#robb x oc

[toilandtroubled]

— 𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙗 + 𝙟𝙤𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙖 by @samwilsonns

[samieree]

Born in Flames || Game of Thrones

OC x ?😏

-> Chapter XXXV ''Advices''

Chapter XXXVI ''We can't win''

The storm was still going on and there was no sign that it would end anytime soon. It was raging all night and Visenya couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned and stood up to pace around the room until she finally gave up. She never had trouble falling asleep during a storm. Maybe today was different... She had the impression that she managed to fall asleep for a short while and then woke up because she saw something terrible.

Past? Future? She had no idea, no memory of the images that cut through her mind like a sword's blade. She didn't remember fragments of the screams of burning people or her own screams, she didn't remember feeling like she was dying.

It should be dawn in about two hours, and the storm wasn't letting up. Visenya, on the other hand, had already given up trying to sleep, got dressed and left her room. The castle wasn't noisy even during the day, but now the silence was almost deafening, especially combined with the unexpected booms of thunder. She went to the dungeons because she knew no one would look for her there. She leaned against the wall and slumped down, finally sitting on the ground. The rain and thunder were even fainter here...

It was perhaps the only place in the castle where the weight on her shoulders seemed to become lighter. She occupied the chambers where her father and all the other heirs had once lived, and thoughts of them haunted her there almost all the time. In the throne room she also thought about them, even when she walked through the corridors they did not leave her alone.

But here? In the dungeons? She didn't think anyone in her family before her just came to sit here, looking like a rebuked child. Here she did not feel the burden of the name, 'the greatest dynasty this world has ever seen'. She didn't have to be strong, she didn't have to think, she could just close her eyes and relax from everything. After all, who would look for the Queen in the dungeons? If someone was even looking for her at this hour...

Only now did she feel the weight of what she had committed to and wanted someone to take the burden off her shoulders. To wake her up when it's all over, when the war is over and this whole chapter is closed. In Essos it was simpler, she wasn't connected with those lands, they didn't know her there, the people were different.

She didn't know how long she sat by that wall, but when she got out and looked out the window, the sun was shining through the storm clouds. It looked like the rain would soon end and the beautiful weather would return. May the clouds disappear from her thoughts at the same time...

"Your Grace?" walking through the corridor leading to her chambers, she came across Tyrion. "It's very early for you."

"The thunder woke me up, I needed to take a walk." she replied quickly, partly lying. He could see it, her coat not fully buttoned, her hair pulled back in a lazier way, more of a Meereen style, where most of it was down. "I don't associate you with being a morning person either."

"It happens to me sometimes, especially when things require it." she nodded and there was silence for a moment as they walked confidently towards her room. "Do you want to continue meeting in the morning, or would you rather wait until breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry." she replied immediately, entering the room. Tyrion entered right behind her and closed the door.

He was worried if she was okay. He didn't miss the fact that she had slightly dark circles under her eyes - as if she hadn't slept at all - and, of course, her clothes were sloppier than usual, which she was now fixing. She stood in front of the mirror and buttoned the buttons up to her neck, then reached into her hair to gather the loose strands into one four-strand braid.

"You know we can trust each other?" he addressed her directly. Her hands near her hair stopped for a moment, but she quickly continued her work. "We only exchanged a few words, but I see you're acting different. What is it?"

She didn't say anything, but it wasn't because she didn't want to, it was just... She didn't know how. She reached for a piece of string and tied the end of the braid, wondering how to put into words what and why she felt that way.

Was she really overwhelmed by the weight of her family's history? Maybe it was a responsibility for every person who followed her? For decisions that will affect the lives of thousands? Or maybe she was afraid for the future?

Or maybe all at once?

"Is it about your conversation with Stark last night?"

She almost froze at the suggestion. Almost. She reached for her coat and buttoned it around her shoulders, immediately adjusting the way the slit sleeves lay along her arms.

"Where did you get this idea from?" she muttered, slowly running her hand over the clasp that now held her coat.

This couldn't be it. She may have felt strange in his presence or when their hands briefly touched, but he wasn't on her mind. All she could think about was what their next step should be, that's all. But this suggestive question made her start asking herself the same question.

"You left Daario in Meereen."

Was he implying that she... No. He can't be serious. I won't discuss this with him any longer.

"Are there any news from him?" she asked, already turning away from the mirror. Now she looked much more like the version of her that had boarded the ship to Westeros in Meereen. With her hair tied up, in full costume in her new style, only she looked tired, although she tried her hardest not to let it show.

"You're changing the subject. I know from experience that this means I'm right."

"I know from experience that people who are too curious don't get answers." she replied in a slightly malicious tone because she didn't manage to stop herself. "Why are you so interested in this?" she had already mastered her tone when she asked this question.

"I am your Hand, I am here to advise you. How can I do this without knowing everything?" she sighed. She couldn't deny he was right, but on the other hand she knew he wasn't entirely right about what was bothering her. "You asked me for honesty, and now I'm asking for the same."

"I don't know." she finally said, or rather, she almost shouted it. "The entire dynasty and the fate of thousands of people rest on my shoulders, but there's nothing to worry about, after all, I already ruled the city once, right?"

With a heavy sigh, she walked to the window. The rain had stopped now and the clouds were slowly thinning out, soon they should completely reveal the blue sky. At least the weather wouldn't make her terrible mood worse.

She guessed that was what she was most afraid of in her life: That she would fail. And after tonight, she had a feeling somewhere in her heart that this how it all will turn out. She couldn't come to terms with it.

"If you think things will get better someday: They won't." you really can't console. "A lot has fallen on you, and even more will fall once you take the throne. But you are not alone." she wasn't looking at him, but she felt him approach her and gently grab her hand. For a moment she wanted to tell him not to do such things, but she changed her mind. "You have to finally share this burden with someone, otherwise it will crush you." he let go of her hand and started walking away.

Well, she wanted honesty, and she got it. How could she share this with anyone when the decisions were hers?

"Tyrion." she stopped him with her voice when he was already at the door. "Let's all meet in the map chamber in an hour. We will finish yesterday's discussion." he nodded, smiling gently - as if comforting - which she reciprocated and he left.

She didn't spend that hour in her chamber, but in the one where they were supposed to meet. Everything still looked the same as in the evening, the figurines stood the same, there was even some wine left. She sat down in her seat at the head of the table and waited, and everyone showed up even earlier than she asked.

I wonder if it is the chair Stannis sat on when he planned attack on the capital.

"I know what we'll do." she raised an eyebrow when Tyrion spoke first. She was about to say the exact same thing, but now she was intrigued by his idea. "My previous plan didn't turn out to be the best, I know, we didn't anticipate the attack of the Iron Fleet..."

"The Iron Fleet, which has reached the shores of King's Landing." Varys interjected. "Apparently Euron doesn't care that much about meeting you when he can't dictate the terms."

Getting there from Blackwater Bay when the Iron Fleet is stationed there will not be an easy task if she chooses to do so. It seems that this is the end of the negotiations for the return of the prisoners... It was a bit painful that nothing came of her attempts.

"Well, that's his problem. I intend to carry out my threat." she rested her elbow on the armrest and rested her chin on hand. "What did you come up with this time?" she said to her Hand.

"Attack." he surprised her a little, she didn't expect that he would propose an attack on 'his' people - even though he swore to serve her. "The army that Cersei sent to Riverrun to help the Freys - according to the information we know - is to stop near King's Landing, probably in case of a siege of the city. My brother, Jaime, leads them."

She felt sad for a moment at the mention of Jaime. She didn't like him, but she didn't wish him dead - but if that was the price for the Iron Throne... She was willing to pay it.

"I suggest we show them that this is not a war they can win." he continued. "We will let Jaime escape from the battlefield, he will definitely go to the capital. He has a golden hand, your army will easily recognize who not to kill. He's intelligent, even if he doesn't convince Cersei to surrender, the army won't stand behind her anymore."

"I would argue with this 'intelligence'." what he proposed didn't sound bad, but she wasn't convinced. She had a feeling that what she and Stark had discussed yesterday would have been easier and faster, even with the Iron Fleet, there would have been a place for a few people to slip through unnoticed. "We can just kill Cersei herself." she straightened up in her chair, resting her clasped hands on the table. "Varys knows the secret passages under the keep. No one in the city likes her, the Lords barely tolerate her, if at all. No one will think I did wrong."

"My advice is not to stab someone in the back if you don't want to be treated that way." he said it in a calm tone. He really wanted her to be well-regarded among people. However, he could not hide the fact that he also wanted to protect his brother from death... Although they did not even discuss killing him.

He knew Cersei was evil. He felt bad for her several times throughout his life because she loved her children, and he himself loved his niece and nephew. Now they are just cold bodies. And Tommen... For all he knows, he committed suicide the same day Cersei blew up the sept. It couldn't have been an accident, it was his mother's fault that he killed himself...

There seemed to be nothing he wanted to say to his sister. The only thing they had in common was their surname.

"And if your plan fails... Will you take responsibility?" she asked. After her last failure, she was more sensitive to what she agreed to.

There was silence - or more precisely - the unbearable kind of silence. It reigned until Varys decided to speak up.

"It's not a bad idea, Your Grace." he agreed with his friend. "I can tell my birds to whisper a few good words about you in the city, and it will open itself to you when the army that would be able to stop them surrenders."

Of course he would support his plan.

There were two ideas to end the war in her head. She knew that everyone was waiting for her final decision now, not in the future - near or far. One way or another, people will die. She remembered her conversation with Hizdahr: 'Has anyone ever achieved anything great without killing and cruelty?'

"Alright." she said finally. "We'll send the Dothraki, they'll do best in an open field. I'll be there too." she added the last sentence even though she knew perfectly well that no one would like it.

"What? I'm sorry, my Queen, but you can't risk your life. The Dothraki will be enough." this was exactly the reaction she expected from Tyrion. She could even see, by looking at ser Arthur, that he was thinking exactly the same thing, even though he hadn't said a word.

"You said to show them they can't win." she calmly quoted his own words. "So that's what I'm going to do. I won't be alone, I'll fly on Maelia. Nobody will do anything to her."

"Dragons are not immortal."

"One well-aimed arrow is enough to kill you, you don't have to get rid of the dragon to do so."  All in all, but she didn't expect Varys to express fear for her life.

Perhaps I shouldn't have doubted his intentions...

"I appreciate that you're worried about me, but I don't need it." she stood up from her chair and everyone else who was sitting did the same. "I've been through a lot and no arrow will destroy my future. I try to trust you, so trust me also."

"This is not a matter of trust, but of your safety. Why take the risk?"

"Because I am the Queen and I must be willing to risk my life for the good of my people."

* * *

"The Dothraki should have reached the shores of the Crownlands yesterday. I should be getting off soon." she and Missandei descended the stairs to the beach. Apparently she should see something in the caves before they start mining dragonglass.

"Are you sure? I'm sure they'd be fine on their own, and you sent Tyrion with them to keep an eye on everything just in case. You shouldn't take the risk."

"You should find someone else to worry about besides me." she said it lightly, even though she knew perfectly well that something was going on between Missandei and Grey Worm. She just didn't realize that their relationship had already moved on to the next stage... She started to suspect it only when she saw her smile and the way she looked away. "Something happened?" she asked gently, smiling herself.

"A lot of things." this answer was enough to make everything clear between them. She squeezed her hand briefly.

She was very happy for her friend, that she had found someone in her life whom she truly loved. She herself dreamed of such a feeling, although perhaps her dream was slowly coming true...

"Issa mirre pactot, kostā umbagon." she said to the four Unsullied who were following them in case something happened. She descended the remaining stairs - Missandei behind her - and spoke to Robb. "What should I see?"

*"It's okay, you can stay."*

For some reason, he barely heard the question because he was focused on how she pronounced the words in Valyrian. It reminded him of Talisa writing a letter to her mother in this language. Maybe it was about three years ago, but he still remembered her voice and her accent sounded slightly different. She didn't emphasize the 'r' as much as Visenya, but either way they both sounded beautiful when they spoke this language.

It is said it's the only language suitable for poetry.

"Something that might convince you."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. They walked most of the beach, in silence, before reaching the entrance to the cave, where someone was waiting with a torch so they could see where they were going inside. Fortunately, the passages were wide enough so that they didn't have to squeeze through, but you had to watch your step all the time so as not to accidentally trip over something.

When they reached the first larger space, where a fireplace had already been set up and lit...

"It is beautiful." she said, walking to one of the walls and gently running her fingers along the obsidian. The glow of the flames was reflected in it, which was pure delight to the eyes of everyone who saw it.

"I want to show you something else." she looked from the wall to him. Well, she should have known that he wouldn't drag her here just to show her something pretty...

"So lead the way." they slowly moved on, but Visenya discreetly gestured to Missandei not to follow them any further. They slowly walked through the narrow passages, the road leading slightly downhill. "What do you think makes a home?"

Firstly, she couldn't stand the silence between them because it then filled her mind with thoughts she couldn't stop, and secondly, she had been curious about his response since the moment he had mistakenly stated that she considered Dragonstone her home. She stopped looking at her feet and instead looked at him, and he glanced at her every now and then as he answered her question.

"They say that people make a home, not places... But for me, personally, there is no home without both." she thought exactly the same, although she didn't say it.

A place without people is empty walls without a soul, and people without a place are a soul without a body, without the possibility of rest and a sense of safety.

"So where is your home?" she asked another question, squeezing sideways through the narrow passage.

"At Winterfell, when my sister is there, my half-brother... The ones I have left." she felt a twinge in her heart at the words 'the ones I have left', but it wasn't visible on her face in the limited light. Although a part of her still envied him any family. "And yours?"

It's a pity that she couldn't accept her closest friends as family, no matter how much love she treated them with, her soul was drawn to what she couldn't possess. Neither now nor ever, because it has not existed for a long time.

"I don't know." she had had a similar conversation with Tyrion once, now just as then she liked to think of King's Landing as her home. Although now she was beginning to have doubts as to whether she would feel comfortable in the Red Keep, since she already felt overwhelmed by the past here. "Maybe I don't have it at all."

"Everyone has their own place in the world. And you can create a home, you don't have to be born with it." he tried to comfort her, because he could hear the emotions in her voice. In fact, he began to feel sad as they talked about home for a longer time. First he was hurt that he would never cuddle up to his mother like he used to and that he would never hear her scolding Bran for climbing, and he would never be scolded by his father for fooling around with Theon. The times before his father left for King's Landing will never return. Just like the missed opportunity to create a home with the woman he loved.

By the way, Theon... He still felt hurt by his betrayal. He didn't even know what happened to him, was he still alive? If so, where is he now? What is he doing? Does he regret it? He doesn't even know if he would be able to talk to him, what emotions would gather in him if such a meeting took place... Would he be ready to accept his apology? Or would he still demand his head? After all, apologies cannot fix the past.

"Can you create something when you don't even know how it looks like?"

Her words deepened the depressed atmosphere even more, but there wasn't much time to think about them, because she wasn't looking at her feet and finally tripped and fell forward, cursing.

She had already accepted that she would either hit the walls or the ground and closed her eyes, expecting to fall, but she heard something fall to the ground, and then hands grabbed her tightly under her arms, and her own hands rested on Robb's torso, before she caught her balance, braking on him. He helped her stand on her feet, still holding her, and then her hands were on the sides of his face, and with just a small gesture she could cup his cheeks.

She didn't want to be so close to him, because in such a position it was easy to get lost in those blue, like the cloudless sky, eyes. Besides, her own irises were wonderful, it was impossible not to look at such an exotic purple, especially when surrounded by fair skin and silver hair.

For the first time in a long time, she was concerned about the fact that she might not look good appearance-wise in someone else's eyes.

If the soul can speak, it does not do so with tongue, but through eyes, because they cannot lie.

"Sorry." she muttered, flustered, quickly moving away and passing him, picking up a torch from the ground.

She felt herself trembling inside, but she didn't let it show. It had been some time since she last saw Daario and she was no longer used to the feeling of butterflies in her stomach. However, she wasn't going to pay too much attention to it, there was no time for such thoughts, she had other things on her mind. In fact, they were already in the place they were supposed to reach from the beginning. This space was smaller, but because of that single torch lit it quite well.

"What is this?" turning her attention away, she ran her finger along one of the grooves in the rock, wiping the dust from it. It looked like nothing she had seen before and she didn't know how to interpret the strange paintings before her.

"The Children of the Forest made them." either he wasn't bothered at all, or he's faking it as well as I am. I don't know what would be better.

"They're just a legend." she replied, but her voice was not convinced. And she didn't say a word as he gently grabbed the wrist of her hand in which she held the torch and led her to the wall on the other side. The glow of the flames also illuminated the dusty carvings, but these were of figures: the Children of the Forest and the First Men, together. They fought together against a common enemy.

The White Walkers were carved into the rock in a rather primitive way, but among them she recognized one figure from her dream, before she was kidnapped by the Dothraki. She remembered his gaze, his cold breath. The anger in his eyes, how he wanted to touch her cheek, but decided against it at the last moment.

Morghon isado kessa obūljagon zȳha ybon - Death itself will bend its knee. This was the prophecy Melisandre told her. She hadn't paid much attention to her words at the time, but now it made sense to her... If she knew so many things about her father, her friend, and herself, maybe that was why she took her for the one who was promised.

Prophecies are a dangerous thing, especially when they predict greatness to you.

"Humans have fought the Undead before and won because they fought together." he felt the uncertainty in her voice, so he knew Visenya didn't mean what she said. He finally let go of her wrist too, while saying this.

"Dārilaros bona iksin kivio kessa maghagon se ñāqes." she said before remembering that Robb doesn't speak Valyrian. "The one who was promised will bring the dawn." she translated it this way because she didn't want to give the word 'Dārilaros' any gender. Besides, this sentence was even written in Valyrian, lower down, it also looked better than the other pictures, it must have been written later.

"Dārilos..." he tried to repeat the word after her, just as he had once repeated after Talisa, but he could hear that it didn't work. The girl's smile only confirmed it.

"Dārilaros." she said it again, slower, pointing to the letters on the wall that spelled the word. "You need to emphasize the 'r' more." she added when he repeated her again. "They would understand you." she giggled after the boy's next attempt.

To think that she used to be so afraid of saying something wrong in this language, and now the way she speaks it is a wonderful sound to his ears.

"How did you learn this language? Tywin let you, brought in a teacher?" she hadn't yet heard him ask about her past, or more specifically the part she didn't want to mention. She could have lied and evaded the answer, but she didn't. If they were to be allies, they had to trust each other, and that means honesty.

"I learned on my own, my maid - who was my mother's friend before her death - brought me books in secret. But I heard the pronunciation for the first time only in Essos, before that I only guessed what the words should sound like." she explained.

"Where did the idea to learn it come from?"

"It's my legacy, my mother tongue." she looked again at the word carved on the wall. "Now I think it was also a form of rebellion." she felt pleasure in doing something she certainly wouldn't be allowed to do.

"Maybe I don't know it, but you speak it very nicely." he couldn't bite his tongue, he couldn't hold back the compliment, just like it was with Talisa.

A part of him, that he tried to keep quiet, was glad to have her alone with him. At a moment like this, they were both ordinary people, not someone important. They talked more freely, they didn't analyze their words so much and how they could be interpreted in different ways.

He brought her here so that she could see these drawings and see that he was telling the truth, while he himself went completely off topic and asked about her past and complimented her. But was it worth it? Was it worth it for the smile on this usually serious face?

"Kirimvose. Thank you." she didn't know why she said it in Valyrian first, she hoped he would try to repeat it after her? She looked at the drawings and then back at him. “They've already been defeated once, and now they'll be again. I will finish the war here and then I will take army to the North. We'll do it together, you have my word."

She could have used the opportunity and told him to bend the knee and that only then she would agree to fight. It would be cruel, but effective. But she wasn't cruel, she didn't play with the lives of people across the continent, because after all, it was at stake in the coming war. They could discuss political matters later, perhaps in the meantime there would be some solution, she would have to be consult about it.

It was obvious that Robb wanted to answer her, he even started to speak, but then she cut him off:

"Do you believe in destiny?" she asked a question that suddenly came to her lips and she couldn't hold it. The more she thought about the prophecy she had heard, about all her dreams and what had happened to her, the more she was sure that she had a big role to play, that Melisandre was not wrong and that she was the Princess that was promised. At the same time, there was also fear. Fear that she is over-interpreting everything, that it will soon turn into an obsession and drag her down, like her father.

That's why she asked. And she got the answer.

* * *

Jaime, Bronn and the army were already well on their way to King's Landing, if all went smoothly they should be there in less than a week with what they had managed to grab from Riverrun and on the way. Things were looking good for them, no upcoming battle, it looked like the girl aspiring to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was afraid to send people into battle. It's good for them, they will have time to prepare - as much as they can...

Jaime still felt the bitterness of what happened that evening in the gardens. One moment he was kissing her, and the next his body collided with the cold water of the bay. An unpleasant experience. It made him question if he ever knew her at all, for real. A woman he had more affection for than Cersei, and she was toying with him to get what she wanted. Anyway, as it happened before, with that septa...

Right after she escaped, he thought that she had decided to start a new life somewhere else, far from the past and politics, to stay somewhere and decide for herself. But Maegelle - or rather Visenya - had gone much further, she had tried her luck and now she commanded possibly the largest army these lands had ever seen, and she had four dragons. A force that should not be ignored.

Their only chance was that she was not as cruel as they had told the Lords when seeking their support, and would want to keep casualties to a minimum. Because if she throws everything she has into the fight, or even only the dragons... They don't stand a chance. Yeah... It would be shitty to be in their place. But despite this, Cersei refused to give up.

He and Bronn were talking to Dickon when his friend suddenly noticed the sound of hooves in the distance, but still getting closer to them. Something was wrong... Something, or rather someone, was coming over the hill.

"Take shields and spears!" he hurried his horse and started shouting orders to the soldiers. There is no time to rest when danger is approaching them.

"Form a line!" Bronn rode behind him and gave further commands.

The people were surprised at what was happening, but they quickly came to their senses, put on their helmets, took their spears and shields in their hands, and positioned themselves as they were instructed. Archers stood at the back, prepared to support the front-line soldiers if necessary. They had to defend the wagons, the contents of which were increasingly needed in the capital.

From this distance, the approaching attackers were still small dots, but it was already easy to determine who these warriors were. Dothraki.

Only a fool would face the Dothraki in an open field.

"Go back to King's Landing." Bronn told Jaime as he rode up to him on his horse.

"I'm not abandoning my army." replied the Lannister without any hesitation in his voice. After all, she dared to attack openly... Well, yes, she has Varys, and he has spies everywhere, of course she knew where they were and what they were carrying.

"You are a commander, not a damn infantry. Those bastards are about to swamp us!"

"We can hold them off."

They cannot hold them off.

They both looked ahead at the same moment when they heard an inhuman roar for the first time in their lives. They squinted to see what was making the sound, even though they had already guessed what it was.

Dragon. Snow-white, shimmering blue in the sun constantly hiding behind the clouds. It was much faster than the Dothraki, approaching them inexorably, overtaking the ranks of riders. The atmosphere among Jaime's soldiers became even worse and morale was already low, but it was about to get even worse. From time to time you could see someone sitting on the beast's back.

Well, there was only one person called the Dragon Queen in this world.

"Dracarys!" even this one word she said with a valyrian accent, which was immediately preceded by fire that poured over the soldiers like a flood, creating a hole in the formation, perfect for the approaching Dothraki.

The fire slowly consumed the soldiers in their metal armor, causing real agony and panic among those watching it. The burning ones tried to save themselves, but there was no way, they were already doomed to die in torture, rolling on the ground and trying to throw off their armor.

The Dothraki ran over their bodies, attacking those who stood further away. In another place, horses impaled themselves on spears while trying to break the formation in another point. Jaime's shouts to hold formation were in vain as the dragon circled and made another attack, this time flying down the line, burning dozens of men before flying back higher. More screaming in pain, more reduced to dust, another hole in the line.

The horses, which had previously been watered at the stopover, were now running around in panic, fleeing as far as possible from the slaughter. Because it wasn't a battle. There was no hesitation as to who would win and who would fall. Everything was clear to everyone.

Of course, there were losses on both sides, among the Dothraki, for example among those charging in the first line, but these losses were incomparably smaller than Lannister's. Several people attempted to take a few wagons and escape with them, and they were actually on quite a good path. The Dothraki could have chased them, of course, but the dragon did it much faster, punishing them for trying to desert.

First of all, Visenya held tightly to the spikes on the dragon's back and squeezed it with her legs so as not to fall when it flew quickly or when she leaned out. She mainly assessed the situation, only occasionally directing the dragon to break the formation of soldiers. She didn't even know how it was that Maelia knew exactly what she wanted to do, it was always some inexplicable connection, as if they were communicating telepathically. She didn't even have to shout 'Dracarys' all the time.

"Archers!" Jaime exclaimed, trying to improve their situation in any way he could. "Archers, line up!"

One arrow, one well-aimed arrow would be enough to kill her. Of course, it wouldn't end the war, but it would be a big blow to the enemy. Did he want to kill her? He didn't know, he had very mixed feelings about her.

The archers formed a formation and, as ordered. First drew their arrows, then bent their bows and aimed at the dragon that was turning in the sky and heading towards them. Jaime waited for the moment when the beast would be low enough for the arrows to reach Visenya, but not so close that they would be attacked.

"Loose!"

Arrows flew, forcing Maelia to swerve sharply to protect her mother. The arrows bounced off the scales on the dragon's chest, harming it in no way. Fortunately, none of them flew any further and didn't even have a chance to scratch Visenya. Although she had to hold harder with her legs so as not to fall off the back when it suddenly turned. Fortunately, her tightly tied hair was still in place, and only her clothes flapped in the wind.

She flew on, taking care of the other soldiers. She couldn't see much from this distance, but it seemed to her that Jaime was down there, and the plan was for him to survive and escape.

"There's Qyburn's scorpion over there." Jaime said to Bronn, nodding towards the wagon.

It wasn't a good time to test new things, but there won't be a better time if they don't survive. Maybe it will prove effective and they will be able to knock the beast out of the sky. If they could at least ground it... It all would be just a little bit easier.

"So go." his friend replied.

"I can't shoot with one hand." he waved his golden hand at him.

Bronn really didn't like it, but he had no choice but to take care of it himself. The only consolation is that if he manages to kill the dragon, he will probably go down in history.

In the sky, Visenya performed very well. She saw that there was not much left to do. She couldn't hear anyone giving up, but there must have been voices down there. She's about to stop it all. Just one moment more...

It felt comparable to the moment she watched one of the former Masters burn in the catacombs of the Great Pyramid. It was the same strange fascination, something that wouldn't let her stop. She knew she was killing people, and in a rather cruel way. But they also killed her people. This is what war is all about, fighting, killing enemies, completely dominating your opponent, beating him so badly that he won't get up again. The price she must pay to gain a position from which she can change the world.

She made a large circle in the sky, high up, so she could take in the entire situation. Chaos, flames, but there were no screams or the smell of burning skin from up there. Suddenly something whistled dangerously close to her. She looked behind her for a moment and saw something that looked like a crossbow arrow magnified many times over. It almost hit her in the arm and ripped it apart, or even straight in the chest or head.

That was the moment she first felt threatened during all this carnage. Ordinary arrows didn't impress her, she knew they wouldn't penetrate the dragon's thick skin and scales, so she was safe on its back. But this thing... It was much bigger. She immediately started looking around to see where the shot came from. She saw what looked like an enlarged version of a crossbow and that's where she headed at Maelia, they had to destroy it.

At the same time, Tyrion watched everything from the hill. He saw how close Visenya was to dying. It was hard for him to choose sides at the moment. When defending the capital against Stannis it was easier, he was also fighting for his survival, he knew that the chances were equal or even they were in a worse position. Deep down, he also hoped that he would prove himself and gain in his father's eyes. But above all, it was about the fate of the city and all its inhabitants.

Now he was experiencing carnage. Almost everything was burning, the Dothraki were moving around the battlefield on their horses and finishing off the soldiers, especially those who tried to escape. It was his idea, but he didn't say anything about using a dragon. If one could do so much... What could all four of them do...?

"Come on, you son of a bitch..." Bronn muttered to himself after loading another arrow. The dragon was flying straight at him, this was his opportunity to hit accurately, he fired.

Visenya saw this huge arrow, but she was sure it would miss them this time too. She felt that this was not the case when the dragon jerked violently and she had to press even harder on its back to avoid falling. Luckily, she didn't see Bronn's smug expression, as that would only enraged her more, and she needed to focus on holding herself together.

They spun several times in the air as they fell, the dragon roaring in unexpected pain. She couldn't see where the arrow had hit, but even that thought didn't cross her mind as she focused all her strength on clenching her hands and legs. For a moment she wanted to close her eyes, just waiting for the collision with the ground, but she forced herself to look at the situation - fortunately, they did not hit the ground. Despite the pain, the dragon began to flap its wings again, settling low to the ground in front of the scorpion, which Bronn was no longer nearby. He managed to escape before the flames consumed the weapon.

There was no other choice and Maelia landed. Out of fear, no one approached her anyway, but it was always safer in the air. Visenya slid off her back with a little help and stood on the ground, checking where the arrow had embedded.

"My poor girl..." she said quietly, placing her hand right next to the injured spot. She had to pull it out, she hoped she had the strength to do so. "It's going to hurt a bit." she warned, grabbing the wood. From here it looked more like a spear than an arrow, but even spears weren't that thick and strong.

While Vis tried to pull the arrow from near the dragon's shoulder, Jaime watched from not far away. A few steps away from him, a soldier was lying dead with a spear stuck in his back, he rode up to him and pulled it out. He wanted to throw it first, it was safer, it would give Visenya less time to react, she was facing the dragon anyway and couldn't see him. But he never threw with his left hand, the chance of him hitting her was small, very small...

Especially since he was about to throw it at her. It was complicated how he felt about her, seeing her for the first time in several years. She's grown up, that's for sure. She was twenty-one, a grown woman. He even saw that she wore black and red, the colors of her house. Until today, he had thought that she had the courage to declare war, but would not provoke a battle, and now he witnessed that she had even taken part in it herself.

He had to do it. If he succeeds, even if he dies, it will still be a big step for them. He must make an attempt - a very stupid one - but perhaps this time he will be lucky. He confidently grabbed the spear and urged his horse to move towards her.

"You idiot... You fucking idiot, flee...!"

Bronn had the same thought as Tyrion. He managed to grab a bow lying on the ground and take an arrow from the fallen soldier's quiver. All he had to do was take aim and shoot, but if he did that, this idiot would die immediately, and he couldn't die until he gave him the promised castle. So he cursed fiercely again and ran to the nearest stray horse to ride to save Jaime.

Can't this retard see the huge dragon between him and her?

Visenya used all her strength to pull the arrow and didn't worry about anyone attacking her, she treated the sounds around her as normal sounds of battle. Nothing she should worry about. It was only when she heard the sound of hooves approaching her that the thought occurred to her that this someone might be heading towards her with evil intentions. She released the arrow and turned, reflexively backing away as she saw Jaime charging at her.

So this is how he greets her. Well, maybe his feelings were never real after all.

Literally a second later she couldn't see him anymore because the dragon's head covered her. All she saw was an avalanche of fire and someone jumping at Jaime. He must have made it just in time and they fell into the river - at least that's what she could tell from the loud splash. She didn't want to check if they were alive. According to the plan, Jaime was to escape...

Without further deliberation, she went back to pulling out the arrow, and after a few tugs she finally managed to pull it out completely. Immediately after that, the dragon moved its head and licked the wound a few times.

At least she learned that they had some weapons against her dragons and that she has to be careful in the future...

"Khalessi, kisha haronn firrado." she turned to one of the two riders who had ridden up to her.

*"My Queen, we have gathered the survivors."*

She moved her gaze to where he was nodding, at the group led by her warriors. The lucky ones, who managed to survive the battle, escaping the dragon fire and the Dothraki until the end of the fight.

The fire slowly died out, and a large part of the meadow was destroyed, covered with bodies or their ashes, parts of the wagons that also did not survive, burned as a result of the fight.

"Anha zin tikh jadat."  she replied. "Ker anna jin hrazef."

*"I'm coming. Give me a horse."*

She could have flown there on Maelia, but she could clearly see that she was injured. She didn't want to strain her any more than she had to, and they still had to return to Dragonstone. She might not weigh enough to make any difference for her, but she didn't want to risk it.

The survivors were gathered at the hill. There were several trees and a few stones on it - including the one on which she stood, and Tyrion took a place on her right. A dragon sat at the very top, consciously choosing this place to intimidate enemy soldiers - as if the mere presence of the Dragon Queen, of whom they had heard so much, on the battlefield was not enough.

All of them had dirty armors and had abandoned their long ago helmets. She saw both young and old among them. There were a lot of them, but compared to everyone she had seen before the battle began... It really was a slaughter.

She had to speak. In such a way as to at least try to improve her image in their eyes after what happened here. They were afraid of her, it was visible in their eyes. The same fear she had seen many times before. She can't count to gain their love anytime in the future, not after what they witnessed. She didn't want them to think she was cruel, but did she have any choice at the moment? Victims are everywhere. Olenna told her that no one in Westeros will listen to her unless they are afraid of her. And Tyrion talked about how no monarch can ever count on the love of all his people.

But she won't give up so easily, she will still have the opportunity to show them the better side of herself. The way she wants to be, not the way she has to be, as a means to achieve the ultimate goal.

"I am Visenya Targaryen." she started, raising her voice. Eventually everyone should hear it. "I know what the Lannisters told the Lords, and they passed it on to their people. That I have come here to destroy your cities, burn your homes and kill you, making orphans of your children and widows of your wives. That I'm a mad woman who came to get what she thinks is hers." she paused for a moment to make her next words come out louder. "Only one thing of all this is true: I will take what is rightfully mine, with fire and blood if necessary." another break. "But I don't want it to end like this. I don't want to murder and destroy, that's Cersei Lannister, not me. It was she who destroyed the Sept of Baelor, killing Queen Margaery, and thus contributing to the death of Tommen Baratheon." she used the name everyone knew him by, even though she knew he was a bastard. "This is all she has to offer: starvation, suffering and death. What some of you have known for forever. I propose something else: Bend the knee and swear to me, and I will make the Lannisters pay for all the wrongs they have ever done to anyone. I will end poverty and hunger, I will give not only your children, but also orphans, a better tomorrow. The cities across the sea are proof that I can do this, because the only thing I want to destroy is the wheel that the Great Houses spin, which destroys everyone it comes across." she finished her monologue.

For a moment, no one even moved, some looked at each other and wondered what to do. They were probably counting their chances of survival, after all, she hadn't told them what would happen if they didn't join her. Only when the first person broke down and knelt, the others followed. But still not everyone, just a small part of the crowd.

Well, the next part was convinced by the dragon's roar. A significant part.

But that still wasn't everyone. Some stood, someone even with his heads raised. Apparently he had too much pride or he believed in another queen and said he wouldn't break his word to her. Some of those still standing seemed unfazed by the dragon's roar.

"Please, step forward my Lord." she said to the one standing in front. "What is your name?"

"Lord Randyll Tarly."

"You won't bend the knee?"

"I already have a Queen to whom I swore an oath."

Wrong Queen.

"You also swore an oath to House Tyrell, didn't you? And you broke your word when your Liege Lady allied with me." she noticed.

"Do you really think it's worth fighting and dying for my sister?" Tyrion supported her. "The same one who killed the previous queen? The one that was ridiculed in front of the whole city? Which destroyed the sept? Or are you just saying that because you have ambitions to take the Tyrells' place?"

To her, these arguments seemed enough to change his mind, to avoid the worst. But they didn't seem to appeal to him.

"You can say what you want about her, but at least she knows the country and plays by its cruel rules. You, on the other hand, are a young idealist who thinks she can teach an old dog new tricks. You can not. You'll find out sooner or later." she absolutely didn't like the tone in which he spoke to her, but she didn't show it. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her and just watched, her eyes showing no signs of stress. "I won't fight for a person whose father and grandfather almost destroyed Seven Kingdoms. Everyone remembers them and they don't want a Targaryen here. Especially with a foreign army of savages."

She hated it when someone judged her through the prism of her family. Just as she hated the saying: 'Every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin.' What are these stupid words and who came up with them? As if most of her family was mad... As if they were implying that she was crazy too.

"You don't know me, yet you judge me, my Lord." she finally said, quite calmly, although she was already starting to boil inside.

"I just saw what you did."

There was silence. She stared at him, silently considering her options. She can kill him, she even should kill him, after all, everyone is watching. If they see that they can oppose her and not suffer any consequences, they will start doing so too.

She couldn't argue with that, she didn't make good impression. But at least they didn't see her now as a girl to play with as they pleased. They learned that he was someone to be considered, someone dangerous. She should have learned by now that people accustomed to this world learn not through kindness, but cruelty...

"He could take the black, Your Grace." Tyrion said to her, gaining her attention. "No matter what he believes in, he is a true soldier, and such soldiers are worth their weight in gold in the Night's Watch."

It seemed to make sense. She was about to agree to it, but then Randyll spoke again:

"You can't send me to the Wall, you're not my Queen."

"All right. I can send you somewhere else then." there was a threat in those words, and it was clear to everyone.

"Then you have to kill me too." suddenly someone else came out of the crowd, he was probably standing next to Lord Tarly earlier, she didn't remember. He was much younger, it was probably one of his first battles.

"Step back and shut your mouth!" Randyll shouted at him.

"Who are you?" she has already guessed that they must be close to each other, so they are probably family, and considering the age difference, they are probably father and son, or the man may be his uncle.

"A stupid boy." Randyll muttered.

"I'm Dickon Tarly, he's my father."

"You are the future of your house. This war has already destroyed one Great House, it doesn't have to destroy another. Bend the knee." Tyrion intervened. There was no need, she wasn't going to kill a boy who wanted his father to be proud of him in some twisted way.

"No." this was exactly the answer she expected from him...

"Your Grace, Visenya-" she raised her hand and silenced Tyrion before he could suggest anything to her.

'When the people began to oppose him, he destroyed their towns and castles. He murdered sons in front of their fathers. He burned people alive using wild fire and laughed when they screamed. He was so eager to extinguish resistance that he led to a rebellion that killed almost all the Targaryens.'

'Thank the Gods, you have your father's character.'

She remembered that conversation with ser Barristan about the Mad King. She also recalled every conversation she had with Arthur when she had doubts about the righteousness of her actions.

She had to impose punishment, but she couldn't be cruel. People need to get an example, but not in a cruel way, because sooner or later they will start to rebel. She is not a monster and will not make the mistakes of the past. She swore to herself that she would fulfill her destiny and fix the world.

"Todo disse foz ato. Mae rizh akka ei fin tat vo kssoro tikh tihk arda." she gave an order to the Dothraki commanders.

*"Take just the elder one. His son and the others who did not kneel chain and they will be thrown into the dungeons."*

Tyrion was just starting to pick up a few words in this language, so he didn't know what was going on. Only after what had happened could he draw any conclusions.

Visenya glanced over her shoulder at Maelia, but then her thoughts took a different turn. No, he didn't deserve to die like that, despite what he told her. She won't burn him alive, it's better to have his head cut off. Fast and smooth.

"Lord Randyll Tarly, I, Visenya of House Targaryen, First of My Name, Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Dothraki, Queen of the Dragon's Bay, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?"

She expected her voice to shake, but it didn't. She stood there as if completely unmoved by the fact that she was about to witness another person die on her orders.

"In my last moment I pray that all of Westeros will not end up like Harrenhal."

In that moment she wanted to change her mind and burn him, but she just nodded at the Dothraki soldier. He had previously suggested that she was mad like her grandfather, reckless like her father, and now he was also saying that her great ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, was no better after what he did to Harrenhal.

During the execution in Meereen, in the square, she could not watch Mossador die. She even flinched when she heard the blade decapitating the boy. Now... She only twitched slightly.

It made her think... Has she changed? Is she changing all the time? Is she slowly becoming cruel or is she still only making necessary decisions? After all, it was her idea to come here on a dragon and take part in the battle. What is a necessary evil and what is her whim? Should she feel bad after how many people died today on her orders? How many was burned alive, screaming and begging for help?

On the one hand, she becomes indifferent to suffering, and on the other, her heart cries that she does not want to cause so much pain.

Kill or be killed, you either get used to it or your own emotions will eat you up from the inside.

~

-> Chapter XXXVII ''Nightmares of the past'' -> general masterlist -> Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon masterlist

[readingisloving]

Completed

Selene Baratheon, the only trueborn child of King Robert Baratheon, is an unconventional, sword-swinging beauty caught up in the game of thrones. 

Now she must risk everything for honor, duty, and love.

[missswritesalot]

Can i request some possessive, maybe even a little mean, Robb Stark nsfw? i need that man in a way that borders on obsession 😭

A/N hope you like it anon. Gets soft at the end. Will edit later for historical accuracy. Requests open.

"Your grace," you began nervously as your husband threw open your bedchamber door. Opening it was hard enough so thinking of the force it took to rattle the hinges made you wince. Perhaps you could finally see the King Robb that maidens swooned for and bards sang of.

"Like a dog? A beast? Numbskulled brute? Is that what you said?" He spat out. His anger, so hard to provoke but equally hard to quell. Now it was righteous too.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” you nervously said. “I only wished to entertain.”

Robb walked towards you and you took a step back. You were vulnerable, only wearing your shift.

“And what did you call yourself? Little more than a whore I paid two coppers for? A greedy little queen, at the mercy of the king?” Robb said. “I can’t even repeat what I heard. Yet you said it when I have done nothing but treat you gently with kindness.”

“It was only my ladies, and I didn’t wish to disappoint, husband.” You said. You placed your hand gently on his chest. “They dream of you, and I couldn’t appear jealous. I needed to show you didn’t lack passion in bed.”

“Wasn’t just the ladies. My men heard you recount your pleasure and now they’re the ones salivating.” He shouted.

“Cease this! It’s childish and I will speak as I wish.” You said, feigning annoyance.

Robb looked madder with each word out of your mouth. He gripped your wrists to the point of pain and spun you around. With a hand on your back, he pushed you face down onto the furs.

"You talk like a whore you get taken like one."

He pushed your chemise up and you felt his fingers find the most sensitive parts of you. He shoved two in roughly, making you scream. Thank the old gods, your plan worked better than expected.

“And what of my men guarding you? Did they have to hear your of escapades? Know how you enjoy in my chamber?” Robb demanded.

The twist of his fingers in your unprepared cunt made tears spring to your eyes.

“Who do you belong to?” He asked. You refused to reply. You shook your head.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” Robb yelled. He slapped your arse to make his point. No need to trigger him even more, you decided. “Who owns ye?” He asked again.

“You do,” you mumbled.

“And I am your King, and your husband. And you had better remember that.”

“Yes, husband.” You whispered. You heard the sounds of him undressing. You didn’t dare move.

Robb held your hips on either side of you and pushed you into the bed.

“Who’ll take you now?” He demanded.

“You, my lord and husband.” You replied submissive. His breathing behind you told you he was still furious.

His hands tightened around your hips and you felt the impossible thickness of his member at your entrance. He'd taken you before, he was your goddamn husband, but never in anger and never like this.

He began to push in, deaf to your cries.

"Robb," you pleaded, your will breaking. He was deep in you but not to the hilt yet. This new position was physically uncomfortable adding to your humiliation. "Please, please." You begged. You didn't know what you were asking for, for him to let you go or for a moment to adjust. But you were so hot you could barely see. You had never felt desire like this. You anticipated your release like Robb returning home.

"No," he said quietly. "You will accept this, wife." He sheathed himself to the hilt within your body. You were glad he'd let go of your arms, so you could twist your fingers into the furs on your bed.

He was deeper than before in this new position, you felt like you were being split open. You reminded yourself you were trying for this reaction. Some part of your heart hurt most of all, knowing that your husband didn't care about the pain he inflicted upon your body. He was mean.

He pulled out again and pushed back in slowly. The deep pleasure knocked the breath out of your lungs. It added to everything you felt from the stretch of his girth.

Your cries grew louder due to pleasure, and you were screaming in abandon at how good he made you feel.

“More, husband, Robb, please.” You begged incoherently. The snap of his hips against yours set a harsh pace.

He tried to stop, to tease you, but he couldn’t. He was too excited looking at your body beneath him.

It didn’t take long before you were clenched around his cock in your pleasure, and he spent in response to you.

Robb collapsed atop you. He rolled over to the side, breathing heavily. You took a moment to calm yourself down and turned to face him. You took his hand in yours carefully, you wanted to know if his anger had been quelled yet. You were pleased when he brought your hand to his lips to kiss it.

“I love you,” he said. “And I have no desire to share you. Not this. Not our time together when we get so little.” Robb confessed. Your heart broke for him. Perhaps you’d gone too far in seeking his passion.

His face grew tense as you didn’t reply. “Have I hurt you, love?” He asked, caressing your cheek. You leaned into his touch with a sigh.

“No, dear husband. I love you too,” you said softly, content.

[eccentricallygothic]

Husband!Robb ‘The Wolf’ Stark | Wife!You.

Warning(s): D/s dynamics, husband Robb Stark, fear kink, power imbalance, doggy style, rough sex, spanking, biting, mirror sex, mention of edging, dacryphilia. Minors do not interact.

“Is it true?” You were tinkering with some medicinal herbs when the children approached you before they crowded around you. You looked up from what you were doing, and then silently raised an eyebrow in question. “That your husband can turn into a wolf at night?” Your breath ceased for a couple moments, heat coursed through your veins and your consciousness drifted into a series of recollections. 

So many times, so many moments, so many nights. 

Different positions, various spots all over the estate and a myopic vision that you owed to the tears that would stain your face. 

And through that barely functional vision images of your parted panting mouth, bent and flush knees, pulled back head -due to the way your hair wrapped around the pale fingers of your eternal ravisher-, neck and breasts painted in purple fang marks, nipples inflamed from how they had been treated, buttocks covered in handprints and arms compliantly folded on the small of your back. Your form pushing face first into the mattress with breath stifling force before being pulled back with a limb tearing strength in such a rapid unceasing cycle that it caused for the brutish violator bent atop you to appear inhuman as he used you in his monstrous way that you could see through the body size mirror placed on the wall in front of your bed. 

Realization seeped through your brain cells. 

Man.

Man-Wolf.

Wolf-Man.

Wolf. 

The dark mop of messed up curls that graced your dear husband and cruel defiler's head was amess as the loose damp strands flew about, his nose flared to help with his panting, chiseled features stern under the dark coarse hairs of his manly beard, beastly muscles tense as he effortlessly held your submissive figure bent to his pleasure with one hand, the other holding one of your compliant legs up in the air in an obtuse angle, his skin covered in a shadowy brown vell in such a way that your opening that his cock had stretched open nearly to the size of a woman's in labor clenched around the man-creature's monstrous girth. The deafening sound of skin colliding against skin was on the verge of marring your eardrums, his piercing dark blue eyes watching you through the mirror all the while.

They watched you even now from across the room where your dear husband and Lord sat telling the stories of his recent expedition to everyone willing.

There were always hundreds if not thousands of those.

Words didn't always require a necessary exchange between the two of you.

Your cheeks threatened to bubble up from the heat compressing itself underneath them. Your fingers had ceased from crushing the herbs between the mortar and pestle long ago. A hot drop of meek arousal sizzled past your covered opening -which blinked in response- and coursed down the insides of your thighs. Your breath hitched as you laboriously swallowed and licked your lips. 

“Mhm” was all you could let out in your shy state that he had influenced with a mere stare. You looked up at the children before you proceeded to nod your head politely so as to not stir the sanctity of your Lord's presence with too harsh a gesture. The children gasped and whimpered before scurrying off, too young and afraid to say it out loud but in their naive minds extremely terrified for your wellbeing. 

The longer you felt The Wolf staring at you the more you sensed yourself sharing the sentiments of the young ones. 

You bit your lip and dared not look up from your work. 

Because you were always tortured cruelly before your taking solely for the purpose of His Lordship's amusement if the eagerness in your eyes was too visible.

And it was always embarrassingly visible.

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival. A thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

[xxnymeriatargaryenxx]

but imagine cregan slowly and carefully stroking your bare skin WITH his gloves on ??? 😫🦋🦋

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

A Mended Heart || D. Targaryen x oc, Robb Stark x oc

GIF by @lady-arryn DIVIDERS by @straywords

summary: Alysanne's marriage to her older brother, Daemon was once full of prosperity. As thirteen years and six children pass by, their marriage starts to crumble, his loyalty was nowhere to be found and so an annulment was requested. Years later when Daemon's second wife, Laena, dies tragically, the Prince attempts to rekindle his relationship with his dear sister. But is she willing to leave the life she built in Winterfell?

a/n: note that this a request!! i just made it into a lil series :)

P.t 1

"An annulment?" Viserys' eyebrows raises at his brother's absurdity. "She's our sister, your wife, and mother to your children, Daemon. What possible reason do you-" "People change, brother." The Prince taps his finger on the table, already bored and wanting to leave.

Viserys sighs, his hands rubbing his forehead. "And she agreed?" A scoff leaves Daemon's lips. "Whether or not she fucking agrees is her problem. I get to make this decision, not her." He spat, the King was baffled at the words of younger brother. He was treating their sister as if she was simply a commoner.

"And what of the children?" Daemon's mind goes to the image of his six children. A sigh leaves his lips, his head leaning back on the chair, "They are mine. But Alysanne will take them, and, they are still my heirs." Although their marriage was going to be annulled, he still loved his children. They still hold their titles as Prince's and Princess's.

Viserys nods. "I had hoped you and Alysanne were to be together till death parted with the two of you. Please, think about what your wanting to do right now, brother. For the sake of me, Alysanne, your children!" Viserys pleaded, he did not want his family crumbling apart because of this.

"We were always told we were to marry since birth. We were forced into this. |love her as my blood, my sister, but we weren't made to marry each other." Daemon voiced out. The elder lets out a sigh of defeat. "I cannot force you to stay in a marriage with her, but please, I do not want this to be the reason our family is split apart," the King sternly says as Daemon gets up from his seat.

"Of course, your Grace," He bows his head and leaves the room. Viserys watched with sadden eyes, saddened for his younger sister.

"It's done. We are free from each other," Daemon leans back on the chair, his voice flat. Alysanne rolls her eyes as she continues her embroidery. "Where are the children?" He questions, "With their wet nurse, why?" She finally looks at him. "To say goodbye." He stands up, the Targaryen Princess furrowed her eyebrows at him “Where are you going?" Daemon chuckles, "To Dragonstone, sister. Do you think I would stay here in King's Landing?"

Alysanne was surprised that Daemon was leaving so quickly. She did not care though. "No. I know how much you dread it here," She mutters, her hands back working on embroidering. Daemon looks stares at her. She could feel his stare so she looks up with a sigh. "Yes?"

"Goodbye then. Let me remind you that I get to see our children whenever I want-“ “Yes yes I know. You've not only told me about a hundred times Daemon. I'm not cruel, they're still your children," Alysanne replies, annoyed at the constant remindering. "Good, l'll be on my way" He nods curtly at before walking to her.

He awkwardly stands infront of her. Her gaze on his shoes before she turns her head and lets him kiss her on the cheek. Although they used to be Husband and Wife, they were still Brother and Sister. No words were exchanged and Daemon left what used to be their shared bedchambers.

As she sat there alone, she pondered back on their marriage. It was once filled with prosperity but things changed. They both changed. She never forgot how loved she felt from Daemon or how loving he was to their children. His loyalties changed, and they both mutually agreed that this would be for the best.

Alysanne didn't realise she was crying until she felt something wet on her cheeks. "Mother?" Her sons voice called out as she quickly wiped the salty tears away. "Yes, darling" She smiled at her eldest son who was ten-and-two. "Why is father going to Dragonstone without us?" He asks as the Princess moves aside to let him sit beside her.

She smiled, her hands brushing through his blonde hair. "Because your father is staying there from now on, okay?”He still loves you all very much but it is best he stays there and I, here with you all." Her hand moves to his chin to make him look at her. Aegon slowly nods.

"Come on, I think we should go for our walk now," She says brightly, setting down her embroidery, but Aegon doesn't budge. "Father won't be there," He points out. Alysanne sighed, sitting back down. They would all walk together every afternoon when they can, with all the children. But now that Daemon was gone, it was only to be Alysanne and her children.

"Why don't we ask uncle if he would like to join us?" She suggests, attempting to cheer Aegon up. He thinks before nodding. Of course, Viserys was more than happy to go on a family stroll with his sister and nieces and nephews.

"What a fine day it is today isn't it, children?" Alysanne smiles at them as they reply with yes. "What do you plan on doing now, sister?" Viserys asks, Alysanne’s youngest, Visenya in his arms. She sighs, watching her twins, Rhaena and Baela chasing after each other.

"I'm still the Princess, brother. I have many options." She assures him with a smile for Alysanne knew that Viserys was worried. “Oh stop worrying about Daemon and I Viserys. You have more urgent things to worry about as King. We will greatly benefit from this, I can assure you" She pats his arm, “If you say so" The King sighs as Alysanne walks ahead to catch up with the rest of her children.

~

2 months later…

“You look handsome, sweet boy” Alysanne kisses the crown of her Daeron’s head. He was sat on her lap as she brushed through his hair, he was dressed handsomely for the celebration of Rhaenyra’s name day.

Before the Princess could say anything, a knock comes from the door. It was her handmaiden, Dyana. “Princess, I have news” She bows as she urges forward to Alysanne. “What is it?” She asks, intrigued. Dyana awkwardly looks to Daeron who was busy playing with the jewellery on the table.

“I think it’s best if Prince Daeron leaves the room,” She quietly says, her gaze stuck on the floor. Alysanne gives her a skeptical looks but nonetheless takes her advice. “Ser Harwin!” She calls out and the door immediately opens revealing her sworn protector. “You wouldn’t mind if you watched Daeron for a bit would you?” A kind smile makes it to her pink lips.

“Not at all, Princess,” Harwin sends back a smile, “Come one Daeron,” He beckons the young boy as he happily runs to Harwin. After the sound of the door shut was heard, Alysanne focuses her attention back on Dyana. “Now tell me,” “Prince Daemon is betrothed to Laena Velaryon,”

It didn’t faze the Princess that Daemon was already betrothed to another. It did surprise her though, how quickly her brother moved on. Alysanne chuckled, “Oh Dyana, you know I care little of what my brother does. Are they expecting a child yet?” She jokingly says, turning around to choose out her jewellery.

The Targaryen was met with silence. Her eyes move up to the mirror to look at Dyana. “Yes, they are.” She quietly answers. Alysanne did not expect the answer but yet again, she was not much surprised. “Well, I am happy for them. Laena is a sweet girl,” Alysanne smiles, fidgeting with the necklace.

Dyana studies the Princess, she seemed bothered. The door opened, “Princess, the celebrations are to start soon” Harwin says as Daeron peaks his head in the room. “Wonderful,” Getting up from her seat, she takes ahold of Daeron’s hand and leaves the room. Ser Harwin close behind.

It pained the heart of Alyssane in an unexplainable way. Maybe it was because it had only been 2 months since the annulment of their marriage and that he had moved on so quickly from her. Though they used to be husband and wife, Daemon was still her older brother. And she still loved him as an older brother.

Walking into the throne room where Rhaenyra’s celebration was held, Alysanne was accompanied by Ser Harwin Strong. Her six children, Aegon, Visenya, Daeron, Rhaena, Baela, and her youngest—only 10 months old—Maegor with her. It never failed to amaze the realm how much Daemon and Alysanne’s children looked like them.

They were spitting images of their parents and a nod to the people of old Valyria. “Sister,” Viserys stands from his seat and places a kiss on Alysanne’s cheek. “Brother,” She smiles back, sitting down at the Royal table. The celebrations commenced and it was in full swing.

The thought of Daemon marrying and expecting a child still lingered in the Princess’ mind. Biting her lip constantly and tapping her finger on the table, Viserys noticed the signs of his sister’s anxiousness. “Are you alright?” He leans to her and speaks in a hushed tone.

Stopping her finger tapping, she sends Viserys a look before facing the front and sighing. “Our dear brother has remarried,” The King sighs, shakes his head and takes a sip of his mead, “And they are expecting a child.” Alysanne finishes, this time it was her turn to drink the alcohol as Viserys stares wide-eyed at his sister.

He knew what kind of person Daemon was, but lately it seemed like he doesn’t know what Daemon has become. Viserys holds Alysanne’s hand and gives her a reassuring squeeze of the hand. “I can always make that child illegitimate you know? Aegon is your firstborn, a male. And all your children are heirs-“ Alysanne laughs at her brother.

“Viserys, you know if you did that, you would be denying your own blood. I am not worried about Daemon’s heirs with Laena, he too knows that Aegon is the heir and so are our 5 other children. He would be a fool to not acknowledge that” Her eyes stay focused on her children dancing.

Viserys smiles and nods, “Yes, you are right. Like you always are, sister” He pats her hand and the two siblings smile at each other. Conversations fell on the Royal table before a man presents himself in front of Viserys and Alysanne. “Lord Stark, what a pleasure seeing you here!” Viserys smiles at the insanely handsome man standing there.

Alysanne listen quitely, Robb’s and her eyes often connecting. “Yes, always a pleasure to come visit King’s Landing, Your Grace” He chuckles, showcasing his pearly white smile. Then his attention shifts to the Princess. “Princess,” He bows his head at her as she does the same,

“My Lord, how is business up in the North? I’ve always been meaning to come visit with my children. Visenya loves the snow,” Alysanne smiles, her mind going back to her second eldest.

Robb stares with a wide smile at the Targaryen Princess. Something, only Viserys notices. Truth be told, whenever Robb was in King’s Landing, his eyes never seem to keep themselves off of Alysanne. She was beautiful, the realm’s beauty they would call her.

The Stark man was an honourable and respectful man so he never initiated anything with the then married Princess. When news arrived at Winterfell that the Princess and Prince’s marriage was annulled, Robb was secretly celebrating.

Viserys’ yes move back and forth from the Lord of Winterfell and his younger sister. “The children seem to be having fun dancing,” He comments with a mischievous look. Alysanne hums mindlessly. Robb chuckles to himself, giving a nod to the King as a small thanks. “Might I have a dance, Princess?”

[heartofmortis]

For Good Luck, Robb Stark x Reader

warnings: SMUT!! 18+ minors, please dni. female reader, no y/n, fingering, unprotected piv

note: this is my second time writing smut, so i'm sorry if it's bad lmfao. but i had fun writing it 🫶 inspired by this post by @dipperscavern (my fave stark men writer)

word count: 0.9k

The camp was a flurry of men preparing for war as you pressed through the rows of tents and rallying horses to reach the council tent. Your husband was holding a final strategy meeting before the battle began, so you were surprised when Robb called you to see him. As always, you came to him without hesitation.

Anxiety weighed on your chest as you entered the tent. Your eyes met Robb’s blue and he gave you a smile. He gave his men leave and came to you as soon as they disappeared under the flaps of the tent. Robb looked especially beautiful and imposing this morning in his armour, his sword and scabbard laid on the war table. He looked delectable, but the nerves in your system did not settle — you feared for your husband’s life every time he rode into battle. Robb had never lose a battle, but that still did nothing to quench your fear that one day he could return to you injured or dead.

Robb’s lips met yours with a desperate hunger. Your arms around his neck, his hands tight against your hips, you drew each other in close. You and Robb moved in harmony, knowing which buttons to press to fan the sparks with in you — delightful consequences of your short yet devoted marriage.

Robb began to maneuver you, only leaving your mouth when you both drew breath, until you bumped against the war table. Easily, Robb lifted you to sit on the edge of the table. One of his gloved hands came under your dress and brushed against your clothed core. The sensation made your breath hitch and Robb abandoned your lips.

"May I?" he asked, circling your clit. "For good luck."

Your fingers dug into the plates of Robb’s armour, the metal cool against your warm skin. You nodded. "Please."

Your eyes rolled shut, moaning in bliss when Robb pushed two fingers inside you. You felt his gaze on you, he watched your features crease and relax in pleasure as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you. Robb pressed kisses against your jaw and down your neck, grinning against your skin as he pulled another gasping moan from you.

Robb began to move faster with gentle care, and he returned to your lips with kisses you gratefully returned. He was quick to bring you to the edge of your peak, his fingers already slick with you. Then he slipped out of you, leaving you aching and pissed off. Your eyes shot open, hardening into a glare at your husband. Robb’s smirk made you even more desperate — you were ready to whine and beg him to finish, or finish the job yourself.

Robb brought you to your feet and turned you around. Your hips became pressed against the war table and Robb’s chest pressed against your back. One hand bracing against the table, you raised your other hand to Robb’s auburn curls as he dipped his head to kiss your neck. Robb’s hands on your hips, he rolled you against his crotch. Your fingers scratching against the table.

"Are you alright?" he asked, against your ear.

You gave a sure nod, leaning back against Robb to grind against him. "Yes. Fuck me, please."

Robb gave a low groan at your words. He fumbled in his desperate haste, pushing up your dress and freeing himself to line at your entrance and pushed into you, hard. Robb’s thrusts came quick and rough as he pressed your body against the table, his deepness sending moans spilling from your lips. The feel of Robb’s armour against your exposed skin sent shivers up your spine.

The thudding of hooves and men shouting orders grew louder outside. You covered your mouth as another moan escaped you when Robb returned his fingers to tease your clit. Taking himself deep inside you, Robb leaned in to press hot kisses against your neck, teeth nipping at your skin. Already close when he pushed into you, it did not take very long for you to be writhing beneath your husband and praying for your release.

"Come for me, love," Robb whispered against your ear.

The softness to his words sent you over the edge. You cried out as Robb fucked you through your release. You clenched around him and Robb finished inside you. The mix of releases soaked your thighs.

Both breathless, Robb reluctantly pulled out of you. Twisting you around to face him, he pulled you close against his chest and held you tightly.

"Come back home to me," you pleaded as you and Robb cleaned yourselves up. You held his hands tightly, wishing he never had to leave again. "Alive. Unharmed."

Robb kissed you, lips gentle against yours. "I will. I love you."

"I love you too."

You held onto Robb as long as you could, walking with him to his horse. He kissed you one last time and you hugged tightly.

Before mounting his horse, Robb whispered to you, "I’ll fuck you properly when I come home, I promise."

Warmth rising to your cheeks, you giggled. You pressed short, desperate kisses against Robb’s face. Robb mounted his horse and squeezed your hand before leaving you behind to ride into battle once more.

[gulnarsultan]

Robb watches his future fiancee from a distance. Sweet doe doesn't realize being watched. The Wolf is determined to ensure that the precious Princess becomes his wife.

[blxkstar]

POV: You're in Game of Thrones

I made this playlist by mixing all of my game of thrones playlists into one (with some edits). Please check it out!

If you like this one, please check out my other playlists for specific houses and house of the dragon.

"I'm not going to stop the wheel, I'm going to break the wheel"

Winter is coming. We know what’s coming with it

[toilandtroubled]

— 𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙗 + 𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙮

[fanfictiongirlie]

A Song of Sun and Snow - Chapter One

Click here for Masterlist

Parings: Robb Stark x Baratheon Reader

Description: You and Robb Stark hated one another. Always had, always will. As the oldest daughter of Robert Baratheon, you had been engaged to Robb for as long as you could remember. He however had always thought of you as a southern bratty princess, and you had thought him as a arrogant jerk. You had reached your 18th name day a few months ago, and in a few weeks you'd be travelling to Winterfell to marry him.

Rating: Explicit (Eventually)

Words: 1,411

P.s: Just something I couldn't get out of my head. No use of Y/N. Only description of 'reader given: the fact that she doesn't look like Joff, Myrcella and Tommen (It's hinted she truly is Robert and Cersei's child) Not much though. Like one line. I wrote this in a different style to my usual style, using 2nd person. Hope it's okay. P.s there will be pregnancy in this, the 'reader' wants to have children. Also the ages are completely different in this fic then they are in the show/book.

You and Robb Stark hated one another. Always had, always will. As the oldest daughter of Robert Baratheon, you had been engaged to Robb for as long as you could remember. He however had always thought of you as a southern bratty princess, and you had thought him as a arrogant jerk. You had reached your 18th name day a few months ago, and in a few weeks you'd be travelling to Winterfell to marry him. You were in Kingslanding for the last time, as you feasted with your family and the Starks. Robb was of course glaring at you from across the table, you noticed his eyes on you, you rolled your eyes and scoffed lightly sending him a dirty look. 

You took another drink from your goblet of wine and turned back to your conversation with Robb's little sister, Sansa. Robb chuckled loudly from his seat, a stupid smirk over his lips, driving you mad was his favourite thing to do. 

A little later into the evening, you had left the feast, you strolled through the castle, sighing softly, knowing you'd be leaving your home soon. Retreating to your favourite room in the castle, the library. Unfortunately Robb had seen you leave the dining hall and decided to follow you, he followed you, hiding within the shadows. 

Once in the library you let out a deep breath, feeling content with the books surrounding you, and happy with finally being alone. You grabbed a random book off the shelf, sat in the huge armchair and began reading. 

After checking nobody was round, Robb entered the library, he chuckled quietly when he saw you sitting comfortable in front of the fire, his feet moved quietly as he walked towards you, and once in front of you, he coughed to get your attention. You looked up at him, instantly feeling annoyed. 

"What do you want, Stark?" You ask, harshly. He looked at you, chuckling, clearly amused at your annoyed face. 

"What do I want, princess? I just wanted to piss you off a little" He answers, smugly. 

"Task achieved, now leave me be" You answer, annoyance dripping from your tone, as you looked up at him. Still dressed in his formal clothes, his hair perfect, ugh it annoyed you. 

"That easy?" He chimes "Didn't take me much effort to piss you off then" He replies with an amused smirk, as he takes a seat near you. 

"I want to be alone" You hiss, your book falling to your lap. 

Robb chuckled again, enjoying how annoyed you were at his presence here. 

"I thought the library was big enough for both of us, princess" 

"Find somewhere else then" You snap, the library was big enough, he could wander to the other end and you wouldn't even have to hear his stupid voice. You tried reading the book again, though since he walked into the room you had read the same sentence at least ten time. 

"Mmm, no, I won't" He leaned back into the chair, crossing his arms behind his head as he continued looking at you, with an amused look. "So I guess you're stuck with me here"

You rolled your eyes at him and then went back to your book. Robb smiled in amusement as he watched you read, he sat quietly watching you try and focus. After some time, he started getting bored and spoke up.

"What are you reading, princess?"

"Huh?" You said, starled from your concentration "Oh..nothing, just a book about cooking recipes" He raised an eyebrow at you. 

"Cooking recipes? The great princess Baratheon heir, is reading s book about cooking?" He asked shock, granted, the shock was warranted. You had never stepped foot in the castle's kitchen to cook, the only time you had been in there was when you and Joff once wanted to steal cakes, that didn't go well. But reading, reading was different, no matter the book, you wanted the knowledge inside. 

"Yes..." You answer him, gritting your teeth. He chuckled loudly, his voice booming through the silent library, it made you flinch slightly, why did he have to be so loud all of the time?

"A princess like you reading books about cooking? I always thought you were too high in the sky to do something as trivial as cooking" 

"You don't know me, Stark" You sneer. He smirked at your words, the fire crackled loudly. 

"Maybe not. But one thing I do know for sure, is that I'm pissing you off" He grinned smugly. 

"Can't believe I have to marry you" You huff loudly. 

"Neither can I" His tone finally matching yours, he didn't want to marry you as much as you didn't want to marry him. "Few weeks princess, and you'll be my wife" He adds, a small smirk on his lips. 

"We shouldn't even be alone" You muttered "My father wouldn't take kindly to it"

"He doesn't have to know, princess, it'll be our little secret" He smirked as he spoke, leaning slightly closer to you. 

"I'd rather not share any secrets with you" You snap, finally giving up on your book and slamming it shut. You watched the fire, watched as the flames flickered, rather than look at him. The warmth of the fire made you feel funny inside, knowing you'd soon be in the land of ice and snow. 

"Don't you trust me?" He said with a feigned look of sadness, holding his hand to his chest as if he were hurt. 

"Of course I don't trust you"

"And here I thought we were actually beginning to bond" He joked, a smirk still on his stupid face. 

"You wish" You say, rolling your eyes. 

"Maybe I do, princess. Maybe I do" He said with that same smirk, he shifted in his sea, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his legs, his eyes scanned over your face and body. 

"Ugh" You groan as you stand up "I'm going to bed, can't concentrate with you watching me" 

Robb chuckled as he watched you stand up, he copied your actions standing up, he towered over you of course, all northmen were tall. He moved slightly to stand right in front of you. 

"Oh, but I was enjoying the view"

"I don't care, I'm tired, and I'm ready to get this ridiculous dress off..Move Stark" You say annoyed, granted you should of gotten out the dress much sooner, but whenever the Stark's, or anyone visited the royals, you had to wear heavy dresses compared to your comfortable dresses. 

Robb laughed at your annoyed look, he stood there, staring at you refusing to move. "What, you need me to help you out of that ridiculous dress, princess?"

"Piss off" You answer, sneering at him. 

"Watch your tone, princess, that's no way to talk to your future husband" He smirked, stepping a little closer and looking down at you in amusement. His eyes scanned your face and body again, not being discreet about it. 

"I outrank you, Stark, now move" You snap, trying to step passed him. He chuckled again, his eyes darkened slightly as he took a step closer to you, your bodies were almost touching and he leans down in close to your face. 

"Or what, princess?" He asks quietly, his voice dark and low. 

"I'll scream" You say, a smirk on your lips now, if you screamed, the servants would come to your aid, maybe the guards. But Robb laughed again, enjoying the annoyance and anger on your face way too much. 

"You would scream and cause a sandal? That wouldn't be very princess like of you, princess"

You huff again, and push past him harshly, leaving you free to quickly leave the library. Robb didn't even try to stop you, he watched you figure leave the library and then smirked, amused that he'd gotten you so riled up. This marriage might be far more enjoyable than he'd originally thought. 

Once in your room, you cried softly against your pillow, knowing you'd have to marry Robb Stark, the boy you hated, the boy who hated you. 

Robb was still in the library, smiling to himself as he pictured your annoyed look. He thought of the sound of your voice and the way you'd look at him. The anger in your eyes and how your dress hugged your figure as you moved.

He realised at that moment that maybe he didn't hate you as much as he thought he did. 

Taglist:

@quinquinquincy @whatelsecouldgowrong

[inkandarsenic]

these hollow empty spaces (1)

“do what is right, not what is easy.”

My first Game of Thrones fic! Notably, this is not the idea I sent in an ask to @dipperscavern, but rather one sort of inspired by a separate ask. I tried to link both asks, but tumblr won’t let me. Anyhoops.

Synopsis: The youngest daughter of Tywin Lannister refuses to stand idly by, and the currents of fate shift.

Pairing: Robb Stark x Lannister!OC

Tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers but like enemies more in the political sense

Pt. 1

masterlist | next

The North passed outside the window in an endless expanse of rolling moors and sprawling forests – nature at its finest. The air up here was clean and cold, almost sweet after the stink of King’s Landing. Maybe that’s why Eleyna couldn’t stop drawing back the heavy curtains that kept the cold out.

Cersei huffed. “Must you stare out the window? It’s not as if there is anything interesting out there.” She glared at Eleyna. “You’ll make the children sick, they aren’t used to this dreadful chill.”

The children in question were playing a game quietly in their corner of the wheelhouse, and looked rather warm, if Eleyna was being honest. The only one who could complain of being cold was Joffrey, riding outside with Jaime. Eleyna rolled her eyes at her sister and let the curtain drop. “You are the only one complaining, dear sister. Forgive me for wanting to enjoy the beauty of the North.”

“The beauty of a frozen, barren wasteland?” Cersei scoffed.

“You’ve been in the city too long, Cersei,” Eleyna sighed. “The North is not a wasteland.”

“No?” Cersei waved a hand at the window. “How many cities have we passed? How many keeps?” She shook her head disdainfully. “It has been days since we saw civilization, if that swamp can be called such. Barren wasteland.”

Eleyna sighed and leaned back in her seat. “That swamp is Moat Cailin. It is the first defense of the North against Southron invasions and it has never been taken precisely because of the swamp it sits on. You should know this, Cersei, don’t you ever listen to Father and Jaime?” She smirked faintly. “Or do you and Jaime not… talk about such things?”

Cersei scowled. Her voice was sharp when she spoke. “I have better things to worry about than Northern defenses.”

Eleyna shrugged and looked back out the window. “Let us all hope you never lead a war then.”

“Spending all those years with only Father and Tyrion for company has made you paranoid,” Cersei scoffed. “Do you expect us to be going to war with the North sometime soon, sister? Ned Stark is Robert’s loyal dog, you know that as well as I. I don’t worry about Northern defenses because there is no reason to. Lord Stark is loyal to Robert, and Robert plans to betroth the Stark girl to my Joffrey. We will have Northern loyalty for decades to come.”

“You sound so certain,” Eleyna mused. She certainly wouldn’t want to be Sansa Stark — Joffrey had become quite the mean-spirited boy in her years away from the Red Keep, and she often wondered what happened to the sweet little toddler he’d been when she left. Maybe he’d be kinder to his future wife.

****

There is a surprising amount of people in the courtyard of Winterfell when Eleyna follows Tyrion out of the wheelhouse ahead of Cersei and the children. The entire Stark household came out to meet the King, it seems. From the corner of her eye, Eleyna can see Joffrey preening, and she rolls her eyes at him, turning away before he can see.

The Stark family makes up the first line of welcoming party. A tall, serious-faced man near Robert’s age (wearing his years better, in Eleyna’s opinion) stands next to a pretty red-headed woman – Ned Stark and his Tully wife. She can hear her father in her head — “Honorable to a fault – where does honor get you in war?” — as she watches Lord Stark and his household kneel before Robert. The King waves them to their feet and regards Lord Stark solemnly.

“You got fat,” Robert says. Eleyna scoffs internally — Robert enjoyed his wine and feasting, and it showed — and she watches Ned Stark raise an eyebrow pointedly before both men start to laugh. She resists the urge to shake her head and moves her attention to the rest of the Starks.

Eleyna means to scan down the line of children — five of them, and all close in age, gods above Lord and Lady Stark had been busy — but her eyes land on the Heir of Winterfell and stop. Robb Stark’s coloring is all Tully, like his mother, all dark auburn curls and bright blue eyes. The expression he wears is all Lord Stark. She wonders idly what he’d look like wearing a smile — something tells her it would light his face up.

Tywin had brought Robb Stark up exactly once, when Eleyna had come of an age to betroth. Robert had wanted Tywin to arrange a marriage between the Stark heir and the Lannister heir. Tywin had read the letter to her and then promptly thrown it on the fire. He was adamant that his heir would not ever marry into the North. “You are a lioness, my daughter, and no child of mine will be a wolf if I can help it.”

“— and my goodsister, the Lady Eleyna Lannister.” Robert’s voice filtered in, and Eleyna blinked. She’d been staring at the Stark boy too long.

****

Robb stood solemnly by his father as they filled the courtyard. He could guess at some of them by reputation alone — the tall golden haired knight must be the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime Lannister, and the boy next to him was likely the Crown Prince, Joffrey. The king — a larger man than Robb had expected, a man who looked as though he enjoyed wine — stopped in front of Father, and the two men stared at each for a long tense moment.

Robb looked past them as the king spoke jovially to his father and greeted his mother. The queen’s wheelhouse had made it — barely — into the courtyard. First out was a short, little man who shared the Kingslayer’s blonde hair. “That’s the Imp!” Robb heard Arya whisper.

Robb’s eyes caught on the next person to exit, a golden-haired girl who looked close to his own age. He mentally ran through the members of the queen’s family — with that blonde hair, how could she be anything but Lannister? — and decided this had to be Eleyna Lannister, Tywin Lannister’s youngest daughter. He studied her delicate features, softer somehow than her elder sister’s. Robb would never say it — hadn’t Theon just said that morning that the queen was proud and vain? — but Eleyna Lannister was, in a word, beautiful, moreso than her sister in his opinion.

The instant the introductions and ceremony were finished, Father and the king disappeared down into the crypts, and the Lannisters were escorted off to the guest wing. Robb found his eyes following the Lady Eleyna as she passed by him, her arm around the shoulders of Prince Tommen.

Theon thumped him on the shoulders. “Aye, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?” He inhaled through his teeth as he watched the Lannister heiress walk away. “You know I heard they call her the Golden Rose of the Westerlands? Gods above, imagine being the man to get to marry that?”

Robb didn’t want to imagine it, not when he could feel Jaime Lannister’s glare boring into the side of his head. Rather, he felt like any perceived slight against the Kingslayer’s little sister would earn him a sword through the back. He swallowed, and dragged Theon off out of Lannister’s earshot before he could get himself in trouble.

****

“You’re walking with the Stark boy tonight,” Cersei said as she swept into the library. Eleyna looked up from her book with an eyebrow raised.

“Good afternoon to you, too, Cersei,” she snarked. “What are you on about now?”

“Myrcella is far too young to be considered for a betrothal,” Cersei snapped. She sat dramatically in a chair across the table — Eleyna oft thought Cersei would have done well in a theater troupe. “And I will be dead in the grave before I see my only daughter shipped off North.”

“I wasn’t aware Lord Stark was seeking a marriage for his heir,” Eleyna hummed. She closed the book and eyed her elder sister. “Are you not concerned with offending our hosts? Custom dictates that eldest available son and the eldest available daughter enter together.”

Cersei waved it away. “He isn’t, as far as I know. But you know Robert. He’ll take any opportunity to join our family with his precious Starks. Bad enough that he’s already promised Joff to the eldest Stark girl. No.” She shook her head. “To hell with custom. The Stark boy will have to content himself with you instead of my sweet Myrcella. I will not have my only daughter placed in the hands of a Northern brute.”

“Cersei.” Eleyna had long since mastered the exact tone of voice Tywin Lannister used to keep his children in line — perks of growing up at her father’s knee — and Cersei rolled her eyes, but stopped insulting the Starks, thank the gods.

It was a long moment before Eleyna spoke again. “I will walk with Robb Stark.” Cersei started to smirk and Eleyna resisted the urge to hit her sister — as usual, Cersei had gotten what she wanted. She gritted her teeth as she spoke. “You… are not entirely wrong. Myrcella is rather young. She’d be better suited with the younger Stark boy. Bran, I believe his name is.”

“I knew you’d see it my way.” Cersei patted Eleyna’s hand and swept out of the room as Tyrion entered.

“That’s not—” But Cersei was already gone. Eleyna rolled her eyes.

“Cersei in the library?” Tyrion said with an air of incredulity as he took Cersei’s seat. “Whatever is that about?”

“It seems I’m to be escorted by Robb Stark this evening. Cersei is convinced that if he takes Myrcella, Robert will betroth her to the man.” Eleyna eyed her brother over the table. “I don’t know how and I don’t know why. But somehow, this is your fault.”

Tyrion shrugged, tapping idly. “You wound me, sister. You truly believe me so scheming?”

“Yes,” Eleyna said flatly. She shook her head and reopened her book. “You know as well as I how protective Cersei is of her children.”

“Her one redeeming quality.”

Eleyna’s lips quirked. “You said something to her. Admit it.”

“It is hardly my fault if our dear elder sister takes a jest seriously,” Tyrion said casually. “No real harm done, though. In fact, I do believe you will make a fine couple with the young Stark, should a betrothal actually form from this single escort.”

Eleyna snorted in a rather unladylike manner. “Father would sooner see dragons return.”

Tyrion couldn’t really disagree with that, but he shrugged anyway. “Stranger things have happened.”

Eleyna didn’t dignify that with a response.

[missswritesalot]

Yall tumblr was being a bitch and would literally not let me make a new post for whatever reason. It also deleted this ask from my inbox, thank heavens i had a screenshot. Enjoy, will edit it later to make it more medieval :)

Your marriage to Robb Stark didn’t come with a husband’s love, but nonetheless brought with it all the duties of the Lady of Winterfell. You felt robbed, neither your father not husband ever spared you a second thought. Yet you dutifully married Robb, and now were running his household.

You sighed as you helped one of the servants count sacks of grain in the great yard of Winterfell. The southern houses were yet to send the grain you bought. There was meat to be salted and firewood collected. Winter was coming, you thought worriedly, and there was still so much to do.

A frown fell on your face as you realized you were thinking like one of them.

Two months passed since your wedding. You thought you would get used to Robb openly loving Talisa. Yet these last few weeks you found yourself more quick to tears than you ever were. You didn’t care about Robb per se, but that he was your husband and shared his bed with a wench from the free cities.

You couldn’t even plead for an annulment, as you had consummated your marriage the night of the wedding. You remember feeling his caring touch, murmured apologies as he tenderly made love to you. He was determined but acted out of duty, not passion. You felt a spark of hope then, in the throes of pleasure. Perhaps now that he had you, Robb would be true and send Talisa away.

That hope was fleeting. He slept in her tent every night after that, for the rest of the war. Your broken heart hardened towards him, your humiliation turned to resentment.

When he won the war and you were seated next to him at the feast, you had foolishly hoped Robb would honor you on returning to Winterfell, and shun Talisa, but she remained by his side in your place. You felt despair, there was no light at the end of this tunnel.

You felt increasingly miserable this morning, and felt very light headed too. You had not been eating these last couple of weeks, and woke each morning retching. A wave of nausea rolled over you now.

“My lady, are you alright?” You heard a serf question as you faltered. You felt him guide you to a pile of hay but you were dizzy and sweaty, and fell into the inviting void.

When you awoke you were in bed propped up by pillows.

Catelyn was sitting next to you, and gave you a tentative smile when you looked at her.

“How do you feel?” She asked you gently. She patted you on the head. You felt too ill to reply.

The maester walked in and asked you a few questions. You answered curtly, you didn’t care for any of the northerners, not even him.

“My lady, I have examined you while asleep. I am happy to say you are with child,” he reported softly.

Your mouth fell open and your head whipped to look at him. “What?” You whispered. Catelyn squeezed your hand reassuringly.

You had given up on all hopes of motherhood when Robb went back to Talisa from the second night. You felt tears well in your eyes.

“Are you certain?” You whispered.

“We will know more as the months progress. The child will come before winter starts, if what we know is true.” He said, gently smiling.

You started to laugh. The hopeless despair ebbed away out of you. You were filled with joy so pure you started to cry.

“I thought it could never happen to me,” you muttered, unable to control yourself. Catelyn cringed but gave you a sympathetic glance.

You knew she felt bad for you and sympathized with you. She thought her husband’s bastard was the end of the world, but her son proved to be far worse.

You spent the rest of the day in bed, the maester’s instructions, and slightly rubbed your belly.

“Just you and me now, love,” you said, smiling to yourself.

It was Catelyn who told Robb that you were carrying his child. When the maester revealed the news, she had hoped it was because Robb finally took you to bed. But he seemed surprised, and told her not since the wedding night had he touched you.

Robb drowned in regret that night. Talisa tried to touch him, to hug him, but he shrugged her away and went to peer out the window, feeling the crisp northern air. He wanted to go to the only other person who felt the same happiness as him, but you had chosen to give up your right of informing him about your baby.

The months that followed made Robb crumble with guilt whenever your paths crossed.

You were glowing at dinner one night, smiling and answering all sorts of questions.

Your face looked surprised all of a sudden, and Robb looked at you worriedly. You grabbed Catelyn’s hand and let her feel your babe move. She laughed, blue eyes lighting up, and assured you it was alright, your baby was strong.

Talisa saw the longing and pining in Robb’s eyes. He wished to feel his son kick too. Instead, he looked dejected and regretted the bed he made for himself by hurting you. He apologized to Talisa that night. He paid her handsomely for the inconvenience and sent her away back to the south where she could reunite with the Sept.

As the months passed you grew in size and walked funnily. You read to your child often, and you and Catelyn became the best of friends. You looked forward to the birth, sure you were anxious, but it would be worth it to hold your child.

When the maesters suggested you lie in bed till the arrival of the little lord, Robb noticed your continual absence at dinner.

“Can I go meet her, mother?” He asked Catelyn one night as she walked out of your chamber.

“Why do you hurry? Perhaps you must wait until the child is grown and you are on your deathbed?” Catelyn said sharply, and turned on her heels. It took a beat for Robb to register that she was being sarcastic.

“It is my child too. My first. My hier.” Robb protested, following her.

“And yet while she struggles, you have not acknowledged it, nor have you uttered a kind word to her.” She said sharply.

“I- I-“ Robb was at a loss. He didn’t imagine you could want his company in your delicate situation. He felt a sharp spasm in his stomach as his guilt grew, he knew he took the easy way out by assigning responsibility to you, when he was to blame.

“I am ashamed you are my son,” Catelyn said finally. Robb watched her go, his heart sinking in his chest.

He didn’t sleep at all that night, and the next, and the nights after that. One day, he couldn’t take any more of the anguish and decided to pay you a visit. It was the middle of the night and the whole castle slept.

Your door creaked as he pushed it open, and to his surprise he saw you still awake. You were resting against the furs, half sitting, and had a book propped up on your swollen belly.

“Lady Y/N,” Robb said softly. He had always called you Lady Y/N or Lady Fray.

“My lord,” you said, confused. You no longer felt any anger when you saw him, but he was the last person you expected to see at this hour. Let alone in his breeches with a half open robe thrown on top.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he questioned gently. He carefully approached your bed till he sat on the edge, over the furs. You unwillingly noticed the strength in his shoulders, the hard lines of his abdomen. Maybe childbirth would lessen your desire, you hoped.

“I cannot breathe when I lay down. It’s like he rests on my lungs,” you said, affection infusing your voice as you spoke of your child.

“I’m sorry to hear,” Robb said softly. “I know I have not acted the ideal husband-“  He let out a self depreciating laugh.

“An understatement.” You said. He looked sad at that. Sad and pathetic.

He leaned forward and kissed your brow. “I cannot express how deeply sorry I am,” he whispered.

“I will try to atone for my sins. For you and for our child.”

“Robb,” you said quietly, eyes wide. “you can start by calling the maesters. I think he wants to come out.”

Robb sprung back and you noticed he looked younger than ever. His hair fell into his face.

“Now?” He asked, “Are you alright?”

You felt another sharp cramp hit. “The maesters, Robb. Now!”

Robb didn’t attend to his duties the next day. He sat outside your chambers, propped up against the wall with his legs spread out in front of him.

The maesters and even his mother warned that first babies were slow to come, he had better go about his duties. But his head was clouded with thoughts of you. He felt ice shards pierce his heart whenever he heard you moan or cry, but the silence in between was far worse to endure.

He prayed to the old gods and to the new that if you lived, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to you.

Robb didn’t wish to see anyone, and no one could convince him to go wait elsewhere. At last after sun down he heard the sounds of your baby. He waited to be let in, to see his child and heir.

It felt like ages before the door opened. Catelyn’s smiling face beckoned him inside. He found you seated on the bed again, looking drained but shining with pride and joy.

“Your daughter,” you said shyly to him, still looking at her. You rocked her as she let out a small cry. She did a tiny yawn and you cooed in response, your heart exploding with love.

“I’m sorry about how cruelly I treated you.” Robb apologized.

“Robb-“ you said, trying to stop him, but he cut you off.

“Neither you nor I entered this marriage willingly, but I have been most unfair. I do not wish to dishonor you. Love is something we build brick by brick, not momentary passion.”

“Why now?” You asked, confused. “Why now after all this time?”

“Because I’ve fallen in love with you.” You gasped.

“I know you do not share my feelings but we have a lifetime to correct it.” He continued, smiling cheekily.

You grinned and rolled your eyes. You were stuck with him, for better or worse.

[eccentricallygothic]

Crosshairs

Description: Trying to get Robb's attention is one thing, but when you have successfully landed yourself in his crosshairs is another.

Pairing: Brat Tamer Prodigal Son!Robb Stark | Spoilt Brat!You.

Warning(s): Brat taming, jealousy, spanking, punishment, unprotected p-in-v, doggy style (it's me), claiming, manhandling (it's Robb), power imbalance, degradation, light misogyny, Robb's BDE because I live for that shit, corporal punishment ig, boob play. MDNI.

Type: Request, here. 

. . .

“You do realize you will land us both in trouble if you keep this up, yes?” Jon does not look up at his older brother's betrothed half out of respect and half out of the playful annoyance he feels for the spoiled girl batting her eyelashes down at him with faux coyness.

“What trouble?” The male rolls his eyes as he works away at his sword. “I haven't the slightest inkling of whatever you mean, Jon” he resists the urge to scoff at your obvious innocence. 

The uncharacteristic nature of your actions makes you stick out like a sore thumb. The forced lady-like smile that holds your features in an uncomfortable shift due to lack of experience, the way you hover above his head in a flirtatious side hang even though you never behave in this manner around the opposite sex save one, the overdone grace with which you tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear and the little tilt of your head that is accompanied by a confused and senseless giggle fitting to women, the pains with which you put this effort forward is painfully obvious. 

“Right” the object of his discomfort -something you have in common with said object, at times- appears on the horizon of his vision and Jon sighs. 

Well, there goes his hope of not becoming the collateral today.

“No, tell me what you meant” though you aren't used to or too comfortable with leaning into men, you do so because you have also caught the quiet figure in your own peripherals and unlike Jon, you welcome the circumstance like the fool you are. “I want to know, Jon~” the dark haired male uncomfortably shifts away from you who puts an extra swing in your sway towards him. He lets out a suppressed scoff and glares at you. The two of you have been friends long enough for him to know exactly what it is that you are doing. 

“Stop” you know each other too well to be affected by any proximity with each other but Jon's older brother who is an advocate of propriety has taught his younger brother that this distance with a lady one is not related to seldom fares well and thus his teachings show in his behavior. “You—” though he decides not to beat around the bush for any longer, it is too little too late.

Alas.

“Father calls for you, Snow” the male in question releases a breath he was not aware he was holding and jumps to his feet abruptly with a gladness he is still cautious of since his brother likes to get unfair at times despite being well acquainted with your personality. 

Jon departs, or rather flees the scene without another word.

A smirk makes its way onto your face so you turn your ‘unsuspecting’ back to the hairy giant, bending to pick up your upper coat that you had shrugged off in a bout of confidence. Though you aren't the sharpest and certainly don't possess the perception of your betrothed, you hear him approach you in his manly and wise silence as you clear the haystacks of your coat in one swift movement and resume an upright position.

“Oh!” You exclaim with a surprise so artificial that the impurity nearly cuts Robb because of how he always dons the gold of honesty and valor. “My heart!” You use your endearment for him for Robb neither likes to hear you refer to him by name in public nor does he prefer you call him by his titles. “When did you get here? You were not a moment ago!” 

The coolest, most small smile spreads over his rosy lips and Robb tips his head back an inch to grant himself a better look at your audacity. The milky skin under his eye slightly twitches in response to him narrowing his eyes at you. Though he says nothing, you can still hear his rhetorical inquiry in that sarcastic way of his that you are well familiar with due to how long you have known him. 

“Whatever’s the matter, my love?” Robb has to resist the urge to scoff at the extra pitch in your voice because of the pretentiousness you are putting into your performance. 

He just stares at you for a good while, studying you, perhaps giving you a chance. So much so that there comes a point where you feel yourself gulping down a bile from your rising nervousness. But unlike many other times, you refuse to give in today. Like husband, like wife. After all, you rebelled against your nature today to end up here, in this ‘predicament’. Giving up now would be to waste all your effort and turn your bold attempt futile.

“Come” he says after you know not how many minutes pass but before you can say anything, Robb’s hairy claw has already seized your smaller hand within it. It is unlike his nature too, for usually he is the effortless victor in a battle of wits between the two of you.

“Oh!” But you are used to being treated like the most delicate and valuable thing to ever exist. You have been raised in a manner which has accustomed you to everyone giving in to your demands and wishes. The firm manner in which Robb balances all things with a just foresight is most undesirable to you, fancy for him or not. Things should always go your way in the design of your desire, and not in a way that is mindful of safeguarding the welfare of other people too, unlike your dearest. If it does as a byproduct, jolly. If it does not, well, then that is simply not your pain to bear. And whilst you underwent this stunt to provoke Robb and his attention, the way your smaller body is being dragged somewhere through the dark hallways of the estate with a rigidity typical to your betrothed, it is hardly the conclusion you planned.

Not like this.

“Oh, my!” Your brutish man's ironhold is beast-like as you try to free yourself of it. But what good is a mere pip against a wolf out for blood? “Stop, stop!” You huff and puff half out of your liking to test him to the best of your ability and half because your scheme was not to be so quickly overthrown with such ease!

No, he was supposed to get jealous and sulk in the envy your behavior was aimed to stir in him due to your treatment of his brother. Then he was supposed to fight for your attention and give in to all demands bestowed upon him by you and fulfill any and every need you may have. Robb was to kneel down to you like everyone else in your life did and strike conversation to get you to shower the blessings of your company upon him. He was to say the first word and you were to act like he usually did; with a teasing indifference to make him haste harder for your notice. Except, your little mind failed to realize that you yourself had broken the very first rule of your own game not too long ago when you had spoken.

And now as you are pushed into a little room for the stored animal feed and other domestic necessities before your smaller body is pushed like a delinquent babe's to bend over hay forming a stack half your size, you whimper and pout as your pampered elbows itch from the dried grass. This outcome is far from what you had expected of your contrivance. This is not supposed to be it. 

“We are not wed yet, my Lord!” Your mouth runs its senseless attempts in vain. “Oh no!” You try to worm your body free from his elbow that he settles between your shoulder blades to nail you in place as the rest of his arm lays down along the length of your back, the tips of his fingers pressing against the twin dents in your tailbone. “This—”

“All that fuss to have my attention, dove” when he does speak, the guttural quality of his throat shushes you into silence. “Only to raise mayhem and put up such fight when it has been granted to you” you feel the fingers of his free hand dance along the plump, clothed cushions of your buttocks and your eyes widen as though the position he had put you in was not telling enough. 

No, no, no!

He is supposed to get on his knees and worship you! 

Not discipline you like a guardian does a misbehaving child! 

“Perhaps they are correct in what they say about a woman's eternal uncertainty in what she wants herself” not entirely true. You do know what you want. But if you confess it to him this will get even worse for you! He must not know! You shall conceal it like your life depends on it!

Or so you scheme in your naivete, for you have behaved in similar ways more times than one.

But trying to flirt with another man? That is new. 

And Robb is very determined to find out the source of that course of action.

“Ugh,” you shake your shoulders in a futile attempt once more. “Do not be a cruel brute!” You order the future King of the North like you are in any position to bark at a man of his stature. “I am not one of your savagely bannermen! I— ah!” A furious hiss shoots through your lips when his free hand comes down upon the midpoint of your cheeks that jiggle feverishly from the impact. You whine at the sting that goes all the way down to your pucker and though Robb is wordless, he curses under his breath when he realizes that you are not wearing adequate underclothing despite his constant advice and request that you do.

How typical of you.

The young man brings another strong hand down upon your rear at the thought and you let out such an exaggerated sound -in his opinion, as he is scarcely aware of the extent of his own strength- that it mimics a cackle. Only, it is one of woe. Your hips desperately try to find solace in swerving the endangered half of your body out of his line of devastation but your wolf-man is far too strong. 

“Aaaa!” You furiously wail like a delinquent puppy being set straight, digging your elbows into the hay and your head in your arms to withstand the thunderous rain of your betrothed's hand on your buttocks. “I demand you stop this immediately, Robb!” Your whines are muffled and pathetic in their contrast to your words. 

“It will not be until you tell me whose plot your little performance was” you gulp and bark out a wheeze to respond and it is like he senses the lie that goes to bud on your tongue and he swats it away with a foreseeable slap to the underside of your rear. “And you best think twice before giving me a false answer,” you shake your whole body and your head in protest and pain when he spanks you again. “Or so help me gods.” 

But you remain faithful to your nature and preserve your brain's unutilized state by choosing to, after all, lie. “I- I have not the slightest idea what you mean!” Robb releases a cool, mirthless scoff and shakes his head at you, his palm now taking turns on each of your cheeks as it comes out in strong, powerful hits that he lands with well paced delays so you can fully feel the ache of one strike before the next lands. “O- Ow! T- There was no- ah— p- plot! Nevermind a- any performance!” He sighs as if to lament what is about to happen to you next. 

“Fine” your eyes widen and you squawk in shock like you aren't accustomed to this or you were not hoping to arouse a more ideal variant of this outcome anyway. “Have it your way then, my dove” oh… that never fares well for you. 

And Robb proves your suspicion true when he lifts your skirts out of the way and tucks them under the hand that sits on your lower back like a menacing serpent with unkind intentions. “Tsk,’’ a strong strike is given to your barely secure intimates before he tugs your poor excuse for undergarments down. 

What?

They are uncomfortable!

It is not your problem if the man of your future household is too pedant and fastidious!

He always laughs at it and just ruffles your hair but you are unyielding in your belief that he is the way he is because your betrothed is adamant on reaching bachanalness three times faster than other people his age. 

“Ouch, my heart, please!” You cannot help but whine out an endearment though you absolutely do not want to because you are just as cross with him as he is with you! Ugh! He never falls in your traps! Why is he so clever?! Is this what your mother meant when she told you that you were finally going to have someone who would handle you like you ought to be the day Robb asked your father for your hand in marriage? “It hurts!” 

You gasp in realization.

The pieces fall into place.

It does make sense.

Gods, the world conspires against you!

This is not fair at all!

Robb's cruel palm is unrelenting even when it begins to tingle upon coming into contact with your bare and blushing skin over and over. “Tell me the name, my angel, and I will cease this immediately” he spreads your legs with one strong jerk of his hand and your whole body undergoes a turbulence. “You know I hate this just as much as you do” before you can feel any warmth for your cruel lover for he always tells you that he does not like to punish you, his lowered hand comes upwards in a vertical hit and collides against your drenched petals. The impact reverberates through your whole being and your mouth falls open at the way your folds shake. “Make haste, sweet one.”

Your eyebrows come together in a tight, angry knot and your cheeks puff at his condescending tone. “N- No name!” You bark out of spite and clutch at the hay angrily. “There was no one!” The compressed dried grass comes loose in your hold and you add. “You have gone completely mad, you hoary troll!” The way Robb audibly chuckles at that causes the arm that he has on your back to buzz into your spine.

You gulp because he is a man of a few words and even lesser noise. So this cannot mean anything good. Although you are quite determined in your resolve, you still have to bite your lip to suppress the whimper that you let out when his offending hand now begins to softly caress the blemished skin of your buttocks and sit spots. For you know his touch and it is not this when he means to be genuinely affectionate.

Just what kind of a predicament have you landed yourself into?

“I see.” You hear the zip of harnesses coming undone and the thump of coats hitting the floor. “Then nevermind the actions of a mad man precisely how we will the name of your fellow conspirator, my dear” you are confused by his words but the feeling of his tip aligning against you when he gets behind you and takes your sore thighs -for Robb never punishes your buttocks alone but all the spots in their vicinity- in his strong fingers that are decorated in scars which bear testament to his experience in conquest, causes a tumult in your determination-taut brain from the burst of sensation and the upper half of your body relaxes as result of all tension shifting to your nether regions. 

You mewl as you feel the delicious burn of your entrance that your beloved had deflowered some time ago stretch around the thick tip of his cock that makes love making feel like the first time whenever your balmy cavern is made to accommodate his manhood. “Oh! I can't take it!” You throw your head back and moan, forgetting everything else and getting lost in the flutters of pleasure you have been taught to find in the strain his cock causes on your flesh band. “You're too big, love!” Robb curses under his breath when the leaking apex of his cock is met with resistance against your folds that he feels quivering against him. “P- Please help me take it!” He just has to give a sharp strike to the underside of one of your buttocks to accompany with his scoff.

You are such a fox.

Saying all the agreeable things in that obedient tone of yours that he knows better than to trust. 

He shakes his head at the surprised squeal you whimper out as though the events of the last quarter did not happen. 

“Whoever said anything about you taking it, my sweet dove?” Horror creeps down your spine in the form of an ice cold shiver. 

No. 

“B- But— aaaah!” You are stinging, aroused, open but not filled and inching closer and closer to mindless, undignified desperation. “But!”

“Hm?” Robb seems to be enjoying himself, ever the master of restraint and self control, as he penetrates you only to the wide hilt of his tip before he sloshes it right out of your entrance only to repeat the tortuous action where your walls clench and bathe with slick in anticipation of his cock only for their buzzing excitement to be denied satisfaction. 

“W- What…” You rarely ever misbehave once he has you like this. But your wanton frustration makes you kick one foot as you huff. “Why would you— oh!” You bite your lip because of the shoddy pleasure that sparks but fails to ignite, leaving your body on a trembling edge that brings you to heaven's door each time he fishes his way past your swollen folds and plops into you never to let you sheathe him thus denying you the paradise beyond. “W- Why are you doing that?!” You finally break from your pretentious rhetoric as you try to push yourself down on his shaft but strength has never been grounds for competition between the two of you. 

Robb's nearly inhuman hold keeps you detained exactly where he wants you. “Doing what?” It's his time to display faux behavior and you huff although you know deep down in your mind that it would not do much to move him and would rather only land you in more trouble. 

“That!” You cry when you feel his cock release more precum right at the threshold of your cavern because of how he fucks your entrance with a warm, torturous gentleness that scorches both of your insides alike. “Why w- won't you put it in, cruel ogre!” 

A satisfied smirk suppresses Robb's breaths that grow heavier with the passing moments. “Why, I am a mad and cruel ogre-troll, my dove” he enters you again and this time both his hands come down on your cheeks in the form of slaps at once and you howl. “And creatures of my like have queer ways beyond the comprehensive abilities of pretty little things like yourself” you whine and your toes curl at how the frustration morphs into a dull ache in the mound between your legs. 

The painful twitching of your sex makes you croak and you try to move your hips once more. “No! No!” You gurgle on your own spit as you vehemently shake your head.

“No?” Robb's inquiry is nice, somewhat kind even… unlike his heartless actions. 

“No!” You affirm as you feel your knees ache and sore thighs quiver. You are a sensitive little thing. Rough handling is not a domain you are much acquainted with beside the brief encounters you have with it sometimes during spells of passion with your dearest betrothed. “No, the light of my life, you're not! You—” your back arches and you cry and pout like an entitled juvenile not getting their way, your frivolous unrest and feverish jittering making his great form that looms behind you like the silhouette of doom itself to shake in silent mirth. “You're perfect! Please, you're the most perfect Stark heir! You are the best Lord Winterfell can ever hope to have!” Your praises make him curse under his breath and he gropes your thigh harder to withstand his impulsive urge to thrust all the way in.

No.

He is the man and the responsible one.

No can do until you learn and acknowledge his authority.

That is the way.

Of men, and Lords.

“The name, my love” though he masks his words with nonchalance quite well, there is a disguised urgency in them. You light him up just as unbearably as he does you. “Tell me the name and I will give you all you need and desire.” He gives you one rough jerk just past the band of your entrance and the momentary friction you feel in the drenched velvet just above your entrance snaps the thread of your determination. “Just like that, it is that easy. But you choose the fruitless path of torment and frustration.” There is a hypnotic lull in his words and that is enough for you to gush out a part of your impending confession. 

“It was—!” You finally confess the name of your lady friend and Robb decides that it will do for now, rest you will tell him yourself with your own free will in your sensitive and emotional post orgasm state when you will be securely tucked in his arms and against his chest. 

“There” your eyes and mouth widen at the same time and a guttural grunt crawls out of your throat when he doesn't pull his tip out this time around and instead slots himself inside you until he is hilt deep. “There is my bonnie lass” the upper half of your body goes lax and appears as though your bones have dissolved into your blood. You go to collapse face first into the hay to lay down and get fucked into oblivion but Robb's territorial paw finds a hold on the underside of your jaw and he rams you onto his cock and continues to curve your form until the crown of your head is touching his shoulder. “Tsk, such havoc just because I could not attend to you right away and requested you show some patience.” His fingers find one of your nipples and you shiver.

“S- Sorry, hubby!” You finally use for him the odd yet heartwarming endearment he loves most and that is how he knows he has you netted in.  

“Who loves you?” You shiver as you feel his girth stretch out your insides even though you were more than prepared for him. 

“Y- You—” he pulls at your nipple before giving both your breasts punishing swats. Your waist further curls outwards at the feeling. 

“Say it properly” you clench around him because of the way his baritone voice grinds against your eardrums and Robb cannot help but twitch right under your cervix. 

You do not need to be told twice. “Robb Stark!” 

He hums in satisfaction. “Who knows better?” 

Your bubbling loins tighten. “Robb Stark!” 

“Who takes care of you?” His hands roughly fumble to throw your skirts out of his way. 

“Robb Stark—!” Your answer turns into a shivering moan when his fingers find the trembling gem under the hood of your sex. 

“Who do you trust with everything?” The minute crevices on the tips of his fingers rub against the sensitive nub and your vision falters. 

“R- Robb Stark!” His hold on your jaw is the only thing that keeps it in usable shape. 

“Who will you obey when he tells you that you will no longer be friends with—” you whine when he takes the name of your dear friend but it is not a complete surprise. 

Robb greatly dislikes and condemns for you any influence he deems indecent or bad.

“R- Robb Stark!” You whimper as you move your hips along to his cock that now fucks you so fast and rough that you lose your footing with each thrust, the fingers he has on the nub of your womanhood only adding to the flutters of pleasure that narrow the knot around your hips with each snap of his hips. 

“Who do you belong to?” This time, his mouth comes to press against your ear and his coarse beard irritates your sensitive skin. His words carry a wolfish ferocity and you hear him gnash his teeth in as much clarity as your thumping ears will allow. 

“R- Robb—” your teeth begin to chatter from the intensity of your orgasm and your body flexes against his much bigger one to withstand the explosion in your abdomen. “S- S- Stark…” Your words melt into hissing whispers and you shudder and hiss when he continues to rub, fuck and fondle you even when the ecstatic feeling has subsided and your mound demands solitude. 

“That is correct” he pounces onto the stacks that you face with your smaller body underneath him like a depraved wolf having trapped in its hold a helpless little lamb. The action causes for his tip to collide against your cervix and your body thrashes defensively but it is in vain. “Do not forget that.” Robb whispers in your ear before he regains his footing and his hairy claws tuck under your thighs from the front. Your betrothed easily lifts your legs off the floor and begins his annihilation of any remaining misconduct perchance still shrouded in some unwise crevice of your little mind.

MASTERLIST 

. . .

I… can swear I thought this was like 1K at best…