#sandor might just be a time traveling arya

[dr3adlady]

You see sometimes people don't like some of your art as much as you like it yourself? That's what happened with this piece. People were like meh but for me, it will always be a personal favorite. I especially like it because I tried different angles and also tried to depict canon story moments in a comic style (and found out that I like drawing comics very much:))) )

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird & The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 9 ✿:+ Moon Tea.

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-_-10

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: MDNI, NSFW themes, VIOLENCE, misogyny, angst, forced use of a contraceptive, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, mentions of arranged marriage, 

Word Count: 3851 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊

As the Hound lounged on the Hog farmers' stolen wagon as he ate a pig's foot. He looked over to the Stark girl who’d been peering over towards the Twins every five minutes. 

The Hound huffed, “It’s not going anywhere.” He said as he took a large bite of a pig's foot.

“I know that,” Arya said, almost as if she were offended, still not taking her eyes away from the Twins.

“You keep looking back at it… like you’re afraid of it’s going to disappear.” He said going back to chewing on the fatty meat of the pigs feet.

“I’m not afraid.” She said, turning her pointed and angry attention towards him.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, a knowing smirk slightly appearing. “Yes you are, I know the look. I’ve seen it a lot. The closer you get the worse the fear gets.” He spoke almost from experience.

Arya turned to face him completely, her eyes hateful “I know what you’re afraid of… You’re afraid of fire.” She stepped closer, “And I know why too, your brother pressed your face to the fire like it was a nice juicy mutton chop.” She smiled slightly, mockingly.

The hounds' cold demeanor buckled from under him. “Your cousin tell you that?” 

“She never talked about you.” Her brows furrowed, confused by the question. His predisposed feelings of betrayal went away.

He shrugged, going back to the pigs feet in his hand, “That give you some ideas?” He asked in a gruff tone.

She turned away from him, “Might do.” she said stoically. 

He scoffed, “Go ahead then. You might even make it there on your own. It’s just over the river. Closest you’ve been to family since Illyne Payne snipped your daddy’s neck.” He said mockingly, his best way of deflecting any kind of pain.

Arya turned back to him, stepping closer. “Someday I’m going to put a sword through your eye and out the back of your skull.” Her eyes emotionless, her voice cold.

The sudden, abrupt, and seemingly not empty threat made him halt his chewing. He stared at the girl with eyes of shock. 

He could see you in this girl somewhat. Stubborn and willful. But with this one it was more annoying, and less forgiving of his shit attitude. 

He huffed, and went back to eating as the girl went back to staring at the river that divided them and her family.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Petyr about the killing of your aunt. 

That morning you felt sick, sicker than usual. 

You had grown to appreciate the gesture of murdering someone who posed a threat to you. But with him it didn’t feel as unconditional as when your dog did it. When he did it, he did not want something in return. He did it because he wanted- no he needed you safe. With Petyr it felt as though it was something he would use, a new string tying to a limb of a puppet. 

You spent most of your time avoiding him, in the high tower where the falconers keep their birds.

There were less birds than when you left. But your favorite was still there, Lenarea. The one your mother gave you.

“A hawk, a beautiful creature isn’t she? “ Your mother said, as she pointed to the flying creature, soaring above you.

“Yes, she is.” You said, somewhat disinterested, staring off at the falconers who were teaching their birds to hunt.

“A hawk is a forgiving animal. You could make mistake after mistake and she’d forgive you at the end of each day because she knows you’ve chicken feet in your pocket.” Your mother said, petting your hair. “A falcon however, doesn’t forgive so easily. She remembers what you did. and she’s not keen on letting you forget either. No matter how many chicken feet you try to shove at her.” She said as she poked at your nose, making you giggle. “So, what bird should you start with?”

“A hawk, but I want a falcon.” You said with no second guessing, you always knew what you wanted.

“You’ll have many birds, sweet dove. But your first should be one of a forgiving nature.”

“I won’t make a mistake.”

Your mother giggled, “You are a stubborn thing aren’t you? Alright then.” She said, just as she began to lead you to the high tower you were in now. There was a beautiful falcon whose chicks had just hatched. You pointed to the one you wanted.

As she placed the babe within your palms you caressed it, feeling its warmth as it chirped in your hands. Her feathers still fluffy, sparse, and white.

“Lenarea.” You named her quietly. 

The memory soon faded from your mind. 

Memory is merciless, ruthless. And this white prison evoked so much of it.

You put on that thick leather gauntlet, and you took Lenarea out of her cage. Her black eyes examined you fondly. You smiled at her. Until you saw the reflection of a short pale black haired sickly looking boy in her glassy eyes. 

“Sister,” He said, his voice shaky. 

“Hello Robin.” You said, turning to face him, “I am sorry about your mother. I was only a little older than you are now when mine died.” You said, you weren’t sorry for her, but for him. 

“You hated mother,” He said, slightly confused. 

“Even still, you shouldn’t feel pain. Too young for such pain.” You said, petting Lenarea’s shining feathers with your finger.

“My mother said, when you marry the baby man and I get old enough, I'll be lord of the vale.” He said childishly, 

“I didn’t marry Lord Tyrion. I won’t be marrying him… ever.” You spoke to him with an intensity you wouldn’t normally speak to a child with. 

“So, what will that mean?” He was confused, uncertain, as he was with most things now.

“Robin, you and I share blood. That means a great deal to me.” It did, somewhat… “I know you don’t care about what i am going to say but it would be wise for you to listen to it and remember it. I was born with this land as a promise. I was born with the titles of Lady of the Eyrie, Warden of the East, Defender of the Vale, Keeper of the Moon Door, and Head of House Arryn. I was born to it. And at certain moments of my life I would have given it to you. But I made a promise to my own mother. To keep this house safe.” It was somewhat a threat, but not quite. 

“My mother said-” He began as Lenarea let out a short but sharp and shrill chirp.

 “Your mother did not understand me well. I hope you do.”  You said coldly, not proudly. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As Sandor rode the cart up to the entrance of the Frey’s gates. The men surrounding drinked and shouted, He stopped a man walking passed.

“You, have the Starks arrived?” He asked gruffly, Arya looked at the man with hopeful eyes

“Oh yes they have,” The drunken man said, smirking and letting out a devious chuckle. The man began to walk passed when Sandor reached out and grabbed the man by the arm stopping him. 

“What of any Arryns?” He asked, a bit more gruff than the last question. Arya raised a brow at the question.

The man looked at the Hound's hand on his arm, surprised by how large it was “No Arryns here, big fellow.” The drunk man said with a hiccup as the Hound let him go.

He rode on, further up to the gate's entrance. He and Arya were stopped by the Frey’s guardsmen.

“Hog meat for the feast.” The Hound said, tilting his head towards the cart behind him.

“Feasts over.” The Guard said,

Hound looked over to the men singing and celebrating, “Doesn’t sound over.” He said looking back 

“It’s over when I say it is.” The man said gripping onto his swords handle, 

The Hound huffed and looked back at Arya only to see she was gone. 

By the time the Hound was able to abandon the cart, and finish unhitching Stranger from it the loudness of the bannermen grew.

It wasn’t celebratory, no this was victorious, and brutal. A battle, he knew it well. 

His thoughts immediately went to you, but satisfied with that drunk man's answer to his question earlier his mind went to Arya. 

He couldn’t let her die, not when he knew how much she’d meant to you. Also the money. And he could try to deny he didn’t care for her even a bit but he did… only a bit. 

As he hit the guards man hard, partially to move him out of the way and partially for his tone earlier. 

Once inside he saw Arya, about to run into the wedding, as if the little girl could do anything. 

“It’s too late.” The Hound said harshly, grabbing the girl by her shoulder. 

Arya tried once more to run inside, unwilling to let her take her chances in a room full of savage, drunk, stark hating men, he hit her. Hard enough to knock her unconscious. He picked the girl up, tossing her over his shoulder and carried her to Stranger. 

The Hound grabbed the Freys Banner as he rode on, to better disguise him and the girl he carried. Soon the banner men’s war cries rang out throughout the courtyard, Sandor held the unconscious girl close to his chest. The cries grew louder and louder, until a crowd emerged from the Freys gates. As Sandor looked closer at what they were dragging out behind them he felt something he didn’t often feel.

Disgust.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As your dreaming ended, you opened your eyes as a cloud passed your window bringing the sun, filling your room in its warm light. Its warmth cutting through the cold air of the mountains. 

It shined in your eyes, you winced as you stretched your limbs and breathed in deeply. 

You averted your eyes from the sun, directing them towards the dagger Sandor gave you. You kept it on a small table by your bed. Now that your bruises were beginning to fade it was the becoming the only thing you had to remind you of him aside for the memories that haunted your dreams. 

You reached over and grabbed it. You held it in your hand, the handle had a weight to it. You ran your fingertip over the engravings on the handle. You kissed the tip of it, the way you would have if it were his cock.

You closed your eyes, and imagined as if it were. You imagined his groans that he’d let out. Deep and low, so low it’d rattle in his chest. And you imagined his teeth biting down on your sides, on your breasts, your neck. 

You ran your fingers down to your cunt. You played with your clit the way he did, circling and rubbing your clit. You used two fingers, which was almost the equivalent of one of his. 

You remembered the way his hands would grasp your thighs when he pushed inside you. How the heat felt pouring out of him and into you. You pressed two fingers inside you, using your palm to tease your clit. It was not nearly as satisfying or fulfilling as his cock but it was enough for now. You began to moan out, breathlessly. Wanting nothing more than to feel his hot breath against your neck, his beard against your skin. His tongue in your cunt. 

You were closing in on your high, when suddenly-

“My lady-” Ser Cole said as he opened your chamber door, He saw you, with your hand in your small clothes. He turned his body away instantly, “My apologies.” He blurted out

You reasonably startled, removed your hand, sat up in your bed and covered yourself with your blanket, “Men should not sneak into a ladies' chambers!” You spat at him.

Still not looking at you, “Of course not, please, I beg you to forgive my rudeness. It is only I’ve a message of critical urgency.” 

“Then tell it quickly!” You said, furious. Sandor would have taken this man's eyes, maybe hanged him by his guts as he liked to threaten often. 

He began to turn back towards you, “Your aunt, Catelyn, and your cousin Robb. They were murdered last night.” His voice sorrowful

“What?” You asked softly, in disbelief.

His eyes finally fell on you, cautiously, “The Frey’s massacred them at the wedding of your Uncle.” He looked at you, waiting for a response “My Lady?”

“Leave me.” You said, stoically. 

“My lady” He began

“I said leave me!” You commanded, and finally he left. 

Alone, alone in your room, and alone in this world now finally. The last remaining bit of your family that weren’t political hostages were murdered. And your one chance at regaining your birthrights without an arranged marriage along with them.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Later that morning, you hadn’t washed, or changed. You found little point in it. 

You began to walk down the marble steps of the Eyrie as Ser Cole stopped you, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the stairs.  

Assuming he was going to beg for forgiveness for catching you with your fingers in your cunt you pushed away with a huff, “Please, I do not need any more apologies-” You began before he pulled you into a hallway and covered your mouth with his hand. You began to struggle when you heard a familiar voice coming from the throne room. 

“My condolences. Lady Lysa was a woman of strong character.” Tyrion said, you could tell it was disingenuous. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and you felt yourself tense. Your eyes went wide, as Ser Cole pulled his hand away from your mouth. 

“She was. My own condolences of your own lady.” Petyr said in response. You listened intensely. 

“condolences are not needed.” Tyrion said, offendedly. 

“Of course,” Petyr said, pretending to be sympathetic. 

“She's not been found, is all.” Tyrion said, uncomfortably. 

“It has been many nights.” Petyr began “You’re a smart man, you are aware of the terrible things that happen inside castle walls. Half her family was killed within them. Your walls and the Frey’s. And you know the kind of world that lies outside of castle walls. You know the terrible things that could happen to a girl-” 

“(Y/N) Arryn is a woman of great intelligence, strong will, and a clever nature. I believe she’s alive, taken, but alive.” Tyrion stated, with confidence. The same confidence he always had.

“Another theory.” Petyr said, as if he were tired of hearing his constant wailing about you.

“She’s my betrothed. It is my duty to see to it that she is safe.” hearing him say those words made you feel sick. Or at least you thought it was those words that did it.

“It hasn’t crossed your mind she’s fled. Escaped upon her own free will?” Petyr said, why would he say that? You thought. 

“It only crossed it for a moment. I’d be a fool not to consider it, but I would be a fool to consider it longer than a moment. She’s no reason to want to flee.” Tyrion was sweet to be so unaware of how disloyal you were to him.

“She didn’t?”

“She doesn’t.” 

“Betrothed to the least desirable Lannister. A man accused of murdering her father-“

“Ah yes, and thank you for informing her of that.”

“You’d have rather kept her blinded to the truth?”

“There was no truth to the accusations. Only thing to come from such knowledge would be pain.” Tyrion stopped himself, taking a breath and reminding himself of what he came to the Eyrie for, “I want to ally our forces, The Knights of the Vale should be searching for her. She is their Lady-“ 

“They are looking for her. You act as though we want her gone.” Petyr acted like he was offended.

“You don’t? It would be convenient.” Tyrion's tone was pointed. 

“I love my niece,” Petyr said and you felt vomit begin to rise in your throat.

“We all know that. You ceaselessly reminded her father of your affections when he rejected your proposals.” 

“This is not about me, or you. I am willing to join our forces with one another. Though I believe it is wise for the both of us to anticipate… disappointment.”  He talked about you like you were dead. It calmed you somewhat, “It has been how many days since she was seen alive?”  

“I say that Dog took her.” A man's voice said, and you recognized it, the cut throat that Tyrion paid as his own bodyguard. Your body tensed, and you felt a wave of heat crash against you. 

“Enough,” Tyrion said, tired of his words, as if he’d heard this theory before.

“I mean really, am I the only person with two eyes who could see how cunt struck that bloody dog was?” The cut throat said, it made the vomit rise even higher. You pressed two fingers to your lips to keep them shut.

“I said enough.” 

“A theory you don’t like?” Petyr questioned. 

“A theory not worth considering. It is blood and ash in my mouth. There is no reason for her to have left with him, no reason for her to have left me willingly.” Tyrion tried so hard to defend what he thought was your love for him. You felt the guilt in your stomach mix with the nausea.

“I’m not saying she went with the fucker smiling. Can’t imagine any lass especially one like her going with a man like that. That fucker never cared if anyone but the king lived or died. But the fucker went against his own king to save that girl from the riots.” The cut throat’s words only pushed you to gag slightly. You covered your mouth with your hand fully.  

“There is a bounty on his head and people looking for him. But we are here to discuss (Y/N), finding her.” Tyrion said as a final and swift effort to shut the man up. 

“We will ally our efforts to seek her out. They will work in tandem under the one objective of finding her.” Petyr said 

With your hand covering your mouth you pushed Ser Cole away with your other hand, walking passed him. Lightly, making sure not to make a sound as you rushed towards the privy as you vomited.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You hadn’t left your chamber all day. That night Petyr came in. He had a tray of dinner for you. And a tea. 

“You’ve not dressed at all?” Petyr asked, concerned. You looked back at him with tear stained cheeks and annoyed eyes. “I am sorry. What the Frey have done…” 

“I don’t wish to discuss it.” You said looking over at the food on the tray. You pulled it towards you and began to eat. Your stomach was empty from the sickness earlier. 

“I believe we’ve matters of importance to discuss.” Petyr said softly as he watched you eat. 

“The killing of my aunt?” You asked sardonically.

“Your aunt had made some worrying allegations against you, my dearest one. And the cut throat that accompanied your betrothed raised an interesting theory.” His eyes were filled with concern.

“You believe them?” You asked stoically

“I don’t know. That’s why I am bringing them to you. For your answers. I could bring you to a Maester and have you checked, but I don’t wish that for you. Nor can we afford the risk of any more people knowing you are here.” 

“Lord Tyrion did not touch me. I’ve said it already-“ You began, sneeringly.

“I am not concerned with Lord Tyrion.” Petyr said, it made all the words you’d planned vanish. “Ser Cole might have found you alone but that doesn’t mean you were. It would take a great deal of protection to make it that far on your own.” His accusations were heavy but his voice was nurturing.

“I am intact.” You spoke like a mouse.

“Even still, I’ve prepared a tea… or rather a maester has upon my command.” He picked up the chalice and handed it to you.

“Tea?” You smelt it, it smelt bitter and ugly. 

“Only to be sure. It will rid you of any unwanted consequences.” Petyr said as he petted your hair, it reminded you of your mothers touch, your eyes stayed on the tea and away from him. You pretended that it was. 

“Moon tea. I know it.” You said, nodding. Your voice was raspy. 

“If you are intact, as you say you are, there will be no effect. However, if you are not, and if you are with child, it shall save you the shame.” He continued to pet your hair,

“You don’t believe me?” You still didn’t look at him. You sniffled, your face heating up, eyes watering. 

“It doesn’t matter what I believe, or what you say. What matters is that you drink this.” 

You felt tears coming, you knew that feeling well… sorrow. “Will it hurt?” You felt submissive, that was new. Even when you had no power you knew a way to find your own power. But not here. 

“Drink it, my dear.” He commanded softly. 

“As you command it.” You said as you drank it. All of it, within one gulp. It was revolting. 

“You are not as good of a liar as you might think, my dear.” Petyr said, he pulled you into a hug, you closed your eyes and pretended it was your mother, and hugged back. “Do not lie to me again, there is no need for it. I am your only ally now.” He threatened you sweetly, and softly. You hated that he was right.

He left you.

You thought about what Sandor would do. You thought about that often but right now you really wanted him. Not for his violence, but you wanted his touch. His arms around you. You wanted him to hold you. 

But you didn’t have him, so you held onto your stomach, feeling the possibility of what could be slip away. You’d not know for certain if you were, or were not with child but now it was certain you were not. You day dreamed so often of what could have been. But now no more. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Sandor had seen every kind of brutalization. There was little that ever shocked him, even littler things sickened him. But what he saw that night truly did. 

The Frey’s are animals… 

It was early morning as Sandor sat beside a dying fire with the Stark girl still sleeping, his thoughts only turned to you. 

Where the fuck were you?

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE:

Hey all you cool cats and kittens, 

I’m sorry that this chapter took so long (again lol), but I aced my finals! 

Also I wanted to tease that these two are probably going to be crossing paths again soon…

K love you, xoxo

Bambi

Beloved Tags:  @dontfollowjuststuff  @helpmeescapethisreality  @merfic @broadsdrinkwhisky @the-queen-of-sorrows  @eddiesbongwater @not-neverland06  @symonedoesart @wyvernnest @bdudette @frosch-thefrog @patrick-hockstutter @drymushroomfics

[tiredtogepi]

A Lady & Her Hounds

Chapter 7

The Hound x Fem!Reader (Jon Arryn's daughter; Sabrina)

This chapter contains: Fluff | Death

Word Count: 1003

In the morning the three of you went on your way. For some reason the mood was light and you were full of hope. Even if you had to see your step mother, bringing Arya with you would give you some credit and maybe you could have some say in how your future would go.

You could see from afar something had happened with a farmer, his lot was burned, broken and sacked, and the criminals left him dying sitting by a rock. Arya and Sandor approached him while you stayed on your horse. The man explained what happened. Sandor gave the man some water and ended his suffering.

“That’s where the heart is.” He showed it to Arya.

As he walked back a man jumped from behind him and bit his neck. That man was quickly killed, but the damage was done. Another one approached

“You’re The Hound! There’s a fat bounty on your head.”

“And you think you’re gonna collect it?” He knew that man didn’t stand a chance.

“That’s the man that said he would fuck me bloody if he saw me again.” Arya said taking out her sword.

A few seconds later he was dead. Arya has come a long way, you thought to yourself.

As you made camp now close the hills of the Eyrie, you could see how he was struggling with the wound on his neck.

“You have to do something about it or it’s gonna get infected.” Arya started.

“No fire.” He said quietly. She continued to grab a piece of burning log and walk towards him.

“It’s gonna be quick I pro—“

“No fire!” He yelled.

“At least let me clean and sew it.” You tried to convince him. He nodded while still looking away from you both.

You grabbed a little bag that you carried on your horse and walked back to him. You put some of his hair away and started by cleaning his neck with alcohol. Your bodies standing close to each other while you took care of him gave you a calming sensation. He felt the same, he had a strong wish to hold you, but he would never make the first move.

“You said your brother gave you that sword? My brother gave me this!” He looked at Arya as he pointed to the right side of his face. You started carefully using the needle to close the wound while listening to the story of how his brother burned him for playing with one of his toys. You finished stitching him up and put on an ointment to help with the healing.

“The worst part is was my brother who did it.” He commented.

“Your brother is a monster…” You mumbled quietly thinking he wouldn’t hear you. He looked up at you realizing you just showed him your empathy.

“It’s all done, you should feel better now. I stitched it and added this natural ointment I made a while ago. It’s good for helping the skin heal, from cuts, scratches, burns…” He looked up at you.

He didn’t thank you. He was not very verbally expressive, but you could tell a lot from his actions and body language.

You finally could spot the Eyrie from where you were and you made. You walked down the path to the Bloody Gate and both Arya and Sandor seemed to be talking like long-time friends. It was interesting to see how their relationship developed, but yours seemed like it stayed the same somehow.

“Who would pass the Bloody Gate?” The guard announced

“The Bloody Hound, Sandor Clegane and his… travel companions, Lady Arya Stark, niece of Lady Arryn and Lady Sabrina Arryn, daughter of the deceased Lord Jon Arryn.” He responded.

“Then I would like to offer my condolences, Lady Arryn and her son Robin died... three days ago.” The guard explained. There was silence for a few seconds.

“If what you say is true then I am the new Lady Arryn.” You stepped forward.

“Unfortunately my Lady, there’s someone else in charge of The Eyrie.” The guard seemed to also not like that situation.

“And who might that be?” You were confused.

“Lord Baelish.” The guard responded.

There was a dry silence that later was filled with Aryas laugh. Laughing at her own misery. You were taken with anger pulled out your dagger and stepped towards the guard only to have Sandor holding back.

“It’s not worth it.” He looked at you. You knew he was right, but the frustration was just too high.

“Listen, take Arya back to camp and wait for me there, I need to go get my dogs. I’ll meet you there by nightfall.” You told him and left.

Luckily most animals were kept on the sides of the bloody gate, since it was the flatter land. You watched as the two of them walked back. You quietly made your way to the stables and found four of your dogs near the horses.

“What happened to the rest of the dogs?” You asked a passing stable boy.

“Lady Arryn got rid of them a long time ago. They scared Lord Robin.”

“What did she do to them?” You knew, but you needed to confirm it.

“She fed them milk of the poppy. They never woke up again. These ones didn’t eat it, we kept them here because they keep the rats away.”

You thanked the gods that you had started herb training with the four them before you left. They understood they shouldn’t eat that and it saved them.

Once you opened the stable doors they ran to you. Jumping, happy crying, tail wagging and licking your face. You missed your kids. You tested to see if they still knew their commands, and they were perfect. They were the smarter ones who were chosen to start a harder training that saved their life. Two boys Desert and Forest, and two girls, Rain and River. You regretted not training the others. But at least you were together now.

[the-californicationist]

Goldfish (SanSan AU) - 3/8

Warnings: descriptions of abuse, canon-mentioned abuse and domestic violence, mention of ramsay bolton, modern au, oral and vaginal sex

Sansa had never been on a bike. She was wishing she had told Arya the truth for how scared she was. But, she knew the Hound would let no harm come to her. He was like a furnace, and she could feel the heat radiate off his skin as they rode. She couldn’t figure out what to do with her hands. She had moved them around on their ride, sometimes on his waist, sometimes on his broad chest, sometimes on his thighs. Nothing seemed right. He was always fidgeting as if she was making him uncomfortable. She wondered when was the last time he had ridden with someone else. 

She knew where she wanted to put her hands. Sansa would never admit it, ever - to anyone - but she wanted to hold him right between his legs. She wanted to know if she could make him harden against her palms as his bike rumbled beneath them. She wanted to rub across the length of his legs until her fingers could trace over the roundness of his cockhead. She wanted to press into it through the leather and follow it up along his heavy shaft until she felt him pulse against her. Fleetingly, she imagined that he may already be swollen and waiting for her to do just that. She’d wanted to touch him for so long, but it was a little upsetting to uncover that desire within herself. Experiencing lust, for her, was unsettling - like seeing a sapling breaking through the ashes of a forest fire; something that shouldn’t be possible but there it was. So much of her life had been filled with pain when it came to sex, or at least so devoid of any love, and now that it might be possible to move past that darkness, she wanted to see what it was like on the other side. 

Every now and then, at the red lights, or on long, straight roads, he’d reach back and run a big hand along her thigh. She figured he was checking to see if she was okay, so she would tap his chest or belly to let him know. She begged for red lights for the whole trip. By the time the bike growled to a slow roll in front of his house, she was a trembling, wet mess of nerves and desire. 

He pulled the bike into a small gravel plot abutted by a tiny garden. The house was a dark gray, modern structure with one large picture window that overlooked a sleek kitchen. He’d left the light on over the stove, and she admired how the warm glow spilled out over his counters, turning the white quartz gold. 

Sandor lived modestly, but it was no secret that he had been abundantly paid off with Lannister coin. After all of the fighting and covering up he did for them over the years, they were sorely in debt with both of the Clegane brothers. The elder of the two, the man they called the Mountain, hadn’t been spotted in London in years. Arya thought she’d seen him when she traveled north to bury Robb and their mother, but she hadn’t been sure. Sansa remembered how Joffrey had told her, very rudely, about Sandor’s scars, and she’d wished Gregor (and Joffrey) dead ever since. One down, one to go, perhaps. 

His big boot reached back to lower the peg of the bike as he parked. Holding out a hand, Sandor helped her step down off the back before standing beside her. She was taking too long with the chin strap, not being able to find the buckle herself, so he bent down to do it for her. His body was so close then, nearly covering her, and she could hear his breaths as he fiddled with the helm. His thick fingers were too clumsy for the little latch, having been used to taking it off of his own neck so many times instead. Finally, he succeeded and grabbed the fiberglass case on both sides, lifting it off of her like the top of a present. Her hair was the confetti, spilling up and out, dancing onto his forearms and down her neck. 

She peered up at him, her face cold from the night air, freed from the smothering warmth of the padded face mask. Sansa saw him hesitate, holding the helmet at an awkward angle to the side, staring back into her face like he had something important to tell her. Both of their breathing was measured and intensified by their closeness. If she reached out just a bit closer, she could touch the skin of his collarbone. 

But, she didn’t. He locked the helmet on the bike and ripped his mess of keys from the tight pocket of his pants to open the door. They jangled in the lock like bells. The door cracked open and whined as it swung inward. 

“Come in. Coat rack’s there,” his voice was low, shucking off his jacket and helping her with hers. She could feel his warm hands as they folded her jacket back from her neck, his knuckles grazing her skin. When was the last time she had been touched there with kindness? Her mind flickered to her childhood when her mother used to help her with her scarves and coats in the harsh winter months, then rudely, her memories jolted her to last Christmas when Ramsay had wrapped his fist around her throat so hard she couldn't leave the house for a week. The black bruises stained her skin like ink. 

Sandor moved deeper into the house, stopping to feed a large tank of goldfish before heading into the kitchen. Sansa paused to watch him, his giant fingers pinching the smallest bit of fish food from its tub, bending his frame at an angle to peer in at them. Three of them floated out of the high grass, their fins shimmering with a soft, orange beauty. So defenseless, wholly at the mercy of their huge master.

[bluebellhairpin]

Please use this as an excuse to ramble and talk about your got oc and Sannem!

An excuse to talk about Sandor and my selfship oc? You don't have to tell me twice! (BEWARE. I DIDN'T HOLD BACK LOL)

They're both actually so special to me, but I haven't given myself a chance to really think about them. I do know that their relationship doesn't change the plot a whole lot - however because all my oc's are female I like having them do something to further the plot. I just haven't decided what exactly that is for her yet.

Well I do know one thing, but I'll talk about it later. What I'm mostly trying to get at is I know more fixed lore about the oc than the relationship she has with Sandor. A lot of it is still up in the air lol.

Over the course of her life she gets four nicknames. They progress from The Mouse -> The Thousand Times Bitten -> The Bitch -> The Untouched. (Link are to other post's I've made about why she's called that, and at what point she gets them. BUT THIS IS GOING TO GO WAAAAY MORE INTO THAT.)

I think I mentioned it in the description for The Mouse, but if she was in the show we'd first meet her at Winterfell. She runs errands, and her manner is likened to a field mouse. She knows the Starks, and probably would be around the crowd feasting when King Robert Baratheon visits. I can imagine her catching Sandor sometime then, and perhaps also on the road again a bit later - something clicks and they're friendly enough for acquaintances.

I can imagine her turning into an envoy for Robb during the War of Five Kings. She knows all the routes everywhere, especially in the North and around the Vale, and knows how to keep hidden - whether it be in crowds or empty spaces. It would be this envoy work that leads her to the house of Ramsay Snow. She's caught there, unable to leave. Eventually Ramsay chooses to hunt her, and she almost makes it out of the woods when his hounds get her. She bares her back to the dogs. When the others find her, they leave her there, saying that if she survives the night on her own, she'd be The Thousand Times Bitten.

She does survive, or at least that's what's told since the next morning she wasn't where they left her. Really she was picked up by a farmer and his wife who were coming home late. They nurse her back to full health over the next few weeks, however she cannot stand hounds anymore.

Eventually she leaves. She refuses to be a burden to the family anymore, intent to meet up with Catelyn and Robb Stark. Really though she wanders for a while instead. Eventually she meets Sandor again, and sees Arya. Right as they meet, Arya said that her mother and brother both died the night before, and seeing as she has nowhere else to go, she joins them both. The trio get along well, but during this time is when she starts being called The Bitch. Time with Ramsay has caused what once was sweet to turn bitter, and while before she might have laughed off curse actions and comments she becomes more violent, lacking in self preservation. This and her fondness for Sandor, and his fondness for her, garners her a new name.

She travels with Sandor and Arya until they all meet Brienne of Tarth. She gets lost among the fight. She finds Arya walking towards the road and asks what happened to Sandor. Arya replies that he's dead (at least to her), and she believes it. She's unable to bring herself to go see for herself and instead makes her way back North to the Wall. She meets Jon Snow, who is Lord Commander of the Watch, and uses that time to be taught how to fight properly.

She offers to join Jon on the trip to Hardhome, but he denies saying that she isn't experienced enough, and won't risk her life there. She spends all that time training more, to prove she could've gone. During this time she discovers a fondness for using two blades which are slightly smaller then swords. These become her weapons of choice.

When Jon dies at Castle Black, she is one of the people drawn outside by Ghost's howls. After he's brought back to life, she chooses to join him in leaving as the Wall was never a place for a woman. This plan is foiled when Sansa Stark shows up. In the days the follow, a letter comes from Ramsay goading them to fight him for Winterfell. She is eager to join in, having sworn to see Ramsay die for what he'd done to her, and now to Sansa - and threatened to do again.

She fights at the Battle of the Bastards, and lives without a scratch on her. The training from the Watch paid off. She rises that day as The Untouched - a name garnered from her days at Castle Black, since the moment training moved from pretend swords to real ones, no one could land a blow on her - and now a name solidifying her into a battle legend.

Staying true to her promise, she watches as Sansa sets Ramsay's hounds on himself. Sansa walks away, but she stays. She promised she'd see him die - really she wanted to do it herself, to feel his blood warm her hands, but watching the life leave him was really the only thing she wanted to do before she died. Now her life was no longer in service to herself. Now she was ready to serve someone else again.

Lo and behold, once again there is now a King in the North.

AND THAT'S ALL I HAVE SO FARRRRRRR <3 (I could write more, since I have seen a few more seasons since I decided on all this, but this post is getting loooooooong. So if you've lasted this long I'm giving you a nice cup of tea and/or hot chocolate and kissing ur forehead THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU <3333)

[maddie-grove]

The Stark Romance Saga--Book #5: The Lion and the Wolf

Previous Installments: Loved I Not Honor More (Book #1, Robb Stark/Jeyne Westerling), The Iron Scoundrel (Book #2, Theon Greyjoy/Asha “Not His Sister in This Universe” Harlaw), Kissing the Kingslayer (Book #2.5, Catelyn Stark/Jaime Lannister), A Fire in Winter (Book #3, Jon Snow/Ygritte), The Winter Bride (Book #3.5, Samwell Tarly/Gilly), and The Maiden of the Riverlands (Book #4, Arya Stark/Gendry).

Note: This takes place about a year after the events of Arya's book.

The Style

The setting is gritty Old School (i.e., Roberta Gellis or Bertrice Small), but the central romance is a Sherry Thomas-style comedy of remarriage.

The Leads

Sansa Stark, 23 years old, Princess of the North and one-time hostage of the crown. She's been safe at home for five years now, protected and loved by her family, and last year she was finally reunited with her long-lost sister Arya. In equal measures restless and afraid of giving into her fears of the outside world, she finds additional motivation to travel to King's Landing when her friend Margaery Tyrell writes to her with news that Petyr Baelish might have spotted her long-thought-dead BFF Jeyne Poole as the wife of a wealthy King's Landing Merchant.

Tyrion Lannister, 30 years old, Hand of Queen Daenerys and scion of the infamous House Lannister. He's respected by many for his political acumen and guts, but his dwarfism, his family background, and the little matter of his slaying his father draws the ire of just as many. Technically still married to Sansa, thanks to said terrible father forcing them to wed when she was a hostage.

The Prologue

Tyrion returns to King's Landing for the first time after killing his father and escaping the city, feeling sure that Daenerys will either kill him for being the brother of the man who killed her father, or for being the person who killed his own father. He's shocked when Daenerys actually wants to hear what he has to say, both about the circumstances of the murder and his experiences on the Great Council. It's the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

The Set-Up

Sansa arrives in King's Landing in grand style and immediately sees some familiar faces. Because this is an Old School homage, the novel does not shy away from presenting her with multiple love interests. We have courtier Margaery Tyrell (fun and flirty, but ultimately looking for a high-status marriage), member of the Kingsguard Sandor Clegane (genuinely sweet and concerned underneath his rough exterior, but emotionally remote), Master of Laws Petyr Baelish (an evil sleazebag, but charming at first), and, of course, Tyrion. Sansa has a surprisingly merry time in the new court, but she's thrown for a loop twice. The first instance is when Petyr Baelish tells her that, although he did see Jeyne Poole as the wife of a merchant several months ago, she has since mysteriously disappeared and he suspects foul play. The second happens when Sansa learns that she's technically still married to Tyrion. She's annoyed at the prospect of going through the absurdly bureaucratic process of getting a cross-region, multi-faith annulment, but she finds Tyrion's company throughout this process surprisingly enjoyable...enough so that she enlists his help in finding Jeyne Poole.

The Middle

As Tyrion and Sansa search throughout the highest and lowest echelons of King's Landing for Jeyne Poole, Sansa comes to find him not only clever and helpful, but wildly attractive. Thanks to having distance from the most abusive members of his family and the genuine friendship of Dany and others, he's a lot more confident and easy in himself, in addition to being smart and funny. It's a weird feeling, given that they were forced to marry, and she suppresses her emotions because she assumes he'd rather marry a more experienced, sophisticated woman who doesn't come with as much baggage (just as she believes she should eventually go home and marry a nice Northern lord). Tyrion, for his part, is shocked that she even wants to be his friend after what his father did, and also slow to recognize that, at twenty-three, she's a dramatically different person that the eighteen-year-old hostage he once knew. He's discomfited by his growing attraction to her, sure that she'd be disgusted if she knew.

Sansa also begins to work through her complicated feelings about her adolescence (which was dangerous and inappropriately adult) and her young adulthood (which bordered on being inappropriately sheltered), as well as her guilt over having been used as a pawn in her early days in King's Landing. Her emotional turmoil is made worse when she learns that her family knew about the un-annulled marriage, but held off on telling her because they didn't want her to get married just yet. When she vents her frustrations about this to Tyrion, he's forced to reckon with Jaime's well-intentioned but deeply hurtful lies about Tysha (and all the attendant trauma of his first marriage). Their relationship gives her the courage to draw some boundaries with Catelyn and Robb, and him the courage to talk through things with Jaime (who divides his time between King's Landing and Riverrun, where he and Catelyn have regular assignations). Eventually, Sansa and Tyrion's relationship becomes physical, although they both agree to keep it secret so they can still get an annulment.

It soon becomes clear that the mystery of Jeyne Poole's reappearance/disappearance is a part of a huge, convoluted scheme that I will not bother to figure out here. Suffice it to say that someone is draining the treasury (but not nonentity Master of Coin Ser Harys Swyft, who's as clueless as anyone), Margaery has been bribed by Littlefinger to distract Tyrion but also bribed by Varys to gaslight Littlefinger, Sandor is acting as a benevolent Scooby Doo villain by trying to scare Sansa away from the mystery for her own protection, and the High Septon is accepting payments in return for making annulments more complicated (which may be connected to Sansa and Tyrion, but might actually have more to do with internecine guild politics).

The Conclusion

But then Sansa gets a letter from Jeyne Poole herself, exposing the cruel truth: Littlefinger once had big plans to pass her off as the long-lost Arya, but kicked her to the curb and sold her to a brothel after the real Arya resurfaced. She was never married to a merchant; Littlefinger just thought she was because Varys was using (also brown-haired) Margaery to gaslight him, and then he felt he had to make up an elaborate lie to cover up his misdeeds (supposing that Jeyne had made connections with people influential enough to blackmail or otherwise get him in trouble). Jeyne, in fact, has been so rundown and depressed that she only just worked up the strength to get out a message to Sansa.

Sansa quickly goes to retrieve her friend, planning to bring her back home to Winterfell and do everything possible to restore her health and spirits, but unfortunately an unhinged Littlefinger has learned of her discovery and corners them both in the brothel. (Sansa only failed to prepare more because she thought he was still hinged and didn't care about Jeyne Poole; so many small-time False Arya scams in her young adulthood have inured her to the scandalousness of someone on the Grand Council planning such a thing.) He excitedly tells Sansa that Tyrion has been doing a shitload of embezzlement and other corruption, which is just what (he says) one would expect of a kinslayer and a dwarf. He also reveals that he knows that Tyrion (he assumes) tricked her into consummating their relationship, but promises not to tell anyone so she can get her annulment and go back home. Since he's going in the dungeon anyway, he won't give her any trouble! The only thing she has to do is leave Jeyne Poole behind.

Sansa is like "nah, I'm going to stay married to Tyrion (swag) and take Jeyne Poole with me, and also obviously it's you who's doing the shady shit" which makes Littlefinger lose his cool. Recognizing an opportunity, Sansa presses all his buttons until he's all the way livid, giving Jeyne the opportunity to hit him over the head with a chair. Tyrion, having deduced and exposed Littlefinger's plan, comes in with the cavalry. Appalled that Sansa agreed to stay married to him, he offers to bribe everyone in the room to keep quiet about what she said, but she's like "you are so fucking stupid. I want you on top of me."

The Epilogue

Sansa and Tyrion have a re-do wedding at Winterfell, and Catelyn and Robb are like, "Well. We kind of contributed to this."

Subplots

Bran, inspired by Sansa's assertion of independence, starts to feel restless at Winterfell. He's also annoyed at his mom's situation with Jaime Lannister, not so much because Jaime is responsible for his not being able to walk, but because everybody's been tiptoeing around the subject after Jaime's apology letter to him went unanswered years ago.

Margaery finds herself growing weary of being pulled into fucked-up schemes by motherfuckers who rarely come through on bribes, and is also at a loss about what to do for her grieving brother Loras.

Sandor finds an unlikely friend in Sansa's guard, sweet, awkward Brienne of Tarth.

[seoness]

Hey, question here! Do you think Sandor is self conscious about his appearance / scar? He seems to mostly have a tough / brooding idgaf attitude, but there are times when he brings his appearance, especially his face, into conversation when talking to other characters. He seemed hurt and pointed out how Sansa was unable to look at him on multiple occasions. When he first starts traveling with Arya he notes that she can “at least look” at his face. The most interesting imo is when he speaks to Gendry the night he tries to get his gold back from the Brotherhood. I don’t have the book on hand, but he says something along the lines of: “Why trust them and not me? Could it be my face?” He seems to bring it up with a good handful of characters, so I wonder if this still bothers him into adulthood. Side question adding onto that one haha- how would Sandor feel about someone that is very casual / comfortable around him from the start? Someone who looks him in the face, takes his snarky comments with good humor, casually rubs his shoulder or back, etc. Since Sandor notices that his appearance has an effect on people, I can’t imagine how he would react to someone that consistently approaches him without judgement.

Salutations!

The way that example with Gendry made me run to A Storm of Swords 🏃‍♀️💨

"The boy has a mouth on him, I see. Why believe them and not me? Couldn't be my face, could it?"

This is something I'll touch on in the writing guide as well, but with the Hound I think it's easy to be distracted by what he presents. The image he keeps. But here and there, like this quote, we get hints of the inner self seeping through the cracks.

He never healed from his childhood trauma. His only true stated goal is to kill his older brother. When Gregor rides for King's Landing and attends the same tourney as him, Sandor drinks far too much which results in him trauma dumping on a little girl that could just as well have been him growing up.

I wouldn't go so far as to say that all his toughness and rough edges are a front for his hurt, but the world he lives in fuels that side of him. People don't like to meet his gaze. Making them have something to fear is easier, but the fact remains that Sandor Clegane could be as harmless as a butterfly and kind as a kitten, and people would still not meet his gaze. I think he's self-conscious about his burn in the way that he is acutely aware that it's why people don't like to look at him, and the hurt has gotten stale. A part of him is used to it, bored, and with it he is annoyed. The hypocrisy of it all. An outlaw untrusting of him when they ride around expediting "justice" of a dead King?

So yes, he's self-conscious but at the same time very much used to it. Bitter.

Answer to the second question:

Fucking suspicion. If you're used to everyone treating you one shitty way and suddenly there's someone that doesn't? Nah. Something is up. He'll entertain possibilities like:

A spy that's been sent to get some sort of information or lure him to do something that will make him a head shorter.

Doing it on a dare. (Think how there was a dare amongst some Reachern nobles on who could take Brienne of Tarth's maidenhead?)

Some sick form of sarcasm.

Dim-witted.

Blind.

Drunker than a skunk.

Delerium.

Basically, anything else than "Oh, this person might actually be nice?" If the person is consistently kind and meets his gaze and has decent morals? An honest to the gods' good person? He'll tell them to get the hell out of King's Landing. It would be like accidentally landing a consulting contract with a security firm. He'll definitely be at risk of striking warmer feelings for that person, but unless they also show want for something like that, he'll try to contend with his hand and a visit or two to the brothels.

There's a reason why I made Sandor Clegane tells my OC a gazillion times to get the hell out of dodge. 😂 Basically if someone treats him like that:

Spirit is them, and Little Creak is Sandor Clegane.

[gggoldfinch]

Can we have a tidbit of ch9? Of free treasure? please?

this chapter is largely sandor pov (for obvious reasons given canon plot events... shudders), will likely be upwards of 14k in word count once finished, and also made me nauseous and tearful while writing it lollll have fun

“Why Olira?” “What?” Her sudden question caught him in the midst of a daydream to distract from the pain; one of returning to Sloane’s warm, loving embrace. “Your baby. Why’d you name her Olira?” “Sloane did,” he replied gruffly and winced again as Arya tugged the thread through his mangled flesh. “Was my sister’s name.” “Didn’t know you had a sister.” “‘Cause she’s been dead longer than you’ve been alive.” Clegane trailed off, unsure what else there was to say on the matter. “Longer than Sloane’s been alive, probably…” he added, grumbling. “At first I thought she was just pretending to like you,” Arya spoke evenly. “But I’ve never seen her so happy before. Robb and Jon used to tease her because she never smiled, except with me and Sansa. She always used to talk about wanting her own baby, so I guess that finally made her happy… even if it is yours.” Sandor Clegane managed a dry laugh. Yet still, it was strangely comforting to hear the sentiment spoken aloud by someone other than Sloane herself. Even if their marriage had been a sham, he could at least take comfort in knowing that she was not entirely miserable with him for a husband. And even if she did not love him like she claimed to, she could love the babe she allowed him to father on her.  “Do you miss her?” the child asked, as though she had sniffed out his tension and creeping insecurity now that he was so long gone from his wife.  Chewing his lip, Clegane cast a skeptical glance over his shoulder at Arya while she continued suturing. There was no point in hiding his sentimentality, not when Arya had seen them be affectionate with each other time and time again, especially since Olira had been born.  “Aye… Wish I’d never left her. Too late to turn back now, might as well see it to the end,” he groused, picking absently at the dirt beneath his nails. Sloane would have made him clean his hands a hundred times over already; that had been a little game of theirs while traveling. Seven hells, he missed having her close by. “Do you love her?” “What kind of stupid fucking question is that?” He yowled angrily when in response to his venom the girl yanked on the thread, drawing a fresh trickle of blood. “Aye…” he muttered after a while of simmering. “Why, is that so hard to believe? That I would love my wife?” Arya shrugged as she tied off the last bit of thread, leaving his bite wound in barely any better shape than it had been previously. “I don’t know. You’re the Hound.” It was the harsh truth. A reflection of how everyone saw him. The Hound, hateful and ugly and scarred, unlovable and unloving. Sloane saw something different in him, though— some part of Sandor Clegane that even he himself wasn’t sure he was fully acquainted with. The woman forced to wed him had over time given him her trust and devotion, her body, her child, the thing she called her love, and he surely would never fully understand why. He would never be worthy of any of it. “Aye, and you’re a nosy little brat.” He snatched the needle away from her and stretched his shoulder, testing the durability of her haphazardly sewn stitches and the tolerance of his punctured flesh. The stitches held up, at least temporarily, though the wound still throbbed ferociously. He could do with some of that sourleaf stuff Elwys had handy. “It’ll do, for now,” he grumbled, still displeased that he had ever been snuck up on in the first place.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Brienne I (Chapter 4)

Brienne, my beauty!

"I am looking for a maid of three-and-ten," she told the grey-haired goodwife beside the village well. "A highborn maid and very beautiful, with blue eyes and auburn hair. She may have been traveling with a portly knight of forty years, or perhaps with a fool. Have you seen her?"

Is that the greatest opening of any chapter ever?

I realize I'm biased.

+.+.+

"If she's on the roads these days she won't be no maid for long," said the older man. The younger wanted to know if the girl had that auburn hair between her legs as well.

Brienne, you have my permission to kill them.

+.+.+

"I will find the girl and keep her safe," Brienne had promised Ser Jaime, back at King's Landing. "For her lady mother's sake. And for yours." Noble words, but words were easy. Deeds were hard. 

That's why she's the best. She walks the walk.

+.+.+

She had to have gone elsewhere . . . but elsewhere is a big place. If I were a maiden newly flowered, alone and afraid, in desperate danger, what would I do? she had asked herself. Where would I go? For her, the answer came easy. She would make her way back to Tarth, to her father. Sansa's father had been beheaded whilst she watched, however. Her lady mother was dead too, murdered at the Twins, and Winterfell, the great Stark stronghold, had been sacked and burned, its people put to the sword. She has no home to run to, no father, no mother, no brothers. She might be in the next town, or on a ship to Asshai; one seemed as likely as the other.

Think, think!

Sandor knew where to ransom Arya, and Shadrich knows where to find Sansa. Come on, Brienne! You've got this!

+.+.+

The girl could go by sea if she had the coin, but the harbor at King's Landing was still in ruins, the river a jumble of broken quays and burned and sunken galleys. Brienne had asked along the docks, but no one could remember a ship leaving on the night King Joffrey died. A few trading ships were anchoring in the bay and off-loading by boat, one man told her, but more were continuing up the coast to Duskendale, where the port was busier than ever.

It was possible, Brienne! It was possible!

+.+.+

A young septon galloped past upon a palfrey as fine as any lord's, and later she met a band of silent sisters who shook their heads when Brienne put her question to them. 

Brienne. . .

+.+.+

Jaime would not do that. He was sincere. He gave me the sword, and called it Oathkeeper. Anyway, it made no matter. She had promised Lady Catelyn that she would bring back her daughters, and no promise was as solemn as one sworn to the dead. 

Groan.

+.+.+

"We have trout enough for three, ser," he called out.

Sometimes trout is just trout. I think this is one of those times.

+.+.+

Had Brienne been a man, she would have been called big; for a woman, she was huge. Freakish was the word she had heard all her life. She was broad in the shoulder and broader in the hips. Her legs were long, her arms thick. Her chest was more muscle than bosom. Her hands were big, her feet enormous. And she was ugly besides, with a freckled, horsey face and teeth that seemed almost too big for her mouth. 

+.+.+

The nearsighted hedge knight scratched his head. "I recall no such maid. What sort of hair is auburn?"

"Browny red," said the older man. "No, we saw her not."

More like dark honey.

+.+.+

"Come, dismount, the fish is almost done. Are you hungry?"

She was, as it happened, but she was wary as well. Hedge knights had an unsavory reputation. "A hedge knight and a robber knight are two sides of the same sword," it was said. These two do not look too dangerous. "Might I know your names, sers?"

Ha ha, get it? It's funny because her ancestor is Ser Duncan the Tall.

+.+.+

Ser Illifer crooked a bony finger at her shield. Though its paint was cracked and peeling, the device it bore showed plain: a black bat on a field divided bendwise, silver and gold. 

She's wearing the Harrenhal shield! Bran's Harrenhal!

+.+.+

"You bear a liar's shield, to which you have no right. My grandfather's grandfather helped kill the last o' Lothston. None since has dared to show that bat, black as the deeds of them that bore it."

[...]

"A barefoot man looks for a boot, a chilly man a cloak. But who would cloak themselves in shame? Lord Lucas bore that bat, the Pander, and Manfryd o' the Black Hood, his son. Why wear such arms, I ask myself, unless your own sin is fouler still . . . and fresher." He unsheathed his dagger, an ugly piece of cheap iron. "A woman freakish big and freakish strong who hides her own true colors. Creigh, behold the Maid o' Tarth, who opened Renly's royal throat for him."

Should I care about the Lothstons? Is this important?

+.+.+

"That is a lie." Renly Baratheon had been more than a king to her. She had loved him since first he came to Tarth on his leisurely lord's progress, to mark his coming of age. Her father welcomed him with a feast and commanded her to attend; elsewise she would have hidden in her room like some wounded beast. She had been no older than Sansa, more afraid of sniggers than of swords. They will know about the rose, she told Lord Selwyn, they will laugh at me. But the Evenstar would not relent.

Damn, I totally forgot about Brienne's history with roses. We need to fix it.

+.+.+

She had never slept easily in the presence of men. Even in Lord Renly's camps, the risk of rape was always there. It was a lesson she had learned beneath the walls of Highgarden, and again when she and Jaime had fallen into the hands of the Brave Companions.

Am I forgetting something?

+.+.+

She wondered whether Sansa Stark was cold as well, wherever she might be. Lady Catelyn had said that Sansa was a gentle soul who loved lemon cakes, silken gowns, and songs of chivalry, yet the girl had seen her father's head lopped off and been forced to marry one of his killers afterward. 

She's still a gentle soul, Brienne. 🥺 They can't break her. 🥺

+.+.+

If half the tales were true, the dwarf was the cruelest Lannister of all. If she did poison King Joffrey, the Imp surely forced her hand. She was alone and friendless at that court. 

I love hearing the public's opinion of Tyrion Lannister.

Enjoy those history books.

+.+.+

In King's Landing, Brienne had hunted down a certain Brella, who had been one of Sansa's maids. The woman told her that there was little warmth between Sansa and the dwarf. Perhaps she had been fleeing him as well as Joffrey's murder.

Would that be Renly's former maid? Maybe you should have asked her a few more questions.

Brella was serving Varys, so Varys could now know Brienne's searching for Sansa. Does this matter? No, I doubt it.

+.+.+

As Brienne mounted up again, she glimpsed a skinny boy atop a piebald horse at the far end of the village. I have not talked with that one, she thought, but he vanished behind the sept before she could seek him out. She did not trouble to chase after him. 

x

"Did anyone pass by during your watches?" Brienne asked them.

"Such as a maid of three-and-ten, with auburn hair?" said Ser Illifer the Penniless. "No, my lady. No one."

"I had a few," Ser Creighton put in. "Some farm boy on a piebald horse went by

Who could that be? He he.

+.+.+

Ser Creighton was lost. "Sparrows?"

"The sparrow is the humblest and most common of birds, as we are the humblest and most common of men." The septon had a lean sharp face and a short beard, grizzled grey and brown. His thin hair was pulled back and knotted behind his head, and his feet were bare and black, gnarled and hard as tree roots. "These are the bones of holy men, murdered for their faith. They served the Seven even unto death. Some starved, some were tortured. Septs have been despoiled, maidens and mothers raped by godless men and demon worshipers. Even silent sisters have been molested. Our Mother Above cries out in her anguish. It is time for all anointed knights to forsake their worldly masters and defend our Holy Faith. Come with us to the city, if you love the Seven."

"I love them well enough," said Illifer, "yet I must eat."

"So must all the Mother's children."

"We are bound for Duskendale," Ser Illifer said flatly.

One of the begging brothers spat, and a woman gave a moan. "You are false knights," said the big man with the star carved on his chest. Several others brandished their cudgels.

The barefoot septon calmed them with a word. "Judge not, for judgment is the Father's. Let them pass in peace. They are poor fellows too, lost upon the earth."

Boy, that escalated quickly and for no reason whatsoever.

The High Sparrow being introduced so close to Aeron Dam-phair's first chapter is perfect. Should have thrown Melisandre in here somewhere.

+.+.+

"A man would need to be a fool to rape a silent sister," Ser Creighton was saying. "Even to lay hands upon one . . . it's said they are the Stranger's wives, and their female parts are cold and wet as ice." He glanced at Brienne. "Uh . . . beg pardon."

That's. . . weird. I'm holding on to that one.

+.+.+

The merchant produced a crossbow, the knight a blade. "You will forgive me if I am suspicious," called the merchant, "but the times are troubled, and I have only good Ser Shadrich to defend me. Who are you?"

Fuck.

+.+.+

"I am searching for my sister." She dared not mention Sansa's name, with her accused of regicide. "She is a highborn maid and beautiful, with blue eyes and auburn hair. Perhaps you saw her with a portly knight of forty years, or a drunken fool."

SHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhh!!!

+.+.+

"You're a strapping healthy wench, I'd say."

Ser Jaime's mockery had cut her deep; the little man's words hardly touched her. "A giant, compared to some."

He laughed. "I am big enough where it counts, wench."

Hello, Braimes? Is anyone home?

+.+.+

Ser Shadrich was a wiry, fox-faced man with a sharp nose and a shock of orange hair, mounted on a rangy chestnut courser. Though he could not have been more than five foot two, he had a cocksure manner.

[...]

"Ser Shadrich of the Shady Glen. Some call me the Mad Mouse." He turned his shield to show her his sigil, a large white mouse with fierce red eyes, on bendy brown and blue. "The brown is for the lands I've roamed, the blue for the rivers that I've crossed. The mouse is me."

Rodents we don't like.

+.+.+

Ser Shadrich laughed. "Oh, I doubt that, but it may be that you and I share a quest. A little lost sister, is it? With blue eyes and auburn hair?" He laughed again. "You are not the only hunter in the woods. I seek for Sansa Stark as well."

Brienne kept her face a mask, to hide her dismay. "Who is this Sansa Stark, and why do you seek her?"

"For love, why else?"

She furrowed her brow. "Love?"

"Aye, love of gold. Unlike your good Ser Creighton, I did fight upon the Blackwater, but on the losing side. My ransom ruined me. You know who Varys is, I trust? The eunuch has offered a plump bag of gold for this girl you've never heard of. I am not a greedy man. If some oversized wench would help me find this naughty child, I would split the Spider's coin with her."

[...]

"I know no Sansa Stark," she insisted. "I am searching for my sister, a highborn girl . . ."

". . . with blue eyes and auburn hair, aye. Pray, who is this knight who travels with your sister? Or did you name him fool?" Ser Shadrich did not wait for her answer, which was good, since she had none. "A certain fool vanished from King's Landing the night King Joffrey died, a stout fellow with a nose full of broken veins, one Ser Dontos the Red, formerly of Duskendale. I pray your sister and her drunken fool are not mistaken for the Stark girl and Ser Dontos. That could be most unfortunate." He put his heels into his courser and trotted on ahead.

Even Jaime Lannister had seldom made Brienne feel such a fool. You are not the only hunter in the woods. 

FUCK.

Alayne turned abruptly from the yard...and bumped into a short, sharp-faced man with a brush of orange hair who had come up behind her. His hand shot out and caught her arm before she could fall. "My lady. My pardons if I took you unawares."

"The fault was mine. I did not see you standing there."

"We mice are quiet creatures." Ser Shadrich was so short that he might have been taken for a squire, but his face belonged to a much older man. - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

"I can pay for the three of us." Brienne did not lack for coin; Jaime had seen to that. In her saddlebags she'd found a purse fat with silver stags and copper stars, a smaller one stuffed with golden dragons, and a parchment commanding all loyal subjects of the king to assist the bearer, Brienne of House Tarth, who was about His Grace's business. It was signed in a childish hand by Tommen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

Damn, she's packing.

Last time we saw the Hound he was broke, and carrying around a worthless piece of paper. Bwah!

+.+.+

She ordered goat for Ser Creighton and Ser Illifer as well, since they had shared their trout with her. The hedge knights and the septon washed down the meat with ale, but Brienne drank a cup of goat's milk.

Big girls drink their milk.

+.+.+

"You come from King's Landing," one of the locals said to Hibald. "Is it true that the Kingslayer's been crippled?"

"True enough," Hibald said. "He's lost his sword hand."

"Aye," Ser Creighton said, "chewed off by a direwolf, I hear, one of them monsters come down from the north. Nought that's good ever come from the north. Even their gods are queer."

False. A wolf never maimed him.

She's getting a second chance though.

+.+.+

Jaime had done many wicked things, but the man could fight! His maiming had been monstrously cruel. It was one thing to slay a lion, another to hack his paw off and leave him broken and bewildered.

Okay, but consider this: it's funny.

+.+.+

Her scabbard was a plain thing, wood wrapped in cracked brown leather, and her sword was plainer still. She had bought it in King's Landing, to replace the blade the Brave Companions had stolen. Renly's sword. It still hurt, knowing she had lost it.

She's moved on. New sword, new purpose.

+.+.+

But she had another longsword hidden in her bedroll. She sat on the bed and took it out. Gold glimmered yellow in the candlelight and rubies smoldered red. When she slid Oathkeeper from the ornate scabbard, Brienne's breath caught in her throat. Black and red the ripples ran, deep within the steel. Valyrian steel, spell-forged. It was a sword fit for a hero. 

Yes.

+.+.+

When she was small, her nurse had filled her ears with tales of valor, regaling her with the noble exploits of Ser Galladon of Morne, Florian the Fool, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and other champions. 

Aww, she's starting to sound like someone else we know. :)

+.+.+

Each man bore a famous sword, and surely Oathkeeper belonged in their company, even if she herself did not. "You'll be defending Ned Stark's daughter with Ned Stark's own steel," Jaime had promised.

Kneeling between the bed and wall, she held the blade and said a silent prayer to the Crone, whose golden lamp showed men the way through life. Lead me, she prayed, light the way before me, show me the path that leads to Sansa. She had failed Renly, had failed Lady Catelyn. She must not fail Jaime. He trusted me with his sword. He trusted me with his honor.

[...]

Her candle burned out. Darkness settled over the Old Stone Bridge, and the inn grew so still that she could hear the murmur of the river. Only then did Brienne rise to gather up her things. She eased the door open, listened, made her way barefoot down the steps. Outside she donned her boots and hurried to the stables to saddle her bay mare, asking a silent pardon of Ser Creighton and Ser Illifer as she mounted. One of Hibald's serving men woke when she rode past him, but made no move to stop her. Her mare's hooves rang upon the old stone bridge. Then the trees closed in around her, black as pitch and full of ghosts and memories. I am coming for you, Lady Sansa, she thought as she rode into the darkness. Be not afraid. I shall not rest until I've found you.

I believe you!!

Guys, Brienne gets me so in my feels. I just love her.

Final thoughts:

A knight on a mission to rescue a princess.

Now this is a hero's journey!

-> return to menu <-

[diamondcitydarlin]

man I love getting random game of thrones hyperfixations out of nowhere and by that i mean it's absolute hell, do you understand the yearning of 1) having gotten into it way too late, 2) watching it intentionally crash and burn itself in real time and disappear from the cultural zeitgeist before I even had the chance to really engage???!?! yeah let me just binge rewatch this gorgeous, bloated gem of television knowing exactly how this shit's gonna end, lemme just make my balls THAT much BLUER, lemme just fall in love with my faves all over again so I can watch them turn into hollow husks of what they once were, LET'S DO THAT I SAID

I guess with these new spinoffs coming out (I'm probably going to watch House of the Dragon bc Daenerys is my wife and the Jon Snow one that might? exist? might be interesting if we also get to pick up with the others in Westeros, here's how Sansa/Tyrion and Brienne/Tormund can still win yall) there's possibility the brand might be able to redeem itself and gain a second wind, I'm hoping to the point that people can look back and appreciate those earlier seasons for what they were and could have been

But look I'm just saying, we could have had a spin-off featuring Arya and the Hound traveling to some places on the map we haven't visited yet, like into Asshai and Yi Ti. Who didn't love that original team-up? It could still happen! We don't KNOW that Sandor died when he jumped off the Keep into the fire lol, and him coming back from having finally 'killed' his brother and able to finally move on from that plot point, just a bit more scarred now, is about as plausible as anything else that happens so WHY THE FUCK NOT? dooo it!! (what if they ran into Drogon again at some point??? what if drogon just decided to chill with them and provide narrative excuse for them to zip around the map a bit faster??? oh my god???)

this post doesn't have a conclusion, i'm just compromised and hate myself for still loving this fucking thing lmao

[i-drink-and-i-write-fics]

The Wolf & The Hound

Chapter 4: Blessed Name Day

Summary: Ever since your conversation with Sansa, Sandor has disappeared. Was she right?

Notes: First update on the new blog!

The next two weeks were so crazy preparing for Sansa’s coronation that you barely noticed that Sandor wasn’t around as much as before. It crossed your mind as you lied down in bed at the end of the night, but you were so exhausted from the day that you fell asleep before your mind could begin to panic. 

But it was felt, on a subconscious level. Your protective shadow was not there and it left you cold. Maybe Sansa was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t you that he wanted to court, but he told Sansa that to hide his true motives. 

The morning of the ceremony, you were up long before dawn and dressed so you could race to Sansa’s room to help her. As Brienne was the only woman of the Queen’s Guard she met you at the door and entered a step behind.

“Good morning, my lady. Are you ready to begin your day?” You curtsied shortly after you entered the room, Sansa standing next to the window to look out over the courtyard. 

“Good morning, ___. Yes, please. We have a long day ahead of us. Ser Brienne? While ____ tends to me, can you please have the kitchen bring up breakfast for all of us?”

“Yes, my lady,” Brienne bowed and left the room.

While Brienne was gone, you went to work filling Sansa’s bath with hot water, bathing and dressing her, and finally brushing her hair as Brienne returned with a member of the kitchen staff carrying a huge tray of food. Sansa wanted to wear her hair unbound as she wanted all the attention on her new crown and gown. So you gently curled the ends.

You then helped her dress in her dark grey dress that had many representations of the North. From the red leaves of the Weirwood Trees to a sleeve made of crow feathers to the metallic bodice that was a mirror of Weirwood branches. One sleeved looked like fish scales to represent her mother while the collar looked like a dire wolf for her father. She was beautiful.

If she was nervous, Sansa never let on. Holding her head high as you busied yourself getting her ready for the ceremony. You then stepped back so Brienne could escort her to the Great Hall. Normally, you would follow Sansa everywhere, but you wanted to quickly get her room ready so it was more fit for a queen.

You raced to change the sheets on the bed, clean her bathroom, douse the fire and clean out the ashes before creating a fresh fire. The floors were swept and cleaned and windows opened to air out the room. The last thing you did was dash down to the kitchen to make a small bundle of cinnamon and rosemary and ran back to place it in the fireplace to burn, so her room would smell welcoming when she returned.

Then you went to your room to bathe and change into clean clothes before you raced to the Great Hall. The room was packed with representatives of the remaining Northern Houses, her brother, Bran Stark, as well as Sansa’s uncle, Edmure Tulley from Riverrun, and Robin Arryn of the Eyrie. You tucked yourself into a back corner where you could easily see the dais. The normal high table had been removed and replaced with a new Throne of the North, with dire wolves on each end on the back. 

Sansa entered the room and was trailed behind by her new Queen’s Guard. You hadn’t had a chance to admire the new armor this morning. The current five members wore black armor with a grey dire wolf head on the chest plate and grey capes trailing behind them. Sandor looked amazing in the new armor. He had even trimmed his beard to appear less scruffy for his new queen. And like the other guards, he kept his eyes ahead as he escorted Sansa to her new throne.

Once there, the maester placed the new crown upon her head as he announced the new Queen of the North. It was a simple band, molded to look like the Stark pattern with two dire wolves meeting at the front. 

The moment the crown touched her head, the North chanted: “The Queen of the North!”

You could not be more proud of the young woman you had helped raise. She looked every bit the queen that she had planned to be when she was a little girl and promised to that monster, Joffrey.

That night, all of Winterfell filled with loud voices, music, and the distant howling of wolves as everyone celebrated their new queen. You took a moment here and there to drink a glass of ale or wine, but mostly you tried to busy yourself so you wouldn’t focus on the fact that Sandor and Sansa were talking once again.

Yes, Sansa told you that Sandor really wanted you. But seeing them together made it so hard to believe those words. Especially when Sandor had yet to confirm them.

So that night you went to bed early to save your heart.

The next morning you were up early again and off to Sansa’s room, where you got a surprise from Arya in the hall.

“And where are you going?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “To Queen’s Sansa’s room? I have to get her grace ready for the day.”

“Absolutely not! We know you’ve been lying to the staff about when your name day is, but you forgot we grew up with you. You have today off while the feast is prepared. Now head back to your room, a bath is being drawn and food is being brought up.”

Your jaw dropped in shock. “But Ser, I’m just a handmaid.”

Arya wouldn’t hear it. “You kept by my sister’s side, especially in King’s Landing when I couldn’t. You are family. Now go.”

Confused, but slowly growing happy at the sisters’ insistence of taking care of you, you went back to your room to enjoy a quiet morning. A brand new dress was awaiting you on the bed, no doubt a gift from Sansa and you couldn’t wait to change into it. You took your time, enjoying the warm bath, the good food, and then sitting in front of the fireplace in your room in a towel as you gently dried your hair, using your fingers to break up any tangles. 

After you finally put on the new dress, you left your room to walk the grounds. Fresh snow had fallen during the night and your footsteps were muted as you made your way to the Gods’ Wood. For once, Bran was not parked in front of the giant weirwood tree and so you took a seat at the stone by the trunk. 

You were quietly praying to the Old Gods when a deep voice interrupted your thoughts. 

“Forgive me, Little Wolf. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Your heart leaped in your chest at his voice. A voice you had not heard in weeks. Raising your head, a small smile graced your face as you answered. “No. I was merely speaking with the Old Gods. Thanking them for another year and for watching over me so I was able to return home safely.”

Sandor frowned at your words and you wondered what his relationship with religion was. He was from the South, but he never seemed the type to visit the Great Sept while in King’s Landing. 

“You believe in all that?” He slowly approached you.

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hands as he stopped at your feet. “I did when I was a child, but much of that changed when I traveled South. But I know I cannot turn my back on them completely.”

“And why is that?” Sandor questioned.

“I believe they kept me alive. No one taught me to fight like Arya, no one taught me how to scheme my way to safety like Queen Sansa, and no one was by my side to fight for me. And yet, I not only survived King’s Landing but getting home as well.”

Sandor crouched until he was in your line of sight. Snow was drifting down from the deep red weirwood leaves, dotting hit hair and beard giving him a soft look to his tough face. 

“I believe you are not giving yourself enough credit, Little Wolf. I saw with my own eyes how you can take down a man when cornered.”

Your face grew warm at his praise. “Thank you. But I hope to never have to do that again.”

He cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “You won’t. Not while I’m here.”

“You promise?”

A small smile graced his lips. “I promise, Little Wolf. I will never leave your side until you command it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “That’s unrealistic. You’re Sansa’s guard.”

“Aye, I am. But you are her handmaid and where she is, you are. I will protect both of you.”

“Thank you, Sandor. That means a great deal to me.”

“Does it?” Doubt crept into his eyes. “Most might be scared off by the idea of my following them around.”

“Aye. There was a time you frightened me as well. But that was before I truly got to know you.” You held a hand up to stop him from interrupting. “Now, that is not to say I don’t know your past. I am well aware of you who were. But any fool can clearly see you are no longer the man who left King’s Landing during the battle against Stannis.”

“I’ve tried. After my fight with Brienne, I was saved by a Septon. He taught me a few things. And before you comment - I can see your curiosity - he was once like me. So he would be the only religious fucker I’d listen to.”

You gave a small laugh. “Yes, that makes sense.”

His face grew serious. “There is something I’ve wanted to speak with you about. Something that has been on my mind for a while. But with the coronation, I haven’t had the time.”

“Well, you’re here now and I have the whole day to myself.”

“Aye, I know. Sansa told me where I could find you.” He ran a hand over his beard, trying to find his next words. “Little Wolf, I know who I am. I’ve done horrible things, things no one should be proud of. I’m no knight and I’m not a rich man. But I’m trying to change so I don’t- so I won’t be someone so frightening. You are a beautiful, quick-witted woman who can survive, even if she may not believe so. Any man would be lucky to court you.”

You took a shaky breath as he forced himself to meet your eyes.

“Would you...allow me to court you?”

The God’s Wood became still at his words and you tried to comprehend what he had asked you. Did Sandor really ask to court you?

“You...want to court me?”

Sandor tried to hide his face falling, mistaking your words for a no. “I know that may not seem something I would do, but I wanted to do right by you and our queen.”

You reached over and took his hand. “Sandor, I would love to court you.”

While his face did not betray any emotions - as was standard for this stoic man - but he reached up with his other hand and cupped your cheek. You placed your free hand over his as you felt yourself smile. Sansa was right! He really did want to court you.

He shifted on his feet and leaned in, the question in his eyes. And the answer was on your lips as you leaned in the remainder of the way to close the gap. It was the first sign of affection Sandor had ever given and he felt no place was more appropriate for a Northern girl than under a weirwood tree. So you would know how serious he was about you.

His large hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head to hold you closer to him and you moved both of your hands around his neck. Sandor pulled away after a few moments and you could feel how warm your face was, despite winter flowing all around. 

“We should get you back inside, Little Wolf. The Queen will have the feast ready soon.”

“You’re right, we shouldn’t keep Her Grace waiting.”

He climbed to his feet and held out a hand to help you up. Then after tucking your hand into the crook of his arm, he lead you out of the God’s Wood and back to Winterfell. You could tell he felt a bit awkward at the formality of courting so you squeezed his arm.

“Sandor, I know you are worried about doing things right for me - for us - with our courting. But perhaps instead of doing what others would expect, we do what truly would work for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you are trying to change yourself, but we both know you are not a romantic man. There will be no vase of Winter Roses awaiting me in my chamber. So instead, let us move forward as us. You will show your affection your own way. And I will do the same.”

You looked up at him and could see the smirk forming. “Aye, that sounds like that path may suit us better.”

Inside the Great Hall, many of the lords and ladies who had traveled for Sansa’s coronation were there and the feast was already set up. All that was missing was you.

Sansa looked up from talking to Arya, a smile growing on her face. “There you are! We were afraid we would have to begin without you two.”

Arya snorted. “Looks like the old shit got some words to share.”

Sandor growled. “No one asked you.”

Sansa smirked. “Are we celebrating two things today?”

Your face grew warm. “Yes, Your Grace. Sandor has asked to court me.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “About damn time. You haven’t kept your eyes off her since we found her in the woods.”

“Shut your mouth, you little shit.”

“Whatever. Let’s get the drinks going.”

“Good idea, Arya.” Sansa turned back to you. “If you wish to announce your courtship tonight, just say the word. Otherwise, the kitchen has made your favorite tonight. Blessed Name Day, ____.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Sansa stepped forward to give you a quick hug before she continued around the room to speak with the other lords. Sandor took this cue to lead you to a table where he poured you a glass of wine. Plates of food were brought over and Sandor took a seat across from you.

“So what will you do?”

A smile graced your face as you picked up your fork. “Tonight, I will just enjoy the food and wine. And perhaps, a few moments alone with you. Tomorrow, we can worry about expressing our news.”

“Moments alone?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“If you feel up for it later.”

“Anything for you, Little Wolf.”

Tagging Crew:

Everything

@marvelfansworld​

@that-chick212​

GoT

@harper-emory-writes​

The Wolf & The Hound

@imagine-the-fanfics​

@imagine-the-fanfics-main​

[ladyofasoiaf]

Sansa & Beauty - Quotes

RADIANT:

Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

A Game of Thrones - Jon I

*-*

COMELY: 

"Saffron is very beautiful, I'll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey."Alayne raised her head. "More beautiful than me?"

Ser Harrold studied her face. "You are comely enough, I grant you. When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

EXQUISITE:

"You do look quite exquisite, child," Lady Olenna Tyrell told Sansa when she tottered up to them in a cloth-of-gold gown that must have weighed more than she did. "The wind has been at your hair, though."

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

*-*

FAIR:

I must ask after Sansa. How else will I find her? She cleared her throat. "Goodwife," she said to the woman on the turnip cart, "perhaps you saw my sister on the road? A young maid, three-and-ten and fair of face, with blue eyes and auburn hair. She may be riding with a drunken knight."

A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

*-*

BEAUTY:

The girl was too young and too plain to be Sansa Stark, but she was of the right age to be the younger sister, and even Lady Catelyn had said that Arya lacked her sister's beauty.

A Feast for Crows - Brienne VII

*-*

Lord Littlefinger kissed her cheek. "With my wits and Cat's beauty, the world will be yours, sweetling. Now off to bed."

A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

*-*

"Had we known such beauty awaited us at the Gates, we would have flown," Ser Roland said. Though his words were addressed to Myranda Royce, he smiled at Alayne as he said them.

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

LOVELY:

Sansa Stark looked especially lovely this morning, though her face was as pale as milk.

A Clash of Kings - Tyrion VI

*-*

Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window. "You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

*-*

"Leave the colors to me, my lady. You will be pleased, I know you will. You shall have smallclothes and hose as well, kirtles and mantles and cloaks, and all else befitting a . . . a lovely young lady of noble birth."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

*-*

When the moonstones hung from Sansa's ears and about her neck, the queen nodded. "Yes. The gods have been kind to you, Sansa. You are a lovely girl. It seems almost obscene to squander such sweet innocence on that gargoyle."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

"My lady," Tyrion said, "you are lovely, make no mistake, but . . . I cannot do this. My father be damned. We will wait. The turn of a moon, a year, a season, however long it takes. Until you have come to know me better, and perhaps to trust me a little." His smile might have been meant to be reassuring, but without a nose it only made him look more grotesque and sinister.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Her maids were dressing her when Tyrion appeared, Podrick Payne in tow. "You look lovely, Sansa." He turned to his squire. "Pod, be so good as to pour me a cup of wine."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

*-*

And false. Sansa, Shae, all my women … Tysha was the only one who ever loved me. Where do whores go? "A lovely girl," said Tyrion, "and we were joined beneath the eyes of gods and men. It may be that she is lost to me, but until I know that for a certainty I must be true to her."

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion IX

*-*

"The Lord Protector's daughter," the bald knight announced, all hearty gallantry. He rose ponderously. "And full as lovely as the tales told of her, I see."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

PRETTY:

She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

"He's going to marry her," little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

"Lady," he said, tasting the name. He had never paid much attention to the names the children had picked, but looking at her now, he knew that Sansa had chosen well. She was the smallest of the litter, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting. She looked at him with bright golden eyes, and he ruffled her thick grey fur.

A Game of Thrones - Eddard III

*-*

A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

*-*

"I will sing it for you gladly."

Sandor Clegane snorted. "Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They're all liars here . . . and every one better than you."

A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

*-*

I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

*-*

"Leave her face," Joffrey commanded. "I like her pretty."

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

*-*

"Didn't you ever have a brother you wanted to kill?" He laughed again. "Or maybe a sister?" He must have seen something in her face then, for he leaned closer. "Sansa. That's it, isn't it? The wolf bitch wants to kill the pretty bird."

A Storm of Swords - Arya IX

*-*

Jaime found himself wondering if Brienne might have passed this way before him. If she thought that Sansa Stark had made for Riverrun . . . Had they encountered other travelers, he might have stopped to ask if any of them had chance to see a pretty maid with auburn hair, or a big ugly one with a face that would curdle milk. But there was no one on the roads but wolves, and their howling held no answers.

A Feast for Crows - Jaime III

*-*

Petyr put a finger under her chin. "That Royce glimpsed this pretty face I do not doubt, but it was one face in a thousand. A man fighting in a tourney has more to concern him than some child in the crowd. And at Winterfell, Sansa was a little girl with auburn hair. My daughter is a maiden tall and fair, and her hair is chestnut. Men see what they expect to see, Alayne."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

*-*

Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

She studied Alayne's face and chest. "You are prettier than me, but my breasts are larger.  

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

Sansa was the pretty one. He remembered a time when he had thought that Lord Eddard Stark might marry him to Sansa and claim him for a son, but that had only been a child's fancy.

A Dance with Dragons - Reek I

*-*

Petyr put his arm around her. "So he is, but he is Robert's heir as well. Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

BEAUTIFUL:

"Joffrey likes your sister," Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend. "He told her she was very beautiful."

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.  

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst.To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

*-*

"Sweet Sansa," Queen Cersei said, laying a soft hand on her wrist. "Such a beautiful child. I do hope you know how much Joffrey and I love you."  

A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

*-*

She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful.  

A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

*-*

His smile emboldened her, made her feel beautiful and strong. He does love me, he does.  

A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

*-*

"I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

*-*

His brow was damp with sweat. "I saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were."

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VI

*-*

"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft... the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper..."

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

*-*

As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy.  

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

*-*

Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. "Lady Sansa," he told her, "you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight."

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

*-*

"Ser Loras," she finally managed, "you..  you look so lovely."

He gave her a puzzled smile. "My lady is too kind. And beautiful besides. My sister awaits you eagerly."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

*-*

"At the Hand's tourney, don't you remember? You rode a white courser, and your armor was a hundred different kinds of flowers. You gave me a rose. A red rose. You threw white roses to the other girls that day." It made her flush to speak of it. "You said no victory was half as beautiful as me."

Ser Loras gave her a modest smile. "I spoke only a simple truth, that any man with eyes could see."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

*-*

She wanted to look beautiful for Willas Tyrell. Even if Dontos was right, and it is Winterfell he wants and not me, he still may come to love me for myself.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

*-*

"You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed.

"I am, aren't I?" Sansa giggled, and spun, her skirts swirling around her. "Oh, I am." She could not wait for Willas to see her like this. He will love me, he will, he must... he will forget Winterfell when he sees me, I'll see that he does.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Tyrion wore a doublet of black velvet covered with golden scrollwork, thigh-high boots that added three inches to his height, a chain of rubies and lions' heads. But the gash across his face was raw and red, and his nose was a hideous scab. "You are very beautiful, Sansa," he told her.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy. And then the dance brought her face-to-face with Joffrey.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Littlefinger pointed out a cedar chest under the porthole. "You'll find fresh garb within. Dresses, smallclothes, warm stockings, a cloak. Wool and linen only, I fear. Unworthy of a maid so beautiful, but they'll serve to keep you dry and clean until we can find you something finer."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

*-*

"Marillion?" she said, uncertain. "You are... kind to think of me, but.. pray forgive me. I am very tired."

"And very beautiful.

All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts. I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on her bed and put his hand on her leg. "Let me sing to you with my body instead."

She caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

*-*

"I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"But you're not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her."  

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"Have you no honor?" her aunt said sharply. "Or do you take me for a fool? You do, don't you? You take me for a fool. Yes, I see that now. I am not a fool. You think you can have any man you want because you're young and beautiful. Don't think I haven't seen the looks you give Marillion.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"And you must be the Lord Protector's daughter," she added, as the bucket went rattling back up to the Eyrie. "I had heard that you were beautiful. I see that it is true."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

"So you're brave as well as beautiful," Myranda said to her.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

"Aye," said the second knight, a burly fellow with a thick salt-and-pepper beard, a red nose bulbous with broken veins, and gnarled hands as large as hams. "You left out that part, m'lord."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

"I was never beautiful like Sansa, but they all said I was pretty. Does Lord Ramsay think I am pretty?"

A Dance with Dragons - The Prince of Winterfell

*-*

"It was sweet," lied Tyrion, "but I am married. She was with me at the feast, you may remember her. Lady Sansa."

"Was she your wife? She … she was very beautiful …"

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion IX

*-*

Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

"A beautiful bastard, and the Lord Protector's daughter." Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. "The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

[kyloren]

i was never really into the jonsa ship, but that post of yours has got me really interested... do you have any fave fics of them??

welp, we’re going old-school, lads. prepare for some of my favourite fandom throwbacks well, I failed at that, I put some of the newer things on the list, too

CANON-VERSE:

Now You See Me: Kissed by fire, Ygritte thought to herself, just like me. 

Goodbye Means Going Away (And Going Away Means Forgetting): Memory is unreliable. No one understands this better than Rickon Stark.

Take My Crown Away (Don’t Smile So Sweetly, My Love): A world where everything is easier. Except for those who love, and love too much.

Build a Ladder to the Stars: Jon abandons the Night’s Watch to join Robb’s cause. After rescuing Sansa from King’s Landing, he and Sansa find themselves in a relationship they never saw coming.

A Winter’s Tale: The War of Three Dragons comes to the Vale, bringing Jon Snow and Sansa Stark together once more.

The Winter of Our Discontent: In the end it is Jon and his men of the Night’s Watch who come to take her back to Winterfell.

tell me true (who are you): Ned Stark brought a dark-haired, grey-eyed bastard babe home and called him son. Years later, Jon Targaryen does the same.

Lift Me Like an Olive Branch and Be My Homeward Dove: She never dreams of Jon Snow but in the end he is the one that comes for her under a Targaryen banner, the might of Winterfell and the North behind him with their father’s sword on his back.

The Whispering Ghosts (Left You Out In The Cold): Winter came and brought Jon home. [this is the first Jonsa fic I ever read, boy, did it fuck me up]

A Bronze Crown: In the end there are no knights. In the end Sansa must rescue herself. Based on the prompt: he doesn’t ride to her rescue; she comes north with her granduncle and the armies of the Vale to wage war on the Boltons, save his life and teach his assassins and the Boltons a sharp lesson.

how ruthless are the gentle*: “Yes, I do.” The easiest lie he’s ever told, by far. It came so naturally, he hardly thought of it as false. “She’s easy to love.”

Tell the Ones That Need to Know (We Are Headed North)*: After years of confinement in the Red Keep with Ned prisoner in the black cells, the Dragon Queen comes. With the knowledge that Jon Snow is actually a Targaryen, she agrees to let the Starks return to Winterfell only if Jon marries one of the Stark daughters. Sansa volunteers so they can all go home. Soon she figures out being married to Jon isn’t bad, but it is complicated.

Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things*: We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark. 

Dragons of Red, Dragons of White*: An AU where the Battle of the Trident took place, but just between Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon. Their duel and its outcome have ramifications that none could foresee. In the world built afterwards, dragons once again rule and roam Westeros, among them the son of a northern beauty and the king. Prince Jon and his kin, Stark and Targaryen alike, face new challenges from both without and within. Whatever the future holds, the Seven Kingdoms will learn that, whether in a coat of red or a coat of white, a dragon still has claws.

A Knight’s Watch: Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths with characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places.

The Conquest*: Three hundred years after Aegon the Conqueror built a new empire on the ashes of the Valyrian Freehold the known world is a place of war. The Targaryen Empire is pressed by enemies, the Seven Kingdoms war amongst themselves and forces contrive to pull them all apart.

Live Without Shame: When Catelyn’s treatment of Winterfell’s Bastard unexpectedly softens, Sansa reconsiders her relationship with Jon. But despite the revelations that ensue, Jon must and will always remain Winterfell’s Bastard and suffer its consequences.

The Tempered Kingdoms*:  After years of wars, death, destruction, politics, and White Walkers, a tentative calm has returned to Westeros partially due to the rulership of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. But politics rues its head again as Stannis Baratheon demands his right to rule, while the former Queen Cersei languishes in a cell, plotting her revenge against all who live above her. Sansa Stark is forced to return to King’s Landing after being found by the rumored lovers Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth.

winterbloom: “You’ve traveled a long way for a rumor.” Sansa lives at the Wall under the protection of her brother Jon Snow, but when Sandor Clegane comes looking for her, she and Jon begin to realize that she is not as safe as they once hoped.

As History Changes: Jon agrees to accompany Stannis south to the Vale and he meets a person he did not expect to meet.

hold onto your heart (you’ll keep it safe): When Sansa turns eleven her wrist burns. She excitedly unwraps the cloth guarding her skin, waiting eagerly for the name to finish forming. The dark letters stop after only three and when Sansa leans in closer she realises that she knows that name and she knows that handwriting already.

carve your heart into mine: Sansa spent many evenings sewing her wedding dress by the fire, dreaming of her husband. The gown spilled out of her hands like a silver river, burning brighter from the light of the flames. She had embroidered it with a noble husband in mind, but she wed her lowborn love in the godswood, with snowflakes falling on her veil. 

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE:

Into the Darkness of the Grave: The tragic death of Eddard Stark’s cousin Lyanna brings her estranged son back to Winterfell House, the family’s old plantation home, for her funeral.

The Other Shoe: If anyone had told Sansa Stark that she would be married to Jon Snow, expecting a child with him at the age of nineteen she would have laughed at them. Not because Jon was a bad person, for he had slowly come out of his shell in the past seven years; not because she was young, her parents were married right out of Hogwarts; simply because Sansa Stark seemed to be the anthesis of a happy ending.

several sunlit days: Everyone knows you don’t date Robb Stark’s sisters unless you want to spend your days avoiding hexes and angry bludgers shot at your head. Too bad Jon’s traitorous feelings could care less.

the unexpected champion: Jon must swim to The Black Lake and retrieve something *cough* Sansa *cough* stolen from him. This task makes him realize who he should invite to the Yule Ball.

Where Did You Sleep Last Night: Sansa needs a new guitarist, Jon needs a new band, and the two of them definitely don’t need each other.

and labor till the work is done: Stark Industries is a family legacy she was hoping to avoid: Robb is a project manager, grooming to eventually be a partner, Arya is a summer intern with Bran sure to follow next year and Rickon in another three, and even Jon Snow, who is technically not family but who has been around for as long as Sansa can remember, works as an estimator. But Sansa is not who she was at sixteen or eighteen or even twenty and she’s still in the process of learning what’s truly important, like who she is, who she wants to be, and what kind of people she wants in her life.

One Of The Few Things: Jaime and Sansa spend a lot of time pining over Brienne and Jon together. Sometimes, they actually even do their jobs.

flower shaped heart*: Alayne Stone has lived her whole life in her hidden tower, forbidden by Mother to leave. But she yearns for an adventure like the ones in the songs, so when a man named Jon Snow crashes into her tower and into her life, she seizes the chance. They travel to King’s Landing where the floating lanterns shine each year on her nameday. The new world is exciting and frightening, but Jon Snow is there to guide her every step. He is not nearly as terrible as Mother said men are, though the rest of the world might be. Danger, betrayals, and lies form the steps of their journey as Alayne uncovers terrible secrets.

Crawl up to my Room: Jon left her side after a few moments of silence and she watched him leave with a quiet thought playing in her mind. He was her stepbrother for only a few hours, and she already found herself utterly fascinated and irritated with Jon Stark. 

in the summer, as the lilacs bloom: “You did tech in high school,” Sansa points out. (Yeah, I did tech because you were playing the lead and I was in love with you.) Jon doesn’t tell her that, though. Of course not. Instead he agrees to spend his summer stage managing this passion project of hers, and some trace of his seventeen-year-old self has dried out his throat at the thought of three months’ constant contact with Sansa.

Down from the Mountain: Sansa flies home from college after her older brother Robb, one of the country’s hottest young pitchers, is hurt in a car accident. Robb’s best friend Jon is there to help the Stark family in any way he can.

Little Bed in the Big Woods: “I stared at him for a solid five minutes because he looked like what I imagine god would look like if god was a lumberjack.”

A Game of Stars*: When the Mad Emperor hears that the Starks are Force-sensitive, he discovers the hidden rebel base on Hoth. He sends Jon there with one order: Burn them all. But bring the Stark children to Coruscant. It’s time for the two most powerful Force bloodlines in the galaxy to merge.

I’ll Pack My Goods for the Arkansas Woods*: When Sansa’s brother goes missing, it falls to her to defend the house and the woods against the greed of the Boltons and Freys. All of this would be much easier if she could fight fire with fire, and there’s a saying in the valley: that all the Starks are a little wild, and all the Targaryens are a little mad. Her cousin Jon just happens to be both.

In the Face of Death: On a long list of things Jon never expected, Sansa came top.

United States of Irreversible Oblivion: With the government losing its fight at the northern border, Sansa’s only hope is that one of its soldiers, Office Jon Snow, will return for her and save her from the horrors of a collapsing society.

remember me love when i’m reborn: ‘Longest Night’ has biggest night in hollywood history. “Joffrey wanted someone to make him famous, and as soon as Sansa wrote a movie for him that did just that, he left her in the dirt.”

Hear the Wolf*: The Starks are in Hogwarts. Sansa has to learn to stand up to her ex-boyfriend and Jon has to learn to face his past. They’re determined to do it alone. Will they ever admit they’re stronger together?

Somewhere in the Winter Woods*: Lost on her way to her grandmother’s cabin in the winter woods after running away from home, beautiful young Sansa thinks she’s run into trouble when she crosses a white wolf in the forest. Instead of harming her, the animal guides her to his master, a handsome warrior named Jon who lives in solitude and clothes himself in black.

* marks the ongoing stories. 

[ultrahpfan5blog]

My very belated thoughts on Game of Thrones and season 8 in particular

I feel like I have a somewhat unique perspective on GoT. The show has been such a pop culture phenomenon that I feel that fans have been invested in it for years, either having been book fans who watched the show, or those having watched the show for the better part of a decade. For me, I was never a part of the fandom because I never watched the show until it was in season 7. The books sound great but because I can’t stand reading incomplete series, I have never read them, and at this point, it just feels unlikely that GRRM will end up finishing the series. That sucks because its just the sort of fiction that I would love. I started watching GoT in season 7, and then in season 8. Obviously, I had very little clue what was going on other than the broad strokes and I was watching purely because the spectacle and scale was something I had never seen before on tv. On that front alone it was entertaining. Given the incredibly divisive reaction, I didn’t feel like spending the amount of hours required to watch the show from scratch, but because covid ended up impacting so many ongoing tv shows and movies, I ended up deciding to give it a go. I started a couple of months ago and just finished season 8 a couple of days ago. Its been quite an experience, belated as it may be.

I still feel that I view the show differently than a lot of people. Obviously, its a very different emotional commitment for me, having watched the show in 2 months whereas other have watched the show for about 10 years. Having not read the books, I don’t have the issue of comparing the quality of the books to the show. And given I saw season 8, I watched the show with the ending in mind, so I could understand if the ending made sense to me or not.

On the whole, the show is worth a lot of applause. The production, acting, music, writing, visuals etc... is something I have never seen on tv. Juggling such a huge cast of characters with so many ongoing storylines is an incredible achievement. Say what you will about season 8′s writing, but from a production, scale, and performance standpoint, the show remained stellar all the way through. And for that, I do think D&D deserve credit. I know that is an unpopular thing to say but they still have created something that is truly one of a kind. The show is definitely not perfect, even before season 8. There are storylines that drag, storylines that aren’t given the time they deserve, character developments that don’t completely work etc... but I feel that is part and parcel of every long running show. There are very few that are perfect, and for the sheer complexity of the narrative, its amazing that the show isn’t more convoluted. I do agree that the final 2 seasons are the weakest seasons of the lot. I still think season 7 is very good, and the first half of season 8 I also like a lot, but seasons 1-6 are superb. Its difficult for me the select my favorite season. I suppose season 4 is probably at the top. Its kind of the end of the era season, with the death of Joffrey, Tyrion’s trial, then him leaving Westoros. Arya and Sandor’s time together coming to an end with her traveling to Braavos, death of Tywin, and Jon rising in the ranks of the Nights Watch and becoming a more prominent character in the show. I love seasons 5-6 because of the rise of Jon. Season 2 arc of Tyrion as hand of the King was also excellent. My favorite episodes all come from these seasons. I love the battle episodes, with Blackwater, Hardhome, and Battle of the Bastards being 3 of my favorite eps. The Laws of Gods and Men is another episode I love just for the climax where Peter Dinklage just tears into the scene with his full might. I also loved Pedro Pascal as Oberyn in season 4. He added a unique quality and I was sad to see him not last past season 4. There were a few storylines that I wasn’t completely fond of. The early years of Daenerys weren’t the most compelling, Arya in Braavos was just too slow for my taste, the Littlefinger and Sansa storyline in season 4 also felt like they were treading water and then they backtrack on Sansa’s development in season 5. Also, Staanis was someone who went a little too batshit crazy in his lust for power. Felt a little out of character.

Now, when it comes to season 8, There are a lot of complaints about a lot of things. I will say that the main issue with season 8 is that it crams what should be 2 seasons of storylines and crams it into a single 6 episode season. I think virtually every complaint can be traced back to that. I actually really like episodes 1 and 2. Especially episode 2. Brienne’s knighting is actually very touching. Its great to see characters reuniting and characters meeting for the first time. I know lots of people complained about episode 3 and while its not as good as the other 3 battle episodes that I mentioned before, I still think its excellent. I did not have the lighting problem that others had. I watched it on my laptop and I could see everything. The episode is titled ‘The Long Night’ so I expected things to be dark, but it isn’t as if I had trouble seeing what happened. The episode is incredibly intense and while its a bit difficult o figure out how so many survived and there are some questionable tactics for sure, its still quite a spectacular spectacle. My only issue with the episode is really all Jon related, which I will get back to in a bit. 

I know that Daenerys turning into the mad queen is a huge point of contention for the season. While I absolutely agree that that character arc went from 0 to a 100 way too fast, I don’t think it was completely out of the blue. Knowing the ending, I kept an eye on Daenerys, and I think there are a lot of instances where her first instinct to fixing problems has been to unleash her dragons. She has had characters around her like Selmy, Jorah, later Tyrion, even Daario, who have tempered that instinct somewhat. But that is still a natural instinct for her. Not to mention, in Essos, she was dealing with a fairly black and white issue when it comes to slavery. And she mistakenly thought, her experiences in Essos would translate to Westoros. She came with the idea that the common people would support her without fully processing the idea that she was bringing foreign armies into their land and three dragons, which had not been seen by people for generations. So they had legitimate reasons for fear. So it wasn’t completely out of the blue that she unraveled when confronted with the revelations that she was feared more than she was loved and that she did not have the sort of universal support she thought she would have. Obviously, that was compounded by the losses that she tacked up one after another. Definitely, one more season was required to make that a satisfactory arc, but I don’t think it was completely random. And honestly, once she did what she did in episode 5, she was never going to survive the show. I will say this, Emilia Clarke was outstanding in season 8. She was never the cast member who stood out in seasons past, but season 8 was really her season. While the character development was rushed, she sold every scene and earned her lead actress emmy nomination.

There are some endings which people hated which I understood. Like Jaime’s ending, which people were pretty pissed about, is an ending I quite get. As much as we love the story of redemption, the Cersei and Jaime bond was just too deep and toxic for him to so easily extricate himself. I get why he would be drawn back to her when he knew she was in danger. I think Lena and Nikolaj really sold their final scenes together. I felt for Lena as an actress. As a result of the short season, she really didn’t get much to do all season. Her death scene is really the only time she gets material to chew on. So that was a pity. I think Brienne and Sandor Clegane were two characters for whom their endings were perfect. Brienne becoming a knight of the six kingdoms and Clegane finally getting revenge on his brother was extremely satisfying. Theon’s ending was pretty much perfect. Sansa becoming queen in the North makes sense. The show seemed to be building towards it. Sophie Tuner gets some good material in the final season where you can see that there is a lot happening in her head and not all of it is altruistic. She does have a power hungry side to her, even if she’s not self destructively so. Maisie Williams was strong again. I wasn’t a huge fan of her getting to kill the Night King over Jon but there lots of good moments she has with Jon, Sandor, Gendry, Sansa etc... Bran becoming King of the six Kingdoms is definitely not the greatest ending. I don’t know whose decision it was to turn Bran into a robot and have him do nothing other than sit and stare, but it definitely wasn’t the greatest. I can’t imagine it was a particularly satisfying experience as an actor for Isaac. I did enjoy a couple of moments with him and Jaime, harking back to season 1.

The two other major characters are Tyrion and Jon. Certainly the finale is very heavily centered on those two. I do agree with the notion that they really dumbed down on Tyrion’s intelligence as he makes a lot of wrong moves in the last couple of seasons. But Peter Dinklage the actor has never disappointed. His performance in the finale ranks as one of his finest on the show. There has never been a time when he has not given his all. Him ending up as the hand is pretty effective ending. He is a humbled man, admitting that he’s not as smart as he thought he was. So maybe he would be a better hand as a result of that experience. Jon’s ending is another controversial one. I am in the audience who really wasn’t a fan of how Jon was treated in season 8. Kit Harington was quite poorly served in season 8, which was a bit of a whiplash since Jon was arguably at his most badass in season 5-7 and became a huge a fan favorite. Certainly he took over from Dinklage as the de facto male lead of the show. The character only comes back to life at the very end of episode 5. Part of that is probably the point. That Jon became too bent to Daenerys’ will, as Varys said.to Tyrion. It took Daenerys burning down King’s Landing to wake him up. I get that from a narrative standpoint, buts its dissatisfying from a character perspective when its the final season. Certainly I found it very strange how little role he played in The Long Night, given the White Walker storyline was Jon’s primary storyline on the show. Put aside killing the Night King, a showdown which was promised on the show, he didn’t even do much else in the episode. At the very least he should have gotten to destroy the undead Viserion. The memes about his dialogue in the season aren’t unfounded. But, I will say that Kit Harington is fantastic in the series finale. He arguable has the centerpoint scenes of the finale, the two scenes with Tyrion, and then the scene with Danaerys where he is literally begging her to give him a reason not to kill her and she keeps saying the wrong thing. Certainly Peter and Kit end the season on a high note. Him ending up with the Wildlings seems appropriate because Jon never seemed cut out to be King, nor did he ever want that responsibility. He probably would have been better than Bran, but its a decent enough ending for him. In the end, the way the show ends I was mostly ok with, but the path to getting there should have come with one extra season at least.

In the end, the production and the acting will always be something I will remember. I didn’t even mention great performances from Sean Bean, Charles Dance, Alfie Allen, Stephen Dillane, Conleth Hill, Aiden Gillen, Diana Rigg, Jerome Flynn, Liam Cunningham among many others over the years. So even though I do have issues with the final season, I feel that the good far outweighs the bad when it comes to the show. Its not a show I foresee rewatching any time soon since its one of those shows that requires some digestion and a lot of hours, but I certainly don’t regret the time I gave to it.

[stellarbit]

What Winter Brings

Hello there. It’s been awhile. I’ve stewed over this for years. It’s not the finale I promised. I feel I couldn’t end it with just one more. Thank you to anyone still reading. Sorry for all the pushed back promises of finishing! Enjoy and truly let me know what you think!

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Marbled and frozen a foot below her, the black pool peered back at Sterren. Mocking her. She hadn’t seen a proper reflection of herself since the day she was drug from the pool’s summer waters. Now her contorted reflection watched her, head tilted, with almost pity.

An ungloved finger traced the wrinkles worn into her reflection’s brow. How many years, true years, had passed her by now? A crack in the ice curved across her cheek. A perfect match to the scar settled into her flesh.

A tight, angry little voice whispered to her. She leaned forward. It taunted her.

“Jon’s back.”

Sterren peeled away from the black pool. It wasn’t the voice she sought. It was Arya.

She tried long ago to preserve her few surviving nerves when Arya snuck up on her. Sterren stood and brushed the snow from her skirts. “If that’s the case, why aren’t you in the courtyard awaiting your brother.” 

The young wolf thinned her lips. “I will greet him and his queen on my own.”

Sterren turned her head in the direction of distant marching, softly sifting through the thin winter air. Jon would be arriving any moment and Sterren didn’t have time to lecture Arya on manners. “I need to find Sansa and Bran. Be mindful of standing together.” Sterren gripped her ward’s shoulder hard. “The pack, Arya.” Her hand smoothed over Arya’s cheek, a quick gesture, before leaving Arya alone with the godswood tree.

Snow piled over the grounds now. Drifts six feet tall pushed against the castle walls. Stood in the cleared out courtward, where their father had greeted a different royal a lifetime ago, were the remaining Stark children. Sterren took her place behind Sansa.

“It’ll be good to have Jon back.” Sterren hoped her words would sooth the Lady of Winterfell.

Sansa rolled her shoulders, a breath rattling from her. “I wonder if Father felt this way.

“If he was smart he did.”

Her redhead dipped, “He was.” Sansa reached a gloved hand back. As she’d grown, Sansa took to small gestures in place of words. Stand with me, please.

The older Stark sister didn’t ask where Arya was- another thing they’d both learned it was worthless to ask. Even if she wanted to, the main gates began scraping open before anymore could be exchanged.

Months passed, at a glacial pace, since they both last saw Jon. In a blistery instant, those months were gone as he strode through the front gates home. His eyes were wide and wild as he scanned his family. His family that, now, was more whole than when he left it.

Sterren faded away from the Stark children. This was a moment for them and them alone.

Instead she wandered around the crowd. So many new faces, some she’d seen before. One she was avoiding.

A nostalgic shadow smeared across her face as she set her eyes upon the Lannister Imp stepping out of a carriage. Shoulders back, Sterren dodged a few bystanders to find the small man.

“Lord Tyrion.”

His back was to her, talking to a bald headed man, and with a half glance Tyrion doubled back, looking the No-Born twice over.

“Lady Sterren.”

Sterren bowed her head slightly. In the past she would have made sure to curtsy in a proper fashion. But that was the past. “I believe we agreed that title was not appropriate.”

His look was all wrong. More tight, less sure. Confidence eroded by whatever the years had passed onto him. “Apologies. However, I believe my lordship is just as invalid now.” Tyrion raised his eyebrows, widely gesturing beside him. “This is the advisor to Queen Danarys and my traveling companion, Lord Varys.”

The plump man bowed deep, an arm slinking from his sleeves to take her hand for a kiss. It was possible their paths once crossed in King’s Landing. If that was so, time had hidden him behind her skirts. She conceded a half curtsy, before forgetting her manners.

“What other traveling companions have you returned with, my lords?” Her smile was as poorly made as her thin attempt of veiling her true intentions. Changed might he be, but Tyrion always filed away sensitive information.

Tyrion’s eyes flicked to Varys then elsewhere, Sterren following his gaze. As expected, dismounting from her mountainous horse clambered Brienne of Tarth. An ogre whose months of absence Sterren everyday prayed be made permanent.

Years she suffered with Brienne by the Stark sisters’ sides. Even Arya somehow looked up to the ugly beast. A sickening coil pooled in Sterren’s stomach, reminding her of what little she could do. Not a single item was left intact the night it dawned on Sterren that that creature won the trust of the Starks. By morning Sterren lay in feathers, broken candles, and what could only be guessed were shreds of scrolls. 

Sterren could do nothing now. Not with the Starks holding her in such reverence. She could do nothing but pray for the whitewalkers to-

“Sterren.”

The coil in her stomach retracted, its oily tendrils slinking away from her narrowed vision. She slowly returned her attention to the short man in front of her. 

His thinned lips tightened into a smile. “I’ve spoken with Podrick about his travels. About his meeting you.”

No trace of her feigned smile remained. What lay so softly in his voice was the twin of what the Starks saw in the ogress. Trust.

Tyrion’s stumpy fingers rubbed together. “ am sorry for what happened, truly I am. With the state of things now, I do think there might be-”

White hot, reactive hatred singed the skin of Sterren’s face. Disbelief blew the air from her. This man, well aware of the suffering she endured since their last meeting, meant to belittle her feelings.

Her words boiled out without stop.

“Your whore lover betrayed you.” Tyrion stopped, wide eyed at what he’d heard. “Would you like to hear excuses for why that pain is meaningless?”

Tyrion shook his head, palms splaying out before him. “If that’s what you think-”

Lord Varys stepped forward. “My lady, so much time has gone by.” Fat wrinkles formed between his brow. “And I do believe you suffered so greatly at the hand of Lady Brienne.”

His voice was so swaying. He spoke with empathy, concern. It didn’t make Sterren feel any better.

“However, what I believe our friend is trying to say, is that what you know to be the truth” Pity pulled his head to the side, “Is simply not.”

The leather of Sterren’s glove tightened over her knuckles. They may not have been standing in King’s Landing, but the twists and curves of his conversation sounded very much like they were. Her mouth opened, finally ready to unleash all she could not say to Arya or Sansa.

“Sandor Clegane is not dead.” Varys looked upon the No-Born with something. Relief for bearing good news yet something else. Perhaps compassion for her years spent dutifully standing ground that was now not even solid.

The world tilted for a moment. The tension built within her, paused, momentarily even releasing. A cold wind breathed between them, so light and yet it threatened to take her down. “You’re a liar.”

“It’s the truth.” Tyrion hesitated to meet her eyes. Dread heaved a sigh from him, not wanting to be the one to tell her. “Jon found him traveling with The Brotherhood. He’s been traveling with us since.”

Lies.

Truth.

Lies.

Truth.

Nausea kicked her in the gut. Surely, she should be elated. 

What did they have to gain from lying about this? Who would know to tell her this before? Surely she spoke no word of it to anyone. Only Arya ever once hinted at the idea of her love for The Hound.

Her throat swallowed itself whole. She couldn’t speak.

An instinct gripped her, the only one that had been whispering into her ear for years.. Sterren searched for Brienne. The large woman stood passing her horse off to a stable boy only 30 meters away. The pit Sterren spent years burrowing inside herself, filling it with rage and hate, devoured itself whole.

Then burst into flames. 

She couldn’t feel winter scraping her face nor could she feel her feet, barely touching the ground, as they carried her across the courtyard. No words could come out, no voice of reason coming to fight. Sterren passed a young soldier and, without him noticing, snatched a dagger from his hip. 

The knife turned forward, Sterren quickened her pace, Brienne couldn’t turn around. There was only this chance.

Only ten paces from her and Brienne was turning away from the stable boy. 

Sterren lurched forward- she only had this chance-

All those years of waiting. Years of suffering in silence. For the revenge she wished for. The revenge she’d sworn upon. Yet a stone’s throw away and Sterren’s feet filled with lead.

The dagger dropped to the ground. The sound of metal slipping into the snow, pricked Brienne’s interest. She managed a glance at the snow behind Sterren, the dagger’s hilt fashioned towards the sky. She stared at the dagger for sometime before fully turning towards Sterren.

No shock settled across Brienne’s features. The years Sterren spent waiting, so too had Brienne. Waiting for the day Sterren took her chance. Still, Brienne looked over the little scar she herself had drawn across Sterren’s face. Every day she saw it, Brienne was reminded of what Sterren felt for her and the vow she’d made against her life.

For the first time since that day on the mountain, Sterren was watching her with no rage. No contempt. Not even forgiveness. Nothing.

One could be forgiven for thinking winter itself had taken up residence in her eyes.

She must know.

A constant flurry of people moved around them. One brushing past Sterren barely brushed her and the No-Born lost her footing. “Sterren-” Brienne stepped to catch her but Sterren was lost.

Her eyes were trained on Brienne, wide now. She did feel something.

Two massive hands held up Sterren’s body. Brienne nodded her head, not to Sterren, and retreated off somewhere.

She stayed like that for a time. Slumped into the hold. Hoping the Starks sleeping beneath her would rise up and swallow her whole.

The two hands shirked her up, a bit roughly. They withdrew from under her, leaving a bitterly cold spot where their warmth had been. 

Still she did not move. Shoulders pinched together, she could barely force herself to breathe.

Years of sorrow. Despair drowning her month after month until she learned to breath under its icy waves. 

All for nothing.

Her shoulders slumped and she faced the man behind her.

The crowd split without thought for the pair. Most the hulking man and his patient steed.  A massive sword at his side to match his impressive height, he towered over all. His eyes didn’t waste energy on the people scurrying out of his way. Two hazel spots trained on her. The years that passed Sterren all but stole their memory from her. She hated the realization.

His beard was thick, wrapping over his face to meet his hair. Even with all that dark, oily hair, the deep, thick scarring burned into his face could not be hidden. Anyone with the gift of sight recognized who was making his way to her. It was The Hound.

It was Sandor Clegane. Very much alive.

[dwellordream]

What changes if each book (apart from dance with dragons which is haooeninf at the same time as feast of crows) was a year long? So sansa would be 11-12 at agot and then be 15 at the end of Dance with dragons and start of TWOW? With Dany, Tommen, and Margery? Suppose it doesn’t change much for Robb going from 15 in late agot to 17 when he dies. Jon having more time in castle black and amongst the wildlings. Sandor more time with Arya- how do you 5ink that changes them?

I think first we need to be very clear on the length of time each book actually covers in canon. The most accurate estimate would probably be from the fanmade ASOIAF timeline google spreadsheet.

First off the events of the prologue actually occur about a year before the start of most of AGoT, in around early June of 297 AC. Several months later Dany meets Drogo in Pentos, around late October of 297 AC. She married him around late December of 297 AC.

Jon Arryn then dies around late February 298 AC, the direwolves are found like a week later in early March 298 AC, and the news that Jon Arryn has died arrives at Winterfell that same day.

The events of AGoT then last throughout the year of 298 AC. The last chapters of the book take place in January of 299 AC. Ned is executed in mid January and Robb is declared King barely a week later. Dany’s dragons hatch towards end of January and Jon tries to abandon the Night’s Watch but is brought back by his friends around the same time.

So AGoT does actually take place more or less over the span of one year.

Moving onto ACoK, it begins in mid January 299 AC, doubling back in time for a brief period before it catches back up. Arya is on the road leaving King’s Landing at this point (Arya I of ACoK actually comes chronologically before the Cressen prologue by like two weeks).

Anyways from that point ACoK carries us through most of 299 AC, ending around early October with the burning of Winterfell and Tyrion recuperating from the Blackwater.

We then double back again for the start of ASoS, which officially begins in early November of 299 AC with the Chett prologue, but the doubles back again, with Dany reaching Astapor and Arya escaping Harrenhal in early October of 299 AC, and Catelyn releasing Jaime in mid September. Robb marries Jeyne in late September. Etc.

ASoS then carries us through the end of 299 AC with a slower pace than the previous two books. The final chapters of ASoS take place in early to mid February of 300 AC. Petyr murders Lysa in early February, Jon is elected Lord Commander, Tyrion escapes, Arya sets sail for Braavos all around the same time.

Again more doubling back as FeastDance begins, and I’m not going to get into FeastDance too much, but it ends around mid to late August of 300 AC with Jon’s assassination.

In order for the series to break down into each book covering the length of exactly one year, you’d have to have AGoT start in early 298 Ac, end in early 299 AC (which it basically does), ACoK start in early 299 AC, end in early 300 AC (it very much does not, it basically ends in October of 299 AC), ASoS start in early 300 AC, end in early 301 AC, and FeastDance start in early 301 AC, end in 302 AC.

Which would make basically everyone two years older at the end of Dance, with the series so far covering four years rather than two.

In order for this to work, you’d need to stretch out ACoK so that it ends with both the Red Wedding and the Purple Wedding, presumably on a cliffhanger with Tyrion imprisoned, Sansa’s whereabouts unknown, Arya still with Sandor, Dany just having been informed of Hazzea’s death via Drogon, Stannis having just defeated Mance, etc. This would massively bloat ACoK to an overwhelming degree.

You’d then have to make ASoS cover everything so far in canon after that, which again would make for a huge book, as we haven’t even reached the end of 300 AC in released canon material yet.

Honestly while it might lead to some characters maturing rapidly or just seeing more age in general, I don’t think it would be worth it given how it would nuke the pacing.

Edit to add: the only way to combat the pacing clusterfuck would be to start stretching events out with more time in between battles and travel and whatnot, but that creates it’s own issues where GRRM clearly needs some things to happen more or less simultaneously.