#sansa is steel answered asks

[dipperscavern]

more thoughts about this.. a sinister grin has appeared on my face

you honestly don’t remember what it was about. something along the lines of the lannisters taking you by surprise during the night, or sending you sansa’s head in the morning. either way, whatever it was had you shooting up, a hand on your chest as you’re pulled from a dead sleep. fear engulfs you, tendrils crawling up your spine, suffocating as they enclose around your neck.

the room was dark, candles having been put out long ago when you both retired for the night, bodies desperate for sleep. it’s ironic now, you insisted on putting the candles out, saying something about how you’d both sleep better in the dark. and in this moment, you wish more than anything that they were here, illuminating the tent with a yellow-tinted glow. your mind is hazy with fear, as your instincts scream at you to get some light on — a primal urge to need to see your surroundings in case you weren’t really safe. the rational part of your mind that’s just waking up tells you there’s no need. you’re with robb, he’s right next to you. he’d kill for you- die for you. you’re safe.

it’s like he can hear your thoughts. a hand reaches out for you, bringing you out of your head as you look in its direction, forgetting you won’t be able to see its owner. his hand is blindly looking for you, a half-asleep robb doing his best to assess the disruption of your sleep. you swallow, moving to wrap your hand around his. his touch anchors you, your mind focusing on the warmth emanating from him, instead of the nightmare that had you awake in the first place.

“y’okay?”

his voice breaks through the thick atmosphere, slicing its way through the small bubble you’ve built around yourself. part of you wants to tell him the truth, that no, you’re not okay. there’s surprise armies & headless men haunting your dreams, and you need him to be a big bad wolf and chase them off for you. but the other part of you knows he’d stay up as long as it took to make you feel better, and he gets so little sleep as is. it takes a lot to drag him from his work, and actually have him sleep a whole night through- without waking up in the middle of it to fuss over his war maps. the rational side of you reminds you of his devotion, and how he’d never mind helping you — which is true, he wouldn’t, but rationalism doesn’t win this time.

“yes- yes, m’fine, go back to sleep.”

“you’re a bad liar.”

you dread him not believing you, but a small, guilty part of you is glad he doesn’t, that he knows you so well. that he knows your hurried tone, your irregular pattern of breathing means you are definitely not fine.

what would have made you roll your eyes any other time, has you huffing out a breath of laughter as he sits up. the hand of his you aren’t holding comes to soothingly rub up & down your back, mimicking when you & catelyn would do the same to comfort him.

“c’mon, talk to me pretty. what’s got you up, hm?”

his gentle coaxing does wonders to break your resolve, cutting through your “will of steel” like butter. you sigh.

“no- robb, it’s silly.”

“thats not what i asked,” his tone grows firm, authority dripping from his voice, “whats botherin’ you?”

“jus’ a nightmare.”

your voice is quiet, borderline guilty. you & robb are at war- you’ve killed people with zero hesitation, stood up to men twice your size, and a nightmare is your kryptonite? it makes you feel silly, and you don’t want to bother robb with it, he should be able to rely on his lady.

“they took us by surprise. while we slept.”

robb is quick to reassure you. “anyone that wants to get to you has to get past me.”

you hum in agreement, body relaxing at his words. you already knew this, but hearing him say it made you believe it. you take comfort in knowing greywind is laid asleep by the door- you sleep guarded by not one, but two wolves.

“how can i fix it?”

the silence is palpable as you search for an answer, mind mulling over all the solutions you could think of, trying to pick the one that would settle you most. you find one soon enough, hoping your request isn’t too much to ask.

“make me forget? please?”

robb murmurs agreement, and even with darkness coating the room- you can hear his smile. it’s no secret that robb desires you. every hour of every day he thinks about you, & his favorite thing to do is fix your problems. what better thing is there than doing both at the same time? and plus, you asked so nicely…

so he makes you forget. his lips trail all over your body, licking & sucking at any skin they can reach, making your brain mushy with his touch. he slides his fingers into the warm, wet place between your thighs, making you gush all over his hand to prep you to take his cock. all the while, he praises you, reassurance falling from his lips while he lines his cock with your entrance, making you squirm from the sensitivity.

“robb-“

“shh- i know, pretty. s’okay, i’ve got you. i’ve got you.”

& afterwards, when you’ve cum twice and lay spent in robb’s arms, sleep pulling you closer — you secretly thank the gods. you thank them for nightmares & wolves.

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

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

Cw for chapter- 18+ words and themes overall, cussing, graphic deptiction of killing, mention of death, mention of sandors death, Family reunion, joss and Podrick being little gay cutie pies, y/n being a gay ally (HAPPY PRIDE MONTH)

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links at the beginning of the book since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you I’ll get to fixing them. I will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

Previous chapter here

CHAPTER 23

A blood curdling scream can be heard from sandors plot in the forest as he chops up bits of wood. The scream comes from the same pathway he just headed through. 

“Shit.” he huffs before running  as fast as he can back to the village. The sight is gruesome, as the premade homes are engulfed in flames and some even already burnt out. The bodies amongst the mud, horse slaughtered and food supply turned over. But the sight that holds Sandor in his clutches is brother Ray, hanging from the structure that was supposed to be the church once finished. His skin purplish gray his black dark red his eyes bulging. 

Sandor grumbles looking around at everyone dead on the ground before he sees the horse hoof markings that lead into the side path of the forest. With an anger filled rage he picks up the ax he’d dropped and speeds after the men that did this. The only thought was to get back at them and do much worse than what they did. 

It's not long before Sandor comes up to them, easily hacking one down. The man's head rolling in the leaves and mud going to the next cutting his chest open as he swings the ax. He ducks and takes the third swinging the ax up as it slices into the man's crotch pushing up before Sandor pulls it out and back. The man falls to his knees begging for mercy. 

“Where the fuck is the other one? The one with the yellow cloak?” Sandor asks, holding the ax to his neck. 

“FUCK YOU!” the man yells. Sandor angrily grunts before taking the man's head off.

—-----

You watch as Sansa plays with your son. She holds him in her lap and makes babbling noises with silly expressions. It's been six months since everything and you and your others have become virtually one with a cold. Being able to stay out longer, your fingertips and ear no longer freezing on impact. 

This winter will be long and hard and with all the preparations for fighting the night king and asking the dragon queen for her help it is too much for some to handle. Sana has unfortunately left most of the work to you so she can spend time with you son although joss takes him away from her to bring him back to his rightful mother she will always whine a bit before understanding. 

The sound of metal clinking horse hooves pounding and people chatting is a lively sound you could only hear outside the gates of king's landing, as people work on sorting supplies and gathering for the possible fight to occur. 

“How much food does winterfell have?” you ask the head supplier. 

“Enough for a year your grace, with the wool, and steel there should be enough possibly over than that.. A-at least for those who are in the castle now” he says 

“Hmm. you're telling me there isn't enough food, especially not when the armies from the dragon queen will be brought back to winterfell.” you say as you begin your walk down the steps to your son who begins to fuss in Sansa’s arms. 

“N-no my lady.” he answers “Most likely not.” he ends 

“I’ll have my share of militia head out in a cart to bring back more supplies as we cannot have the other guests starve now can we.” you say he shakes his head. 

“Come here. I've got you” you say picking up your son from her arms holding him close to you fixing his furs so he's warm against you. He snuggles into your chest holding onto you before popping his thumb in his mouth. 

“The little prince is growing fast, your grace.” lord baelish says as he approaches. 

“Thank you.” You reluctantly want nothing more to do with him as you find him to be a weasel that could manipulate those for his pleasure. 

“M-my lady!” joss comes running up to you and sansa taking a few puffs of breath before standing straight and speaking. 

“Y-your sister has arrived..lady arya..st-stark.” he huffs which makes you giggle a bit at how out of breath he is.

“Where..” Sansa says standing up. 

“I dont i want to come and get you but when I turned around she was gone and said s-somthing about your mother and father and v-visiting them.” he sighs nodding. 

“Come with me.” sansa sansa says taking your hand leading you to the entrance of the castle. Joss follows. She leads you to the entrance of the catacombs where all the Stark family are buried. You've visited as Sansa has an honorary burriel for Sandor down there despite not being a member of the family. 

He basically pulls you anxious to see her sister. But she soon lets up as she sees Arya standing there looking up at Sandors statue. Sansa looks at her for a few seconds before ayra takes notice and smiles a bit. 

“Do i have to call you lady stark now? I never really wanted to.” she says. Sansa smiles and hurries to her sister giving her a much deserved hug. The hug is broken by your son's babbling. 

“Your grace.” ayra says giving you a small bow. 

“No need for formality.” you say walking twords them both joss following behind you. 

She gives you a hug as well. Even though you've spent the least amount of time together she still feels ecstatic you have you around. 

“Whos this?” she asks about the child in your arms. 

“This is Joss Dortain Clegane.” you say turning him slightly to face her. She holds her hand out and extends a finger he grips it and begins to bring it to his mouth. 

“oh..no no.” you both laugh as she pulls her hand away. 

“The little prince.” she smiles. You nod. 

“His last name, clegane. Like Sandor or Gregor clegane?” she asks. You take a breath before nodding. Your eyes divert to the statue they all stand under. 

“His father, sandor. Brienne told me what she did, fought him for you, she pushed him.” you say looking up at the stone carving still. 

“If it's any consolation, he fought hard, like...extremely hard. I've never had someone fight that hard for my protection, ransom or not.” she says. You look at her and nod.

“Thank you. For keeping him company. I know he's not the best to hang about with but-” you begin. 

“He was fun. He talked about you. Last he mentioned you was of your pregnancy, he hated traveling in the opposite direction made him ancy, angry, he would always mutter thing about volantis. I asked him if he loved you, and he said yes with no hesitation, then I teased him that he was technically a prince." Arya laughs, making you laugh as well. 

“I remember on our wedding night I said the same thing to him; he didn't like it.” you say

“He didn't like it when I mentioned it...from my time with him. He adored you; he killed a man for speaking ill of your likeness. He really did love you.” she says a twinge in your heart forces a lump to hit your throat that your force back down. You nod in compliance for fear if you speak you'll start crying. 

“You must be hungry, I'll have the cook prepare you a proper meal.” Sansa breaks the sadness before you all gather and exit the crypts. 

—-----

Podrick and Brienne spar. They play swords clinging against each other as he's gotten…somewhat better at his sword play. He lunges forward at Brienne allowing her to kick his ankle tripping him into the mudded ground and walks around him smacking his butt with the side of the sword. 

“Don't lunge.'' She sighs, turning around as Podrick bets up and grabs the sword he drops before raging at her and begging again. But as per the round he makes a wrong move and she rides him backwards. Granted she did it on purpose. 

“Don't go where your enemy leads you.” she says walking around him chuckling at his failure. 

He gets up once again wiping the mud from his cheek about to go to attack once more but is stopped by familiar words. 

“Don't fight someone like her in the first place, it’ll get you nowhere.” joss speaks his hands behind his back as he walks up the two dueling. 

“Joss.” Brienne. 

“My lady.” he replies, bowing a bit before holding out his hand for the sword. 

“Be my guest.” she chuckles. Handing it to him before nodding to podrick and walking off the inside to get a drink. 

“You have to keep your knees bent, your eyes at half looks, and your free arm tucked for fear you might get cut off if you are not careful.” joss says podrick scoffs and rolls his eyes before taking his stance brienne taught him. 

“When did you learn so much about the sword?” podrick asks. 

“Unlike you who knows of fine things, I was a king's guard squire fighting in the description.” 

Joss huffs in a laugh at the way he stands. But nonetheless begin the fight. Easily joss maneuvered the sword around as podrick is slightly confused as he follows the sword with his eyes. This leads to joss bopping him on the backside like brienne. 

“Eyes at half look doesn't mean follow the entire sword, you have to watch your opponents moves as well, predict them.” joss replies. Podrick nods before they both begin again, sparing this time it lasts a bit longer than a few seconds. But ultimately a hit on the ass is what seals the deal. 

“That was good. Could be better,” joss says, running his fingers through his own hair pushing it back and out of his face. To their surprise they last much longer now join for a minute or two and podrick even takes down his first opponent leaving him to straddle joss with the sword held to his neck. Joss chuckles, smiling at podrick both proud and enthralled. 

Joss pushes Podrick off of him and switches positions holding his dagger to his other neck before leaning close to him. 

“Don't let your guard down..no matter who you're fighting.” joss speaks. Podrick chuckles back before the space between them closes, their lips connecting. It consumes the moment for a brief time only for joss’s name to be put to air as you call him. 

He pulls off his partner and stands up looking toward the sound to see you at the side. A smirk on your face. 

“The others need your help in unloading the carts. You can speak to your boyfriend later tonight.” you say looking down to podrick who quickly gets up and bows to you. 

“Yes, your grace.” joss says, sheathing his dagger before handing the sword back to podrick their fingers brushing against each other before the other man hurries off the the carts you turn to podrick, 

“This is for you. John has requested your presence at castle black he needs you to meet him by the shore of the wall.” you say handing him a raven scroll. 

John was supposed to be back only a few weeks after the last scroll he sent about getting Daenerys' approval. But under certain circumstances he had to stay and collect the resources before returning which has taken longer than expected. Podrick nods. You turn to follow joss to oversee the cart supplies but you stop and turn back to podrick. 

“Please, come back alive, you're good to joss, he needs you.” you smile at him before turning around and going to the carts. 

Next Chapter here

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[throwawayasoiafaccount]

Lyanna was not condemned, Rhaegar was the one who condemned her to death and left her son an orphan. I am not a fan of Sansa, in fact I hate her, but just as Joffrey is the villain of Sansa's story, Rhaegar is Lyanna's villain. Deep down, I feel that the only parallel is that both were left at the mercy of the people who killed their family. If that is so, it is very sad because both were victims of their horrible injustices.

hey anon,

i know what post you came from, but first i want to make something clear: that post of mine wasn’t some deep dive, i was simply pointing out some of the ways sansa foils lyanna. i made that post out of annoyance because i saw a few posts that called lyanna and sansa parallel characters.

secondly, i said lyanna was doomed, not condemned. those two words have vastly different connotations. also, i meant doomed in the sense that nothing could’ve saved her as the situation went out of her control and because she likely died from birthing complications.

now that i’ve said all that, i’ll get right into things.

robert baratheon is quite literally using sansa and joffrey as stand ins for his past unfilled betrothal. in my previous post, i briefly touched upon the reality that the lyanna foil, sansa, does not see under joffrey’s pretty guise like lyanna did with her own betrothed, which caused her much grief later on in her story. but honestly, this isn’t a 1:1 situation and i’ll try to explain why that is.

to start off, i will say that the lannisters do act as targaryen stand ins during the Wot5K, which has so many of the same plot beats as robert’s rebellion. and this is made pretty clear when we’re introduced to tywin and we learn he is attempting to literally replace the targaryen legacy/become the new targaryens, and it is also made clear by the lannister twins incest. however, just because grrm uses similar beats to flesh out both POV characters, background characters, and long dead characters, doesn’t mean sansa and lyanna’s situations are the same just because they were both involved with royal princes, and we know this because:

joffrey plays many more roles besides the crown prince, but when he did act as the crown prince he foiled rhaegar! one of joffrey’s first appearances is when he fights robb and later mocks robb for not using real steel. this is quite literally the opposite of rhaegar, who preferred books and singing and didn’t enjoy the song of swords. and later on when arya, who is paralleled to lyanna multiple times, defends herself against joffrey’s cruelty, joffrey decides to take her to his mother, an aerys stand in, to punish her along with the butchers boy, and is able to force things enough that lady is put to the sword. this contrasts against a long believed theory in this fandom (a theory that is well supported by the text), which is that rhaegar discovered lyanna was the knight of the laughing tree, hid her identity and didn’t turn her over to aerys. so, what little info we have of rhaegar paints him as someone who wasn’t violent by nature and protected women. joffrey is violent by nature and even sansa, when she was still making excuses for joffrey, could see that:

i fear i’ve digressed a bit away from what you actually brought up, but your ask itself is a bit difficult to answer because you’re simply stating your interpretations as fact.

so to get back to the core of your ask, i’ll restate your own words (your tone seems very matter of fact): ‘rhaegar was the one who condemned her to death and left her son an orphan.’

the reality is that this is very much not matter of fact and there is absolutely no way for you to be sure of any of this! do you have rhaegar’s POV? are you in his head? did you read his thoughts? how are you so sure in your unsupported beliefs that you’d so matter of factly state them to someone else?

also, claiming rhaegar left lyanna’s son, which we both clearly agree is jon snow, an orphan, so clearly ignores the reality, which is that rhaegar died! why would rhaegar, who we know had plans, want to die and leave his family behind?

though i believe you’re actually insinuating that rhaegar didn’t provide lyanna with enough medical staff, but this is something you simply cannot know. the tower of joy dream sequence we get is not what really happened! it was simply a dream ned had and the author himself has stated that the dream is more metaphorical in nature. to logically refute the idea that rhaegar left lyanna to die, i’d like to mention that ned holds absolutely zero animosity for rhaegar and doesn’t speak badly about him. if rhaegar left lyanna to die then why would ned have positive/neutral thoughts about rhaegar?

moving on, i stated before that joffrey plays many roles, so i want to get back to that in order to counter your belief that ‘the only parallel is that both were left at the mercy of the people that killed their family’:

joffrey, a prince rhaegar foil, also acts as an aerys parallel and as a robert baratheon foil/parallel. his aerys parallels are that 1) he executes the head of house stark, 2) under his rule wildfire is put to use, 3) he faces a rebellion from robb, who was surely named for robert and who acts as both a robert and ned stand in. 4) joffrey never actually leaves kings landing like aerys and was king, 5) he faces off against renly, a storm lord who looks strikingly similar to a young robert 6) he faces stannis, who’s robert’s legal heir (though stannis also has some aerys connections as well as he burns people alive). 7) the tyrell’s eventually join the lannisters side as well, which reinforces the idea that the lannisters, with joffrey at the helm, are targaryen stand ins in a metaphorical sense. and the shift from having more aerys parallels to robert parallels/foils is when the tyrell’s switch sides and join the lannisters to save kings landing from stannis. here wildfire is being used to protect the city/waste time until reinforcements ride in the save the day, which is the opposite of what happened in the sacking during the rebellion. and then tywin and the tyrell’s ride in to save the day, yada yada, support joffrey’s right as king, and after this margaery acts as a cersei stand in/foil, loras as a jaime parallel/foil, etc etc etc etc etc… i could literally go on and on and on! there’s just so much there!

but my main point with my previous paragraph is that this isn’t 1:1. a person can’t make blanket statements like you did and then not backup your statements with specific events from canon. because honestly…

how is sansa being held hostage the same as lyanna being kept safely away from aerys in dorne? unless you believe lyanna was held captive in the tower of joy, which makes absolutely no sense at all and is not supported by the text whatsoever. to be clear: lyanna and sansa were in contrasting situations. lyanna not being in kings landing, where brandon thought she was being held, is a very important supporting indicator that rhaegar and lyanna’s relationship was romantic and loving in nature and further contrasts sansa’s situation, which is that she was being held hostage and kept under the eye of a young mad king.

and tbh, i called sansa a character that often foiled lyanna, but she also shares a lot of very important parallels/contrasting moments with other female characters such as catelyn, lysa, cersei, and even elia (the unkiss with sandor is definitely a direct foiling of elias death). to repeat myself, the events of robert’s rebellion are not 1:1 to the events of tWot5K.

but you, with full certainty, state that rhaegar is lyanna’s villain like joffrey is sansa’s. sansa’s faced injustice when she was being held hostage after ned was imprisoned and executed. lyanna faced injustice when her family refused to break her betrothal to robert, a man she so clearly did not wish to marry, which likely led to her taking things into her own hands. one of the most prominent and well supported theories is that rhaegar was helping lyanna escape/disappear and that they eventually fell in love, which is supported by bael’s song, the song of the winter rose, jon snow learns. sansa, when she thought ned was unfairly breaking her betrothal, also took things into her own hands and actually ran to the enemies to stop ned. she’s eventually saved and taken from kings landing by baelish, another bael figure. however, i know lyanna and sansa’s situations contrast so i can be sure that sansa will not get pregnant and will likely not die.

i’m gonna end things here because i do not care to go over ever little detail and explain every little thing to you, especially since there is simply too much to go over.

[sailorshadzter]

Outsider POV questions why Ghost is with Sansa most of the time when Ghost is Jon's direwolf. They realize why after observing Jonsa.

thanks anon!!!

send me prompts

The first thing Jaime Lannister notices after he’s settled into Winterfell is the great white wolf that never seems to stray from Lady Stark. Each and every time he tries to find a moment with her, to speak with her privately, if even for a moment, he finds that white wolf at her side, bearing its teeth and glaring at him with hellish red eyes. He’s surprised that a woman could ever be unafraid of the creature, but oftentimes he finds her quieting the wolf with a gentle touch of her hand, passing him by before he can bring himself to speak aloud to her. It’s almost as if the wolf doesn’t wish for the Lady of Winterfell to even speak with him. And though he doesn’t want to admit it, the last thing he wants to do is cross the beast. 

He steps out into the courtyard, where the young men are already settled into their usual morning routine; even the youngest lads are learning the art of the sword, in hopes they would have enough manpower to fight against the army of the dead quickly approaching. “Jaime,” a voice says his name and he looks up, finding the ever interesting Brienne of Tarth standing there at the head of the group. “Keep going!” She calls out to the pairs and turns to him as he approaches her where she stands. “I was wondering when you would make good of your promise to help me train these young boys.” 

Jaime can’t help but to grin in her presence, shifting his glance quickly to the boys, each little pairing reminding him of his youth, days long gone, when he’d been eager to hold a sword of steel and not the wooden one meant for children, as he’d often complained. “Might I ask you something?” He asks then, turning back to face the woman, knowing of all people she would know the answer to his question better than anyone else. “That white wolf… I always find it in the presence of Lady Stark… I thought it belonged to Jon Snow.”

To his surprise, a secret sort of smile curves on Brienne’s lips as she glances towards a boy that’s let out a pained howl- his fingers caught by his opponents wooden sword. “One might say the wolf is loyal to both,” she says in a roundabout way, though when Jaime frowns, unsatisfied with her answer, she chuckles. “It’s true, the wolf is Jon’s, but Lady Sansa has become his closest companion, especially in the time that Jon has been away from Winterfell.” Though not entirely accepting of this answer, he moves on from it, deciding perhaps there were more important things to worry about. 

And so, he falls into place beside her, commanding the boys they will train to fight like men.

[ x x x ]

Later that night, Jaime is back in his rooms, though standing at the window that overlooks what was once gardens, but now is nothing but a frozen wasteland. Supper had only just ended, so while it was late, he supposes it’s not all that surprising to see the two forms sneaking through the old garden gate. 

Blinking, he realizes as the moon shifts behind a cloud, illuminating the gardens, he knows the two figures he sees out there. The moonlight catches the vivid red hair he knows belongs to the Lady of Winterfell and the dark curls, though tied back, he knows belongs to her half-brother. What could they be doing, he wonders, watching still as Jon Snow opens his arms to her and she goes willingly, sinking into his grasp as only a lover might do. That’s when it all begins to make sense in his head- the wolf was hers, because she was Jon’s. Direwolves were incredibly smart and loyal beasts and if it was important to its master, it would be important to the wolf. Now Jaime understands the truth about why the wolf remained so close to her side, protecting her as Jon Snow hoped to protect her. 

His lips twitch with a smile, recalling then the look on Brienne’s face when he had asked about the wolf. It was as if she knew this truth he was just now discovering for himself. Jaime can’t help but to laugh as he watches further, until the two disappear into the darkness of the night, the moon hidden behind a cloud.

Now, it all made sense.

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

Was there any responses on the Theon survey that made you feel differently about a certain headcanon, fandom trend or ship?

Thank you for your patience. It is uncommon for people to ask about my opinions but it brought a smile to my face, and your politeness only added to it.

To answer your question, sadly not, but there were still some developments on my perceptions.

Fandomwise I was mostly proven right over things I suspected in the past both in things I find uplifting and things that I find upsetting (TCKs and colonialism children in the Theon corner preferring Dany over Sansa and usually disliking the Theon/Stark ships, Robb Stark being a gift as the prevalent perception among throbb shippers, most people not caring about Jeyne Poole, thramsays being unhinged but very respectful and careful about people's boundaries) but there were a few things that had a positive reaction in me and maybe prepared me for changes.

I think I've made clear how I don't like engaging with Theon/Stark ships and sadly when it came to the squid prince and the steel skinned princess this didn't change at all, on the contrary, but when it came to the squid prince and the wolf-headed boy I was confronted with smaller subsets of the fandom that I felt could actually get me into it.

I used to be a lot more open about the later ship but as time passed it was ruined for me due to many personal vexations involving interpretation, (dismissal or vilification of) characters, themes and the constant use of show-scenes and quotes, but some of the responses from throbb people came very close to things I would theoretically enjoy in them as a ship (and as a closer characterisation of how I perceive Robb, clearly not a villain or an evil-doer but not someone I'd want to spend time with).

Nothing fully changed my mind, I didn't always agree with their reasoning and I am still sceptical because this was only a minority, but I think to some extent it made me more curious and, admittedly, less judgemental.

Here are some examples I am allowed to quote:

On Throbb as a ship, by throbb people

I only mildly dabble in shipping in asoiaf at all, however Throbb Is nice as when its done well It tends to have a lot of what I like (kidfic, canon divergences with some political element and happening around the early ACOK node, very specific hurt comfort dynamics, role reversals (enjoy Robb Is the one who had to experience Ramsay AUs even) exploration of the cultural/identity issues through conflicing loyalty etc . It rigorously has to be by people who love Theon better than Robb though

I'm someone where I will take whatever I can get tbh. All of the above. I do really enjoy stories where Robb is a darker character though, and relishes in the power he holds over Theon. Also just like playing with the theme of the Starks being wolves? And how the Ironborn were called like sea wolves by those in the riverlands and westerlands. It's very fun. I also do indulge in modern AUs where Theon is an unofficial member of the Starks. It's just very comfy. I like it less-so in canon fics because I think it very much writes off Ironborn culture in place of Northern culture. I am picky with them though because some of them are very much in the lane of "the Starks can do no wrong" and nope, the Starks can and have.

I am truly here for literally any Theon ship and they all appeal to me in different ways for different reasons. Robb and Theon - Personally I think it's really interesting how Robb is upheld as this very honourable gentleman-type but he never calls out Theon on his horrible treatment of women or other uncouth behaviour and it's suggested he actually kind of admires him for it? It gives me the impression that Robb lives vicariously through Theon a little bit and I'm fascinated by the idea of them being devoted to each other but also jealous of each other? We never see Robb's POV in the books but I think he's interesting to view through a lens of a young guy with an immense amount of pressure and responsibility on his shoulders (even before Ned dies he has the responsibility of being heir and the pressure to live up to the Stark name). I imagine that Theon is one of the few people Robb felt he could be himself around without any pressure to be respectable or honourable. He probably craves the relative freedom Theon has whole Theon longs for the status and respect that Robb has. It's an interesting dynamic! Also there's the fact that Robb is literally the only person who likes Theon and trusts him when no one else does which makes it even more heartbreaking when he betrays him.

On whether Robb Stark is a gift or not, by throbb people

No. Lol. I mean, the thing is, Robb isn’t really a terrible person or anything – book!Robb especially is young and inexperienced and genuinely seems to be trying his best in a situation that is understandably overwhelming. That said, he’s careless, self-righteous, over-privileged, emotionally manipulative, a bit vainglorious and sometimes extremely selfish, and has a tendency to do things like blame the easiest, most vulnerable (as well as the one most likely to forgive him) target for his own mistakes. He’s somewhat emotionally constipated and fairly low on empathy. He's very loyal to his family (but as we see with Sansa, it’s far from unconditional) and I think he does try to do right by people, especially those he cares about, overall. However, in the context of his relationship with Theon (where this seems to be most prominent as a Concept) he fails rather significantly and the relationship is not nonredeemable or anything, but definitely toxic.

I've only got the impression that he is a gift by reading bran's, Jon's and Arya's chapters not by theon's. In book 1 he is such an asshole to him in that bran chapter... It's more fanon I think to make Robb a gift specifically to Theon and I understand it, the show gave to us a closer relationship and many liked it and projected to Robb a caring attitude we wanted someone to have towards Theon, at least that's how it worked for me idk. Also the potential for romance, angst and tragedy by making them closer is just *chefs kiss is Robb a gift? yes is he one to Theon? they definitely have love between them but I don't think he is one to Theon.

Robb Stark as a character can really be anything you want him to be. I think only seeing him through other POV characters (especially his family) was a stroke of genius on George's part, just as we first meet Stannis in person through Maester Cressen, and later experience him through Davos' eyes (two people who love him deeply). Robb was a 16 year old dealing with some incredibly high stakes situations and a number of traumatic losses. He's mostly just tragic to me.

I still think Robb's relationships to the women in his life (Cat, Jeyne, Sansa, Arya and Dacey) are more interesting to me since they are usually explored by fandom in a more ambiguous and, in my opinion, more canon-compliant light, but yeah these made me reconsider my negative feelings about Throbb.

To some extent this also happened with Theyne, a ship I do ship but always felt weird about and sometimes had this stupid and prideful type of wish to differentiate myself from the shippers who engaged with it in a more "wholesome" manner. I came to see a lot more interest in dubious and less-positive takes on the dynamic in some of the responses and it was oddly relieving, it made me less conscious about my self-perceived discredit of the text when adding romantic connotations to Theon and Jeyne's canon dynamic (although they are somewhat present in the text too. ?????weird situationship of mutual victimhood and hellish non-consensual polycule with their torturer acting as matchmaker, third wheel and sicko lurking on the window)

[...] If it happens, it will be later down the line, probably during a potential recovery arc or even at the very end of the books. I would like to see how that plays out and I think Jeyne as his co-survivor of torture would probably be the most interesting person to play that out with because there is a common history that will remain a can of worms between them, but Jeyne seems to be (just like Kyra who came to Theon with the keys even though she didn't have to do that for her rapist!) a genuinely caring, empathetic and kind person who seems to have already bonded with Theon, seemingly knowing that he just like her did not participate willingly in her rape even though he had been compliant to his torturer's demands out of fear. And all that probably holds true even if he is still in survival mode of "I have saved Lady Arya (do not take on your actual name because that will get us both thrown back to the Boltons, this charade ain't over yet, please keep this charade up for your and my safety)". Jeyne has been badly maimed and (not only, but predominantly sexually) tortured herself, of course, so I suspect that the bond they both share will be fraught with fears and pain and ugly memories that migth feel more pressing than just memories (hello, PTSD), but i can see a way forward for both of them that I cannot see for either Jeyne and anyone else or Theon and anyone else (apart from familial bonds that Theon still has. Jeyne has no-one but Theon now, her parents are both dead and any other relatives haven't stepped up when Littlefinger sex trafficked her and Ramsay ended up repeatedly raping, maiming and psychologically torturing her). They will probably at first feel not great with each other, but I truly believe that they can help each other heal as far as possible or at least manage the aftermath of such severe torture of all kings. If he (Theon) does end up in some capacity in a romantic or sexual re-exploration of identity through a relationship of some sort, I suspect that Jeyne, who was co-tortured sexually alongside and through him (not that he was a willing participant, just someone trying to survive, doing the least harmful thing for both himself and Jeyne by partaking in being forced to rape her for Ramsay while thus becoming a victim of rape himself; apart from his former strongly insinuated sexual abuse and possible genital mutilation), might be the only person able and willing to even entertain the idea of a romantic and/or sexual connection to him, even though I think that her own state after all the sexual and other abuse means that that will be very, very far into the future. Both will probably feel safer not engaging in anything sexual for a long while, if ever, and as for romance, I think it'll probably take on a very fragile, small-gestures-of-care type of form that's more reminiscent of familial love and care rather than passionate. Both will have struggles expressing their minds, their wants and needs freely, both will be scared of physical touch probably, but then there's that image of Jeyne, half-dead herself, extending empathy to Theon and stroking his cheek telling him "you saved me", so there's that part of caring about someone already that seems like some glimmer of hope for both of them. If Theon makes it out alive through the books, I can see him ending up on the Iron Islands and her married to him for protection's sake (seeing as she's got no-one else in the world, and he has proven himself to care for her by saving her from Bolton Winterfell; while nobody else will care enough about her, or him or even be remotely positive towards him to facilitate some other marriage. She's only a steward's daugther, but a minor noble house is still a noble house, so I don't see why in-world class issues would make this impossible. It would grant both of them a safe space to recover from the abuse through each other's now safe company, and maybe find a way to love and be loved despite being more or less dead to the rest of society for various reasons. [...]

Jeyne and Theon - I think their relationship is really interesting to explore as a kind of co-dependant comforting thing where no one else quite understands their shared trauma and neither of them quite trust anyone else any more. But also they have this really soft affection for each other and see things in each other that no one else does. I think they're both seen as kind of irredeemably broken and pathetic post-Ramsay but they see the strength and kindness and value in each other that no one else can.

theon jeyne: i generally prefer nonsexual interactions, however there are ways of doing sexuality that i can like: when it is initiated by and demanded by jeyne who seeks some form of reenactment or redress or nonviolent experience or corrective with theon that she considers safe/available for this and with a theon who is reluctant at best. i like intense dangerous codependency. i don't think regular romance is available to them or rather what they have is already past that.

Asides from those, not so many changes. I think the bigger and better outcome was just learning to be less judgemental and more open. I am honestly happy of having done the survey even if sometimes I wanted to stick my head in the oven.

[bonniebird]

Jon x Fem!Reader

Requested by Anon

Valentine event

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Request: Anonymous asked: hi lovely!! for #valentine2023, I was wondering if you would like to write something for Jon Snow based on the prompt from the list "Can I go where you go?” - if you dont want to for any reason then please dont worry, thanks so much for doing the event regardless!! I cant wait to read all the works! ♡

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Jon sighed as he looked out over the courtyard and spotted his horse ready and waiting. He would do what he had to. He would not let Sansa down. But even with that thought steeled in his mind he couldn’t help but think about the dragons.

He was going to have to beg someone with dragons for help. It seemed like madness. But with what he had seen. Perhaps he had become accustomed to madness. The men he would be travelling with greeted Jon as he approached his horse. 

“We should leave as soon as we can.” Davos said as he helped Jon onto his horse, mounting his own as the group started to move. Long before they reached the ships that would carry them on the final leg of their journey, hoofbeats that fell out of step with the group could be heard. Everyone braced themselves only to find a fine riding horse trotting around the corner of a thick of trees. When the hood of the rider was pulled back Jon sighed.

“Go on ahead. I shall not be long.” Jon insisted as he turned to look at the rest of the group. When they were gone he turned to you. “It is dangerous for you to be riding out here alone.”

“Seems like it is dangerous everywhere in the world.” You replied and smiled at him. Your horse stepped on the marshy ground nervously and turned as you tried to hold it in one position.

“Why are you out here?” He asked and you gestured the way the group had gone.

“To travel with you.” You said and Jon was silent. You’d asked to go with him. Sansa had nudged him, reminding him that in the absence of your family who had yet to be found, a highborn lady of the north should be staying safe at Winterfell. "Can I go where you go?" 

“You know that you can not.” Jon answered. Though he really rather liked the idea of you coming. From what he had heard of the dragon queen he suspected that the two of you might get along well. Or at least well enough to help his plea.

“Well. I suppose you shall simply have to take me back then. I do not intend to do so myself.” You snapped and turned your horse the way Jon’s group had left.

“(Y/N)!” He called. Edging his horse on he caught up with you, riding alongside you.

“It shall be dangerous.” He muttered.

“We have already agreed there is danger everywhere.” You reminded him.

“There shall be dragons. Real ones.” Jon continued.

“Why is it that you should get to look upon the dragons, Dragonstone and that last Targaryen and I should not?” You asked and he sighed.

“What if the dragon queen does not like you?” He said as a final attempt to dissuade you.

“Everyone likes me. Now hurry or we shall miss your boats.” You insisted and nudged your horse into a faster pace. Jon avoided looking at Davos when they caught up. He clearly didn’t approve of you joining. 

“I tried everything I could think of.” He muttered.

“Perhaps it should sway the dragon girl to our favour. Though (Y/N)’s sharp tongue may find us in trouble yet.” Davos said reluctantly. Jon thought that he had probably swallowed several rude words he wished to throw at Jon for allowing you to come. Though in truth. There was never much allowing you to do anything. Just helplessly following after you when you found something to set your mind to.

Jon tags:

@the-caravello-post @killing-gremlin @aegonandaemondtargaryenslut18 @lchufflepuffcorn @geekyandgay98 @kaitieskidmore1 @darklyndivinely

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 22 CATELYN II (pages 303-320)

Catelyn arrives at Renly's party town in the south and suffers through a feast. Brienne joins the party! (pending)

-

Her fingers seemed more clumsy than usual as she fumbled her clothes. She supposed she ought to be grateful that she had any use of her hands at all. The dagger had been Valyrian steel, and Vaylrian steel bites deep and sharp. She only had to look at the scars to remember.

Valyrian Steel = 🥛🥛

A roar went up from the crowd as a helmetless red-bearded man with a griffin on his shield went down before a big knight in blue armor. His steel was a deep cobalt, even the blunt morningstar he wielded with such deadly effect, his mount barded in the quartered sun-and-moon heraldry of House Tarth.

Oh look, the original Briennesweep. XD BRIENNE!!! HIIIIIII!!!!!

- and to her left Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill, his greatsword Heartsbane propped up against the back of his seat.

... do I drink? they didn't say "Valyrian steel" but they mentioned Heartsbane which we know is a Valyrian steel blade... hmmm no, I'm fairly certain I've never taken a drink just for mentions of Ice, only the words Valyrian steel, so we'll keep going that way.

The rules are fast and loose... like Petyr Baelish's morals... oh wait, if they were like that then they wouldn't actually exist... The rules are fast and loose like Tyrion Lannister's morals. (yeah, that works a little better.)

The girl who shared a seat with him was also of Highgraden: his young queen, Margaery, daughter to Lord Mace Tyrell.

Hi Margaery.

Ser Loras rode a tall white stallion in silver mail, and fought with a long-handled axe. A crest of golden roses ran down the center of his helm.

Okay, we're going to do something new and exciting right now (art!) because I need to share with you how my brain mis-processed those sentences: "fought with a long-handled axe, a crest of golden roses ran down the center " > The axe has roses on it > "down the center of his helm." > Oh no wait the *helm* has roses on it > Loras's helmet has a mohawk made of roses.

This:

Is kind of what I was picturing when I was picturing the rose axe, don't ask why it's double headed, I just really like double headed axes in my fantasy genres, so my brain defaults. (I grabbed a reference picture of a golden rose and copy pasted it because I cannot draw roses for the life of me.)

The steel was polished to such a high sheen that she could see her reflection in the breastplate, gazing back at her as if from the bottom of a deep green pond. The face of a drowned woman, Catelyn thought. Can you drown in grief?

... Hey, did y'all know the twins sit on the Greenfork river? ha. ha. ahhhh, the subtly of "is it really foreshadowing or am I reading backwards into it?"

For the sweet, Lord Caswell's servants brought down trays of pastries from his castle kitchens, cream swans and spun-sugar unicorns, lemon cakes in the shape of roses, spiced honey biscuits and blackberry tarts, apple crisps and wheels of buttery cheese.

Lemon (cakes) = 🥛 It counts, I'm counting it... I'm also really peckish all of a sudden...

"-Why pity?" "Because it will not last," Catelyn answered, sadly. "Because they are the knights of summer, and winter is coming." "Lady Catelyn, you are wrong." Brienne regarded her with eyes as blue as her armor. "Winter will never come for the likes of us. Should we die in battle, they will surely sing of us, and it's always summer in the songs. In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining." Winter comes for all of us, Catelyn thought. For me, it came when Ned died. It will come for you too child, and sooner than you like. She did not have the heart to say it.

Amazing use of the Stark words. Poor Brienne, she thinks like Sansa did, they both deserve a world where the world is exactly like they think it is/should be!!! Also, "sooner than you like"... *calculates the number of pages left and compares them to the scenes from the show* yeahhh, about that. (this Cat chapter or next? hmmmm)

"Let us be blunt, my lady. Stannis would make an appalling king. Nor is he like to become one. Men respect Stannis, even fear him, but precious few have ever loved him."

Good thing "well loved" isn't a requirement for being king. you know what really should be though? The ability to DO THE DAMNED JOB!!! Alas, corrupt politics has turned it into a popularity contest with a high entry fee.

"These are no Lannisters, my liege. it's Lord Stannis at your gates. King Stannis, he calls himself now."

Oh look, time for the little boys to stop playing at war and face it for realsies. (I'm sorry, he just. Renly, bothers me, as a person. not just because he abandoned Ned to die because Ned wouldn't support Renly's usurpation, not just because he's a rude piece of work about anyone he's not kriffing (so everyone but Loras) or schmoozing (which is all the lords and ladies and most bestest knight Brienne). It's the inflated sense of self-entitlement, I think.)

Poor Catelyn, she's so soul weary in this chapter, and it's not going to get better. She's doing her best but the world just, urgh.

[gingersprites]

WIP Word Search

I was tagged by @partialconstellations

my words were wolf | trust | dark | fire | sea

wolf

(from the sequel to "let the years we're here be kind")

“Is everything alright, little wolf?” Jon asked, his voice still gruff from sleep as he looked his nephew over. Robb, still in his nightgown and robe with his auburn curls askew, appeared to have just rolled out of bed. His chubby cheeks were lightly flushed, likely from the excitement of sneaking past the night watchmen, but otherwise he seemed fine.

“Uh-huh,” Robb said, far too chipper for this hour in Jon’s opinion. “Can I come in?” He didn’t wait for the answer, slipping past Jon with surprising speed.

“I- well, alright. But we must keep quiet so as not to wake your uncle.”

“I’ll be quiet, I promise,” Robb whispered loudly. “Hello, Ghost!”

trust

(from the Sansa goes to Dragonstone AU)

Sansa unconsciously reached for the Valyrian steel knife at her hip. It was a move she had found herself doing repeatedly throughout the journey to Dragonstone: hells, even before then, from the moment Arya pressed it into her hand.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she had asked.

“It’s easy. Stick ‘em with the pointy end,” Arya replied wryly.

“Oh, well, when you put it like that-”

“I mean it, Sansa. I trust Brienne implicitly, but even she can’t be with you every waking moment. If you find yourself threatened- by anyone- use this.”

“The greatest threat to my safety has three dragons,” she pointed out.

Arya didn’t seem fazed in the slightest; if anything, her resolve deepened. “Anyone can be killed.”

dark

(from Bedroom Hymns aka the surprise 🍆 fic)

As bad as the insults were, Theon began to prefer them to being left along. Those long hours in the dark, with no sound except his own wheezing breaths. Sometimes he spoke to himself, a reminder that he hadn’t gone deaf; a few times he screamed into the darkness, but somehow the answering echo was more frightening than nothing at all.

fire

(also from Bedroom Hymns)

Slowly, their hesitant touches had become purposeful, as they worked to heal from the wounds of their pasts. For a time they both seemed content with holding hands, or gently caressing the other’s cheek; but then there was an evening where they sat by the fire, sipping at a weak spiced wine in companionable silence, when Sansa felt a sudden clarity ring out in her heart.

‘Oh, I’m in love with him,’ she thought, rather stunned by the realization. It seemed that Theon was of a similar mind, as when she shyly leaned in to kiss him, he met her halfway.

sea

(also from the Dragonstone AU)

Deep down, she had never expected to see Theon again, and she had done her best to make her peace with that. But the sight of him there, on that beach... She would have thought that after weeks at sea she would be sick of saltwater, but the way the scent clung to his skin made a long-neglected part of her sing.

I'm tagging @petersthree, @ship-ambrosia and anyone else who wants to play! Your words are:

touch | snow | moon | song | wave

[jonquildove]

starkmatriarch:

“Cat?” Jack-Be-Lucky questioned, repeating Petyr’s own words, “That be ‘milady’” He warned, “And if you’re both so friendly like, how come you were carrying Lannister seals?” He held them out and read to Lady Stoneheart, “Offering safe passage for Lord Baelish and his daughter Alayne Stone” He gave Petyr a look, “This your bastard daughter?” Lady Stoneheart only sat in silence, her hateful eyes never leaving the boy she had once known at Riverrun. She should have known. He always desired to climb high, and who else offered this better than Lannisters? Who always paid their debts? They paid in gold and titles and power; all things Petyr held dearly, far more than his silver trinkets. She had always wondered if Petyr had played a part in husband’s death; she had entrusted him to keep Ned safe, but in the face of the lions, failure was not always guilt. Yet, the Lannister papers he carried were another matter entirely. Ned’s blood was the ink for those documents, her son’s head the seal; Petyr may have once played at Riverrun, but he was a Lannister man now. He was a little man in the council in the city. And no Lannister deserved mercy. She pulled the shawl back from her hair, allowing them to see her true visage more clearly, as her long hair, once so soft and auburn, now fell brittle and white. The scratches on her cheeks made by her own fingers ran bloody lines down her skin, and her flesh was pale. This is what Lannisters do. Hanging is a kindness. She placed a hand to her throat once more, closing the slit in her throat as best she could as her breath came raspy and hoarse, “Take…him..” She ordered. “Take him?” Petyr repeated and Lem of the Lemoncloak shrugged. “Take him; hang him, kill him, slice him in two, cut open his throat. It’s mostly hanging but sometimes got to let the crime fit the punishment. Best not waste time specifying, our Lady don’t speak much- those bastards cut her throat too deep for that…but we listen.” With her brotherhood’s hands securely on Petyr Baelish, ensuring he did not escape, Lady Stoneheart turned in her seat to look at the daughter. ‘It’s me’ the girl said, but she had never known any child of Petyr’s. She had always thought him too clever to make such mistakes as to bear bastards. Stone. Like Snow. The name alone brought a different kind of anger to Lady Stoneheart’s mind, a betrayal of long ago. It was said Jon Snow still lived, up at Castle Black. The bastard lived while all her sons lay dead. “Mother?” Lady Stoneheart repeated, her hand still upon her throat and though her voice was hoarse, a deathly whisper, the word rang out clear and true. “A Mother…once….to five. But no longer. All…gone….” She took a heaving, rasping breath, that seemed to sound of steel blades and pouring blood, “And no…Mother to…you…bastard“ She glared at the bastard child. With whom had Petyr bore this dishonour? One of his little whores? A Lannister perhaps? Did he bed the lions as well? "My Lady,” Harwin spoke. Of all her Brotherhood, he was the one she trusted the most, the one she heeded the most. He had worked and resided in Winterfell and had been by her husband’s side until the last, had been loyal beyond a fault and when she spoke with him she found she sometimes remembered a little of who she once was. She turned to look at him, eyes silently questioning, and though she spoke no words, he answered her as though the question had been asked. “You know I knew all your children, my Lady, every one of them. I remember them playing around in that courtyard,” He turned to Alayna, “I don’t think this is any bastard child” Lady Stoneheart turned once more, the iron crown still twirling in her hands menacingly as she glared at Alayne Stone. She placed a hand to her throat once more, the action slow and purposeful, “Who…are…you?”

Sansa chanced a glance at Petyr. He seemed to be momentarily lost for words, as Jack-be-Lucky read out the letter. “My apologies…milady. Yes, this is my daughter, Alayne.” “No, please…! Don’t take Lord Baelish, he’s my Father…He’s good, I swear it.” Sansa exclaimed, in distress. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t be so upset at this, but Petyr was now the only one who could guarantee her safety. Her family was either dead, lost or too far away to help. Her Mother’s words stung so badly, tears started to form in Sansa’s eyes. A bastard, she was now, yes, but to have her own Mother discredit her like that? Could she truly not recognize Sansa, her own daughter? The glare that her Mother bestowed upon Sansa, made her tremble in fright. And the wound upon her Mother’s throat seemed to cut so deep. Who could have been powerful enough to revive her from the dead? Oh, gods, she missed her Mother so much… It had been agreed between Sansa and Petyr, to uphold the pretence of her being Petyr’s bastard daughter, Alayne Stone, to ensure safety, but this time was different. If she didn’t admit who she truly was, both of them could be in serious danger. "…I’m Sansa…” She whispered.

[amberthefantasy]

Fire and Winter

Chapter Two

Alysanne placed her hand against the rough bark of the heart tree. She hated meeting new people. It always started pleasant enough, she had been raised with a ladies courtesies, but then people found out she was a bastard and the conversation always changed. Now it wouldn't be lesser lords or commonfolk she was meeting, but the royal family and their entourage that were coming to Winterfell. 

Alysanne opened her eyes when a breeze ran through the red leaves above her, perhaps the gods answering her prayer? Alysanne had come to pray but found she had not much to say. What to pray for when all she wanted was her family to be left in peace. Alysanne was many things but a fool was not one of them. The king was coming to Winterfell for one reason, to ask her Father to be the Hand of the King. 

With a sigh Alysanne ran her fingers through her direwolves fur, the little red eyed pup had grown fast, reaching up to mid-shin. Alysanne had contemplated the little pup's name for days, being unable to think of anything fitting. Most of her siblings, besides Bran, had been quick to name theirs. Jon’s white pup, the twin to her own, he had named Ghost for his silent movement. Her pup was fierce but quiet, barely moved and liked to sleep. Eventually she decided on the name, Meleys, after the Red Queen, dragon of Princess Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was. The dragon was said to be lazy but fearsome when roused, fitting for her little pup. Meleys butted her head against Alysanne’s leg, letting out a soft grumble when her hand stopped moving for a moment. “Sorry girl.”

“Alysanne!” Jon’s voice called from behind her.

“By the heart tree!” she called back. 

Jon’s footsteps came closer until he was standing beside her, his own direwolf running into Meleys and laying beside her. “They’re here,” Jon said. Alysanne sighed, rolling her neck. She stood slowly, brushing snow and dust from her dress and pulling her fur-lined cloak tighter around herself. She told Meleys to stay, as did Jon to Ghost. Jon took her by the arm and they walked back through the godswood in sync. 

The people of Winterfell were already lining up in the courtyard. Alysanne spotted Lady Catelyn and Sansa standing near the front, joined by Robb, Bran and Rickon before her and Jon reached their place. Standing behind the children of House Stark, bastards would not be presented alongside the true-born children of their Father of course. Alysanne wasn’t offended by it, she was used to it and it would mean she didn’t have to pretend to be nice to the king or the queen. Thank the gods. 

“Where is Arya?” Lady Catelyn’s voice reached Alysanne’s ears. She glanced around quickly. “Sansa, where is your sister?” Sansa shrugged in response. Alysanne thought back, trying to remember where she had seen Arya earlier in the day. 

Arya came running from near the gate, a helmet perched on her head. When she passed Father he caught her arm and pulled the helmet off, revealing Arya’s face. “Go one,” Father said. Alysanne smirked to herself, catching Jon doing the same out of the corner of her eye. Arya took her place between Sansa and Bran just as the first horse came through the gate of Winterfell.

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and steel. First came a Kingsguard knight, dressed in the signature white of his order. Behind him Sandor Clegane, recognizable to Alysanne by his burned face. The tall boy beside him must be the crown prince, Joffrey. Alysanne saw Sansa look towards him and hold her eyes there for a moment. Robb saw too, if the way his face turned from their sister to the prince was any indication. Alysanne understood why Sansa was entranced, the prince was a handsome boy. With his golden hair and green eyes, cloaked in black and yellow, the colours of his house. 

A wheelhouse followed behind some more guard, where the queen and her younger two children must be. A huge man, who could only be the king flanked by two knights in their snow-white cloaks, followed the wheelhouse into the courtyard. Father knelt and everyone in the courtyard who was not a member of the royal party, knelt too. Alysanne kept her eyes on the pale grey fabric of her dress, noticing slight patterns in the weave of the wool. There was the sound of the king dismounting, walking closer. Father stood and everyone followed. “Your Grace,” Father greeted.

“You’ve got fat,” the king said. Father didn’t seem to respond from what Alysanne could see, but he must have made some expression in response because the king burst into laughter, soon followed by her father, and the two gripped each other in a hug. Alysanne felt her own smile grace her lips, her father’s old friend and him, reunited after so long. “Cat!” King Robert said, grabbing Lady Catelyn and pulling her into a hug as well. “Nine years,” Robert began walking back to her father, “why haven’t I seen you? Where have you been?”

By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert’s queen, Cersei Lannister, exited her wheelhouse, the young Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen following behind. Alysanne saw Prince Joffrey dismount as well, flicking his hair as he did. “...Winterfell is yours,” Alysanne caught the end of Father’s sentence. 

“Who do we have here?” Robert asked, taking a step to the side to stand in front of Robb. “You must be Robb,” the two shook hands. “My you are a pretty one,” he complimented Sansa, “and your name is?”

Arya looked up at him, “Arya,” she said simply. 

Robert nodded and continued on to Bran, “aww, show us your muscle.” Bran raised his arm and clenched his muscles. “You’ll be a soldier,” Robert praised.

The queen walked over, her children trailing behind. She stopped in front of father, who took her hand and kissed it, “my queen.” Cersei smiled tightly. She turned back to her children, and they hurried closer. “My eldest,” the queen introduced, taking the crown prince by the arm and pulling him beside her, “Prince Joffrey.” Joffrey bowed, taking Lady Catelyn’s hand and kissing it as father had kissed the queens. “My daughter, Princess Myrcella and my youngest Prince Tommen.” The two smallest royals bowed, smiling softly at the adults. 

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects,” Robert called. The queen began to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her by the arm, and she said no more. 

“Where’s the imp?” Arya asked, probably louder than she intended to. Cersei looked at her out of the corner of her eyes. She didn’t say a word but as she led her children and twin back to their guards she said something to Jaime that made him release her arm and leave.

“Jory!” Lady Stark called for the head guard, “guide the queen and her children to their chambers.” Jory nodded, bowed once and approached the queen. The Lannister woman called a thank you to Catelyn, though her tone was not very thankful. Annoyed by her husband's dismissal no doubt. Alysanne wanted to feel bad for her, but she knew who the king had wanted to visit in the crypts and Alysanne could feel no sympathy for someone who wanted to keep the king from his dead betrothed, keep him from paying his respects to the woman who was taken too soon from them all.

When the queen departed the crowd in the courtyard began to disperse as well. Arya turned and ran to Alysanne and Jon. “They seem boring!” she complained.

“You didn’t even speak to them,” Alysanne replied, rolling her eyes at her younger sister. “I’m sure they’ll be more excitable at the feast, as the queen said, they have been riding since dawn.”

Arya crinked her nose, “I suppose.” 

Jon laughed, “not looking forward to the feast Arya?”

“No,” Arya shook her head, “I hate them, boring and stuffy.” 

Alysanne and Jon smiled at each other. “Then enough talk about boring things,” she leant closer to whisper in Arya’s ear, “let’s go find our rowdy wolves.” Arya smiled widely and began to drag her older half-siblings off towards the kennels and the woods behind them.

---

Alysanne sometimes hated being a bastard, but feasts were never a time when she did. As she watched Jon pour them both another goblet of wine she took a moment to take in the atmosphere. 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangour of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the feast for the king. Alysanne’s half-siblings had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honour of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches Alysanne and Jon were able to down as many glasses as they wished with no one to stop them, though Alysanne did not take advantage of this as much as her twin did.

Though Alysanne was no longer constantly watching the place where her half-siblings had been seated with the royal children, she glanced their way every few minutes, trying to see them through the haze of the hall. Though she noticed that Jon had lost interest in them the moment the procession had ended, the walk had only heightened her interest. 

Her lord father had come first, escorting the queen. A jewelled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. Father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Her smile was tight and Alysanne could see the lie in it.

Next had come King Robert himself, with Lady Catelyn on his arm. The king was a great disappointment to Jon. Her father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident. But that man seemed long gone with only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups.

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, head raised with an adorable dignity that only a child of five name days could muster. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colours. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jewelled net.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers, her attempt to mask the contempt in her expression was failing. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was fourteen, younger than the twins or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast muttered dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, the joy of being beside such a handsome boy obvious on her face. Alysanne however was put off by his bored, disdainful look at Winterfell's Great Hall.

Behind them came the queen's brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" and “Oathbreaker” behind his back. Beside him walked his little brother, the Imp. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin's brood and by far the ugliest. All that the gods had given to Cersei and Jaime, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother's height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brute's squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white.

The last of the high lords to enter were their uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night's Watch, and their father's ward, young Theon Greyjoy. Benjen gave Jon a warm smile as he went by. Theon ignored them utterly, as he was want to do.

Something soft rubbed against Alysanne’s leg and she looked down to see four red eyes staring up at her and her twin. “Hungry again?” Jon asked them. Jon reached toward the half a honeyed chicken in the centre of the table. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost and Meleys both ripped into it in savage silence, tearing the chicken in half. Their brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Alysanne could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about the direwolf pups.

"Are these the direwolves I've heard so much of?" a familiar voice asked close at hand.

Alysanne looked up, a smile overtaking her face, as uncle Ben put a hand on Jon’s head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled his wolf's. "Yes," he said. "His name is Ghost.”

“And hers is Meleys,” Alysane said, smiling when Benjen kissed her forehead.

One of the squires interrupted the bawdy story he'd been telling to make room at the table for their lord's brother. Benjen Stark straddled the bench with long legs and took the wine cup out of Jon's hand. "Summerwine," he said after a taste. "Nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Jon?"

Jon smiled. Alysanne rolled her eyes.

Ben stark laughed and him and Jon began to converse. Alysanne looked back up to the high table, managing to spot Robb grabbing Arya and Bran, dragging them off to bed. She wondered what Arya had done to cause her and Bran to be sent out of the hall, bothered Sansa probably. She also saw Jeyne Poole, the steward's daughter, comforting Sansa. So definitely because she had bothered Sansa. 

“I’m almost a man grown! I turn sixteen on my next nameday,” Jon was saying when Alysanne brought herself back to the conversation.

“That's true enough," Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon's cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow.

"Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne," Jon said. Alysanne rolled her eyes, Jon was always talking about his favourite king, one of his heroes. 

“A conquest that lasted a summer," Alysanne pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." 

"Also," Benjen said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

“I forget nothing,” Jon said, his voice boastful. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

Alysanne sighed. Another thing Jon could not shut up about. She knew of course why he wanted to. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn? Alysanne at least was a woman, she could hope to marry, perhaps the son of one of the guardsmen, and have a family. Jon was a man, he could only hope to gain glory some other way and he thought the Watch would be a good way to.

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honour."

"A bastard can have honour too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

“Until you have known a woman,” Benjen said, “you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said, his voice raising with anger.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

"I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Alysanne saw Jon begin the tremble that was a terrible thing to say. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom. Alysanne placed a hand on his other shoulder to calm him, but Jon shrugged her off.

Jon seemed to realise that the table had fallen silent and she saw tears well in his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet. "I must be excused," he said with the last of his dignity. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night. 

Benjen went to follow but Alysanne raised a hand to stop him. “Let him go,” she said softly, “he just needs a moment.” Benjen nodded, but neither he nor Alysanne took their eyes from the door for the next hour.

f&w masterlist / post masterlist

[melodicwitchlight]

starkmatriarch:

“Cat?” Jack-Be-Lucky questioned, repeating Petyr’s own words, “That be ‘milady’” He warned, “And if you’re both so friendly like, how come you were carrying Lannister seals?” He held them out and read to Lady Stoneheart, “Offering safe passage for Lord Baelish and his daughter Alayne Stone” He gave Petyr a look, “This your bastard daughter?” Lady Stoneheart only sat in silence, her hateful eyes never leaving the boy she had once known at Riverrun. She should have known. He always desired to climb high, and who else offered this better than Lannisters? Who always paid their debts? They paid in gold and titles and power; all things Petyr held dearly, far more than his silver trinkets. She had always wondered if Petyr had played a part in husband’s death; she had entrusted him to keep Ned safe, but in the face of the lions, failure was not always guilt. Yet, the Lannister papers he carried were another matter entirely. Ned’s blood was the ink for those documents, her son’s head the seal; Petyr may have once played at Riverrun, but he was a Lannister man now. And no Lannister deserved mercy. She pulled the shawl back from her hair, allowing them to see her true visage more clearly, as her long hair, once so soft and auburn, now fell brittle and white. The scratches on her cheeks made by her own fingers ran bloody lines down her skin, and her flesh was pale. This is what Lannisters do. Hanging is a kindness. She placed a hand to her throat once more, closing the slit in her throat as best she could as her breath came raspy and hoarse, “Take…him..” She ordered. “Take him?” Petyr repeated and Lem of the Lemoncloak shrugged. “Take him; hang him, kill him, slice him in two, cut open his throat.  It’s mostly hanging but sometimes got to let the crime fit the punishment. Best not waste time specifying, our Lady don’t speak much- those bastards cut her throat too deep for that…but we listen.” With her brotherhood’s hands securely on Petyr Baelish, ensuring he did not escape, Lady Stoneheart turned in her seat to look at the daughter. ‘It’s me’ the girl said, but she had never known any child of Petyr’s. She had always thought him too clever to make such mistakes as to bear bastards. Stone. Like Snow. The name alone brought a different kind of anger to Lady Stoneheart’s mind, a betrayal of long ago. It was said Jon Snow still lived, up at Castle Black. The bastard lived while all her sons lay dead. “Mother?” Lady Stoneheart repeated, her hand still upon her throat and though her voice was hoarse, a deathly whisper, the word rang out clear and true. “A Mother…once….to five. But no longer. All…gone….” She took a heaving, rasping breath, that seemed to sound of steel blades and pouring blood, “And no…Mother to…you…bastard“ She glared at the bastard child. With whom had Petyr bore this dishonour? One of his little whores? A Lannister perhaps? Did he bed the lions as well? "My Lady,” Harwin spoke. Of all her Brotherhood, he was the one she trusted the most, the one she heeded the most. He had worked and resided in Winterfell and had been by her husband’s side until the last, had been loyal beyond a fault and when she spoke with him she found she sometimes remembered a little of who she once was. She turned to look at him, eyes silently questioning, and though she spoke no words, he answered her as though the question had been asked. “You know I knew all your children, my Lady, every one of them. I remember them playing around in that courtyard,” He turned to Alayna, “I don’t think this is any bastard child” Lady Stoneheart turned once more, the iron crown still twirling in her hands menacingly as she glared at Alayne Stone. She placed a hand to her throat once more, the action slow and purposeful, “Who…are…you?” Sansa chanced a glance at Petyr. He seemed to be momentarily lost for words, as Jack-be-Lucky read out the letter. “My apologies…milady. Yes, this is my daughter, Alayne.”

“No, please…! Don’t take Lord Baelish, he’s my Father…He’s good, I swear it.” Sansa exclaimed, in distress. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t be so upset at this, but Petyr was now the only one who could guarantee her safety. Her family was either dead, lost or too far away to help.

Her Mother’s words stung so badly, tears started to form in Sansa’s eyes. A bastard, she was now, yes, but to have her own Mother discredit her like that? Could she truly not recognize Sansa, her own daughter? The glare that her Mother bestowed upon Sansa, made her tremble in fright.

And the wound upon her Mother’s throat seemed to cut so deep. Who could have been powerful enough to revive her from the dead? Oh, gods, she missed her Mother so much…

It had been agreed between Sansa and Petyr, to uphold the pretence of her being Petyr’s bastard daughter, Alayne Stone, to ensure safety, but this time was different. If she didn’t admit who she truly was, both of them could be in serious danger.

"…I’m Sansa…” She whispered.

[uwusillygirl]

uwu!!! so happy to hear you're a sansa girlie!!! have to share my favorite line describing her in the book: "my skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel." go off grrm!! complete aside, i have to laff at how often i was like "and this is the last one!!!" in your ask, when it clearly never was. so excited for any and all blurby or long answers tonight!!! i admit im a tad embarrassed by how much i sent u, but hope its as fun for you as it was for me to just marinate in the fof world!!

huge sansa girly!!! her arc was actually was really healing for me at a really pivotal time. i love that line, thank you so much for sharing.

the moment where brienne pledges to care for her and the moment before ramsay gets eaten and she says he will be forgotten are my everything. (uh oh... is an uwusillygirl GoT fic in the works...)

and please do NOT be embarrassed!!! i am so happy to dive into them!!! it's so fun, i am so grateful for you, seriously.

in about an hour i'm going to dive into your fantastic close readings and some juicy nsfw stuff!!!

[sailorshadzter]

once again i woke up & decided to churn out 4,000+ words of jonsa moments. cause why the heck not.

There is a commotion outside. 

“Lady Sansa,” Brienne calls out to her, but she’s rushing out the doors, back out into the shivering cold air. The yelling grows louder now, the sound of clashing steel, and she knows the fight has spilled into the courtyard. But she’s unafraid, even as she rounds the corner, with Brienne close behind.

And that’s when she sees him.

He’s lost count now how many times he’s struck Ramsay, but his fist aches, his voice raw, as he draws back his arm just one last time. But then, as if attuned to her presence, he looks up; and sure enough, there she was. She stands there without her cloak, her red hair twisted back in a single unruly plait, face pale in the winter sun. Sansa… Her name is there on his lips, its familiar syllables lost on his tongue. He looks back down at the bloodied mess he’s left Bolton and realizes, this was not his fight to finish. So he rises back up, brushing a hand across his lips, staggering towards her. 

It’s her hands that catch him when he stumbles, steadying him on his swaying feet. “Take him in chains,” he commands the nearest soldier in Stark colors and the man springs to action, though it's apparent that Ramsay Bolton would not be rising up on his own anytime soon. “Sansa,” he speaks her name now, soft and slow, and she’s smiling upon him, her blue eyes full of unshed tears as she opens her arms to him. 

[ x x x ]

They both stand in silence when they bring Rickon by. 

“Take him to the crypt,” Jon says softly and the men nod, carrying him onwards, towards the stone steps that lead down to where the rest of their family was buried. Well, most of them, at least. “I’m sorry,” he says, softer now, those Stark colored eyes of his full of anguish when they turn to focus on her. Sansa shakes her head and reaches for his hand, giving it a small squeeze. 

Just like that, they were the last of the Stark’s. 

[ x x x ]

The knock comes to his door long after he’s already climbed into his bed, though he’s laid there for what felt like an eternity, tossing and turning. He’s been running through every moment through his head, every word that they had shared, and certainly the feeling of her soft skin beneath his lips. These feelings, the ones he’s tried desperately to squash, seem to have only grown in the last several hours. 

As he’s sitting up, the door is swinging open, and in she comes, a swirl of black skirts and rose scented hair. “He’s dead,” she announces as she sinks into the closest chair, reaching for the jug of ale that sits untouched on his table. She pours herself a goblet and offers the other to him, which he takes, sitting in the chair drawn opposite to hers. 

“Ramsay?” Jon asks, though he already knows the answer.

Sansa drains her goblet and nods, thinking back to the sound of his wretched screams. “Yes,” she says as she pours a second goblet full. She feels no remorse for what she’s done, in fact, she feels somewhat liberated by it. “Are you surprised?” She asks, turning those piercing eyes to him, rosy lips twitching with a frown. Jon shakes his head. “They once blamed me for killing Joffrey and I always wished I’d been strong enough to do it…” She speaks softly, goblet to her lips, a laugh escaping. “This time… I was.” The monster that had made her life a living hell, the monster that had taken so very much from her… He deserved what she gave him. 

He knows that this was what she needed to do to be set free from Ramsay’s clutches- all those long nights of nightmares, of fear, she could finally leave them behind her. No longer would she worry about Ramsay Bolton, for he was dead and gone, at her own hand. She had bloodied her hands, but with good reason, and he knew that this was what she needed to do, simply so she might begin to heal. He grins and raises his goblet to hers, a toast. “To the future,” he says as  their goblets clink and she’s smiling in a way he’s never seen before.

“To the future,” she echoes and they both drain their glasses. 

[ x x x ]

He wakes his first morning as King with a strange need to visit the godswood. 

Jon can’t recall the last time he entered the place, so he finds it odd, but he stuffs his feet into his boot anyways. Around his shoulders he swings the furs she had made for him and he’s slipping from his rooms, ones just down the hall from hers, forcing himself not to stop.

Once, that had been their usual path- he visiting her chamber in the morning, should she not have slept within his. Those long nights full of nightmares and fear, when she had needed him to sleep, needed him to find some sense of relief, seemed to have passed. He finds it odd, then, that he still wishes to visit her as he once had. Not having her asleep beside him or pacing before the hearth of his own rooms left him feeling somewhat empty. 

His feet lead him down the once familiar path down to the godswood, only to find the fresh dumping of snow has already been broken in by footprints. Sure enough, there she sits beneath the heart tree, taking the spot their father had once always claimed. She looks up at the sound of his footsteps and at once her face is breaking out into a smile, the morning light framing her in the most perfect of ways. “Jon,” she greets when he’s close and from this distance, he can see it seems as if she had not slept well. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” he says but she shakes her head, patting the spot beside her, which he takes. 

“I haven’t come to pray,” she says with a shrug, unable to recall the last time she attempted to speak with the gods. She knows that they do not listen to her. “Only to find a moment before the day begins.” Here in the godswood, she feels close to what she has lost- their father, their brothers, and her own innocence. “I suppose I should have curtsied,” she giggles a moment later, realizing only then her mistake. “My apologies, your grace.” 

Jon laughs but shakes his head. “You never have to do that,” he says with passion, for deep down, he still thinks it is she that should be in this position. Winterfell should have been hers, though he supposes, it was hers, if it was his. He had only fought for Winterfell because of her, after all. 

“Have you come to ask the gods for guidance?” She asks next, sobering, her blue eyes peering deep into his. For a moment there is nothing but silence, well, and the sound of the softly blowing wind. He shakes his head and she tilts her head, a wane smile spreading over her lips, almost as if she’s relieved to know this. “You don’t need their guidance, anyways,” she continued, leaning forward, elbows to knees, cheeks cupped into her palms. “You will be a fine king.” She predicts, knowing his capability to lead, his ability to forgive, and the vows he always keeps. “A good king,” she amends a moment later, glancing his way, red hair falling across her shoulders. 

“I hope to be,” he says, a flicker of the fear he feels crossing over his features. She’s sitting back up then and before he knows it, her hand is sliding into place over his, giving it a tender squeeze. Just like that, he feels as if he’s capable of doing anything and everything. In this moment, he hopes this peaceful feeling can only last a little while longer. 

[ x x x ]

“You’re abandoning your people!” 

You’re abandoning me! The unspoken words lay between them, a bombshell, words they both hear even when she does not speak them aloud. The lords stay silent, watching as their King and Lady stand there at the center of the room, staring at one another as if there was not another soul within the room. There’s only a few individuals within who look deeper into the stare the two share, only a few who might know what even they themselves are yet to know. 

“I’m leaving it in good hands,” Jon replies a moment later, her scalding gaze softening only ever so slightly. 

“Who’s?” She asks, her hands clutching at the folds of her gown, knees shaking. She knows why he must go, she understands the danger the Night King poses- but she cannot stop these overwhelming feelings from taking over. Her heart aches with the fear, she’s sick with it in fact, it leaves her frantic and wild. 

“Yours.” He says simply, naturally, as if there was no other option. And in his mind, there wasn’t one. 

This was how it was meant to be. 

[ x x x ]

She comes to his rooms that night without fail, throwing open the door without a knock, blue eyes blazing. “You can’t go,” she spits before the door has even swung closed, her chest tight with fear, stomach sinking with dread. 

“Sansa… We’ve been over this, I must-”

“You can’t!” She interrupts, taking a single step closer to him, reminding him of the girl he met in the tent that night before the Battle of the Bastards. “You can’t leave me like this.” There, she says it, the truth… That she is afraid that after all they’ve built together, after finding in him the family she’s longed for since those days of childhood, that it would be taken from her in an instance. That he would leave for Dragonstone and never come back to her again. 

Jon hates himself for these feelings he’s caused within her; he should have known how hard she would take it, him leaving and all. She had been alone for so long, trapped in a life of fear and uncertainty, a life without anyone who truly loved her. Now that she found that again, he was taking it away by leaving, escaping away to a place that was certainly dangerous. But he knows, as she does as well, that this was the only way to keep the North safe. To keep her safe. And Jon’s vow to protect her had not ended simply because Ramsay Bolton was dead. “Sansa…” He speaks her name softly, slowly, opening his arms to her and she comes willingly, falling against him as a soft wail escapes. “I’ll come back to you, I promise.” 

She draws back, cheeks tearstained and pale, lips wobbling as they curve around the syllables of his name. He’s kept every promise to her up until now, so why would this one be any different? If there was any other way, any chance that he could stay there at her side forever, then that would be his choice- it would always be his choice. But this is what he must do. Jon cannot explain it, but the choice there on his mind makes more sense than any other one ever has. He kisses her, without hesitation, the warmth of her lips sending him to a place he’s never been before. 

When Jon kisses her, she freezes.

Not from fear, not from uneasiness, but rather from surprise. But nothing has ever felt so right before in all of her life. So, she kisses him back, hands clinging to the front of his shirt, drawing him closer as his hand slides into her hair. He’s knocking pins from her locks, unraveling her braids between his fingers, but she loves every moment, every touch, every feeling it gives her. She’s never felt like this before, so safe, so warm, it’s indescribable. 

“Jon,” she gasping his name when they break apart, though he holds her at arm’s length, panting, grinning, wild in his gaze. Truly, he wonders just how long he’s really wanted to do that. She wants to say something, anything, but she can’t find the words. Instead, Jon is gently cupping her face, his calloused fingers gentle as they cradle her cheek against his palm, his lips curving with the smile that’s never once left his face. 

There was nothing in all of his life that had ever felt so right. 

So, he kisses her again, and as she gives in and her arms come around him, Jon knows that this alone would bring him home again.

[ x x x ]

She watches him leave with a heavy heart, but a sense of peace wraps around her, reminding her that this was not the end, but rather just the beginning. 

Jon turns and sees her standing there and he raises his hand in a silent goodbye, thinking for the briefest of moments that he might not leave. That perhaps they might just run away together, to someplace where no one knows their names, no one knows their faces. But he knows that’s not who he is, it’s not who she is, and they would come out overtop this new threat. No matter what it takes. 

He urges his horse on and then he’s gone. 

It isn’t until long after he’s faded from her sight that she turns away.

[ x x x ]

She’s standing on the battlements when the dragons streak by, belching smoke and fire as they go. But, she feels no fear- she’s faced worse than dragons, after all. The line of soldiers is many miles long and she knows somewhere among them, Jon rides, coming home to her. With him of course he brings a Targaryen queen, but that she can live with, if only he were home again. 

“Lady Sansa?”

She turns at the sound of her name, finding Lord Royce to be standing there. He offers a quick bow and she smiles fondly, for this man she’s grown to love as a daughter might love a father. He was caring and understanding, a helpful hand to her in all matters that had come abouts in the time since Jon left. “Jon was seen at the head of the line, they will be here shortly.” 

Now, everything would change. 

[ x x x ]

When he rides through the gate, the first person he sees is her. 

She’s there with a soft smile, her red hair like a beacon in the early morning sunlight. But, she is not who he greets first, because then Jon sees him, the brother he’s thought he’s lost all this time. Sansa’s letter had come some weeks ago, telling him that both Arya and Bran had returned to Winterfell, that their family was no longer incomplete, and that alone had spurred him to return quicker than he’d once anticipated he might. To see them… Those little siblings he’d thought they had lost…  Now that the moment is here, he dares not believe it to be so. 

He drops from his horse and crosses the way to wrap his little brother into his arms, kissing his head, breathing him in. This was not quite the brother he remembers, as Sansa had warned him in her letter, but it was Bran all the same. He was his brother and Jon would always be thankful to have him returned to his side. “Look at you,” Jon says roughly, emotion choking him. “You’re a man.” The last time he’d seen this boy, he’d been so small that Robb had to pick him up to put him into the saddle. 

“Almost,” comes the reply and Jon draws back, head tilting, as if he’s surprised by what’s been said to him. 

But then, he feels her gaze upon him and Jon turns to look at her- suddenly, everything else is lost to him. He steps away from Bran so he might come to stand before her, but there’s only a moment of hesitation before he’s reaching for her. She opens her arms to him and he holds fast to her, breathing in her sweet, yet familiar scent. Over his shoulder, blue eyes peer out at the silver-haired woman that stands in the distance. 

“Where’s Arya?” He asks when he pulls back, holding her yet at arms length. 

Sansa smiles, her eyes flickering back to him for the briefest of moments. “Lurking somewhere,” she replies, though Jon cannot help but to notice that her gaze has returned to Daenerys. 

As he turns, he hears the footsteps already telling him that she’s approaching where they stand. “Queen Daenerys, of House Targaryen,” he says, extending out an arm so she might penetrate the bubble they’ve created. “My sister, Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell.” He steps aside so the dragon queen might come to stand before Sansa, who wears a face he’s never seen before. This was who she once had to be, when she was trapped within King’s Landing, when pleasing a monarch was her one, single duty. 

“Lady Stark, thank you for opening your home to us,” Daenerys speaks sweetly, her pretty face dimpling as she smiles. “The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed, as are you.” She compliments, thinking this will do the trick. 

Sansa smiles dutifully, perfectly, someone he doesn’t know.

 “Winterfell is yours, your grace.” 

That is all. 

[ x x x ]

He throws open her door and comes through just as she’s tugging off her cloak. 

She doesn’t even have the time to speak his name before his lips are on hers, his arms coming  around her waist, drawing her in as if she was the one thing anchoring him to this world. “I’ve missed you,” he gasps when he breaks free a few moments later, though she’s whimpering, hands clutching at his clothes, as if breaking away was the worst thing he could have done. 

“I missed you,” she speaks between their lips, meeting, frantic, wild, a feeling like no other. 

He’s pulling off his layers, his furs, his doublet, his shirt, and her hands are crossing the expanse of his chest, scars beneath her palms. “I told you I would come back,” he laughs as he tugs her towards the bed, his breeches tight, her gown slipping over her shoulders. “Come here,” he says and she does as he bids, but only after she lets her gown fall to the floor, stepping out of it so she might straddle his lips in nothing but her shift. 

She was all he’s thought of over these long weeks away, all that kept him sane. 

Now he has her again and he’s drunk with it; the feeling of her soft skin beneath his touch, the soft sound of her voice saying his name… It’s all he’s dreamt of, all he’s wanted. “Jon!” She’s gasping his name, she’s warm against him, as if it was the only place she was meant to be. Every ounce of unhappiness, of loneliness, is gone now that she’s in his arms again. Their eyes meet and he knows that there was nothing that could take him from where he was right then and there. Even if her door flung open, he would remain as he was, with his arms around her and his lips at her throat. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps when he draws free, thinking of what he’s done to get to where he was now.

She shakes her head, because nothing else mattered, nothing else but this. “Don’t be,” she replies, eyes smoldering, hands trembling. Sansa supposes that despite it all, this was where they were supposed to end up. No matter the path they had to take to get there, it was meant to be. All was well, so long as they ended up together. “You came back to me,” she smiles, thinking of what could have been. Of what wasn’t. “That’s what matters.” 

“I promised, didn’t I?” He chuckles and leans in to capture her mouth once more, drawing her back into the furs on her bed. 

This would be where they’d stay, at least for now. 

[ x x x ]

The room is full of static electricity. 

Jon shivers with it, glancing around the room of angry faces that stare back at him. He’s moved through the harsh words of the lords he’s let down for bending the knee, but he isn’t certain he’ll live through the venom of the two women on his either side. He has seen Daenerys with the look she wears now before, but the Sansa at his other side is unlike the woman he knows so well. She is like a wolf, poised to strike, jaws ready to bite. Her blue eyes are sharper than steel in their gaze, her words even sharper. 

“What do dragons eat, anyways?” 

Sansa speaks again and the silent room does not reply, perhaps some not knowing the answer, perhaps some not daring to anger her further. But, at his opposite side, Daenerys sits up a little bit straighter. “Whatever they want.” Comes her reply, tart and dripping with arrogance. He thinks for a moment that a fight might follow, but instead, Sansa is rising up from the chair she sits in, and at once, all of the lords follow suit. It is she they respect, it is she that they should be bowing with reverence to. 

Jon swallows and rises up, a sign of his allegiance.

[ x x x ]

The battle is upon them, but somehow, that is not what weighs heaviest upon him. 

“Jon?” She questions, her voice bringing him back. 

“I want you in the crypts, you’ll be safest down there,” he says in response, reaching for her hands. They stand in her rooms, she in her fierce armored gown of black leather and gray wool. She frowns, opening her mouth as if she means to argue, but instead thinks better of it, for she only nods as his hands take hold of hers. He swallows, thinking of the dozens of things he wants to say to her then, so many unspoken things he wants her to hear before… Just in case.

“Tell me when it’s over,” she says softly, as if she’s reading his mind, her smile encouraging.  “Tell me in the morning.” When the dawn broke over the night and the battle was won, that was when he could tell her whatever it was he was thinking. She has her hopes as to what those words might be but she will be patient. 

He would come back from war once more and he would say it. 

He would say it all. 

[ x x x ]

They win, but at a cost. 

Lives are lost, many of them at that, but in the end the Night King is vanquished and they are safe from at least one threat now. Sansa knows there’s two more to come, but for now, this is a win they will celebrate.

And… More than that… 

She thinks of the confession Jon made to her and the others just that morning beneath the heart tree, the truth of his birth. It was not a father they shared at all, but rather he was born of her own aunt Lyanna, the true born son not of a Northern man, but Rhaegar Targaryen. The truth was, it was Jon that was the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, not Daenerys. 

“Sansa?” 

She turns at the sound of his voice, faintly smiling at the sight of him there in her doorway; what was once forbidden was no longer. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes as he slips into her room, unable to take his eyes from her in the new gown she wears. She is every inch a Northern queen in such a gown, its reflective material looking more like fish scales than fabric, a nod to her Tully heritage. Her long red hair falls freely down her back, a simple knot of braids pinned up at the back of her head. Face flushing, she takes his arm that he offers to her, allowing for him to lead her from her chamber and out into the hall. “Everything will change after this, I suppose,” he says as they walk, heading down towards the stairs that will lead them down to the main hall. 

“Yes, I suppose so,” she admits with a nod, glancing his way as they descend the stairs. “But for the good,” she continues on, thinking of everything that was to come. Nothing would be easy, the two rival queens certainly would make sure of that, but she no longer felt afraid. After all they had been through, after all that had come to pass already… There was nothing left to fear; she’s faced worse than dragons or lions, after all. 

As they step into the empty corridor, the sound of voices and laughter already floating in from behind the double doors of the great hall, Jon pauses, keeping her there at the bottom of the stairs. “Sansa…” He turns her around to fully face him and he can’t help but to drink in the sight of her, wondering to himself as he often does, just how a creature such as she could even exist. Everything good in his world, everything warm, everything safe, was all because of her. Everything that gives meaning to his life… It was all her. “I love you,” he says softly, leaning in to press his forehead against hers, lips hovering dangerously close. Those were the three words he’d yet to say, but had felt for a lot longer than he really ever realized. 

She’s smiling, laughing, hands sliding into place on either side of his face, uncaring of who might discover them there. Soon enough, the entire world would know the truth. “I love you, too,” she whispers back and she knows that everything that comes after this moment would be well worth it. And then he’s drawing back and her hand is on his arm once more, leading her into the great hall to loud, triumphant cheers. 

From this moment on, everything would be different, but everything would be perfect.

[northsballadmoved]

 ‍ sansa frowns, and for a moment she debates if she should go through with her offer. the last thing she wants is theon to accept it, or feel forced to accept it, because he believes he is beholden to her still. there is an agency she is trying to give him here. what is the worth if he feels his life is forfeit? a sigh pulls from her chest, and she reaches forth to set her hand over the back of his, a reassuring pressure.

 ‍ ❝ let me make myself clear. you are free here, theon. you are welcome to return to your sister and the iron islands if that is what you wish, i will not hold you against your will. what i ask, i ask you as a friend, someone i trust. and i hope you will answer of your will, not your guilt. ❞ she holds his gaze, searching; then her hand is withdrawn, steeling herself for her next words.

 ‍ ❝ ...i would have you as part of my queensguard. to stand by me and protect me until the end of my days, or yours. ❞ there is an uncertainty in the taut line of her jaw, but contradictingly, a surety as well. theon could be knighted easily enough by her command —— but nothing will be set into motion without his answer. one she will accept whichever way. ❝ take time to think about it, if you must. but i meant what i said; you do not have to agree. i have been pushed to consider more staunch protection, ❞ a feat she doesn't entirely disagree with, ❝ and...you were among the first that came to mind. ❞

after   all   is   said   and   done,   theon   isn't   sure   he   will   ever   feel   at   peace.   perhaps   this   is   what   jon   himself   had   felt   his   life,   not   quite   a   stark,   not   quite   his   own   person.   he   wears   his   house's   sigil   with   pride   and   yet,   winterfell   always   felt   more   like   home   than   the   sea.   but   winterfell   had   not   been   a   home   back   in   those   days.   a   golden   cage   had   been   a   cage   and   in   his   mind,   he   thought   that   if   he   took   it   by   force,   perhaps   he   could   please   both   ends   of   his   mind.   turns   out   it   did   neither.   he   still   has   crimes   to   pay,   and   nights   are   troublesome   at   best.   he   is   ironborn,   he   would   be   reborn.   "i   should   let   myself   drown   in   the   sea   and   be   reborn,   by   the   drowned   god's   grace."

  kissed   by   the   drowned   god,   he   could   perhaps   reborn   in   a   ceremony.   to   come   out   a   different   man   that   could   wear   the   name   theon   greyjoy   without   a   voice   telling   him   he   is   nothing.   troubled   eyes   still   have   a   storm   behind   them   but   he   feels   calmer   now   when   the   night   feels   lighter,   blue   as   the   sea   he   misses   stare   back   at   him   and   theon   just   nods.   "people   used   to   make   beautiful   sculptures   out   of   iron   and   salt   back   home.   perhaps   i   will   become   one."   he   could   only   hope.   a   question   arise   in   his   features   as   he   frowns,   ever   so   gently   when   she   speaks.   "anything.   .   .you   know   I   owe   you   that."   her   entire   family.   he   will   be   in   their   debt   forever.

[sansaissteel]

When you get this you have to answer with 5 things u like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)📷📷

1. I'm a glass is half full usually.

2. I try to always message and check on my close friends mental illness is hard and allot of times they just need me to listen.

3. I'm super thrifty and I try to stretch my money

4. Even though I'm thrifty my friends know if I got money they got money

5. It's hard for me to stay depressed for long usually I can start thinking of other things especially when fanfiction gets updated. Or all of our meta theory writers get to work.

@reginarubie @amymel86 @sherlokiness @tubbylita @shieldofrohan and anyone who wants to

[goodqueenaly]

It’s like poetry it rhymes but also Ned’s execution as the cruelly ironic bookend to his execution of Gared at the start of AGOT.

Ned approaches Gared’s execution with a sense of solemn duty. This event is not a grand spectacle for House Stark but a matter of law, responsibility, and education for a relatively small, all-male party of key members of the Stark household; Gared is to be executed where he was caught, that “small holdfast in the hills” that lacks both a name and any sense of grandeur. (Only Theon inappropriately breaks the mood with his treatment of Gared’s head, earning him a quiet reproving from Jon.) Even the certain level of ceremonial here - the use of the Valyrian steel greatsword Ice and the final words of judgment against Gared - reflect not overweening pride in the Starks but their aristocratic position, ancient and modern; Ned is the agent of the king’s justice as well as the inheritor of centuries of Stark martial leadership in the North. However, while “[t]here were questions asked and answers given there in the chill of morning”, Gared is unable to admit the true reason for his desertion; in the words of the WOIAF app, Gared “is too mad with terror to be coherent”, and Ned himself later remarks that “the poor man was half-mad. Something had put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him”. This is at the heart of the horror and tragedy of Gared’s execution: literally driven mad by witnessing the Others, Gared has lost the capability to passing along this terrible truth. If his death is an immediate fulfillment of what the North considers local justice - because, in Ned’s assessment, “[n]o man is more dangerous” than a deserter, since he “will not flinch from any crime, no matter how vile” - it is an unconscious failure of apocalyptic justice; Ned cannot, as he tells Bran he must, “hear his final words” and understand the awful truth Gared now knows, leading him to execute the unknowing herald of the Others’ return.

So as Ned himself is prepared for execution (though he himself doesn’t know it), the scene presents a cruel mirrored version of his very first appearance, at the last moments of Gared. As Gared had been “old and scrawny” and “bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king’s justice”, so Ned himself appears now “thinner than Arya had ever seen him, his long face drawn with pain” and is “not standing so much as being held up" by the watchmen at his sides. The public spectacle of this latter event is not only obvious, but in obvious contrast to the early morning, almost intimate gathering at that nameless northern holdfast: Ned’s judgment literally summons the masses of King’s Landing to the Great Sept of Baelor via city bells, Ned himself is positioned “on the High Septon’s pulpit outside the doors of the sept”, and around him is assembled “a knot of knights and high lords” as well as the High Septon, all richly attired in their court best. Where Gared had once been too mad with fear to admit the truth of his desertion to Ned, here Ned is forced to recite a false confession of treason (even being sharply prodded by Janos Slynt to speak more loudly, for the benefit of the crowds). Ned who had defended his right to execute Gared by formally stating that he was acting “[i]n the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm” now must begin his false confession by stating that he had “betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert”. Instead of the all-male, largely silent attendance at Garedn’s execution,  Ned’s execution sees specifically female pleas for mercy from Cersei and Sansa, which Joffrey acknowledges (if only briefly and sadistically). Yet where Ned had approached the death of Gared with a sense of grim personal responsibility - “the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword”, as he intones, “tak[ing]no pleasure in the task, but neither ... look[ing] away” - Ned’s own death was a movement of both cruel glee and literal detachment for Joffrey - smiling at his mother and sometime fiancee before shouting for his headsman. (Even that sadistic smile, as well as the stones pelted by the crowd, recall Theon’s unseemly joking with Gared’s body.) Here again Ice acts as the headsman’s tool, yet not here would it represent the ancient dignity of the Starks; now it is a Stark who must feel the blade, at the head of the distinctly non-Stark Ilyn Payne and at the direction of the distinctly non-Stark King Joffrey. While Gared’s lack of words to explain the eldritch horror he had witnessed condemned him to the inglorious death of a mere deserter, Ned’s words - falsely proclaiming that “Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm” - do no more to save him; Ned had had no chance to understand the truth of Gared’s apparent crime, but now Joffrey declares Ned a doomed criminal in spite of hearing the “truth” of his treason