#sansa stark appreciation week

[westerosiladies]

Sansa Stark Appreciation Week Day Two - Court Life

[bi-alinaoretsev]

@sansastarkmonth2024 sansa stark appreciation week 2024: day 5 - pawn to player ↳ sansa as chess pieces

[the-key-five]

arya stark appreciation week → day 1: quote

Only the kindly man knew the Common Tongue. "Who are you?" he would ask her every day. "No one," she would answer, she who had been Arya of House Stark, Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface. She had been Arry and Weasel too, and Squab and Salty, Nan the cupbearer, a grey mouse, a sheep, the ghost of Harrenhal . . . but not for true, not in her heart of hearts. In there she was Arya of Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn, who had once had brothers named Robb and Bran and Rickon, a sister named Sansa, a direwolf called Nymeria, a half brother named Jon Snow. In there she was someone . . . but that was not the answer that he wanted.

A Feast for Crows, Arya II

[bookhousestark]

ARYA STARK APPRECIATION WEEK 2024 ↳ Day 2: Her pack

And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf. Gooseprickles rose on Arya's skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father's voice. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," he said. "But there is no pack," she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. "I'm not even me now, I'm Nan." "You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you." "The wolf blood." Arya remembered now. "I'll be as strong as Robb. I said I would." She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth.

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

"Y'all Hate Kids: Screwed by the Writers" Submission Form

"Y'all Hate Kids" tourney is back for a third season! 

Is there a character you know- or even enjoy- who's a kid who has been done dirty by the writers and fans alike? Maybe the writers ruined what could have been amazing character development, or maybe they left them on the sidelines to begin with. The fandom's hatred of this character is excessive, and how dare you appreciate them anyway? If a character fits this description, then this is the tournament for you!

Rules:

The character should be a kid/teen by function, but age helps in determining if they qualify

Propaganda is the main qualifier

We reserve the right to reject submissions that make us uncomfortable. Historically, we have rejected submissions for Harry Potter and DSMP

The Final 4* of "Y'all Hate Kids" and Final 8* of "Y'all Hate Teens" are ineligible for the main tourney, but we may include them for bonus rounds after the tourney has concluded if they fit the bill. 

Submissions will be open for a week. The tourney will be as big as it needs to be.

*For reference, the high placers are: Mabel Pines, Amane Momose, Ken Amada, Chara Dreemurr, Sansa Stark, Katara, Sakura Haruno, Sasuke Uchiha, Shinji Ikari, Megumi Fushiguro, Wesley Crusher, Yukari Takeba. Sakura will almost certainly be part of a bonus round.

Tags for exposure under the cut

@tournament-announcer @misrepresentedmorallygrey @guess-that-ship @freaky-fellers-tourney

[prahelika]

Arya Stark Appreciation Week: Day 3

Overlooked Traits : Emotional Intelligence

Game of Thrones massacred Arya's character so badly that to someone who watched the show first (mostly), she appeared downright emotionless.

Safe to say that her emotional intelligence is a criminally underrated trait.

One of Sansa's first mentions of Arya goes like this.

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher's boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block.

- Sansa I, AGOT

She makes friends with anybody. While she doesn't fit in with the highborn ladies of Winterfell, she is universally adored by the smallfolk there.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was.

- Arya II, AGOT

The show portrayed Arya as someone who loses her softness and sweetness as her life gets progressively darker. This couldn't be further from the truth. In ACOK, where her father has just died and she is in hiding among the men of the Watch, even then, she tries her best not to take it out on anyone else. When Hot Pie bullies her for Needle, she remains non-confrontational. He instigates both verbally and physically.

Arya slid her practice sword from her belt. "You can have this one," she told Hot Pie, not wanting to fight. "That's just some stick." He rode nearer and tried to reach over for Needle's hilt.

- Arya I, ACOK

Something else worth noticing is that she stays in hiding in various dangerous places skillfully, in both ACOK and ASOS. No one suspects her of being Arya Stark (excluding Jaqen H'ghar). She even serves as cupbearer to Roose Bolton, and manages not to draw his ire.

She filled Roose Bolton's cup, and did not spill a drop.

- Arya IX, ACOK

This, by the way, isn't just a byproduct of the trauma she endured. All the way back in the first book:

It was the scariest thing she'd ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry.

- Arya IV, AGOT

Something else of note is her kindness even when she's suffering. The way she takes care of Weasel even when she's starved or scared.

"You leave Weasel alone, she's just scared and hungry is all." Arya glanced back, but the girl was not following for once.

- Arya V, ACOK

This is what she does - she takes care of people, even when she needs taking care of herself. In Braavos:

"He has no coin," mocked the fair-haired bravo. His dark-haired friend grinned and said something in Braavosi. "My friend Terro is chilly. Be our good fat friend and give him your cloak." "Don't do that either," said the barrow girl, "or else they'll ask for your boots next, and before long you'll be naked." "Little cats who howl too loud get drowned in the canals," warned the fair-haired bravo. "Not if they have claws." And suddenly there was a knife in the girl's left hand, a blade as skinny as she was. The one called Terro said something to his fair-haired friend and the two of them moved off, chuckling at one another. "Thank you," Sam told the girl when they were gone.

- Samwell III, AFFC

There's one last point: apologies. This may not seem very important, but sometimes I see discussions where people claim that Arya is a selfish girl, does not take accountability for her mistakes etc. (usually in the context of Sansa). This is, as most anti-Arya sentiments, blatantly untrue.

Arya raised her eyes. "I'm sorry, Father. I was wrong and I beg my sweet sister's forgiveness."

Sansa was so startled that for a moment she was speechless. Finally she found her voice. "What about my dress?"

"Maybe … I could wash it," Arya said doubtfully.

"Washing won't do any good," Sansa said. "Not if you scrubbed all day and all night. The silk is ruined."

"Then I'll … make you a new one," Arya said.

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

- Sansa III, AGOT

Arya offers a genuine apology here, even after her sister says horrible things. She even speaks perfectly here, remembering her courtesies. (Keep in mind, this is also after Sansa and Jeyne have told Arya that Mycah's death was her fault. She would be well within her rights to demand an apology from Sansa first.)

The last words they exchange here are:

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

"Hodor!" Sansa yelled. "You ought to marry Hodor, you're just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!" She wrenched away from her sister's hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her.

- Sansa III, AGOT

This is self-explanatory, really. Also, she apologises to Lady Smallwood for the torn dress.

Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, belt, and tunic to wear, and a brown doeskin jerkin dotted with iron studs. "They were my son's things," she said. "He died when he was seven."

"I'm sorry, my lady." Arya suddenly felt bad for her, and ashamed. "I'm sorry I tore the acorn dress too. It was pretty."

"Yes, child. And so are you. Be brave."

- Arya IV, ASOS

(Unimportant sidenote: I love how kind Lady Smallwood is to Arya here. She really needed this.)

Basically, Arya of House Stark is one of the most emotionally intelligent characters in ASOIAF and I will not hear otherwise.

[justnerdy15]

SnowStone Week Day 2

Prompt: Reunite/Snowflakes from @snowstoneweek

Summary: A reunion that echoes. Read on ao3 here!

In the sixth year of her reign, Sansa Stark receives a raven from the Wall.

It’s a rowdy little thing, swooping through the halls of Winterfell, cawing loudly in the early hours of the morning, as one of the maester’s boys chases after it, swearing all the while. The damn bird hadn’t even arrived to the rookery, bypassing it completely to fly directly into the courtyard, and it had only been luck that Gared had spotted it. Whoever trained it did a shit job at it.

The bird is flying high enough that he cannot jump to catch it and keeps flying back and forth in a way that makes Gared feel as though it is mocking him.

He swears under his breath and goes to turn a corner when a hand clamps down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. A yelp escapes, causing his face to redden, when he’s turned around to face the Queen’s guard, Ser Brienne.

“And where are you going?” she asks, arching one pale brow at him.

“The raven,” he pants out, pointing towards the other hallway. “Trying to catch the raven.”

The knight hums, releasing him, and steps around Gared, blocking his view of the hall. “I will handle the raven. You should return to the rookery before Maester Wyman wakes for his duties.”

“But — I should really —” he stumbles over his words, already cringing at the thought of Maester Wyman discovering he had lost a raven, but Ser Brienne shakes her head.

“I will explain to Maester Wyman what happened when I bring the raven to the rookery. Until then,” she tilts her head down the hallway he came.

Gared sighs. Who is he to argue? “Of course, Ser Brienne,” he says, taking a step back. “I owe you one.”

A brief smile. “Think nothing of it, Gared.”

Gared watches as she disappears around the corner, heavy steps echoing in the shone hall, and wishes her luck with that godforsaken bird.

He glances out one of the windows, sun barely casting pink hues over fresh snow, and wonders if there is anything for breakfast in the kitchen.

---

Brienne walks steadily down the corridor, watching out for the bird, when she spots it camping on one of the ceiling vaults, milky eyes staring back at her.

She stops, folding her hands behind her back, and takes in the little raven.

“Good morning, Your Grace. I hope you don’t intend to keep your sister waiting?”

The raven caws, shaking out one leg where a small roll of parchment is tied, before swooping down to land on Brienne’s shoulder. He pecks at her hair.

She has half a mind to shake him off, but she refrains, lest Bran decides to lead her on a chase through the castle.

Resuming her walk, Brienne walks further into the family chambers, passing empty rooms until she’s in front of the Queen’s chambers.

The raven caws again and Brienne attempts to hush him while she knocks once, twice, thrice onto the thick wooden door. “Your Grace,” she calls out, “A raven.”

There’s murmuring behind the door before it swings open to reveal Masey, Sansa’s handmaid, who smiles widely. “Good morning, Ser,” she says cheerfully, stepping aside to let Brienne in.

The queen is already dressed, sitting at her vanity, as she pins another coil of hair. She turns in her seat and gives a small smile. “Good morning, Brienne.” She glances at the raven. “You’ve brought a friend.”

Brienne bows, rolling her eyes as the raven crows again, flapping its wings. “Good morning, Your Grace. A particularly difficult raven arrived this morning. I assume its message is for you.”

The queen’s eyes brighten, understanding sinking in, and she looks over to Masey. “I’ll finish this up myself, Masey. If you could have breakfast delivered to my solar in a bit, I would appreciate it.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Masey says, stepping back into a curtsey. “I’ll see to it. Ser Brienne.”

“Masey,” she replies as the handmaid steps out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Sansa steps away from the vanity, securing the last braid, holding out her other hand as she approaches her seat by the fireplace. The raven caws again before jumping off of Brienne’s shoulder, gliding to rest gently on Sansa’s forearm. “Hello, Bran,” she says, stroking one finger down the bird’s beak. “I hope you have a important reason for this visit.”

“Well, he was playing with one of the rookery boys, Gared, making the lad chase him through the castle, Your Grace,” Brienne says as she shifts on her feet.

“Bran,” Sansa admonishes the bird, sitting in her chair. “That’s not very kingly of you, is it?”

The raven squawks, pecking at the queen’s dress, feathers ruffled.

Sansa rolls her eyes, sharing a glance with Brienne, before looking down at the bird. “Where are you even coming from? This doesn’t look like one of yours from Kings Landing.”

He pecks her hand this time. Shakes his leg.

“Alright, alright,” Sansa says, plucking the scroll from the leather tether. She unrolls the parchment, eyes roving over the small message, and Brienne’s heart sinks as Sansa’s face smooths into something unreadable. She doesn’t look upset, but she doesn’t look happy either.

Seven Hells, Bran. What did he bring her?

Sansa hums, sitting back into her chair, rubbing her thumb back and forth across the parchment. She bites at her bottom lip.

“You’re very nosey, Bran,” she says finally, looking down at the bird. “But thank you.”

“Your Grace?” Brienne asks. “Is everything alright?”

Sansa looks up at her with a small smile. “It’s a message from Edd. It’s good news.” She holds up the parchment which Brienne takes with gentle fingers.

The ink is thick, a bit smeared, but still legible.

Your Grace,

Jon Snow has returned from beyond the Wall. He will be at Winterfell in the coming weeks.

Lord Commander Edd Tollett

P.S. Jon seems well.

“He’s coming back?” Brienne asks, surprised. “To stay?”

“Who’s to say,” Sansa answers, taking the parchment back. “But I hope so.” She looks out the bedroom window to the snowy peaks of the outer walls. “It would be nice. To have him home again for good.”

Sansa breathes in sharply, rising to her feet, and smooths down the folds of her dress before facing Brienne. “Thank you, Brienne, for bringing this to me —” the raven squawks, lunging at Sansa, who bats him away “— and you as well, Bran,” she says dryly. She taps the bird on its head. “But it’s time for you to go now.”

Brienne watches, discomfort squirming in her stomach, as the raven goes still for a beat before a shiver runs through its small body. It’s still jarring. The warging.

“Brienne, if you could take the raven back to the rookery? Best to do it before it wakes.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Gentle hands cup the bird’s body.

Sansa smiles, pushing her hair back behind her shoulders, and goes towards the door. “Fantastic. I’ll be in my solar. If you see Lysanna, send her my way? I’ll need to freshen up Jon’s room for his return.”

“Of course.”

---

With every day that passes, the anticipation in her stomach grows. In favorable weather, the journey takes twenty-one days from the Wall to Winterfell. However, while they are still in the early weeks of winter, conditions on the road can worsen considerably even in pleasant weather, pushing the journey closer to as long as two months.

Regardless, Sansa knows that Jon moves closer to Winterfell each day.

She’s had his quarters cleaned, fresh linens on the bed, windows open for fresh air, even mended some of the clothes he had left behind. Just in case.

They haven’t spoken since that day in Kings Landing when Jon accepted his exile with little complaint; all the while, Sansa raged at the punishment, arguing with Bran until her voice went hoarse. He deserved to come home. Not be banished to frozen North that had plagued him for years. The Wildlings. His death. The Night King’s army. His place was in Winterfell.

But Bran, cool and distant, remained unaffected by her pleas. Stating only that it was what Jon needed.

Then, two years later, when the rebuilding of Winterfell was nearly complete, two ravens arrived at the keep. One destined for the Wall and the other for her eyes only. In Bran’s familiar scrawl, somehow feeling more warm that his previous correspondence, he wrote of Jon’s pardon, allowing him to return to the Six Kingdoms if he so wished. Sansa’s breath nearly halted in her chest, reading the words over and over again, and she had quickly written her own note to add for the other raven. It had only been two words.

Come home.

Jon, of course, hadn’t.

But she’s in the godswood now, sitting underneath the sprawling weirwood tree, allowing the peaceful silence to sink into her bones as the sun starts to set in the west. Her routine is so busy in the morning that coming to the godswood defeats the purpose of her visit — constantly interrupted with another crisis or complaint or issue. So Sansa visits in the evening, as Winterfell prepares to turn in for the night, to finally have some time to herself.

Or so she thought.

Steps in the snow; heavy boots crunching into fresh snow that falls in light waves. Sansa sighs, opening her eyes, and suspects it’s Brienne, coming to tell her of the latest emergency. She stands, brushing snow off of her skirts and glances down towards the weeping face of the weirwood tree.

“I’m coming, Brienne,” she calls out, reaching out with one hand to swipe off the gathering snow on its face.

“My apologies, Your Grace, but I’m afraid I’m not your sworn shield,” a low voice replies, deep with a familiar northern brogue.

Sansa’s eyes widen and she whips around.

Jon.

It’s Jon.

He’s changed.

No longer that gaunt, haunted man with the world hanging on his shoulders, guilt-ridden and exhausted. He stands in front of her, thick cloak covering his body, with a strength she had not seen in him since the Lords placed a crown on his head.

His face is covered in a neatly trimmed beard, dark curls pulled away from his face, tied behind his head. Deep Stark brown eyes stare back at her with a certain degree of nervousness, if she had to put a name to it.

She takes a step towards him. Her breath quickens in her chest, fingers flexing at her side, as she watches snowflakes settle on his hair.

“Jon,” she breathes out and rushes towards him.

His arms open just as she collides wit him, throwing her arms over his shoulders, pulling him close while she buries her face in the side of his neck.

He’s tense under her touch, arms still held out, and Sansa flushes, regretting her hastiness. What was she thinking? Of course, he doesn’t want her —

Jon’s arms wrap around her waist, strong and heavy, pressing her tight against him. “Sansa,” he replies, speaking into her hair. A heavy breath. “Sansa.”

Moments pass before she finally pulls away, staying close but far enough away that she can look him in the eye.

“Welcome home,” she says, reaching to take his hand into her own. There are new callouses, small scars that litter his skin, but his hands all the same. She hesitates. He needs to know. “I’ve missed you.”

The words settle between them and she swallows, a knot in her throat.

Jon smiles, a small thing, barely there, and leans down until his forehead gently touches hers. Sansa’s eyes close. “And I you. So much.”

And, as snow falls around them, two wolves reunite once more.

[stxrslisten]

a study.

BASICS.

full name : narcissa acheson

name meaning : daffodil, a cheerful and bright spring flower

nicknames : cissa, nana

epithets : the spring rose

titles : lady of the autumn court

gender / pronouns : cis woman / she/her

sexuality : bisexual

date of birth : on the twenty-nine of the sixth month

age : twenty-eight going on two hundred and eighty

zodiac : cancer

place of birth : the spring court, prythian

species : high fae

languages : common tongue

allegiance : the spring court

APPEARANCE.

faceclaim : hanna dodd

height : 5′6″

eye color : honey brown

hair color : soft brunette with copper and blonde undertones

dominant hand : right

MAGIC.

abilities : immortality, winnowing, heightened senses, healing, dream manipulation, shift into a lynx, manipulation of air

weaknesses : vulnerable to certain magic attacks, individuals with higher level of magic, burn out

PERSONALITY.

positive traits : optimistic & caring

negative traits : gullible & secretive

hobbies : flower picking, high harp, piano forte, singing

charcater inspiration : sansa stark, jene bennett, daphne brigerton, elizabeth chenoweth

RELATIONSHIPS.

parents : former high lord & lady of the spring court

siblings : high lord emilio acheson, lord luka acheson

extended family : tba

spouse : cormac aster ( ex husband )

children : n/a

BIO.

there was a quiet room after the high lady had stopped screaming, the babe had yet to cry and as the seconds ticked by the room grew heavier and heavier. weakly the little girl finally cries and the room breathes, but the healer does not have a good face. the little one would not live long, she whispers, and her mother hugs the little thing to her chest in sobs.

against all odds the little girl makes it through the night, through the week, through the month. and finally on the thirtieth day she was named, believed the mother had given the little girl a chance to live and to remain with her family.

cissa grew up weak, often falling sick, and remaining indoors. her mother become over protective of her, she should not run, or agitate herself, she should be indoors and looked after at all times. the little girl simply followed, she was amiable, and often too tired to argue or fight against it.

this followed her into her teen years, and although she wasn't allowed far from the gardens of the spring manor, her world felt extensive. she found solace in romance books, in playing musical instruments, and on the days she felt as if she had all the energy of the world she could also sing. her voice was alluring, almost bewitching her father had once said.

with the years her sicknesses become more of a weakness she carries with her, she finds herself tired more often than others, sleep is something she requires in larger amounts. and from time to time, as if she is expecting it she still falls ill and it takes a while for her to recover. but she endures, as she has always from a young age.

the betrothal to one of the sons of the day court did not come as surprise to her, she knew one day she would have to be an asset to her family, even if she had spent most of her life as a burden. she was happy to do something in return for her father. in cormac she found a love she had not expected, she appreciated him, admired him even. there was light between the two, or at least for a few years that had been truth. she lost her husband the day the day court lost their high lord. the sorrow of loosing a father was never easy, and for cormac it become a challenge. a challenge his weak wife could not aid him in. and although she fought him, she stilled returned to the spring court with an invalidated marriage.

for many years cissa's brightness was deemed, opaque, almost gone. she felt like a failure to not only her husband but also to her family. she was quiet before she eventually became herself again, the spring court was once more full of her laughter, full of her music. some days were harder than others, some days it was easier to pretend, but she did her best every day.

II. EXTRAS & OTHER THINGS

cissa can play a vast range of musical instruments, but her heart lays with the high harp and the violin. those close to her know that she plays the harp when she is happy, and the violin when something saddens her. but when the emotion is unbearable, she signs.

as cliché as it might be cissa loves nature, flowers and the sort. she can often be found bare footed walking the gardens.

romance novels are her favorite, she has potentially read all the ones in the spring court and is often looking for new ones.

CONNECTIONS.

best friend ; this person could be from the spring court (preferable) but also from her time in the day court

a current betrothal ; perhaps someone the spring court wishes to stablish connections with, or the other way around

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

Ok, I wasn't going to do this, but... Well, whatever.

***

Chapter 2

Arthur Pendragon didn’t have many regrets in his life, but his wedding was a big one. Not because of said wedding, but because of how he’d conducted himself during it and in the week following it, especially towards his wife.

Arthur had been raised raised in a brothel in a village of Londinium. Magda often told him how they’d found him alone on a boat as a small child and had to take him in ‘because he had the prettiest eyes’ they’d ever seen.

He’d always appreciated what the women had done for him, because he was quite aware their life was not easy, and having an extra mouth to feed was even worse.

Once he was old -and strong -enough, he took over the management of the brothel and put order to it. There were no more violent clients, no bullshit, nothing that could get them into trouble.

Arthur ran a tight ship once he was able to, and he’d never planned on doing anything else.

Until his parantage was uncovered, until his uncle tried to kill him, until Vortigern burned down the brothel.

That was when all bets were off. Robb Stark wanted an ally? Great, he wanted to kill his fucking uncle.

So, fine, he could take a knee and act like Stark was the new King. He couldn’t care less about the politics down South, but he sure as fuck wanted the Lannisters dead, so there was that.

When marriage was mentioned, he admitted he hadn’t actually been paying that much attention. He was probably just nodding along, because Bedivere was the one taking care of the politics while he was focused on the attacks against Vortigern.

Bedivered and Bill convinced him it was the best solution and he didn’t care enough to argue against it.

It was no excuse, but Arthur wasn’t in a good place to get married to a fucking lady at the time. Less than a month before the brothel had been burned down, people he’d loved and care about had died. One week before his wedding, his best friend died.

So… Not the best time to meet his sweet, sad betrothed.

He’d heard some things about her, mostly that her father had been executed in King’s Landing by her former betrothed and that she was young.

Arthur hadn’t been prepared to just how young she’d been. Maybe it was because of the obvious cloud of sadness over her, or how pale she was, but she looked even younger. Robb assured him she was old enough to marry, but the uneassiness didn’t leave him.

Kay told him -repeatedly -that she was a young lady of a good family and he had to treat her with respect, which meant the marriage bed was probably going to lack passion. She also advised him to be careful, because it was unlikely she’d know what to expect from him in that respect.

Therefore, he was supposed to be gentle and careful.

Instead he got drunk, depressed and made a mess of the night. He’d never been that clumsy and uncaring, even when he’d lost his virginity.

He felt appaled at himself, and embarassed to even look at his por wife, who’d had to put up with that.

It was quite easy to avoid her for the rest of the week, and he convinced himself it was better for everyone involved.

He left for the war, uncertain on whether he’d come back, so he chose not to make promises to Sansa.

He’d started a thousand letters that he never sent. He was a man of actions, not words, and he feared that letters would just make it even more obvious to her how uneducated he was. So Bedivere was the one who wrote his letters, and they were all practical.

One year into the war, Londinium was his again, so he asked for Sansa to go there and assume the control of Camelot, his seat.

At that point he was convinced this couldn’t take much longer, and he could actually get to know his wife.

He was clearly an idiot, because it took another two years and way too much fighting. There were dragons, the weird man made of ice or something… There were meetings, losses, politics, way too much arguing…

By the time he was free to go back to Camelot, it felt like decades had passed.

He felt so much older than he actually was.

There was very little Arthur knew about Sansa; it wasn’t easy to actually learn thing about someone from a distance. He liked what he knew: she ws a good lady to the people of Londinium. She’d managed the keep very well alone, even during the time people from the North escaped there for protection.

People admired Lady Pendragon, so he felt like he could do the same, even without knowing her.

He went back home decided to make things better between them, to start afresh and be a better husband.

However, when he got back to Camelot and found his wife waiting for him, it became quite clear -very fast -that he was in big trouble. His lady wife was not exactly happy to see him.

For some reason, he found that endearing.

But then again, he’d always been an odd one.

“Hello, wife.”

She gave him a flat look. “Husband.”

Let the fun begin.

[westerosiladies]

Sansa Stark Appreciation Week Day Six - Heritage

[bi-alinaoretsev]

@sansastarkmonth2024 sansa stark appreciation week 2024: day 4 - love/marriage Tyrell or Lannister, it makes no matter, it's not me they want, only my claim. / It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love.

[the-key-five]

arya stark appreciation week → day 3: overlooked traits (sweet tooth)

"There's going to be lemon cakes and tea," Sansa went on, all adult and reasonable. [...] "Lady and I will eat all the lemon cakes and just have the best time without you."

A Game of Thrones, Sansa I

Her stomach made a hollow rumbly noise. "Could I have one?" she heard herself say. "A lemon, or … or any kind."

A Game of Thrones, Arya V

Arya would have given anything for a cup of milk and a lemon cake, but the brown wasn't so bad.

A Game of Thrones, Arya V

A thousand years ago, she had known a girl who loved lemon cakes. No, that was not me, that was only Arya.

A Dance with Dragons, The Ugly Little Girl

[bookhousestark]

ARYA STARK APPRECIATION WEEK 2024 ↳ Day 3: Overlooked traits

Natural leader

They rode north, away from the lake, following a rutted farm road across the torn fields and into the woods and streams. Arya took the lead, kicking her stolen horse to a brisk heedless trot until the trees closed in around her. Hot Pie and Gendry followed as best they could. Wolves howled off in the distance, and she could hear Hot Pie's heavy breathing. No one spoke. From time to time Arya glanced over her shoulder, to make sure the two boys had not fallen too far behind, and to see if they were being pursued.

A Storm of Swords, Arya I

Fond of nature

"When we were crossing the Neck, I counted thirty-six flowers I never saw before, and Mycah showed me a lizard-lion."

A Game of Thrones, Sansa I

Merciful

“[…] Do you want the water?" "Aye." The man swallowed. "And the mercy. Please."

When she came back, the archer turned his face up and she poured the water into his mouth. He gulped it down as fast as she could pour, and what he couldn't gulp ran down his cheeks into the brown blood that crusted his whiskers, until pale pink tears dangled from his beard.

A Storm of Swords, Arya XII

Feminist

"The Lannisters are proud," Jon observed. "You'd think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother's House equal in honor to the king's." "The woman is important too!" Arya protested.

A Game of Thrones, Arya I

Empathetic

She thought of Mycah again and her eyes filled with tears. Her fault, her fault, her fault. If she had never asked him to play at swords with her …

A Game of Thrones, Arya II

Left-handed

Arya took her right hand off the grip and wiped her sweaty palm on her pants. She held the sword in her left hand. He seemed to approve. "The left is good. All is reversed, it will make your enemies more awkward.”

A Game of Thrones, Arya II

Learned

It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household.

A Game of Thrones, Arya I

Observant

"Learn three new things before you come back to us," the kindly man had commanded Cat, when he sent her forth into the city. She always did. Sometimes it was no more than three new words of the Braavosi tongue. Sometimes she brought back sailor's tales, of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide wet world beyond the isles of Braavos, wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching. Sometimes she learned three new japes or three new riddles, or tricks of this trade or the other. And every so often, she would learn some secret.

A Feast For Crows, Cat of The Canals

[cdragons]

Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered

Chapter 3: And So, It Begins

Previous Chapter

A Robb Stark X Yi Tish Reader/OC Story

Author's Note: I do not own Game of Thrones or ASOIAF or any of GRRM works. But please no hate, but feel free to comment, like, or reblog if you liked reading this story and want me to continue! There are some phrases written in Mandarin and some are in Romanization, but the translations are at the bottom of the post, along with pinyin for pronunciation. Ship terms and language is written by someone who has never been on a medieval ship in a storm. Also a surprise character is introduced into the story!

Also, I am so sorry for how long this story took to be updated. Finals and internships have been busting my butt for the past 2 months. But hopefully I'll be more consistent with my updates. I really appreciate everyone who has been following with this story, and I am especially grateful for my beta writer @valeskafics for her very helpful comments and her tips! Please check out her works, she's an insanely brilliant writer!

Warning(s): sexual content, past trauma & abuse, violence and violent themes, depression, symptoms of PTSD & survivor's guilt, asshole bosses, mention of offensive and racist terms, GOT canonical misogyny & sexism, angst (so much angst), references to abusers, and dark/yandere attitudes.

Previously in “Like the Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered”:

“You’re coming because you’re the King in the North, Arya because two Starks are better than one in this case and your mother is in no state to continue on, my guess is that the bannermen probably want to send her back to Winterfell. And Blackfish is going because he’s a Tully of Riverrun, but he’s not your fuckup Uncle Edmure Tully of Riverrun.”

Robb’s POV:

For Robb to say that the meeting with the bannermen was tedious would be an understatement. Theon was right that the meeting was mostly about sending his mother back to Winterfell in order to reunite with Bran and Rickon. His Lady Mother was more than pleased with the decision, although she tried in her best efforts to remain strong for her son, she was at her wits’ end with worry for her two youngest boys. She called for a steward to prepare the trip for her and Arya, when the atmosphere immediately became tense. It seems that his mother was unaware that she would be the only Stark returning to the North. Furthermore, the only one amongst Robb’s council uninformed of the apparent unanimous decision to send Arya to Maidenpool with Robb her Uncle Brydyen as a way to show good will, but still presenting a unified front from both the North and the Riverlands to Stannis and his men. In hearing of this decision, she demanded a moment alone with their king and princess her son and daughter, along with Lord Brydyen.

“You expect me to return to Winterfell,” gritted out his mother, “only to leave my daughter here?” Her crystalline blue eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets, her signature red strands escaped her braid, giving the illusion of fire surrounding her in the tent’s candlelight. A fire that was slowly rising with her increasing anger. “So she can meet with Stannis? And then what? Would she train to be a soldier, to fight, in King’s Landing, just after escaping? Of all the things you have expected from me to allow in you becoming King, this is your truest sign of madness from power.”

“Mother, please- “, Robb started to explain his reasoning, by which he wanted to explain that Arya practically ambushed him after his brawl tiff with Theon, and outright told him that she was going with him to Maidenpool. There was nothing to ask, no permission to grant, she was coming if it meant tailing behind him on foot for weeks in order to meet Stannis Baratheon and plan siege on King’s Landing and rescuing Sansa. She even shoved a dagger near his balls and told him that she’d cut them off if he sent her back home with their mother. She followed by pointing out that he might be better without it, considering he married the first girl it pointed at in this war. He tried his best to ignore Theon’s squawking laughter behind him as he visibly paled.

“NO! No, I won’t hear it,” Lady Catelyn shook her head furiously before pointing a finger at him like she was scolding a small child, rather than a king in war, “I have swayed by you too many times. All of which because I had been thinking of your rights as a king, and your happiness as my son. But in doing so, I have allowed you too much freedom. As a mother, it was my duty to allow you as much happiness afforded to you in this war. But in doing so, I have let you forgotten your duty to your family. No more, I could not stop you from marrying Talisa, from executing Lord Karstark, but I will not let you turn my daughter into a killer-”.

“I already am a killer!” Arya yelled over her, interrupting their mother’s fury-fueled lecture, and bringing both their mother’s and Robb’s eyes on her for the first time since the bannermen left the tent. “I already killed four men! I trained under a killer, a faceless man, I’m not leaving!” Robb was blown away by what he heard, from his youngest sister of all people. Arya turned to him, and he knew that she would not relent. “I’m going with you, I’m going to meet Stannis, and then I’m going to march into King’s Landing and get our sister back.”

This was not his little sister that snuck out of her lessons with her Setpa, the one that would always beg him or Jon to teach her how to fight, the one who would fling food at Sansa and he would send her to her room. That Arya longed for freedom, for glory, but was still green to the world and its cruelty. No, this Arya understood what it meant to take a life, felt the stopping of a man’s heart, saw the light bleed out a man’s eyes before being replaced by dull nothingness. This Arya was a killer.

“I’m the only one out of all of us who knows their way around the Red Keep. Joffery may be stupid enough to not hide, but Cersei will. And where Cersei hides, that’s where I’ll find Sansa. I’m going to make Cersei see a Stark staring down at her before I stick Needle in her head and her children.”

Gods, they turned his baby sister into a killer.

Brother stared at Sister, Tully Blue gazed into Stark Grey, Duty challenging Vengeance, each side daring the other to make a move, to take the bait, to give leeway. The world around them stopped until time finally decided to move forward. Robb looked at his mother, and then at his siter once more, and after a few minutes of extremely careful consideration, he finally relented. To which he heard his mother scream.

“NO! I forbid it!” Lady Stark shoved a finger to her eldest son’s chest, as if her mind imagined it as a blade that could pierce his armor for his insanity. She immediately grabbed Arya’s hand and to make her way out the tent to pack their things, “Come now Arya, we are leaving now. I will no longer pretend to humor your brother’s madness any longer- “

“NO!” Arya pulls her arm away from her mother and immediately stands by her brother’s side. “Look at me, look at ME!” Arya stood her ground, refusing to move away, refusing to let her mother to force her into a role that no longer fit, a role that had never fit in the first place not since she first saw Jon and Robb spar one another with wooden swords, dreaming to hold one in her hands. “I’m not a lady! I’ve never been a lady! I never wanted nor will ever BE a lady!”

Robb glanced between his mother and sister with frantic worry, unsure of where he should intervene. But it seems that his mother did that favor for him.

“Arya, I don’t want to fight with you-”, she started, her eyes filled with stubborn anger and her voice laced with absolute exhaustion. She had hoped that if she pleaded, her youngest daughter would begin to relent. Robb’s mother always seemed to underestimate her northern blood.

“I WANT to fight!” Arya interrupted, her impulsiveness continually shining over her patience. “I want to fight with you! Shout, scream, yell horrible things we both will regret!” Her voice refused to tremble as the pale grey eyes she inherited from their father shimmered with angry tears. “Because it seems only you hating me will make you see me! To HEAR me! To cause you to finally wake up from the fantasy of the fake daughter you made up in your mind over your real one that stands before you!”

For the first time since their reunion, for the first time since she could toddle, Robb saw tears brimming his chaotic sister’s eyes. Not for the first time since war broke out, he wished for his brother Jon’s company, not just only for his comfort, but also to handle Arya. Thick as thieves those two, as Arya always considered Jon to be her favorite brother, never once thinking less of him for his bastard status, or blaming his existence as proof for his father’s infidelity not like his mother, Sansa, or almost everyone did in Winterfell. No, Arya was always proud in knowing the Jon Snow was a Stark, whether he carried the name or not (another trait that he saw in you, his beloved), he was her brother.

Even Robb couldn’t claim that he never used his status as their father’s heir and first true-born son to his advantage at times, whenever he was jealous of how quickly Jon picked up hunting and fighting while he sometimes struggled, or whenever he was reminded that it was his duty as heir that he had to marry a highborn noblewoman and not you, or whenever he saw the two of you sparring together (Jon had the muscle, but you had the speed and agility) with that rare gleam in your eye that could only come from a skilled partner, or whenever he spied saw the two of you walking together in the keep’s town in comfortable silence, or whenever he saw you sitting together at meals at the far end at his mother’s insistence when Theon was making his presence known at the brothels and he heard your laughter oh, how his fists clenched in fury at the sight of your smile not directed at him. But Jon wasn’t here, and Robb wasn’t a boy in Winterfell, not anymore. Now he was the King of the North, and if he could not be king of an independent North, then he was still the Lord of Winterfell and the North’s Warden. That meant that he was head of the Starks, including his own mother should she continue to carry the name “Stark.”

“Mother,” Robb started, the two women in the tent quickly turning their gaze to him, “you are to return to Winterfell to watch over the keep and watch over Bran and Rickon. I’ll send 10 men with you in case of an ambush. The North needs the Starks to watch over her.” His mother’s eyes softened in relief, mistaking his decision as agreement.

“Thank you, my son-”, she started before being cut off.

“But you will be the only Stark returning to the North,” he stated as he saw Arya’s back straighten in shock. “Princess Arya will remain by my side to assist me in negotiating with Stannis. As I am sure that you are the last Stark he wishes to see.” He saw the eyes of his mother widen in fear and desperation.

“Robb, my son, please-”, she pleaded, “listen to reason.”

“No,” he could not risk being soft anymore, not with the North on the line, “Stannis is our only hope in surviving this war. When you came to Renly’s side, you declared the North his enemy. Now it is up to me to fix it, to beg if necessary.” He lowered his eyes to stare his mother down with as much authority his father drilled into him as a youth, “I am your son. But even if I have to give away my crown, I am still Warden of the North and Winterfell’s lord. I am YOUR lord. And as your lord, I proclaim that this decision is final.” He turned to his sister, and clasped his gloved hand on her shoulder, “Get some rest, tomorrow we must prepare. The following day, we leave at first light.”

“Yes,” Arya stared at her brother with determination and gratitude, “my king.” With that being the final word, he left the tent to make way to his own. He quickly removed his outerwear until he was only in his small clothes and didn’t bother to wash himself before collapsing on top of the furs on his cot. Fatigue washed over him as he closed his eyes and slept without any dreams.

Now resting in an inn, Maidenpool being only a few more days away, his ass still sore from the weeks of riding and rising anxiety of meeting Stannis Baratheon, the King and Lord of Dragonstone. He dared not to admit to himself of his worry in fear that his nerves will get the best of him when he finally meets Stannis Baratheon. While he may have been a southerner, born and raised, Robb had only tremendous respect for the man. Moreso, Robb was grateful to have never crossed swords with in the field.

Prince Stannis was hailed a “military genius,” his victory against the Victarion Greyjoy at the Fair Isle during the Greyjoy Rebellion was mythic, even Theon couldn’t help but be in awe whenever Maester Luwin recounted it in their lessons. Stannis, despite having no particular skillset of either sailor or admiral, was set up as Master of Ships against seasoned naval commander who fought in naval battles at the end of Robert’s Rebellion. It was the first naval battle Stannis fought in his life, entering the battle an inexperienced commander and left as the man who gave Victarion Greyjoy his most crushing defeat.

“Truly,” Robb thought, “if the North must bend the knee to another Southerner, by the Gods let it be him.” As he was resolute in his belief that only Stannis Baratheon could manage to rule over the Seven Kingdoms, and lead them into peace and prosperity. His disadvantage in his claim would be that he had no heir, only a sickly daughter who survived a case of Greyscale as a babe, and had to continue to grow with horrifying scars left from the disease on her face. From what he heard; her mother became cold and cruel to the young girl and grew mad under some god named “R'hllor.” Stannis himself converted to the same faith, even allowing a High Red Priestess referred to as “Lady Melissandre” to sit within his council. Robb couldn’t help but pity the poor girl; knowing how cold her father was - not to mention her deranged mother - hardly made for a warm upbringing. Lost in his thoughts, he did not even hear Arya come into the room and sit on the room’s other bed.

“What do think will happen when Stannis sees us?” She asks, her face completely blank as her mind races through the worst scenario. “Do you think he’ll kill us? Like he killed Renly?”

“We don’t know that to be true,” he answers back carefully, “and even if it was, it’s because Renly declared claim to the Iron Throne over him. When you think it like that, he only killed a usurper.”

“Like Joffery?”

“Aye, like Joffery.” After waiting for a few moments for her reply, Robb thought that he settled her nerves, and closed his eyes to begin to sleep. But what Arya asked next was so soft that he almost missed it, but it chilled his blood when his ears caught it.

“…Aren’t we usurpers?” She asked him. “Won’t he see us the same as Joffery?”

“Arya, we aren’t- it’s not-” Robb struggled to find the words to ease his little sister “Stannis wouldn’t-”

“Wouldn’t he?” Arya interrupted with a dead gaze and flat voice. “If he killed his own brother, what makes you think he won’t kill you?”

“Stannis wouldn’t make the same mistake Tywin Lannister made,” Robb shook his head as he tried to sound as calm and patient to fight off the migraine blooming in his head, “he’s a better man than him.”

“Like how you thought Walder Frey would just let you marry your dead wife? Or like how you thought that you wouldn’t die at a wedding.”

Robb flinched at her biting tone. When he looked to her once more, he first saw how her fists clenching the bed spread so hard he thought it would be torn. He then looked at her face, it was no longer impassive. Her mouth was pursed in anger, her eyes were mad with fury, and he saw her chest falling and rising with her nostril flaring as if she was preparing for a fight.

“Father died because he thought that a Lannister wasn’t as bad as he made her to be. Mother thought that Littlefinger was still someone worth trusting even after betraying father. And then she let go another Lannister, and then you killed Lord Karstark.”

It was hard for Robb to be forced to listen to every horrible decision that his family made that led them to this point, but he was too tired to retort back. So, he just let her continue on with her little rant. He figured that she needed to get it off of her chest.

“You, Theon, Mother, and thousands of men are alive now because of one person; Li.”

Hearing your name hurt more than the arrows to the chest, but he remained quiet as he heard the slight tremble creep through his sister’s voice.

“But Li’s gone now. She’s gone, and she can’t protect us anymore. She saved the North, the Vale, and you repaid her by marrying some pretty little healer who batted her sweet little eyes at you.”

“What does the Vale-”

“I know Mother went to King’s Landing.” This made Robb freeze.

“How the fuck-” but his couldn’t finish his thought as she pressed on.

“I found her while she was packing, she told me that she had to go. She couldn’t let you ruin everything.

“I tried telling her to not to go, that we needed her. I told her that when we get Sansa back and go back to Winterfell – that she’d be welcomed back as a hero of the North, be given a title and land– but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t listen to me. She kept talking about no one would listen to her. Then she started crying, I never ever saw Li cry – not even when Bran fell. Then she told me everything. ‘Bout how she tried to warn everyone: Father, Mother, and even you. She told father to leave, but he wouldn’t listen then either. She said that all of this was her fault, because she didn’t warn them earlier.

“She told Father, ‘Take the girls and go. Go back to Winterfell. Make up any excuse: say you’re sick, say your wife and youngest boys miss you, say that the raids increased and the lords are in need of your command. Say anything and just LEAVE. Don’t tell anyone. Not the Queen, not Varys, not Littlefinger. Not even the King. They will act the friend, smile prettily, look you in the eye and whisper comforting words. Only to stab you in the back unblinkingly with that same pleasing smile as you bleed out at their feet.’

“She even did the same with Mother. She told her that Lord Baelish couldn’t be trusted; that he was lying to her like he did at King’s Landing, but Mother wouldn’t listen. So, when he was far enough from the camp, she ambushed him with a cloth doused with Essence of Nightshade to knock him out, and made sure that she was far enough so that no one would hear killing the knights Tyrion sent him with. She then climbed a tree to tie and gag there for a few days, and left Daiyu there to make sure that he wouldn’t escape.”

This was news to Robb; he was sure he would have heard something from his Aunt Lysa at the news of her missing husband. The woman was deranged with infatuation for him. Fully awake now, he gave Arya his full attention.

“What happened next?”

“She told me that she wanted him weakened before questioning him. She wasn’t worried when he first escaped, it was only when she heard about the Ironborn attacks that she knew she had to make sure Mother wouldn’t do something stupid. If nothing but to knock her out with the nightshade long enough to move him to a secret location. But Mother was already at the cage, along with someone else. Another woman I think – Lady… Lady… Brianna of-” Arya grew perplexed at her memory failing her in a time like this.

“Lady Brienne of Tarth.” Robb remembered for her. “But wait - why would Mother worry about the Ironborn fleet? Even now they made no attempt to seize Winterfell. Plus, we still have his only son.”

“Balon Greyjoy doesn’t give a shit about Theon, only himself and power. What better way to get it than with two little Stark boys? Li noticed Mother was getting scared, making her susceptible to impulsiveness. And she was right. When she heard that Jaime Lannister was brought back, she knew that he would make another attempt, she just didn’t think she would be beaten in getting there.

Anyway, she said that couldn’t allow Her Lady to release Ser Jaime, as doing so would be an act of treason against you. Mother told her that Li had no right to interfere as she couldn’t begin to understand the pain and stress she had been since the war began. She asked Li how could an orphaned whore understand the pain she felt as a mother whose children were all scattered across Westeros. She then ordered Brienne to take her down. It was a close fight for the both of them; the Tarth woman was strong, but Li was quick. She would have won, but she was still injured from fighting the knights. It was ten against one; and while she was fighting one of them, another stabbed her back while another kicked her knee. Before long, she got overpowered and knocked out, and was carried to the healers’ tent.”

Robb couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he had wondered why you blamed yourself for the Kingslayer’s escape, and the deaths of those two Lannister boys. He only assumed that it was your empathy getting the best of you. He intended to question Theon but completely forgotten with Maidenpool as his first priority. He remembered seeing you in the tent; he was shocked at the blood and bruises that bloomed in shades of black, blue, and purple across your body. Already angered by his mother’s betrayal, he demanded to know the men in his camp who had done this so that he could swiftly punish them. You croaked out that it was spar with some of the men at the camp that went too far. When he asked you why Theon and your shadowcat weren’t at your side, you quickly responded that Theon was with him, and that Daiyu was hunting. Scolding you for being so reckless, he insisted that he carry you to your tent.

But you only swatted his hand away as you stood up from the cot while stating that you dealt worse at sea as a child. You must have noticed his temper rising, since it was only then that you lifted your eyes to meet his. And with a single look at your tempestuous gaze, he was both silenced and enraptured. Knowing you had won this battle, you walked wobbled back to your tent.

All while Robb was left standing there like an idiot; his cock already hardening at the thought of your stubborn eyes melted from bliss with each fervid thrust of his hips meeting yours in overwhelming euphoria. The only bruises on your body would be those from his lips and teeth. He didn’t even register Talisa walking up to him as he strode to his tent to quickly give release. He remembered ordering Greywind to stand guard as he closed his eyes and let his imagination run rampant. He thought of punishing you for your impertinence, forcing you to kneel between his legs. He would have ordered you to take out his hardened member as he scolds you for making him so hard in public. He would have ordered you to lightly lick his tip, before carefully taking his thick head into your mouth. He audibly groaned at the thought of your unrelenting gaze being broken as he pushed your head to fully take him. He could see slightly wincing as you gagged at the struggle of taking his length and girth. And when he released his load, your eyes widened in shock at the volume of his cum, knowing it was all for you. He remembered imagining you to swallow it all, and that there would be consequences if you spilled anything. After swallowing his load, you opened your mouth to show nothing was left. He praised you for being such a good girl for him, and he remembered finally spilling into his hand at the thought of you smiling warmly at his praise.

All for his momentary peace to be interrupted by the sound of Greywind’s warning, and for Lord Karstark’s squire to inform Robb that his presence was demanded at the Kingslayer’s cage. Knowing it wouldn’t be good, Robb quickly rid of any evidence of his release and tucked in his flaccid cock into his breeches before making way to the cages that held any enemy prisoners. Only to discover that the Kingslayer had been released by the aid of his mother in attempt to exchange him for Sansa and Arya. That was the morning everything went to hell.

“What happened next?” He was almost terrified to know the answer.

“She told me then that she decided enough was enough. That night, she called Daiyu to let their prisoner down. When she saw him asleep, she stomped on his balls. She said that as a youth, she caught the eye of a certain One-Eyed Crow. He would teach her many things, one of them was how to make men talk. But he was stubborn, even in his current position. Every time he demanded to be released, Daiyu snarled. Every time he mentioned his position as an emissary of King Joffery, Li punched his gut. Every time he called himself Lord of the Vale, she put a hand to his mouth before stabbing his arm. It didn’t take long for him to temper him.”

Robb paled and grew a little green at Arya’s impassioned retelling of Lord Baelish’s “interrogation.” What unnerved him even more was the slight admiration in her eyes toward your actions. Although it shouldn’t have surprised him, Arya had always worshipped the ground you walked on. Next to Jon and Father, you were probably her most favorite person in the world.

While you had a special bond with all of the Stark children, you held the two girls close to your heart. Sansa adored you, as you saw more to her than a pretty face and delicate stitching; reminding her that it was her kind soul and generous heart that you loved the most. Although, Sansa always beamed whenever you asked for her input on stitching and clothes. She stating that it comforted her that she was better than you in at SOMETHING.

Meanwhile, whenever Arya wasn’t sneaking off her lessons to join her brothers, it was to find you. You fascinated her, always begging you to tell her stories of the life you lived before Winterfell. Whenever she was in trouble with Mother, you would tell her that she had a spark within her that was growing rarer in the world around them, and that you hoped it never went out. You would even teach her a few words from the many languages you spoke, telling her that everyone should be fluent in one other language than their Common Tongue.

“She told him that he betrayed our father. He denied it of course, even reminded her of how she witnessed him offering his aid with the dagger. That got him a broken knee. She already knew that Tyrion would never bet against his brother Jaime, Ros told her that they acted close. And that Jaime Lannister had already revealed that it was King Robert that won the dagger from him. King Robert would never make an assassination attempt against Ned’s family, but he was stupid enough to leave it lying around the keep. Making it more than easy for him to get it back.”

Robb was completely dumbfounded, his mind racing as he tried to piece together every new piece of information.

“Wait – so that means-”

“Littlefinger sent the assassin to kill Bran, not the Lannister’s.” Arya started with a somber nod. “The Kingslayer pushed him off the tower, and Bran did almost die. But no one knew that his legs worked. Who’d believe that he’d survive a fall like that?”

“Another advisement from you to Father,” thought Robb, “you really were too smart for your own damn good.”

“She told me how scared he got. How he started to get nervous and stutter. He tried telling her how he tried help Father by telling him to bend the knee to Joffery, saying that he would still remain Hand and run the kingdom in peace with our family safe. But all that earned him was her removing a finger. Li told him that he must have known that Father would never bend the knee to a bastard born of incest and that she cared little for more of his excuses and that he needed to shut up. All she wanted to know, was how he managed to kill Lord Jon Arryn.”

If Robb wasn’t in shock before, he certainly was now.

“She told him how strange she thought it was that she never responded to any of the ravens you and Mother sent to her. Why wouldn’t she send aid to her sister and nephew? After all, they’re fighting against the same people who murdered her husband. She said that while she never personally met Lady Arryn, she remembered Mother talking about how her sister claims that family means everything to her. Meaning that-”

“It wasn’t the Lannister’s that killed Jon Arryn” finished Robb; horror filling him as he realizes that his father, this war, the feud between Lannister and Stark, were all pulled at the strings maneuvered by someone who his mother treasured as a friend. Arya nodded with sober eyes, telling him that her reaction was like his in realizing the truth.

“Li told him that she noticed how similar brothel was that of the brothels in Lys, from the silken textiles to the Lysene women that served as pleasure slaves; even the way he ordered them was identical to that of a brothel’s master. He must have spent a lot of time at Lys to be familiar with their language and mannerisms.”

“Arya, what does any of this have to do with Jon Arryn’s death?” Robb snapped as he was growing impatient, “Southern nobles travel there all the time, not exactly strange behavior.”

“That’s what I said to Li, but do you know what she told me?” Arya smiled as she recounted what you told her next, “She said, ‘Why did Littlefinger survive this long? It wasn’t because he was strong, or rich, or even because he had friends. It’s because he watches everything, he takes in everything. Nothing was unimportant, everything had the potential to serve him in some way. I wanted him to know that no matter how smart he thought he was, I was better.’ She said that isolating and starving him were to just weaken his body, torturing him was to weaken his mind. But to break him, she needed to beat him in his own game, knowledge.”

The silence that followed was deafening to Robb. The only thing he could hear was the increased fervor of his heart pounding against his chest. He waited for his sister to continue, to hear the mastery of your inquisitiveness, to maybe gain your insight. Maybe he will finally begin to see a glimpse of the demonic ingenuity that hid behind your solid gaze; maybe, just maybe, in hearing this from someone else, he would understand you, if only just a little bit more.

But Arya didn’t say anything…her face was blank as the soft hacked tendrils of her hair covered her eyes.

“What next?” Robb whispered, his voice desperately pleading for more.

“…”

“Arya,” he pleaded once more; his voice growing more distraught with each passing second, “please tell me. What else did she say?” He could see his sister’s lips moving, but her voice was so quiet that he had to strain his ears to hear her next words.

“…That was it…,” she conceded, “she said that she had to go, that she stayed for too long already.” Arya kicked off her boots before bringing her knees to her chest, clutching them with her spindly arms. Her face remained blank, but Robb swore he heard her voice cracking.

“That can’t be it…” Robb protested in disbelief. “Arya there had to have been more. Tell me there’s more!” Robb was no longer lying on his bed. Now he stood over his sister, towering her small frame the same as their father once had when he scolded them as children. His voice growing more inflamed in misery. His anger erupted when Arya remained in her silence by lowering her head to her knee tops. If he paid attention, he would have noticed the slight quiver of her bottom lip.

“Arya!” He bellowed, guilt flooding his body as he saw the slight flinch of his baby sister’s body, but he was too blinded in his anger to care about anything other than you in that moment. “Arya, Gods help me if you don’t tell me-”

“I’m not lying!” She wailed; her face finally free of her impassive façade. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her pale eyes were beginning to grow red and puffy, and her face grew pink and splotchy. “I begged her to tell me, but she wouldn’t! I asked her why she didn’t tell all of this to you, to Mother, or even Theon!”

Her chest was heaving with every sharp intake of breath, her entire body was shaking uncontrollably with every gasp. After everything that happened: from Bran falling to Robb almost dying; it took you leaving without the promise of returning that caused the weary dam to be demolished by the overdue flood of her grief and sorrow.

“I tried to make her! But she wouldn’t tell me! All she did was look at me! Looking at me with that stupid smile!” With her flood of sorrow, came the rage that followed; as she roared out her final moments with you before your departure, “The one she makes when she’s in trouble, or scared, or hurt; but she never lets anyone know about it! She just hides it! Hoping it’ll go away and everything will be fine and we’ll be none the wiser! But I knew something was wrong! I knew that she did something important, and I tried to make her tell me!”

She paused to wipe the little dribble of snot running down her nose with her sleeve as little hiccups escaped as a result from her crying.

“But all she did was give me a stupid hug! It was so tight and warm a-a-an-and- it smelled like her and-,” she paused once more to catch her breath, only to begin crying again as she wailed out her next words, “and she said she was sorry ‘cause I needed to stay strong for just a little longer, but everything would be alright! She told me she loved me and kissed my head! And then she grabbed her travel pack, called her shadowcat, and then she LEFT!” She stopped to wipe her tears with her sleeves while also hiding her face from her brother.

Robb could no longer be angry. He couldn’t even pretend to be strong anymore. He collapsed on his bed, its loud creak accompanying Arya’s loud sniffles. It was only when the candle was beginning to flicker out that he noticed enough time passed for Arya to steady her breathing. He let out a weary sigh, before whispering out the question that plagued his mind since Arya began to speak.

“Why didn’t she tell me this from the start?” He croaked out. “Did she think I wouldn’t believe her, or that I wouldn’t trust her? I- I just- I don’t understand-”

“It wasn’t that she couldn’t trust you,” she breathed out, “it was that she couldn’t trust herself.” Seeing how this only muddled her brother even further, she pressed on, “She did say one more thing about Littlefinger though-that she and him…they were alike, just a bit.”

“What? How could they possibly be remotely alike?” Robb questioned, completely baffled by the thought of comparing you to that traitor.

“Before she killed him, he told her that there was no justice in the world. Not unless they made it. Him, the small son of a small house, knew that the only way to rise in the world, was through only himself. Came from nothing, rose to power, and she was exactly the same. He saw it when he first met her in King’s Landing. But he could tell she changed; this war changed her. Because of you, because she followed you. She said that hated his words; but what she hated more was the fact that everything he said was the truth. She became weak; no longer trusted herself to take action, because of you.”

“…Because she followed me into war?” He asked as a bitter laugh escaped his lips, not wanting to feel the guilt growing in his chest at Arya’s recount of your confession.

“Because she fell in love with you.” She stated, praying for your forgiveness for revealing your most shameful truth.

It was as if Robb’s world had crashed down all over again.

“I never knew,” were all that he could choke out.

“It’s ok,” his sister reasoned in attempt to comfort her brother, “I don’t think she knew either.”

And with that being the final word, the candle’s flame died down, and darkness cloaked the two siblings in awkward comfort. Arya laid on her side, wanting to gain at least a few hours of sleep before their continued travels. But no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep evaded the young king. Anger and bitterness were his constant companions since your departure, he reasoned them with you breaking both his heart and his trust.

Only for shame and self-loathing to overflow within him in learning that he had done the same to you for much longer.

“And I can assure you my lords that the price was more than fair,” your confidence was slowly diminishing as you chose your next words carefully, “all that was asked from the stranger was that I sail from Seagard to a locate an individual and escort them to somewhere Beyond the Wall, afterwards I would be told more details of my mission from there.”

龙力 (Lóng lì) POV:

It’s been several weeks since the ship provided by House Mallister had departed from the port of Seagard, but there had been no peace for me to grieve.

“’OY Boy! Get a move on! She’s starting to blow!” “Who is-” “The WIND! Can’t you smell?” “Ser, I-” “THAT’S CAPTAIN TO YOU!”

“哦，仁慈的观音 (oh, merciful Guan Yin),” I thought pleadingly, “我求你饶了我这种折磨.” I should have known better than to hope that Lord Mallister would provide me a ship handled by a proper crew. I leaned back to bear witness at the horror unfolding before my eyes. Tried as I might, I could not hide the grimace etched on my mouth as bitter disappointment roared in my expression.

黛玉 (Dài yù) was faring no better, as the bored expression in her gaze was any indication. She, like me, was not impressed by the pathetic display before her.

I doubt that more than half these “men” had ever been on a ship for longer than a few hours to catch a meal, let alone to make a journey with no promise of definite return.

“WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING BOY!” The “captain” shouted, his spit flying through the air, and landing on the poor deckhand he was currently torturing.

My grimace morphed to a scowl; this man was no ship “captain,” he was not even a man meant for the sea. Even before stolen from my home and family, I lived on market near the port. Hundreds of ships would dock at the port, and thousands of men would flock at the market.

Some were handsome and rich; some were ugly and poor.

Maybe they were heroes returning home; maybe they were cowards running from one.

If one’s face was green to the breeze, then another’s soul was battered from the storms.

But each and every one of them had a look in their eye: a look a resolution to witness the sea and all of her horrible glory, let them live or die if she wanted.

As a little girl who dared not dream of a life outside her family, these men fascinated me.

This man disgusted me. His voice boomed with slurred speech, and his face glowed red and his breath smelled putrid from all the ale he ingested. His beard was bushy and untrimmed, flecks of rotting meat made permanent residence there. When he wasn’t sitting on his ominously large ass, his rotund gut sloshed with every step he took to yell at someone else. I’ve seen and met many men who voyaged the sea like him, but he was no sea man. There was no resolution in his eyes, only greed and arrogance. Lord Mallister could not have sent me on a more terrible ship with a worse crew. I wished more than ever to be by my brother’s side.

Ironborn…Mainland… one fact remained: the sea roared within him. Salt ran through his veins, while the wind called his spirit. A kracken, a wolf, it never mattered in the end.

Theon Greyjoy was a man who would have thrived at sea. It called to him, as it did to me. He was the very image of the pirates I made up to tell to Lady Arya and Lady Sansa when they still very small. From the rakish glint in his eyes, to that boyish smirk he flashed to any pretty girl who glanced his way– even the way he spoke just screamed arrogance.

But that merely a mask – a façade to hide his hurt, his insecurities, every vulnerability from the world who decided his place in it since he had no say in that matter.

They saw neither his kindness, nor his empathy. They would not believe the truly caring young man that hid behind years of carefully manufactured egotism.

They didn’t see the boy that would carry his late lord’s eldest daughter after she fell and scraped her knee; ruining her stockings and dress with blood and muddy snow. They never saw how he would gather her in his arms, and whisper words of promises how she was still the prettiest girl in all of the Seven Kingdoms. They failed to see the slight blush on her cheeks that came whenever she saw him alone at the archery range in her family’s keep.

They turned their sights away when he would find an abandoned hawk chick on a morning ride, and raced back to his room to nurture it back to health. They refused to bear witness the determination in his eyes to aid a creature into living rather than to accept pathetic comfort in death. They never saw the sickly little chick grow into the swiftest predator to every fly through the Northern skies.

They didn’t see a young boy flush in shame in learning the meaning to a slur he called a foreign former sex slave. They never saw the change in his behavior when the child awoken, immediately begging for forgiveness. They were blind to the beginning of a family, built on a foundation of both mutual respect and acceptance.

Furthermore, they refused to acknowledge that an ignorant boy could grow into a confident and capable man; if they are given the time and care they are deserved from the beginning.

I was hit by a wave of sorrow in remembering him. Gods, how I missed him.

“I’m so sorry Ser-CAPTAIN! I-I just-um-I just thought-” the unfortunate deckhand sputtered out. His face growing more flustered as he continued to try to sort out his words. He looked not a day past his twelfth name day. He was only a bit older than Bran.

The sight was so pitiful it almost made me want to help…almost. But I couldn’t afford to draw more attention to myself…no matter how much the boy reminded me of Bran.

Gods above, it’s been so long. Did he grow? Was he taller than me? And what of Rickon? Have they been paying attention in their lessons? Have they been eating their greens? They had better not have fed them to Summer and Shaggydog. Were they good to Maester Luwin?

By the Seven, has Maester Luwin been neglectful in taking his medicine since I’ve been gone? Is he still making sure to get proper rest in acting as advising hand while Bran is the Acting Lord of Winterfell? Has he been overworking himself?

…Has Jon been informed since he trekked to Castle Black to take his vows?

My mind began to spiral, and with it so did my heart begin to race. Bran, Rickon, Jon, Maester Luwin…would I ever see them again? Had they been informed of the Frey’s betrayal and the Lannister’s mutiny? Do they know of the deal I needed to take? ... Had they thought I betrayed them?

“别再折磨自己了,” I angrily berated at no one but myself, “你不是这里的受害者."

I needed to snap out of my misery. I made a deal, and I would see it to the end. If never returning was the price to way for the benefit of House Stark, then it was a price more than fair to me. Wallowing in defeatism would do me no good, my childhood was a testament to that truth.

It would not win the war.

It would not bring back my late Lord, Lord Eddard Stark.

And it would not revive Queen Talisa Stark nee Maegyr, and that of her and Robb’s child who bled out on the cold tile floor of the Frey’s Keep as a result of my incompetence.

Thankfully, the bulging pimple of the man opened his mouth, and thus my spiral of self-pity soon distorted to righteous fury.

“SPARE ME THE BLUBBERING AND STARTING CLEANING DAMN IT!” The foul captain turned his foot, and strode back to his quarters. He walked as if he was only doing his job, but I could see his face. The moment he turned; his rotten scowl turned to a repulsive grin that showed his rotten yellow teeth.

Oh, I despised this man. My fingers inched toward for my knifes, and my soul was calling out for his blood. And how I longed to fulfill its wish. 黛玉 (Dài yù) could sense my agitation, and in response her tail started to twitch, indicating her aggression. If she decided to attack, I do not think I would have it in me to stop her.

A gust of wind broke me from my blood lusted trance as a chill ran down my spine. Quickly I turn to face the ocean, gripping the railing as I stare at the horizon. The breeze continued to whip my hair, tangling my raven locks with her invisible grazes; I could tell something was wrong. When the wind blew stronger, I looked up at the sky, forgetting that the stars had not been seen in the night sky for days. But the sun had long set, and so far, there was still no rain so the chances of trouble was likely – a drop of water landed on the back of my hand.

Another on the top of my head.

A third landed on my cheek.

“台风,” I whispered out, fear flooding my body.

“What's that miss?”

I turned around and saw that it was the pitiful deckhand. I look at him with furrowed brows, and was about to repeat what I had just said to warn him – when I realized that I had switched to thinking in my native tongue without realization. I recompose myself in haste and grip the young boy’s shoulders to tell him.

“Typhoon,” I whisper carefully, noting how his eyes soon became wide with fear, “It’s been cloudy for days, the wind is picking up and now there is rain.” Oh gods, I could feel the wind growing. Raising my voice, I tell him, “Warn the crew, secure all the loose gear, make sure all the windows and openings are batten down and latched tight. Are you with me so far?”

He quickly nods, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Good,” I nod in attempt to reassure him before continuing, “Now-what I am going to tell you next is the most important. I want you to tell the men in charge of the masts – that’s the pole that holds the sails – see it?” I quickly point to them, making sure that his eyes follow my finger. “I want you to tell them to strike the royals first – not the mainsail – the smaller ones, got it?”

“But my lady, the-the winds-should we not-” the young man tried to question, before a powerful rumble rolled across the downpour. Followed by a horrifying crack, along with a blinding flash of light. Its shape resembling the dragon of my pendent, a Yi Ti dragon.

“HURRY!” I yell to him before running and pounded on every cabin door “All hands-on deck! TYPHOON COMING!”

The drizzle that came as a warning became a shower; and the shower soon transformed into a downpour. And the downpour went on until it was a fucking monsoon.

The men were scrambling to prepare for the worst; all of them trying to play a part that none were expecting. The damned “ship captain” was nowhere to be found. Probably tucked in poster bed, a fire roaring, sheltered away in his cabin’s warmth– ignorant to his men’s suffering – away from this madness. A truly disgusting man. I sneered under my breath, but I had no time to waste on him.

A few hours have passed, and the men had grown desperate. After the boy relayed my orders, they scoffed at the idea of grown men receiving orders from a woman whose only defense was a few blades and an irritated shadowcat. But as they realized how much danger they were in; they gradually began to accept me as the officer in command. At the very least, they saw that I was a more competent sailor than that of their captain. But in spite of our best efforts, we could not stabilize the ship to escape the storm.

We needed to get to land…fast. There was no chance of this ship, nor the people of this ship surviving if we attempt to drop anchor to ride this storm out.

“REEF THE MAINSAIL! AND ABANDON COURSE!” It was a desperate attempt, but I cannot risk to strike the mainsail. To do so would lose all forward power and abandon all control in the ship direction through the steering wheel. We’d be floating straight downward like floating corpses.

“HELMSMAN!” I called out.

“YES, MY LADY!” He dutifully responded.

“ABANDON COURSE AND POINT! WE NEED TO GET TO LAND AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE!” I directed as clearly as I could in my state. Fatigue would soon get the best of me, but I could not lose my concentration.

“AYE’ MY LADY!” He replied, to which he relayed his message to the men controlling the mast. “REEF THE MAINSAIL!”

A series of “AYE’s” rang through my ears. If I was not so terrified of our current placement, they’re unified front in receiving my order would have brought a great sense of pride to me.

Almost an hour had passed, and the waves were getting less turbulent.

There…LAND! We were saved!

When the navigator spotted the stretch of grey, the ship’s men practically cried in relief. I almost did the same…but something still felt off. It was too early for celebration.

Why did those spots of rocks and sand unsettle me? Twenty lives were saved, we managed to ride out the storm, the Gods had not claimed anyone tonight…so why can’t I feel myself relax?

We were getting closer to the shore; the rocks were becoming larger…my heart was racing.

What am I feeling? It’s as if…my body was warning me about something…something my mind is failing to remember.

The body…the mind…my body…my mind…

It’s one thing if both your mind and body fail to recall something…but for the body to remember what the mind had forgotten…oh Gods, where am I?

I could feel my body growing stiff, but my hands were trembling? Why? What am I forgetting? What is it about this place that is bringing these…reactions? I felt a hand on my shoulder, I took out one of my daggers to find…the young deckhand?

“My lady!” His smile was so wide, his shoulders were sagging in relief, he felt…safe, “WE made it to land! We survived the storm!”

I felt a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding to escape, trying to convince myself to relax.

“Yes,” I smiled, “thank you for relaying my instructions. You were a tremendous help.”

“Oh no, my lady! It was because of your orders that we survived another day! And not a single man was lost!”

His smile was so genuine and sweet…he really did remind me of Bran. I felt myself calm down a bit.

“Even so, I am grateful that you trusted in me. The part you played in our survival should not be ignored. You have my thanks…um…” I tried to recall his name. If I was to thank this brave young man, then I want to do it properly.

“OH! Yes! I never gave my name!”

…Why was the air growing colder? Was it getting darker?

“My name is Eoghan Wright my-”

Blood spattered across my face as his head was bashed in with a club.

Blood…red…iron…oh Gods…are we-

Screams of pain filled my ears, 黛玉 (Dài yù) leapt in front of me. I felt nauseous, I wanted to keel over and never stand again.

I looked behind me…and saw the sight of a massive sigil on a sail.

…Black…gold…Kracken…iron

I knew that smell…HE reeked of it – I would have choked to death on the smell alone when I was with him if I hadn’t felt so dead so young.

A memory is coming to me…from my brother…Theon.

“The ground so full of metal that nothing grows there,” he once told me, “All that iron ore in the ground poisoned it I suppose.”

Iron ore…the Iron Islands…I doomed us all.

A terrifying grin with putrid breath was all I sensed from the world before a cloth was pressed against my face…and my world went dark.

Meanwhile in King’s Landing:

A lone figure stood before a window, facing one of the finest views of the Red Keep. Her figure eluding the serenity of a worldly temptress. Her face and frame emitting only lust and peace, that only meant she was a talented actress. A few weeks ago, she had sent out a piece of a puzzle that would either aid her dearest friend’s latest conspiracy, or send both the Lannister’s and the Eyrie for her head.

Littlefinger’s death caused an uproar within the Red Keep. That…along with the failure of the Red Wedding…the Gods couldn’t save the Stark girl from King Joffery’s wrath.

Never before had she wanted to wring a man by his balls more than that of Robb Stark, Young Wolf and King of the North.

King or not, only the most stupid of boys would lead thousands of men to their death for the company of a plucky foreign chit with a passable smile and round ass.

She prayed that a more worthy suitor caught your eye.

…Maybe she could find a way for you to meet that young Payne squire…at least he’d be a considerably better match in terms of loyalty for someone as preciously deadly as you.

…Not to mention he was surprisingly well-endowed.

She recalled the time you and your brother caught her on the turnip cart for her escape to King’s Landing. Following her everywhere whenever you came to the village town. You would always be more duckling than dragon in her eyes.

“Will I ever see you again?” You looked so heartbroken asking her this question. It broke her own heart to see such round eyes being filled with tears from worry and fear.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” you pleaded. A cruel request from someone such as yourself. You would bleed yourself dry to feed every starving child you came across.

“I love you-”

“My dear Ros,” spoke a bald figure with a slight Lysian accent as he entered the room, “How do you fare on this fine day?”

Banishing her troubled thoughts, she lightly curled the ends of her lips to give one of her famous smiles. As she turned, the sun’s rays danced across her flowing red hair, giving the imagery of a glorious flame. The fine silks from Lys hugged her figure magnificently. She was the very image of temptation.

“Fear not Lord Varys.” She told in a calm tone, giving none of her worried away. “I am well as always.”

“Stay strong little duck,” she pleaded to you, wherever you may be. “You pleaded for my safety, now it is time for me to plead for your’s.”

Translations:

“哦，仁慈的观音...我求你饶了我这种折磨” (Ó, réncí de guānyīn……wǒ qiú nǐ ráole wǒ zhè zhǒng zhémó): Oh merciful Guanyin…I beg you to spare me this torture.

龙力 (Lóng lì): Dragon Strength

黛玉 (Dài yù): Black Jade

“别再折磨自己了...你不是这里的受害者" (Bié zài zhémó zìjǐle... Nǐ bùshì zhèlǐ de shòuhài zhě) : Stop torturing yourself ... you are not the victim here."

台风 (Táifēng): Typhoon

Taglist: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @its-actually-minicika, @arcielee, @axelsagewrites

[crimsoncold]

Art Update...

aka I'm alive and I really have been making art

So times like this when I have 10+ works in progress I start to feel like I'm pushing myself way too hard to be productive while simultaneously getting absolutely nothing done.

This general sense of frustration/disappointed with myself is made worse since I have...

a) spent several weeks on the road, with minimal opportunity for completing or posting any art (my jonsa Halloween piece was a miracle completed in a single day during a feverish state of a major post trip crash while I binge watched a bunch of horror movies- fanatically determined to speed run my enjoyment of October in the day or two I got to actually celebrate the Halloween season)

And

b) have been facing both miserably cold weather (if I wear any more layers when I go outside I will become so immobile that I'll have to rely on my dogs to pull me through the snow when we go for a walk) , a significant lack of daylight (seriously 4 pm is just an obscenely early time for sunset), and some of the same overarching sense of dread/disappointment in the the state of world that I imagine many others have been feeling

So to once again make this blog my happy space, give everyone an update, to hype myself up to feeling excited about completing/sharing some art- or just to remind myself that I've actually accomplished a lot in the last 4 months despite not having posted much- Im gonna give a brief list of what art I'm nearly finshed/ready to post...

1. First on the menu are some older completed works that I plan to post in the next couple days since i found a bunch of really old (and somewhat obscure) character portraits I did- (back when I was drawing on some old- and now defunct- version of my phone's notes app)

I briefly considered redoing these now that I have access to better digital drawing programs but I actually really like them as is, so that's how I'm going to post them... these are shamelessly self indulgent character portraits from some of my all time favorit book series,

I will be pleasantly shocked if anyone has heard of these characters but I loved making them and seeing them makes me desperately want to reread these series again so I'm genuinely happy about posting them for me and like the 2 other people on this website who know/ love these characters as much as I do (so i guess these portraits will double as book recs? Should i add a brief synopsis of these books to encourage people to check them out or should I just release them into the wild as is?)

2. I have a 90% completed portrait of Sansa with Lady which I just began earlier this week and have made excellent progress on -that I intend to post as soon as I'm finished

(It can be fun to challenge myself to incorporate different things in my art that I struggle with or at least tend to overlook in favour of other elements and as someone who only occasionally has incorporated animals into their work- depressingly the only ones that come to mind have all been the odd memorial portrait of beloved pets that I've made for family members over the years- i was pleasantly satisfied with my attempt in making an animal a major focal point in a fanart pieces.

I'm tentatively interested in doing other stark kids + their direwolves pieces (i know I know its been done countless times but what's the point of participating in fandom if not to dwell on/recreate/transform the same things over and over again for the same group of dedicated weirdos) but that plan will have to take to back seat for a bit while I finish up a different series of asoiaf art...

3. Lastly comes my major project from the last couple if months, a New Stark Family portrait series (this time based on book canon)

Been very in my stark family feels lately, feeling inspired by the many incredible artworks, metas, fanedits, and videos this fandom generates about these characters (because really who doesn't feel like appreciating a deeply loving but still mildly and fascinatingly dysfunctional family or you know having ones heart ripped out over the tragedies befalling an iconic/beloved group of fictional characters)

I have so far failed to get any of this series posted initailly because had decided I wanted them all to be (mostly) finished before I started posting rather than risk abandoning this idea half way (so like holding my completed artwork hostage to motivate me to complete the rest? ldk it made sense at the time).

But then when I had completed all but two of the portraits I abruptly decided that in the future after posting these individual portraits I would of course have to take all the individual sketches and reconfigure them into a single family portrait...which meant rather than simply evaluating each piece individually to decide whether I was satisfied with them/felt they were complete I would now have to compare them to one another as well to see if they would look like they would work next to eachother in the same art piece.

Cue an extra 3 weeks of work while I endlessly fiddled with and reworked their outfits, trying to come up with outfits that resonated with how I pictured northern culture in asoiaf + seemed suitable for a formal portrait of medieval nobility in a fantasy setting, suited each individual character, would also complemented one another once put in the same scene, but also didn't look too matchy (thus reminding me of some of the hilariously awful formal family photos I've seen where everyone looks like they're trying to recreate the sound of music including curtain fabric inspired matching outfits), this part took me almost as long as the initial portraits did- seriously i must have gone through at least 4 different outfits per character

After all this reworking I have finally come up with a decent idea for the outfits and have 7/8 of the portraits essentially completed with just one left to start (its Rickon and he's like a quarter the size of everyone else so surely this won't take me that long? Crossing my fingers)... so hopefully i will be posting these throughout december and can do the group piece some time next year!

[joanna-lannister]

so you mentioned a cersei appreciation week? I have a few ideas!

If you're doing prompts that are accessible to multiple forms of submissions, I recommend going for the usual themes/titles.

The YAMBQ, Lioness of the Rock, Queen of Westeros, Motherhood, Childhood, Actions, Occasions where she had a genuine prophetic feeling that she ignored but what if she didn't, Politics, unhinged moment, parallels/antiparallels, women, men, things she prizes etc.

Prompts are like...vibes, basically. What fits this character and the story and how can I have people expand on it or display a different perspective? In my case, for NedCat Week I added a Nymph Catelyn prompt, I'm the only person so far as I'm aware who's come up with this prompt, and it fits both her vibes and several AU's circling around tumblr with magical Westeros Houses.

As for scheduling...The fall-winter months have a several Stark events ongoing, sansa month, arya, winterneedle, jon snow, nedcat week this january 21st-27th etc. Summer of Dorne & Dove happen, well all summer. Cersei is...not a spring person though so maybe mid-june might work best, I don't know of any event in the ASoIaF fandom happening then. They can certainly overlap but it's a struggle if people are trying to participate in two events at once.

tag tracking is obviously a must, #cerseiappreciationweek2024 would work or just plain #cerseiappreciationweek if you really want.

but honestly, it's more a figuring things out, do interests checks either through polls or google forms, if you want people to pick their own prompts. this is helpful, checking out the dcxdp fandom, nearly legendary at this point for their perfect event management could help, this is super helpful.

@run-godspeed is also super helpful for if you want a graphic containing the prompts and I wish you the best of luck!!

The YAMBQ, Lioness of the Rock, Queen of Westeros, Motherhood, Childhood, Actions, Occasions where she had a genuine prophetic feeling that she ignored but what if she didn't, Politics, unhinged moment, parallels/antiparallels, women, men, things she prizes etc.

Thank you 🙏🏻❤️ I have already some of them in my prompts list.

As for scheduling...The fall-winter months have a several Stark events ongoing, sansa month, arya, winterneedle, jon snow, nedcat week this january 21st-27th etc. Summer of Dorne & Dove happen, well all summer. Cersei is...not a spring person though so maybe mid-june might work best, I don't know of any event in the ASoIaF fandom happening then. They can certainly overlap but it's a struggle if people are trying to participate in two events at once.

I was thinking about doing this in March (or maybe April) so... Announcing it at end of January so people will have time to participate.

tag tracking is obviously a must, #cerseiappreciationweek2024 would work or just plain #cerseiappreciationweek if you really want.

Yes, I know, I already have an idea of what tags will be used.

And thank you for your tips! I have still a few details to settle, but I guess I'll go with the flow.