the fun (I’m not remembering anything specific pointing in that direction, just entertaining the notion), but I don’t see how that is a substitute for Starks reclaiming Winterfell or Starks ruling the North again. It could happen as a stepping stone, but it’s not interchangeable and wouldn’t impact the endgame of a Stark being in Winterfell. To pretend that Sansa’s role as a Stark in the North was a total show fabrication is odd.

I don’t have any specific ideas of how we’re gonna match up the timelines and have the necessary forces to retake Winterfell, but it’s interesting to me that as much as Barb has a problem with Ramsay, she dislikes Ned too, and combining that with the impending Stark succession crisis is a really fun thing to do because of what it could mean for her interactions with the Stark kids, lots of anger and resentment, as they potentially work together to defeat a common foe regardless. That’s a path too.

Whether Sansa is the key to reclaiming Winterfell by bringing the KotV (which I believe was the plan at one point), or she arrives later because of timeline issues, I’m confused why people would think that Stark kids popping up in the North won’t impact the politics more than these minor characters? Wont the supporting cast be how Martin fleshes out the rival claims, as the Starks won’t be at each other’s throats out of any power craze of their own? And we need those characters to make the revelation of Jon’s daddy to be a huge political issue, as the Starks aren’t gonna disown him, but we need someone to raise hell. It seems to me that the Starks and the power players in the North have distinct roles and that the interplay there will matter.

I’m not sure why even other Sansa fans are so adamantly apposed to her ending up in the North. That isn’t actually an anti position, that’s common even among her fans, but I truly thought her “If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.” line felt like a very direct compare and contrast moment between her and Cersei which we would get to see manifest when she came into a position of political power at some point, and seeing as she is the oldest living true born Stark, I think that position would be in the North as LoW or QitN. I don’t think that’s a stretch at all, especially now that we know Bran will be king elsewhere.

Anyway, Barbie is my queen forever and ever amen!

#ask dot

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agentrouka-blog · 3 years ago

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Hello Rouka, regarding the girl in grey considering its Sansa, wouldn't it be ooc for LF to pursue her North because he would know that her decision to flee is somewhat rooted in her mistrust? I am not sure about this but apparently Grrm said that his LF would never give Sansa to someone who would hurt her and how their story is going to be completely different to the show. Makes sense because of the rape plotline Lf loses all of his control on her and she mistrusts him and even openly threatens to have him killed before even the Starks had taken Winterfell and yet he hovers around her knowing that she hates him till the point of his death. His death has to mirror Ned, in a way about how he is confident before the tables are turned. Girl in grey means there is creak in their dynamic which incites doubt in the head of Baelish regarding why Sansa runs making his whole journey to the North suicidal. He needs to have an upper hand or should I say atleast believe that he has an upper hand in their relationship before he journeys North. Sadly that could mean he has or will have a much stronger grip on her unlike the show where his stupid decision plummeted her far out of his reach. What are your thoughts?

I think that an element of chaos is what makes the storyline work.

GRRM has introduced several players that have the potential to act independently of Littlefinger's scheming: the Lords Declarant (or the more determined core, Yohn Royce and Anya Waynwood), Lyn Corbray, Ser Shadrich of Shady Glen, and most most most importantly the mountain clans, with whom Sansa has previous ties through Tyrion.

Sansa would like to escape Littlefinger, she just lacked alternatives before and he left her complacant again with this new plan of getting her home through Harry. Pending just how events around the Tourney pan out and change the playing field, Sansa could well be separated from Littlefinger without some kind of formal break between them, certainly from his end. And now she knows she could run north and north and north again to the Wall, where Jon holds power.

If he has no reason to suspect distrust from Sansa, he would consider going North a potentially very rewarding investment.

#vale arc #sansa stark #littlefinger #girl in grey

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janiedean · 3 years ago

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How do you feel about the idea of Stannis sacrificing Shireen to stop the Wall from falling? It might be an Azor Ahai-like move for him to pull (if that is what motivates him), and fit into the "what is one child against the kingdom?" debate.

I do realize I am extremely biased on this topic so I might be wrong but I'm dying on the hill that dnd didn't understand what grrm told them when he was talking abt shireen being burned because like... nvm that they def didn't understand the one thing they got right abt the finale, but in order:

'what is one child against the kingdom' debate: extremely right... but the answer is that you shouldn't sacrifice that child for the kingdom which was the character development moment so like he didn't sacrifice edric storm who meant relatively not much to him and he'd sacrifice shireen?

also, I know dnd didn't read that bit, but like... stannis is the dude who in the middle of MY ARMY IS DYING went to tell people 'if I die put my daughter on the throne' when said daughter is basically the brienne of the situation when it comes to how much people would like her ruling, and I'm supposed to buy he sacrifices her?

also: stannis is going to winterfell to take it except the battle of wf is going to take a shitload of a long time to happen because before that goes down a) davos has to show back up with rickon b) news of jon's death must reach them c) bran has to talk to theon d) theon has to not get executed which 99% happens with bran talking through a tree or smth and being like I'M NOT DEAD YET e) possibly sansa shows up with the vale army + jaime/brienne/sandor which means we get all of that first (but like.. jaime's chapter is mid adwd which actually makes sense timeline wise bc we didn't know shit re what happened after so if while the second half of adwd went down jb were offing stoneheart and going to the vale.... it does add up) so like let's say the battle of wf happens like the one of the wall or blackwater ie 2/3rds roughly into wow, when is he going to get back to the wall esp if winter has come and they're stuck in the snowstorms? because I really doubt that

meanwhile shireen is a) at the wall b) in company of her mother who like pretty much doesn't give a single fuck abt her and hated jon anyway c) melisandre who like.... reading her pov she's better than it seemed but honestly she would burn her if it meant r'hollor doing whatever she thinks he's supposed to do so like shireen most likely is getting burned but not because stannis approved of it imvho

now: if I'm wrong and he does that then saving the realm is the only option I accept and like... sorry but I think he'd get himself burned with her at that point not whatever the fucking agamemnon crap they made him pull in the show like if that happens then he dies with her

because like to top this answer off, we're discussing a guy with an extra fucking literal sense of justice that's honestly way over the top to the point that he wouldn't give davos a knighthood if he didn't cut off the finger joints and davos saved his life literally, and we don't presume that if he sacrificed his own daughter that he wants on the throne should he die before he can get it... he wouldn't be up on that pyre with her? because lmao he would think himself that it's not just and he'd punish himself equally and I'm dying on that hill

like again I'm incredibly biased in this sense because we all know how I am with stannis but there is no way he dies a crappy ooc shitty horrid death like in the show - if he dies (which I'm p sure about too bad bc I still think he should actually be king he's the best candidate) he's dying honorably not... like... that and certainly not bc brienne out of everyone kills him and I'm definitely dying on that hill X°D

(also like... how do I put it idt stannis really thinks he's AA and by the time the wall falls it'll be obvious jon is, but like stannis is basically atheist central™ but he's buying into the cult stuff bc a) it makes him feel like these ppl gaf about him b) because IT SUPPOSEDLY WORKS but I mean... 'your grace we need to sacrifice ppl!' 'PRAY HARDER' like honestly idt he's that attached to the idea of being AA so I don't think that would be the motivation at the end of it but still X°D)

#janie writes meta #seethemflying #ask post #stannis baratheon #tagging bc i can idc #ch: stannis baratheon #ch: shireen baratheon

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tobealostwanderer · 3 years ago

Text

The Sun of the North - Chapter One

Oberyn Martell x OFC (x Ellaria Sand)

Warnings: 18+, descriptions of blood and gore, descriptions of death, eventual romance, eventual smut, eventual polyamory, I know barerly anything about GoT deserves it's own warning, Oberyn being OOC, story diverts from the show and book.

Timeline: This is set just after the death of Elia Martell. So Doran and Oberyn should be around 31 and 21 I think? I tried to make the ages make sense to but it is a bit confusing at times so I am keeping them at those ages. Amore is 19 years old when she travels to Sunspear, and Mara is 11.

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones nor Of Ice And Fire. The rights belong to HBO and George R.R. Martin. I only own my characters, Amore Snow and Mara Snow.

I have just seen 3 seasons of GoT when I was like 16 so I can't remember a lot from it. I do try to be as accurate as possible by using Wikis and other fanfiction but please bear with me if I mess up events.

Masterlist

Taglist

Wordcount: 1492

Westeros was a peculiar place. From the cold, icy planes of the North to the sweltering heat of the South. Danger lurked everywhere and it was easy to be used as a pawn in the Game of Life. The game that had claimed a lot of people in wars and negligence of Lords.

My parents had been claimed a long time ago. The war had reached our little village and anyone not willing to send out their sons were found guilty of conspiracy against the Lord of the land. And thus my parents had been killed because they only had borne daughters. My eldest sister died along them as she tried to protect us from the vile men. I was only eight years of age when I was given the care of my younger sister, just a babe, and told to run away with our trusty horse, Steps.

And now? We have learned to live on the streets. Going from town to town, begging for food. Mara helped, being so young and innocent she reeled in a lot of coin in our earlier days which helped me buy her warm clothes and milk, and me some broth.

And so we had wandered Westeros for years and years, never being able to be settle down but always longing for home. That is when I met them, on my one and sixth year of age. The Starks were kind people and cared for us like we were their own. I would never be able repay Rickard and Lyarra Stark for what they have done for me or Mara but they always told me not to worry.

And thus we grew up with Brandon, Eddard, Lyanna and Benjen. Brandon was the eldest, then me, Eddard, Lyanna, Benjen and Mara. We were happy even though I saw the worry lines on Rickard’s face grow every day as the Mad King reigned. But he found joy in all of us. He taught me how to fight a few moons after my one and fifth birthday and soon Eddard and Brandon helped me as well. I turned out to be a great fight with daggers, swift but deadly, and enjoyed pinning down the taller and stronger guys as much as I enjoyed a good honey nut treat.

But this happiness didn’t last for years. And soon the upcoming war would take my father and brother. And me? Well..

I was standing on the deck of the tiny ship. My skirts and hair flowed behind me as the harsh wind whipped around me. The Shivering Seas did well to it’s name. It was cold, but it was always cold in the North.

I was on my way to Dorne. To pay respects to the Martells. The news of the death of Elia and her children had reached us and I had begged Lyanna, my adoptive mother, to let me go to Dorne on behalf of the Starks. She argued that it wasn’t a good idea, that the people of Dorne and the Martells were hurting and visiting would be unwise after such a brutal end to their lives. I understood. After everything, she was hurting so much, she couldn’t bear to lose another child. I went anyway, in the dark of the night, on my own. I had left a letter for Mother, Benjen and Mara to read and disembarked on my way to Sunspear.

I had met Elia Martell a few times. She was a kind soul and the brutal death of her and her children had shocked me. The letter in which her death was announced described the horrid scene in which people found her. Little Aegon was most likely flung against the wall, his little head bashed against the stones and he likely died of impact. Rhaenys was stabbed many times, almost unrecognisable on the cold stone flooring. Elia was brutally raped many times, having been covered and smudged into her own children’s blood before her head was crushed, making her almost unrecognisable as well.

Nowhere in the letter it spoke of whoever could’ve done this abhorrent thing so as the news spread through Winterfell, whispers were heard of who it could be. I had my own ideas. It couldn’t be a normal soldier, they wouldn’t be able to crush someone’s skull like that. And with the Lannisters sieging the Keep, my guesses went out to the Mountain, Tyrel Lannister’s Right Hand.

A sigh left me as I mulled over the contents of that letter. I don’t know what I would’ve done if Mara was brutally murdered like that. And after Lyanna’s disappearance and death, and Father and Brandon being held hostage and being killed afterwards, I don’t think that my heart could survive anymore heartbreak. I rather be killed a thousand times in the most horrible ways then go through the heartbreak of losing someone close to me again.

And still I went to Dorne. I needed to find a bit of closure after everything that happened. I needed something else after being cooped up in Winterfell for so long. Living in fear there, it almost made me forget all the good memories I held there. I couldn’t walk through the halls where Lyanna’s, Rickard’s and Brandon’s ghosts walked. I couldn’t go there without Eddard, who was still in King’s Landing. I couldn’t face Mara and Benjen, who were still so young and happy. I couldn’t be in the same room as Mother, who was still mourning everything, trying to hold it together for the sake of the land.

The days on the sea seemed to flow together like the waves we moved on. It was all so blended together. Every night I sat with the Captain over maps as he explained where we were, how far away we were of Winterfell and Sunspear. It would take a while, but the men working the ship were good company and polite enough to me. Even though I was used to disgusting language and glances, they were kind enough to me nonetheless.

It took a week and a half. The weather went from icy cold to smothering hot and the dresses I had brought along were suffocating and I went about my day in just my chemise, linen skirt and a thin overdress. It was modest enough but kept me cooler than the woollen dresses in my trunk.

As Sunspear came in view, I grew nervous. I had send my personal raven to Prince Doran to alert of my arrival and had received a positive answer back but even so, this is the first time since Mara and I have been taken in by the Starks that I have travelled. And the first time ever that I travelled alone. And I wished that my stay would be welcome and without burden.

We docked and I smiled at the crew and thanked the Captain as I set my feet on solid land. I was a little unstable but managed to keep my composure as the welcoming party approached. Two bannermen with the banners of House Martell, a handful of guards and at front the second Prince of Dorne, Oberyn.

He looked tired and a bit stern. His lips pulled down in a frown, unlike the smiles he constantly wore the day I met him. I curtsied when he stopped in front of me, a soft “Prince Oberyn” left my lips as I met his eyes again, coming out of the curtsy.

“Milady Amore, welcome to Sunspear.” A guard said. I inclined my head to the guard in acknowledgement and met Oberyn’s eyes again. “My family sends it’s condolences to you and your brother, Prince Doran, after the passing of your sister and her children, Prince Oberyn. We are saddened by the news and House Stark wishes to be of help during this harsh time.” It didn’t seem like my forced words were of any comfort to the Prince. He looked even angrier with every word spoken. I hoped that my eyes could send him my true message. “I am sorry that I am the only one of my family willing to come and I hope my presence isn’t another slap in the face. I want to help..”

“Thank you for your words, Lady Amore.” Prince Oberyn said. His voice was low and grave. He mentioned me to walk with him so I slipped my arm in his open one and we made our way through Sunspear to the Old Palace.

The walk was quiet apart from the bustling and talking of people in the city as we made our way through. Oberyn was obviously hurting and it made me curse my words with every step I took. I squeezed his arm briefly to comfort him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him glance at me but I ignored it, just focusing on getting to the Palace.

Oh I hope that this was a good idea…

Chapter Two

Taglist: @pedropastelpascal,

#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x ofc #oberyn martell x ofc x ellaria #oberyn martell x reader #game of thrones #of ice and fire #The Sun of the North Fanfic

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thebluelemontree · 4 years ago

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Hiya blue lemon it's me again. Do you have any criticism in the way GRRM wrote Sansa in book1/2? EX:.Sansa and Jeyne are BFF but we amolst never see the girls talking to eachother, and when JP is sex traffikced sansa just forget about her(we could have a scene where sansa try to find what happened to JP or at least grieve for her). Every time sansa appears as a non-POV in AGOT she's been mean and whe we have her POV she's mean for no good reason(SANSA III AGOT). >PART 1<

And the worst is why GRRM wrote sansa goin to Cercei to tell her the "Ned Plans", it's just bad writing, Cercei kill lady so Sansa going to her was OOC GRRM just wrote that to we hate Sansa And in the book it's not explained what "the Ned plans" was(And it was nothing imortant at all, and would make no difference at Ned's fate) so ordinary readers blame Sansa for Ned's death and GRRM does that too in book 2 Cercei put all the blame for Ned death in sansa nd "the Ned Plans" Your thoughts?PART 2

There’s a lot to unpack here.

I get a sense that in the early books, George was not as comfortable writing female relationships as he was writing male relationships or even male-female ones. I mean, Catelyn has no female friends, no companions like Margaery Tyrell’s cousins, no fostering wards of her own, no correspondences with other ladies except that one letter from Lysa for plot reasons. This is just weird for the lady of two major houses. It is neglectful on George’s part to give most of the important social connections to men. This doesn’t mean he was totally inept at writing female relationships, though, and it does seem like he’s tried to improve upon highlighting the positive in later books.

By comparison, the positive side of the brotherly relationships are presented so strongly that it tends to smooth over the conflicts with many readers. Jon can feel envious and resentful of Robb, but the love and loyalty is always in the foreground. The conflict between Arya, Jeyne, and Sansa does have legitimate character arc and plot purposes, so this isn’t bad writing. It’s unfortunate that GRRM presses down so hard on the constant bickering and occasional nastiness, but he did write some positives (albeit they tended to be revealed in later books) and there are understandable reasons for the dynamics. It was not done in a totally unrealistic way. What’s depicted is a typical and relatable rocky period for that age group, and there was negative adult influence at play. It’s not a permanent feature of the sisterhood. It’s all there if you pay attention and you’re inclined to be charitable toward the mistakes of young girls.

If a reader is already predisposed to see the bonds between male characters as more pure and more able to overcome the negative aspects, then they probably also view the bonds between female characters as inherently weaker and more fraught with conflict. Fandom misogyny is not GRRM’s fault. That sector of the fandom will always have contempt for girls for being girls, especially preteen girls. They will always hone in on their faults and belittle their virtues.

I don’t think that is true that we hardly ever see Jeyne and Sansa talking. They are nearly always in each other’s company. There was real friendship between Sansa and Jeyne, because what George does do well with them, is realistically write the way girls cement their bonds. Young girls strengthen their relationship by communicating and confiding in each other. Sharing secrets, crushes, hopes, fears, and pieces of gossip builds trust and intimacy. Jeyne and Sansa do this all the time, even though they can have different opinions and disagree about a lot. Yes, there is some one-sidedness in that Sansa socially outranks Jeyne and believes that makes her more mature and wiser than her friend. Jeyne is dependent on her closeness to Sansa as a highborn lady and future queen to rise successfully, so she’s not going to push back on Sansa’s dominance. This is also a reason Jeyne sometimes bullies Arya to supplant her as Sansa’s “sister.” When Sansa has something to share, she goes to Jeyne to talk about it. I think it’s hilarious that the girls have a debate over which castle Gregor Clegane’s head will get spiked. Sansa wants Jeyne at her side for these new and exciting events like the tourney. When things get serious and dangerous, they comfort each other. Again, this is not all George’s fault if some readers don’t recognize or value the way girls do friendships.

It’s stated quite clearly why Sansa tries to not think about Jeyne or her deceased family members very often. It’s fucking traumatic and her survival while among her captors depends on mentally holding herself together.

If only she had someone to tell her what to do. She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend. The septa had lost her head with the rest, for the crime of serving House Stark. Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell, dancing and sewing, playing with Bran and baby Rickon, even riding through the winter town if she liked. Sansa was allowed to go riding too, but only in the bailey, and it got boring going round in a circle all day. -- Sansa II, ACOK.

Following her father’s beheading, Sansa was in a suicidal depression for days. She wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t bathe, welcomed drug-induced sleep, and contemplated killing herself. If she thinks too much on those she lost, she falls to pieces. She can’t openly weep and mourn for “traitors” if her life depends on appearing to be loyal to Joffrey. Most of her grief is suppressed inside. This also includes asking too many questions she doesn’t feel psychologically prepared to hear the answer to. She was there when the decision was made to shuttle Jeyne off to Littlefinger; however, she has no idea this is going to result in Jeyne being sent to a brothel and worse. I would also keep in mind that even if she did ask, it’s not like Cersei or Littlefinger would ever tell her the truth. Why would they? Does she really want to hear lies and have to think about what the horrible truth might be when she can’t do anything about it? When it comes to Arya, Sansa believes her sister escaped on the ship bound for home. She comforts herself with imagining that Arya is safe and free, and that’s enough to keep her going.

And she prays and sings for Jeyne, wherever she is.

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin... -- Sansa V, ACOK.

It’s only until later in the books that Sansa feels emotionally at peace enough to start remembering the good times with Arya and Jeyne without breaking down into tears. We can also see the conflicts weren’t always a thing, and the love was strong with all three.

Sansa began to make snowballs, shaping and smoothing them until they were round and white and perfect. She remembered a summer's snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They'd each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she'd had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she'd slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn't, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing. -- Sansa VII, ASOS.

It was most unladylike, but Alayne sound found herself laughing. For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up. -- Alayne I, TWOW.

So it’s not even that the girls only bond through confiding. They run, play, and roughhouse with each other. It’s interesting that AGOT!Sansa tried to be so mature and proper, but now that she’s older, she’s remembering how good and freeing it was just to be a kid. But let’s not act like this part of the story is over. Jeyne is still very much alive and seems likely to run into Arya in Braavos. We can almost be 100% certain that Sansa will find out the truth about what happened to Jeyne and what Littlefinger did to her (and her parents), then watch out. Sansa will turn all that buried pain into a righteous fury at Littlefinger.

Now as for Sansa being mean for “no reason.” Um... yeah, LOL. Sometimes she’s just a total unwarranted bitch to her sister, and it’s not meant to be a good look. Sometimes she’s superficial, insufferably immature and annoying, judgmental and prejudiced AND THAT’S OKAY. I mean, she sounds no better or worse than your average middle-schooler if they were of the privileged nobility. Guess what? Sometimes preteens are really like that. Sometimes siblings have ugly, knockdown drag out fights where they say horrible things to each other. Most will grow past those phases and still wind up just as loving and close. It’s realistic and believable. Sansa has flaws, but they aren’t deep moral flaws. She does an amazing job at growing, learning, and overcoming those flaws over the course of the books. In TWOW, she’s warm and affectionate with people, easy-going, nonjudgmental, and genuinely more mature than ever. She took the stick out of her ass and became a happier person for it. What’s the problem? What did you want her to be? Perfect? Unfailingly kind and loved by everyone all the time? She’d be a saint, not a multifaceted human being. Even with her occasional ugly side, Sansa is still a strong, smart, compassionate badass. I don’t care if some people don’t like her as she is written or if they vilify her with their misinterpretations or ignore her strengths. What bearing does that have on GRRM’s vision for her character? He never set out to write any character that the whole fandom would either unanimously love or hate.

This is not bad writing. This NOT bad writing. This is GOOD writing.

*Sigh* Listen... this whole nonsense about Sansa being to blame for Ned’s demise has been going on since ASOIAF was written on clay tablets. You don’t have to listen to every stupid thing the fandom says about anything. It’s just factually wrong. End of story. This misinterpretation and reader inattentiveness is not GRRM’s fault, because he lays out all the details of everything that went down between Arya, Ned, and Sansa’s POV as it was happening. It’s totally understandable why an upset and frustrated Sansa would go to Cersei, the mother figure she implicitly trusts and admires. She didn’t go to Cersei to betray her father’s plans. She went to the queen to intercede in what she thought had to be some big misunderstanding, having no idea what was really going on or at stake.

This is not OOC for her to go to Cersei after Lady’s death. The hand that killed Lady was her own father’s, a undeniable breach of trust that wounded their relationship. Ned just doesn’t really do a lot to deal with the emotional aftermath either. Ned and Sansa are very similar in turning a blind eye when confronted with unpleasantness from someone they love. Ned is also at that moment disillusioned with Robert’s failure to do the right thing after the Trident incident. He begs Robert in the name of their brotherly love and the love he bore Lyanna, and Robert turns his back on Ned anyway. Yet Ned immediately goes right back to believing in the best of Robert’s nature, despite all evidence to the contrary. Every sign points to this being a one-sided friendship with Robert being lazy, irresponsible, and completely selfish. Like father, like daughter. Sansa has a very hard time accepting that Joffrey and Cersei are not the people she thought they were, even when she’s seen some cracks. And since she can’t understand her father’s actions and the communication has been shot to hell between them, of course she runs to Cersei with her problems. Cersei can flip a switch and pretend to be kind, loving, and understanding.

This is so typical of a teenage thought process: “Dad just doesn’t understand and he’s making a big mistake. I don’t understand why he’s doing this. He doesn’t get how important this is to me. This will all work out if a sympathetic adult steps in and fixes it. Everything will turn out great and we’ll all be happy.” While Sansa is pouring her heart out about how it isn’t fair she can’t say goodbye to Joffrey, Cersei pretends to be that sympathetic mother figure that really understands her. How hard would it be then to pump Sansa for information? Like “Oh my sweet little dove. I know how much you love my son. Don’t worry. I’ll help you straighten this out. You said your father wants to send you away? How? When? What’s the name of that ship again?”

And that line from Cersei’s POV is horseshit. Cersei is a liar and regularly lies in her POV to absolve herself of responsibility and force the blame entirely on others. In this case, Cersei is acting like she didn’t totally manipulate a trusting child to betray her. We also know this is a lie because Ned was the one that told her himself of his plans to reveal the invest and remove her as queen. Sansa had nothing to do with that. All Sansa did was give Cersei information that allowed Cersei the opportunity to take her hostage before the girls could leave by ship. Cersei’s plans against Ned were already well underway. Sansa never came to her with the intent of knowingly betraying anyone, but she did have selfish reasons for going to the queen to complain in the first place. GRRM said himself that Sansa wasn’t to blame for Ned’s capture or death, but she did play a role in the events that transpired. That’s fair. All that makes her is a kid who made a not entirely innocent mistake, but a mistake nonetheless, which she immediately learned from. Does she trust Cersei or Joffrey again? Hell no.

Relax, anon. It’s fine for her to not be nice all the time. It’s fine for her to have some realistic, garden variety flaws. It’s one of the most universal human mistakes to fall too hard and fast for the wrong person, act the fool over them despite all the red flags, only to realize you only saw what you wanted to see in them. And Sansa learned this lesson at eleven when some adults haven’t learned it at all. Relax. She’s a great, well-written, relatable character who has overcome most of these issues successfully.

#Sansa stark meta #sansa stark #sansa stark characterization #asoiaf characterization #arya stark #jeyne poole #ned stark #asoiaf commentary #fandom nonsense #Anonymous #my meta

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brrahbrrahcharacterimagines · 5 years ago

Text

My Exception (Brandon/Bran Stark x Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bran Stark x Reader

Word Count: 2155

Warnings: Self-doubt, mild angst, spoilers for seasons 1-8, pretty OOC Bran despite my best efforts

Request: If you do write for him, could I request a smut and/or fluff fic for Bran Stark? Maybe about marrying him? -(Anon)

A/N: I do write for him! I don’t have a whole lot of feelings for him myself so I don’t know how good this will turn out, but I promise to do my best!

You pushed Bran around in the gardens of the Red Keep, relishing in the warm sunlight. You may have been a girl from the North, but that doesn’t mean that you had to love the cold.

“The lilies are beginning to bloom,” you said with a gesture to the pink blossoms. “They look so beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you, my dear,” replied your fiance Bran. As Queen-To-Be you took it upon yourself to brighten up the Red Keep yourself. While the builders worked on restoring the inside of the building, you got your hands dirty in the garden. You may have earned yourself a sunburn or two, but you didn’t mind so long as something beautiful could grow again in King’s Landing. After the battle most of the plants were destroyed, either burned or covered in ash and debris. Finally, the new seeds were blooming vibrantly.

As you came to the end of the garden path you saw a short figure making his way towards the two of you.

“Lord Tyrion, how lovely to see you on this fine morning.” You say with a smile. Tyrion smiles a small smile in return.

“It is lovely to see you as well, Lady Y/N. I would like to congratulate you on how the garden is coming, I must admit that the lavender blooms are my favorite.” You beamed at the compliment. “I’m not just here to admire your handiwork though, I have come to remind your fiance about the small council meeting that started nearly twenty minutes ago.” He shot a sharp look at Bran.

“Oh my goodness!” You exclaimed as you flushed. “That was all my fault! I lost track of time showing Bran around the gardens, I am so sorry Tyrion.”

“It’s alright Darling, I forgot as well.” Said Bran comfortingly, looking up at you with those deep eyes you loved yo much. He reached back to grab your hand in his. Tyrion looked at Bran knowingly; Bran does not forget.

Podrick came up to assist Bran to the small council chamber, and you began making your way through the castle. While your future husband worked on fixing the political climate of the six kingdoms, you took it upon yourself to renew the beauty of the Red Keep and King’s Landing. You made many trips around the halls, looking for projects to be done. Just last week you had commissioned a series of paintings to hang in the new throne room when it was finished. You wanted scenes of the war to be depicted, both good and bad. This way future generations would have a reminder of the horror right in the room in which they ruled.

As you meandered down the corridors for a considerable amount of time until you began to hear a small commotion coming from one of the rooms. The closer you got to the room, the more apparent it became that it was full of ladies from the court, chattering and occasionally roaring with laughter. You had never really fit in with the rest of the ladies, but you figured it was worth a shot to try. After all, as Queen you would have to interact with these ladies much more frequently. You began to enter the room, but stopped dead in your tracks as their words found their way to your ears.

“I bet he doesn’t really even like her,” said one of the ladies as the rest had giggled. They could be talking about anyone, you reminded yourself from your place in the doorway. However, you had a knowing, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You decided to listen in but not move, as they had not noticed you quite yet.

“Of course he doesn’t!” Yelled one women as they all erupted into chuckles. “He doesn’t like anyone! He’s the ‘three-eyed-raven’ who doesn’t want!” The woman did a horrendous impression of Bran at the end, making tears spring to your eyes. Not only were they mocking Bran, but also speaking of his false love for you.

“If he doesn’t want, how could he want her? If he is just choosing at random, he could have at least chosen somebody beautiful.” The tears threatened to slip.

“It’s as if she is so stupid that she is unaware of how insincere his affection towards her.”

“And it is as if you are all so stupid that you are unaware of your surroundings,” you said, mustering all your courage so that it did not sound as if you were on the verge of tears. It worked, making all the ladies turn towards you with a gasp. Their reaction spurred you on, taking on a cold demeanor. “You speak of the future Queen behind her back as if she is not there. Though, of course, you had assumed that I was not. Perhaps you should have taken notice of who was entering the room instead of carrying on like children.”

Despite gossiping about you mere seconds ago, this shift in your personality left them speechless and wide-eyed. You held the power, and they all knew it.

“Do not talk about me and my husband-to-be like this again, or there will be consequences.” Your delivery rivaled even Cersei’s, surprising you with just how cold and calculated the words sounded coming from your lips. The ladies nodded, hurrying to leave the room.

As they left, you too began the walk back to your chambers. It was getting rather late anyway, and the sun was beginning its descent through the sky as the moon began to appear. You slowly made your way back down the corridor to your bedroom. With every step you took, the bravado began to fade and the doubt began to surge through your mind again. The ladies were right. As the Three-Eyed-Raven, Bran was free from earthly wants and desires. It is what made him a good King; he is not selfish or greedy. But you had not thought about what that meant for the two of you.

You had met as children, running around and getting into loads of trouble when your father would make his monthly visits to Winterfell. House (L/N) may be a small house, but it is a house of proud Northerners who used their closeness to the Lord and Lady Stark to their advantage. You looked back on those memories fondly. Bran and you would always climb anything you could get your hands and feet on, and you would always have to endure a scolding from your father afterwards. You never minded the trouble, so long as you got to hang out with your best friend.

When you heard of Bran’s fall, you fell to your knees and cried. You thought that your friend would die. By some miracle of the Gods he did not, and you went to visit him as he lie in bed. You were told he would never walk again, and you knew that your climbing days were over. You didn’t mind. All you wanted was to spend time with him, whatever way you could.

The visits to the Starks became less frequent after Ned left for King’s Landing. After his execution, your father raced to Winterfell to help Robb and his army in any way that he could. You got to accompany him, but after Theon returned to take Winterfell you were whisked away to the Riverlands. You were informed of Bran and Rickard’s passing weeks later, falling into a deep lull for many months.

As Sansa and the other Starks returned to Winterfell years later, you returned as well. You reunited with Bran, feeling something special spark as your eyes landed on him for the first time in years. It was more than just seeing an old friend. In fact, it was even more than just seeing your best childhood friend who you had believed was dead for years It was as if you were seeing your soulmate.

Now looking back on that memory, the way you felt, you realized that it may have been one-sided. You knew that he did not desire as he had before disappearing behind the wall, but you thought that you were different. You thought that he had loved you. Maybe instead he was able to read you like a book, realizing that you would be the easiest to have by his side because you would be there out of devotion instead of greed. Perhaps you were merely the most convenient.

Tears made their way from your eyes and down your cheeks as you finally reached the door, closing it behind you. To your surprise, Bran was already inside. You must have wandered the castle halls for longer than you thought. He turned his chair from where he had been sitting at the window so that he could face you.

“What is wrong, my dear?” He asked, using his arms to wheel his way over to you. Despite your obvious unhappiness, you did not want to admit to him your weakness.

“Nothing, Bran,’ you replied. He cocked his head.

“You never call me that.”

“Well it is your name.”

You began to get ready for bed, feeling Bran’s eyes on you as you did so.

“My love, I cannot help you unless you tell me what is wrong.” He said. You could hear the pain in his voice.

“As if you couldn’t just read my mind,” you retort hotly. Bran let out a sigh.

“You know that I promised never to do that to you, Y/N. You know that I love you and I respect your privacy. I would never use my greensight against you to see what has happened to make you so upset. I want you to tell me yourself if you decide to of your own accord.”

You took a deep, shaky breath.

“But do you?” You asked. Bran furrowed his brows.

“Do I what, Y/N?”

“You said you love me. Do you?” The tears began again, leaving hot trails on your face. His face fell. He reached out to you, pulling you to him so that you sat sideways across his lap. He held you with one arm as he wiped the tears as they fell from your eyes.

“Of course I do, my dear. You are so special to me. You are a light shining in my life every day and I am lucky to be able to call you my own. What would make you think that I may feel any other way about you?” Bran stared into your eyes and you knew he was telling the truth. His eyes were full of love and devotion, and you knew it. You leaned against his chest.

“You’re the Three-Eyed-Raven,” you say.

“Does that make me any less your fiance as well?”

“No, but it means that you do not have wants as normal people do.”

Realizing what you thought, Bran pulling you into a tight hug, caressing your hair.

“You are right Y/N, I do not desire things as I did before I was pushed from that tower. But that does not mean that I do not desire you.”

You pulled back from him, looking into his eyes.

“I may not want land, or wealth, or power, and I may not desire in the same way. But you, my darling,” said Bran, looking at you with admiration, “are my exception. I want you more than anyone could ever want anything. The first time I saw you again after the start of the war I felt something change in me. You sparked desire that I thought I could never feel. I have full faith that fate brought us together, whether because I am the Three-Eyed-Raven or in spite of that. I do love you Y/N, with all of my heart.”

You crashed your lips to Bran’s, his moving in sync with yours as you moved your body to straddle him instead of sitting sideways.

“I love you too Bran,” you said between kisses as you pulled back for air. He wheeled the two of you towards the bed that you shared, making you squeal and wrap your arms around his neck so that you wouldn’t fall.

“Come love, let’s get into bed so that I may lay with the woman I love. My fiancee.”

“Bran, that was rather cheesy. Especially for you.” He smiled up at you as you helped him into bed, sliding in beside him and letting his arms wrap around you.

“But you loved it, didn’t you?”

“My love, if you don’t hush up I won’t help you get up in the morning and you’ll be stuck here all day.” You retort with a blush.

“You’re a cruel woman,” he teased. “But I love you anyway.”

You turned to face him and see his smiling face. You snuggled closer to his chest.

“And I love you too, my dear.”

#bran stark #bran stark x reader #brandon stark #brandon stark x reader #bran x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones season 8 #game of thrones x reader

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eismaedchenxiii · 4 months ago

Text

What the Weirwood Knows, Chapter 2

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1 Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Aegon kind of acts like a creep--will include warnings for subsequent chapters. (Please let me know if I've missed anything!)

Author's Note: "<Text>" denotes dialogue in a foreign language, such as High Valyrian that I did not have an exact translation for.

At first, Serena didn’t quite understand what the guard meant. Why would a dragon approaching Winterfell make such a fuss? The domed pit built as Ebrion’s home was northeast of the castle walls, and it wasn’t unlike him to go out hunting after flying with Serena. Unless—

Oh.

Serena was the first to start moving. Missy and Brandon remained behind for a moment before following their lady out of the Godswood.

“Serena! What’s wrong?” Missy called out, her long, dark skirts were weighed down with melted snow, causing her to stumble. Brandon held out his arm and caught her, dutifully setting her back on her feet.

”My lady! Please wait!”

Missy and Brandon caught up to Serena as she exited the godswood and headed east across the courtyard. She was vaguely aware of people whispering to each other and many more stopping their work to head to the gate themselves.

As they approached the East Gate, there were more and more throngs of people to wade through. Some of them noticed who was delicately pushing against them and quickly moved away, but many seemed too stunned to care. Brandon’s broad shoulders created a path for his smaller companions as they walked. As they emerged past the gate’s opening, Serena could see what had caused the excitement.

To the side of the kingsroad stood a man and a dragon. The dragon’s scales shone in the sunlight in shades of red that ranged from copper to ruby as it shifted its body. Its tail thrashed back and forth, and its giant maw opened to bare its teeth. The warm breath of the dragon was visible in the cold. Serena calculated that Ebrion was dwarfed by this newcomer—its wingspan had to have been twice the size of the younger dragon’s. The frills and spines were fully formed and solid on its meaty neck, a sign of adulthood. It was a striking beast, as beautiful as it was deadly.

The man who had just dismounted from the dragon stood tall as he removed his black gloves, finger by finger. He wore a traveling cloak of thick black fur, and as he turned, a warm doublet of black and deep red became visible, a three-headed dragon emblem stitched into black cloth. His dark clothing contrasted with his pale flesh and the shock of silver hair cropped close to his scalp. He regarded the assembled crowd with a scrutinizing look.

“Your Grace.”

Serena looked up to see her grandfather pushing through the crowd with much less delicateness than her. Bodies parted like stalks of wheat as Lord Cregan Stark approached. His large cloaked body stood above many of those standing before him, and Serena could see the pommel of Ice, the ancestral greatsword of their house, poking over his head where it rested in its scabbard, ready to use. Peeking around his shoulder stood Serena’s mother.

”My Lord Cregan.” As he approached, the dragonrider smiled with a gleam in his eye. “Is this welcome all for me?” he asked with the ghost of a chuckle in his voice.

Serena regarded the faces of the Northerners who stood around her. It was hardly a warm welcome. Worry was painted on their faces as they watched the red dragon with unease. The dragon had not grown less agitated as the minutes wore on. Many guardsmen had drawn their weapons or grabbed their spears with a little more force. This dragon’s behavior differed from what they had grown accustomed to over the years of being near Serena’s dragon.

”Pardon Pyrewing, the cold disagrees with him.”

Pyrewing…Serena thought. A fitting name for such a beast.

Lord Cregan gave a bow before the dragonrider. “Welcome to Winterfell, Prince Aegon.” Standing straight, he spoke quietly. “I’m sorry to say that you find us indisposed at your arrival.”

Although her grandfather spoke and acted in a polite, even friendly, manner, Serena could see he was annoyed. His body moved stiffly, and he spoke in a stilted fashion, the cession of control of any kind to this dragonrider prince seemed to be eating at him like a grindstone. In her eighteen years, Serena had rarely seen the Warden of the North in such a position.

“I flew on,” Aegon said, folding his gloves into his belt. “A slow carriage train is no place for a dragon. At first, I was merely scouting ahead, but when I could see Winterfell’s towers, I decided to make the rest of the journey alone.” His eyes were visibly narrowed, even from a distance. They darted about, taking stock of those around him. “The Queen, along with all the rest, are two days behind me.”

”All the same, we welcome you.” Lord Cregan stood aside for Serena’s mother to approach her kinsman.

“Dearest cousin,” Princess Laena curtsied, but Serena noticed she did not bow as low as Cregan had.

“Cousin.” Aegon bowed and took Laena’s dainty hand, kissing it delicately. “It warms me to see you again. It has truly been too long.”

”It has.” Laena’s eyes flicked up at the crowd and, in mere moments, had met Serena’s gaze. “I’d like to present my daughter, Serena.”

She held out her hand towards the crowd in Serena’s direction. As much as she didn’t want to leave the security of her friends, she knew she couldn’t very well leave her mother waiting. So she dutifully detached herself from the throng of people and walked forward.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” she parroted the words her grandfather had spoken as she curtsied. “You honor us by being our guest.”

Prince Aegon Targaryen towered above her, coming to his full height as he straightened. Serena guessed he was over six feet tall if she used her grandfather’s height as a comparison. His face was long, with an aquiline nose that had evidence of breakage at some point in the prince’s life. His eyes, the violet color common to his house, possessed a more bluish hue but not as dark as her own mother’s. As Serena looked closer, a jagged scar on his scalp was visible through his short-cropped hair. She thought perhaps it could have been the result of a tourney accident. When he smiled, a thin white scar coming off his lip crinkled with the lines of his face.

”My lady, the honor is all mine.” He smirked, taking stock of the scene around him. “I’ve never had the pleasure of traveling this far north. It has a certain…savage charm,” he hunted for the right words but still avoided eye contact with anyone with Stark blood.

“It will grow on you,” smiled Laena, but with a bite in her voice Serena couldn’t help but notice. “By the time you leave, you’ll have grown attached.”

You might not like it, but this is the only home I’ve ever known. Serena attempted to keep her face sweet and unassuming.

“Your Grace, shall we get out of the cold? There are fires in the Great Hall, and your rooms have already been made.” Cregan eyed the red dragon still regarding the crowd with uncertainty. “The dragonkeeper that the king sent, Mervara, can see to your dragon.”

”No need,” Prince Aegon began to stalk towards his dragon. “Pyrewing is very independent, and no doubt he needs to gorge after flying.” He strode over to the great beast and held out a hand. Pyrewing stretched out his frilled neck to let the prince touch him. With a gentle pat, he sent the beast off with a command in High Valyrian, his deep voice like thunder in the chilly air, “Soves, Pyrewing!”

The crowd watched in stunned awe as Pyrewing turned and used his great hind legs to lift off from the ground. His wings stretched and flapped to push the air beneath him and rise until he was far enough away from the crowd of people. Serena wiped some dust from her eye and noticed some people had been knocked backward by the gust of wind.

Prince Aegon however, stood resolute, staring proudly after his mount, a small smile gracing his scarred face. Turning to Lord Cregan, he spoke. “I think I’ll take those warm fires now. And a drink too, if you please.”

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

The last remaining vestiges of daylight had bled into dusk when a small feast had been swiftly prepared for the hitherto unplanned royal arrival. The food that had been reserved for the arrival of Queen Baela and the rest had been re-rationed, and a new stock taken of what Winterfell had to offer to their southron guests. The Starks understood their duty to guest’s rights.

Those who gathered to feast were only a fraction of those who would be present for the true welcoming dinner. Lord Cregan sat at the center of the dais, with his family spread out to either side of him like the wings of a great raven. Serena’s mother sat to his left, in the seat that had been occupied by Lady Alysanne until two years ago, with Serena and her younger sister Sansa flanking her. Sansa, six years Serena’s junior, stared out into the Great Hall from her place at the dais with wide eyes. Neither sister was accustomed to sitting so high above the rest of their household. Serena however, understood that it was their Targaryen blood that placed them so far from the rest tonight.

To the right of Lord Cregan, sat Prince Aegon, now with the grime of the road washed from his pale flesh and hair. He wore a clean doublet, with buttons carved from bloodstone that adorned the soft black fabric. He looked every bit like a Targaryen prince. To the side sat the eldest of Serena’s uncles, Jonnel and Edric, who both had decided to set aside their differences for the evening to direct their suspicion at the prince. At the very end sat Maester Manfrey, sedate in his gray robes, his collar of chains tinkling every time he reached for a goblet of wine to sniff, swivel, and then sip at.

The castle cook, Brynden—who was called Half-Foot Brynden, for the missing toes on his right foot due to an incident with a falling cleaver—had prepared a modest, but hearty meal of quail, winter squash, and potato roasted with sage. The smell had been wafting through the castle for hours, enticing anyone who came anywhere near the kitchens. However, most who worked in the castle had learned long ago not to try and sneak a taste of anything while Brynden was cooking. His tongue was as sharp as his cleaver.

Serena relished the feeling of warm food hitting her belly. After Prince Aegon had been shown to the guest rooms, she had rushed to her room and threw herself onto her bed, pressing her face into the soft furs.

What a day, she sighed to herself. What a bloody long day.

Soon after, Missy had knocked on her door. The two girls sat together for some time in silence, Missy flipping through the pages of a book she had already read several times and Serena staring out the window into the courtyard, her eyes tracking the movements of the people down below. A few times, she saw Ser Brandon coming or going from his duties. Part of her hoped he’d glance up and catch her watching. They had been allowed only an hour of peace before Sansa was in Serena’s room, question after question flying from her mouth like a volley of arrows. About the prince, about the dragon, about how the prince had arrived on the dragon, and about how their grandfather had reacted. It took several retellings for the girl to be satisfied enough to calm down and return to her own room.

“Is the prince handsome? The books say the dragonlords of Valyria were beautiful and–”

Serena nearly threw a slipper in her sister’s direction.

Now, Serena and the rest of her house sat in the Great Hall. Most of the meal had been finished, and conversation had begun to take over in the place of cutlery on plates and the sound of goblets meeting wood tables. Serena still had a few bites left when a voice drew her attention from her thoughts.

”I’d like to see you fly.”

Serena looked up from her meal, the bit of potato skewered on her fork forgotten. Prince Aegon was staring at her intently, his eyes wide as he leaned forward to make eye contact. For most of the meal, he had ignored her, choosing to speak with Lord Cregan or say a few polite words to Jonnel. Cregan sat back to allow the conversation to flow, but Serena could tell her grandfather was not at all comfortable.

”It would be an honor for you to…observe me.” Serena swallowed some of her wine. “I am excited to have the opportunity to learn from a Targaryen dragonrider.” She surreptitiously made eye contact with Mervara, a few yards away from the raised dais. There wasn’t much the dragonkeeper could do, but she did see her detach herself from her seat and slowly make her way over.

“I’d like to fly with you, if you’d have me.”

Lord Cregan cleared his throat.

Serena shifted in her seat. Her dress–the gray samite she had begged her mother to wear–stretched across her body tighter than she had previously remembered. It had taken longer than she had expected for her and Missy to squeeze her into it and secure the laces on her back. She assumed that was the reason she was breathing shallowly now.

“I’d be honored,” she repeated, hoping the prince’s stare would once more return to her grandfather.

Mervara had made her way to the dais and bowed in front of the assembled highborn. She wore a cinder-gray robe secured with a red sash and trousers in a similar dark color. In ten years, Serena had never seen her wear a dress.

“Your Grace,” Lord Cregan motioned to Mervara. “This is Mervara, the dragonkeeper. It is with her expertise and skill that my granddaughter’s dragon has been able to thrive.”

Prince Aegon flicked his eyes up and down Mervara. Serena felt uncomfortable for her, but Mervara’s face gave nothing away.

“I remember when you were sent to the North. You hail from Volantis, correct? I will admit I was against the idea at first, but I will also admit when I was wrong. It was good of my uncle to send you to our Northern cousins.”

“My uncle”, not “the king,” Serena noted to herself.

“Yes, Your Grace. And the Northerners are a…an affable people, once you get to know them.” Mervara sought after the words in Common. “The land may be harsh but they are survivors. Their adaptability makes them strong.” She turned to Serena. “I think you’ll find that the Lady Serena has the makings of a proficient dragonrider, even so far away from the dragonpit.”

Serena smiled and blushed under Mervara’s public praise–of her people and herself. Her teacher had never been so outward with her approval, and she had assumed that Mervara had not-so-secretly hated the place.

Prince Aegon smiled widely and nodded, dismissing Mervara. With a final look at Serena, she turned on her heel and strode back into the hall to retake her seat.

Serena picked up her fork again to poke at her food, sensing that a pair of eyes were on her once more. In her peripheral view, she could feel the prince’s large eyes peering at her. His fair brow was cocked expectantly as if he had asked a question she had failed to answer. Instead of facing him, Serena turned to her sister to ask an innocuous question about her necklace.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as the staring continued, but Serena refused to face him. If he would like to ask her a question, he needed to use words she could understand. She could converse in the Common Tongue or High Valyrian with ease, and even knew some phrases in the Old Tongue she had learned in books. The batting of eyelashes like a shy maid was not a tongue she was familiar with.

The announcement of dessert forced the prince’s retreat. Half-Foot Brynden limped to the front of the dais followed by two cooks carrying a red currant pie, the golden crust sliced in an almost snowflake pattern to let out the steam while baking. The smell of the tart berries brought Serena back from her conversation with Sansa, and as she accepted a slice from the servants she glanced across the table to where Aegon with a smirk across his face.

#game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #Stark!OC #Targaryen!OC

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