#shes a stranger and shes cold and the arya she knew is someone he trusts so explicitly

[forgaeven1]

the way the show’s simplified arya and gendry’s bond, and then had the audacity to sexualise them for the sake of ?? what?? views?? 🤢

[justauthoring]

only just a little // jon snow

request(s): Hello! Can you write a Jon Snow X Reader here she was tortured by Ramsey when he took winterfell and when Jon takes it back the reader has this really bad nightmares about Ramsey and Jon is there for her and just a lot of fluff

can u do one where the reader is in love with jon and he loves her and he saves her from someone bad (lol) and they confess that they love each other? thank you💗💗 

Hi hi omfg I love your writing and Jon Snow is awesome so here we go :))) For the Jon Snow x Reader requests, could you do one where the reader was Jon's best friend way beck when he lived in Winterfell but now she is being held captive by Ramsay Bolton (kinda like Sansa was) so Jon comes to rescue her but she's really badly injured and there's tonnes of angst but fluff at the end???? Again, love your writing, hope you are having a noice day :)

Can you do a Jon x Reader where you have been kind of a prisonner of Ramsay Bolton and you have a hard time trusting people after that, and Jon is the first to help you out

requested by: @mdgrdians

please don’t plagiarize my work!

word count: 2,181

“You’re really leaving?”

“Yes, I am.”

His words are spoken with a heavy exhale, displaying how torn Jon truly feels. In the dead of the night, the two of you seemingly the only ones still awake, Jon wonders if this is the right decision. If leaving you is the right decision.

Deep down, he knows it is. It’s the right decision for him, specifically, because he knows that he will never be accepted here in the way he wants. He may have a home, and those who love him, but he’ll never be consider a Stark by certain people, even though he so desperately wishes to be one.

Taking the black will give him purpose. Will give him something to fight for. And, it will give Jon the family, in some ways, that he needs. 

But it will mean leaving you.

You look so sad, stood there before him. Your eyes were watering, but you seemed to refuse to let them fall. Keeping a brave face, Jon assumed -- for his sake. You curled into yourself, pulling the furs wrapped around your shoulders tighter around yourself to hide your body from the sheer cold of the late nights in Winterfell. Yet, it did nothing to stop the winds from smacking you in the cheeks and turning them a rosy red though.

Jon, despite everything, had never thought you so beautiful as he did in that moment. 

“I leave in the morning.”

The words seemed to smack you the same way the wind did. Instead, in the heart. It felt like to opposing ends were taking your heart and playing tug-of-war with it, ripping it half without a care in the world.

Yet, you couldn’t argue. Couldn’t find, not even one, word to argue against Jon’s choice. Sure, you loved him. Sure, his father and his brother Robb, and his younger sister, Arya and his younger brother’s, Rickon and Bran, loved him. And maybe even a small part of Sansa loved her bastard brother as well. But they were not enough to keep him here, and you knew you weren’t either. Jon needed to do this for himself, and as much as it hurt you so, you would not stop from doing so.

You need to sacrifice your own love for him, so that he might find some peace.

“I will say farewells to you now then.”

The words puzzled Jon, and you were quick to elaborate, finally raised your bowed head to meet his eyes. “I will not watch you walk out those gates, Jon,” you explain, the words almost forced, as if they’d become choked up in your throat. “I cannot bare the sight of you walking away from me.”

Jon understood. And as much as it pained him, to say his goodbyes now, he would not argue. For his sake, like you were not arguing for his.

He took a small step forward, and that was all that you needed. In the next second, your arms were bounding around him fast and tightly, pulling him flush against yourself as you buried your head into the crook of his neck. Jon eased into the embrace almost instantly, loving the feeling of you so close and in his arms. He knew it was a feeling he would dearly miss.

Then, you leaned back, just slightly, pressing a kiss against his cheek. You moved your lips to his ears, touching them just slightly as you whispered; “I will miss you dearly.”

Jon’s grip on you tightened, even for just a moment, giving you the confirmation you needed that he, would indeed, miss you too. He’d never been great with words, and you seemed to understand him through his actions perfectly. It was one of the reasons why he loved you, even if he’d yet to admit it.

“I hope to see you again one day, Jon Snow.”

-

The bruises on your body ached to point you felt you could not move. The touch of him still lingered disgustingly across your skin, and no amount of baths could wash the feeling of him away.

You hated that he had this hold of you. That such a man like him could make you feel so powerless, so vulnerable with just a simple look. He controlled you in every aspect through fear, and commanded you in just the same way. You wanted to fight, but found you could not. Your chance at fighting for your dignity and happiness had long been lost, since the moment he first touched you.

Instead, you spent your days wasting away in your room until he visited you at night and defiled you all over again.

And now, with Sansa, his wife, and Theon, his toy, gone and having escaped, all his torment fell upon your shoulders. Relentlessly. You would’ve never wished this kind of torture upon anyone, especially Sansa who’d been like a younger sister to you, but now that it was only you, you’d rather be dead.

Even then, you didn’t have enough courage to kill yourself.

Ramsay was cruel. Beyond cruel. He was tormented, sick, and he seemed to take pleasure in the hell he created for others. When he raped you, he smiled in glee. When he beat you, he laughed in your face. And when he’d torment you mentally, use your own fears against you, he would do as if he truly did love you. It was one of the few times he was gentle, stroking your cheek as he used your own personal hell to his favour.

You had never met a men as sick as Ramsay Bolton.

Today was different though. Usually, when you were not sleeping, there was handmaidens at your side, keeping watch of you. If you left your room, Ramsay would place guards at your side. Today felt absent. Barren. No one was around, and Ramsay hadn’t spoke a word of warning towards you.

Your door was locked though, keeping you on the inside.

So you sat, by yourself, still and alone, on your bed, tracing the bruises that lined your skin and shivering in disgust when your mind poisoned the thought of your touch being his. Defiling you. Using you.

It was quiet. You were alone.

Until suddenly, you were not. In the span of only a second, footsteps ran rapid in what sounded like everywhere. You couldn’t pinpoint an exact position or direction, no matter how hard you tried, and even pressing your ear up against your door did nothing to help you understand what was happening beyond the wooden plank that blocked your view.

Then, a moment later, over all the other footsteps, you heard ones approaching your door. Quick, confident strides and it caused you to gasp out in fright, stumbling back, as far away from the door as possible. You knew who it was. No one else other than Ramsay himself visited you, and you feared what kind of torture he’d inflict upon you this time.

In nothing but a sheer nightdress, you had a inclination of what it would be.

The footsteps stopped, there was a click, signifying the door had been unlocked, and then you saw the doorknob turn. It wasn’t as if this was anything knew. By now, there was a countless amount of times you’ve been defiled and used. Yet, you still found yourself petrified every time it threatened to begin.

The door slid open, light bleeding into the darken room that caused you to remind blind for a few moments. You blink, holding up a hand in front of your eyes to shield yourself from the light, before a figure became clear in front of you. 

It wasn’t Ramsay.

It was a man you’d thought, long ago given up on, ever seeing again.

Curled into yourself, probably looking nothing but a shell of your old self in eyes, you stared up at Jon. A man you once knew well beyond belief, but now almost felt like a stranger and a relief.

You could hardly believe your eyes.

Jon took a step towards you, his name leaving your lips in a whisper, but you shuffled back, cowering. Your arms moved faster than your mind, and you fell back slightly, a gasp leaving your lips.

Jon’s hand came up, his palm towards you. “I won’t hurt you.”

His voice sounded the same, albeit deeper. When you took a good look at him, you realized that his face had toned, grown. He looked like his father the way his hair was tied back, and there was blood caked to his skin. It all clicked in that one moment. Why Winterfell had seemed to absent was because there had been a battle, one you hadn’t been informed of, and apparently, Jon had been Ramsay’s enemy.

And it seemed he’d won.

“You remember me, yes?”

How could you forget him?

“Jon,” his name left your lips in a rasped, broken voice. But it was his name all the same. “Jon Snow. I remember you.”

“Y/N,” Jon called, more confident know that he knew you knew who you were. “Ramsay is dead. He can’t hurt you anymore. I promise you.”

He can always hurt you, you thought. The man wouldn’t leave your mind.

Jon took another step forward, and his knees hit the edge of the bed. His hand was still held out before him, but he moved it slightly, letting his palm face upward, holding his hand out towards you for you to take.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”

You didn’t cry. You wondered if you’d cried all the tears in your body all ready. 

But after only a moment of hesitance, you set your hand in Jon’s. The familiar touch was nice, refreshing and warm, opposed to the cold, lingering touched of Ramsay that never left you. 

You were in his arms in a second, his support helping you stay on your feet. 

Jon held you close as if he was afraid to let you go.

-

A scream pierced the silence of the dead of the night.

It startled Jon, his body snapping upright, alert with attention. His reflexes and past experiences told him that there was an attack Winterfell, that they were under siege. But after a moment, he realized the scream had come from beside him, piercing his ears as you twisted and turned, kicking your legs out wildly from beneath the sheets.

Once again, Jon snapped into attention, for a different reason all together.

With practiced routine, one of Jon’s hand fell on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek. He spoke softly, but with purpose as he called for your name to bring you out of your tormented sleep. You fought relentlessly against his grip, your dream having you believe his touch to be of someone else’s.

“Y/N,” Jon called, “it’s Jon. You’re safe. You’re safe. I promise you that you are safe. No harm can come to you here.”

Eventually, your eyes begin to flicker, and your struggling seized. Your tense body eased in Jon’s grip, and your E/C eyes fluttered open to meet his.

Your chest rose and fell with exhaustion, your throat burning from the screams that had pierced through the silence only seconds ago. But when you met Jon’s eyes, and the eyes of Ramsay left your mind, you felt a sense of calm and warmth flood through your entire being as you lay limp in his grip, completely trusting.

Jon’s thumb softly stroked your clammy cheek, your forehead beading with sweat and causing your hair to stick to it.

“It’s okay,” Jon whispers, his voice barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” you pant, shaking your head. “He won’t leave my mind.”

“I know.”

“Every time I close my eyes, Jon, he... he’s there.”

Your voice breaks Jon’s heart.

Months later, after everything, and yet the pain inflicted upon you from that disgusting man would not leave you.

“Sometimes,” you continue, your voice shaky as you meet Jon’s gaze, finding solace within them. “I can still feel his touch. His hand... p-pushing me forwards...”

“Shh,” Jon soothes, brushing away the hair that sticks to your forehead. “He’s not here. He never will touch you again, Y/N. I promise you.”

You reach out for his hand, Jon quickly abiding as you grip onto it tightly.

“We don’t have to sleep,” Jon offers, hoping to calm. “We can just lay here. I can hold you until you feel safe again.”

You sigh, shaking your head; “I don’t want to keep you awake-”

“You’re not keeping me awake,” Jon cuts off gently. “I want to be here, with you, right now, with you in my arms.”

A moment of silence passes, and then, reluctantly, you nod, shifting slightly to fall into his embrace easier. True to his word, Jon just holds you. Neither of you speak, but he keeps you close, reassuring you that no longer can Ramsay touch or hurt or defile you in anyway.

It doesn’t erase the memory of him, but it does ease your racing heart. Even if only a little bit.

-

let me know what you thought? remember, reblogging always helps!

requests are open for jon snow and robb stark!

[sapphires-and-gold-fics]

Fictober Day 29: “I’m doing this for you.”

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF / Jane Austen

Characters: Too many to name, but Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth

Notes: This is the 5th installment of my Sense & Sensibility adaptation! This is the final installment of it for Fictober/Put Me Back Together, and coincides with the end of Volume 1 of Jane Austen’s novel. The story will be posted independently on AO3 soon, and will continue from there - but please be aware that it’s not my only WIP and it may take some time before we get to the end. I hope y’all continue to enjoy the ride as much as I’m enjoying writing it!

Other notes: This chapter introduces the Lucy Steele problem character. I was really nervous about doing it this was buttttttttt I think it works so I’m running with it. I hope you don’t hate it. 

Missed the earlier chapters? Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Read Part 5 below or on AO3

xxxxxxxxxxx

Not many days after Jaime left, the Tullys arrived on the cottage doorstep with four strangers. Brienne was alone in the house at the time, and it disrupted her solitude but they were not completely unwelcome.

Ser Brynden introduced his daughter Lysa, Lord Edmure’s sister. A pale, stark woman with a severe nose, Lysa was strangely effusive; she is her father’s daughter in looks and, like him, hers bely her personality. She had arrived the evening before at Riverrun Park with her husband Lord John Arryn, passing through on the way home to Aerie Lodge in the Vale. They had, for the last few days, been in King’s Landing - Lord Jon seeing to matters of business, and Lady Lysa seeing to a doctor who would care for her in her confinement come spring.

At the mention of this, Ser Brynden had remarked that Lysa should perhaps have made the doctor come to her and saved herself a tiring journey, but Lysa had no interest in being parted from her husband - where he went, so did she.

Lord Jon, for his part, said little and even less in between, but he shook Brienne’s hand and commented on the attractiveness of the cottage’s front parlor.

The third person with them is introduced as Lord Arryn’s cousin Mrs. Blackwood, a very pretty widow of thirty who lived in the Arryn home following the death of her husband some four or five years before, and with her is her young daughter who is tall for her age, at only seven - half that of Arya.

When Mrs. Stark and her daughters returned to the house, they were welcomed with a parlor full of new friends, and little Dinah took to Arya immediately. Only Catelyn took at all to Lady Lysa, who was ready to pass on her father’s gossip about Ramsay Snow’s attentions to Sansa and congratulations for an engagement that had not materialized. It was not on this that she and Mrs. Stark found common ground, but on Lady Lysa’s upcoming joy. For her part, she was certain it was to be a boy; Catelyn had no experience in raising boys, but her advice was welcomed readily.

Sansa was ill-disposed from the state of her spirits to be pleased with any of these guests, but perhaps especially Eliza Blackwood and her daughter. To the invariable coldness of her behavior, Brienne principally attributed that preference of herself and, for the young girl, Arya, which quickly became evident.

And so it was that as Brienne’s solitude faded, Sansa’s was again elevated and made more prominent by the multitude of invitations to the Park which came to them daily for the next several days, most of which Sansa declined in favor of practicing her instrument alone in the empty cottage. Only on the first day did Sansa join them at the Park and, afterward, Brienne chided her sister for her silence in company, to which Sansa had upbraided her soundly once they were home. “I’m doing this for you,” she had said, “you have been so melancholy since Jaime left, that I thought having family with you would be kinder than leaving you to strangers, but perhaps I was wrong about that.”

Sansa declined to attend dinner with the guests for the remainder of their stay.

***

“You will think my question an odd one, I dare say,” said Eliza on the fourth day of their residence, as they were walking together from the Park to the cottage with the younger girls playing ahead of them. “Do you know much of your mother? I believe Ser Brynden mentioned that she was from Tarth.”

“No,” returned Brienne, curious, “I know very little of her. Only that she was from Tarth, as you say, from a small family. My father told me that I resembled her a great deal, both in person and in temperament.”

“I am sure you think me strange for enquiring about her in such a way,” said Eliza, eyeing Brienne attentively, “but I had wondered if we might be related in some fashion. I hope you will do me the justice of believing that I do not meant to be impertinent or cause you discomfort.”

“Truly, I have no idea of any familial connection with Blackwoods or Arryns. Perhaps you should apply to your cousin - maybe he has histories that would better inform you. I wonder at your not apply to him first, as I am quite without any record from my mother’s life.”

“I think you should wonder… if I dared tell you all, Miss Stark, you would not be so much surprised.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brienne, pausing in the path.

“As we could indeed be family… Miss Stark… Brienne. I wonder… I should wish to share something with you. I would not trouble your sisters or your cousins with this - it is a great secret which I wish kept among those whom I trust the most, and I understand you to be most honorable and trustworthy.”

“I know not by what device you have determined that aspect of my person, but I swear that whatever you wish to tell me - I may be depended upon to keep sacred.”

“Yes, I believe you can.” Eliza continued walking. “Brienne, you may well be surprised, for to be sure you could have no idea of it before… of our acquaintance here, only Lord Arryn and his wife know this, though Lysa does not know all.”

“I begin to think that may be for the best, Mrs. Blackwood,” said Brienne delicately.

Eliza smiled wryly and continued. “Blackwood… was my grandmother’s maiden name. She hailed from the Stormlands, near Tarth, and as such - yes - perhaps I do have distant family relations I know naught of, but you are more likely to be one than is Lord Arryn.”

Brienne frowned. “I do not understand you. Lord Arryn--”

“--is not my cousin, Miss Stark. My late husband, Dinah’s father, was a cruel man, Brienne. What marks I do not bear on my person still scar my mind. After my daughter was born, he turned especially wicked. He had wanted a son, and I had denied him that. For three years then, I lived - we both did - in torment. He was a judge, Miss Stark, and the magistrates were in his pocket - there was almost no one I could turn to. I thought to run away, but if I took his only child with me, no doubt he would find me again and send me to an institution, or worse.”

“Gods… Eliza--”

“--when I was very young, my mother called me Ella. Eliza wasn’t a far jump. Brienne, my real name is Rhaella. Dinah’s given name is actually Daena. Lord Arryn though it best to keep hers similar as she was so young when we left.”

“Are you-- El--I’m sorry, I don’t know--”

“--Eliza, please. For the others--”

“Of course. Eliza,” Brienne said carefully, “are you... in hiding from your husband?”

“Not him. He no longer lives. We sought shelter from his family. The Targaryens are powerful, and I’m afraid not an empathetic people.”

“Targaryen… My father received a letter some three or four years ago from his barrister, advising him that a judge they knew had been killed in a duel - was that…?”

Eliza walked a few steps before answering, looking ahead at the girls playing. “Officially? Yes. Society respects that kind of death. It’s acceptable, even.”

“And… unofficially?”

“A friend stepped in. Someone who was astounded by the conditions we were living in and alarmed by the injury that my husband had caused. It had been his idea to run away, but I had told him no because I feared Aerys’ wrath. But then my husband started hurting Daena, and our friend could not bear it. It was he who challenged my husband. That was his mistake. In being the one challenged, Aerys was given the choosing of the weapon. Aerys always chose pistols.” Eliza’s voice faded as she collected herself. Brienne patiently walked beside her, moving a little closer to give the other woman some comfort. “He liked the way they sparked when they were fired. But his challenger - our friend - he’s better with a sword. I knew that Aerys might kill him, and then he’d likely hurt us again. Brienne… if I dare tell…”

Brienne stopped and took Eliza’s hands in hers. “Please do not fear. Your secrets you wish to tell, they are safe with me, Eliza.”

She was given a small smile in return. “They are not only mine to tell, Miss Stark. But I think he would - I know that he would take comfort in your confidence, that he does already.”

Brienne wracked her mind to imagine whom Eliza could be speaking of. “Who is he, Eliza - your friend - do you mean that I am acquainted with him?”

“Brienne, have you never observed the scarring on Mr. Lannister’s right hand?”

Lannister? Jaime Lannister was not so impulsive or actionable. Could she mean Lord Tywin? She knew that he had very specific ways, and it would not be absurd to think that he might have involved himself in this, but to have thought of Eliza’s well-being seemed strange - he did not seem the type of man to care about anyone outside of his family. Brienne’s eyebrows knit together. “I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with Lord Lannister. We have never met.”

“Oh, Lord Lannister got away from the incident unharmed. But I am speaking of our friend , Brienne. I speak of Mr. Jaime Lannister.”

What felt Brienne at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of the assertion attended it. She turned toward Eliza in amazement, unable to divine the reasoning of such a declaration, and though her complexion began to warm, she stood firm in incredulity and felt no danger an hysterical fit. “We cannot mean the same Jaime Lannister.”

“We can mean no other, Miss Stark. Mr. Jaime Lannister, the second son of Lord Tywin Lannister in Rains Court, and brother to Mrs. Robert Baratheon, is the person I mean; you must allow that I am not likely to be deceived as to the name of a man on whom our happiness has depended.”

Brienne felt her steps speeding, as if her legs meant to carry her away from knowledge of Jaime’s past, or perhaps present. “How… how came you to be acquainted with Mr. Lannister?” She slowed herself as best she could to allow Eliza to keep up with her.

“Lord Tywin Lannister was a barrister at one time - that is how he made his fortune - and he was an old acquaintance of my husband’s. The families were somewhat close once, but had grown apart prior to my marriage. The relationship between Aerys and Lord Tywin improved again after we’d been married about a year. Jaime and I were often at the same dinners and parties. He is godfather to my daughter.”

“It is strange,” replied Brienne in a most painful perplexity, “that I should never have heard him speak of you.” Something akin to jealousy seemed to be brewing in Brienne’s chest.

“Not so, considering our situation, and our continued need for concealment.”

“You said scars on his hand? I had not observed--”

“When next you see him, Miss Stark, find occasion to regard the center of his left hand. It is well healed, but the inconsistencies are obvious under examination. I owe much to Jaime Lannister, and he’s very fortunate that those scars are the only physical injury he sustained due to my foolishness.”

“But it is not foolish to be a victim of cruelty, Eliza.”

“I speak of my foolish actions. If anyone knew the truth--”

“Pray, Eliza, what do you mean I have heard so many truths just now.”

The other woman paused, as if estimating Brienne’s ability to endure what came next. “I do not think Mr. Lannister can be displeased when he knows I have trusted you, because I know he has the highest opinion in the world of you, Brienne, and he looks on the Miss Starks as superior sisters to his own. He trusts you above all others.”

Brienne swallowed hard. “I cannot vouch for his certainties - I am not personally acquainted with them.”

“Aren’t you?”

Brienne didn’t know what to make of that look in her companion’s eyes.

“The morning of the challenge, I was there before the men arrived. Aerys chose pistols as I knew he would, and I knew that Jaime would not succeed against him. I hid myself behind a tree, near where Aerys would be. He and Mr. Lannister met, and then counted out their paces, and then Aerys - he cheated, Brienne. He turned before the count was up.”

Brienne froze. “And Jai--”

“--Brienne, I jumped then from behind the tree with Aerys’ own sword in my hand and I drove it as hard as I could through his back.”

“But you said--”

“--a gun went off - I didn’t know whose until Jaime came racing across the field and moved me away from the body - Aerys had gotten off a shot as he faltered, and it had gone clean through Jaime’s hand.”

Eliza was not only a someone whose history inspired empathy, but she was a savior of sorts as well - even if it had come at the cost of murdering a man who would have easily murdered others. How was one to compete with so many pitiable circumstances? “If what you say is true, then what of the others?” Brienne whispered. “There were witnesses?”

Eliza nodded, “Lord Arryn was there as Jaime’s second. And Lord Tywin was there as my husband’s.”

Brienne felt herself go cold, and gasped. “Lord Tywin would have stood against his own son?”

“If you knew Lord Tywin you might understand. He said he would have only stood if Lord Arryn had taken Jaime’s place, but...”

“Gods be good.” Brienne had known that Lord Lannister was a demanding sort of man, but this was beyond imagination.

“It was Jaime’s idea to take the credit for my husband’s death. Lord Arryn agreed to take Dae-- Dinah and I away, and Lord Tywin - he did what he could, using his influence to keep details out of the newspapers.”

“Is that why we’d never heard anything of it?”

Eliza nodded. “Lord Lannister managed to keep the more widely circulated papers from carrying it. But in King’s Landing it is well-known and still spoken of that Jaime Lannister killed Aerys Targaryen.”

Brienne felt her stomach turn, then looked to Eliza whose face was pale. “Mrs. Blackwood, I can’t imagine how hard it must be having done what you did - what you had to for your daughter.” And if she hadn’t, Brienne thought, she might never have met Jaime.

“I have made my peace with it, Miss Stark. I know what lives were saved by it. But Mr. Lannister... he’s had to live with having to take the credit for it for the last four years. It takes a toll. He was so miserable when he left the Aerie last month, to go to you, that I thought you might think him ill.

“He was in particularly low spirit, we thought, when he first arrived.” So perhaps it was not only the company that had caused his malaise.

“And he is still now - he wrote me from Winterfell - his letters are always somewhat poor, but this one was low as well. I think his sister and father continue to try and push him to embrace the lie, but he hates that part of his life. He hates noteriety.” Eliza held it out for Brienne to see, and she could tell that it was indeed Jaime’s hesitating scratchy penmanship. And she certainly concurred on her last point - Jaime had said as much himself.

But to what lengths might he go to ensure his privacy now that Eliza might tell him that the history of his secrets had been extended to her? Would he stay away? Would he wish to see the Starks again at all? It was too much to comprehend.

And then there was the matter of his correspondence with Mrs. Blackwood, of which Brienne had certain proof in front of her. It pointed to more familiarity between Jaime and the widow than Brienne had been willing to welcome knowledge of. Her heart sank within her, and she felt she could hardly stand; but exertion was indispensably necessary, and she struggled so resolutely against the oppression of her feelings, that her success was speedy and the for the time, complete.

“Writing to each other,” said Eliza, unaware of Brienne’s turmoil, “is the only comfort we both have in our shared secrecy - that, and my daughter. But Jaime doesn’t get to see his godchild often now. I, at least, have that . I gave him a lock of her hair set in a ring when he was at the Aerie last in order to remind him of the blessings that his actions have wrought, and he said that it gave him more comfort than anything in the world - perhaps you saw it when he came here?”

“I did,” said Brienne, with composure of voice under which she concealed an emotion and distress beyond anything she had felt before - distress for Jaime’s privacy, for Rhaella and Daena’s enforced secrecy, and for herself - mortified and shocked at her foolishness.

Fortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage and caught up to Arya and the younger girl with the pale yellow hair - far paler than Cersei's, as Sansa had correctly observed to Jaime. Eliza went to attend to her daughter, and Brienne was then at liberty to think and be wretched.

[katlyn1948]

Unsteady

So, this is my fic I have been working on. I want to put a warning before anyone reads this...there are things in this fic that could trigger some people. It deals with infertility and miscarriages and the last thing I want to do is cause someone any pain if they’ve experienced this. I wrote this fic, because a friend of mine recently suffered a miscarriage and I received news about my personal self in terms of infertility. I’ve spoken to several people on here, whom I’m close with about my issues, but this past week my doctor told me that I will most likely need a hysterectomy within a few years. I’m only in my early 20′s and that was some devastating news. I don’t want to have children right now, but that doesn’t mean that when I reached my 30′s that I wouldn’t want any. My doctor basically told me that if I want children, I should do it soon. Unfortunately, I am not mentally nor financially capable of having a child right now. I still haven’t accepted this news and I have been in just a really bad funk about it. I’ve cried a lot and even joined a support group. My mom suggested that I do therapy, and she may be right. But I am not striking out yet. I have several other doctor’s appointment’s lined up to get second, third, forth opinions and I am freezing my eggs (which is harder than it sounds), just in case. 

Anyway, please read this with caution and have some tissues, because I even cried while writing it. 

The Stark sigil was present beyond the horizon. Grey flags whipped through the air as the small traveling party galloped their way up the dirt road. It was a larger party then Arya had expected, but compared to her sister’s definition of ‘large,’ it could have consisted of more than just what she traveled with.

Arya watched from the watch tower as she saw her sister’s convoy crest over the hill. A smile creeped onto her face as she darted towards the steps, taking two at time, until she reached the gates of the castle. It had been nearly five years since she last saw her sister, and the growing anticipation at seeing her once more made her giddy with unexpected happiness.

“Open the gates,” she said to a nearby guard.

He nodded swiftly and pulled a lever to the side of him, lifting the iron gates just in time to greet the Northern Queen.

Queen Sansa Stark of The North had not changed a single thing about her appearance in the nearly five years it been that Arya has seen her. Her read hair still cascaded down her back in fiery waves, with the wolf crown placed perfectly atop her head. Her usual northern garb had been discarded the moment her ship docked in King’s Landing; her furs just too heavy for the warm climate.

Arya marveled at her sister’s poise as she rode into the castle square, her envoy trailing behind. She was rather surprised to see her sister riding in on top of a horse, rather than being pulled behind one.

Her sister rode in with ease and stopped the horse just shy of where Arya was standing. She swung her leg over her mare and planted her feet firmly on the muddied ground.

Arya watched as her sister stood with grace, never faulting her perfectly placed crown as she dismounted her steed.

“Welcome, Sansa, Queen in the North.” Arya said with a smirk as she bowed to her sister. She slowly rose and saw the distasteful scowl on her sister’s face.

“You really didn’t have to do that.” she huffed.

Arya smiled and could no longer contain the laugh she had tried to suppress, “Now you know how it feels…your grace.”

Sansa shook her head and immediately embraced her sister.

Arya took a deep breath, basking in the smell of the north that lingered on Sansa’s locks. It smelled of burning wood and winter air. It had been so long since she had seen Winterfell’s walls and felt the cold snow beneath her feet, that familiar smells and feel of her sister’s warmth swelled her aching heart.

“I’ve missed you!” Sansa whispered into Arya’s hair.

Arya nodded, “And I’ve missed you.”

The two sisters remained in embrace for several beats longer until they had to pull apart before someone came to do so.

“Come, let me show you to your chambers.” Arya hooked her arm with her sister’s and began trailing her towards the grand castle perched on a seaside cliff.

They walked in tandem; slowly, at first, to allow Sansa to greet the working folk in the courtyards. People seemed to marvel at her beauty; completely mesmerized by the ‘Red Wolf’ of the north. Arya could no help but feel some residual jealousy, for she was sure that her people never looked at her that way. The names and taunts from their younger years had re-surfaced and Arya could not help but think that she was nothing more than a horseface.

This prompted Arya to quicken their stride. She wanted to get out of the gaze of others and enjoy her sister all to herself; pushing her ill thoughts aside.

Arya guided her sister to a set of chambers on the far side of the castle, away from where her and Gendry stayed in the drum tower along the cliff. She loved her sister, but she still wanted her privacy with her husband. The last thing that she needed was her sister to hear her pleasurable cries echo through the halls; she already had enough complaints from the maester whose chambers were situated right below theirs.

The chambers had been unused for decades, according to the chambermaid that had lived in the castle since before King Robert was born.

When Gendry inherited Storm’s End, he decided to change that, using them to house several children orphaned by the sack of King’s Landing. It wasn’t until Arya arrived from her travels that they decided to build a shelter, allowing more children to have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.

“I hope this is to your liking.” Arya gestured around the room, allowing Sansa to take in the large chambers.

“I think it will do nicely,” She plopped down on the freshly made feather bed, groaning as she stretched her aching limbs.

“So, where are your chambers?” Sansa asked as she sank further into the bed.

Arya scoffed, “On the other side of the castle. I need some space from you.”

“That’s not why. I’ve heard the rumors of about the stag Storm Lord making his she-wolf of a wife howl at night.” She smirked.

Arya’s eyes widened and she swore that if she had taken a sip of water, that she would have spat it back out with sheer shock.

A cackle passed through Sansa’s lips as she looked at Arya’s face, “Oh, don’t look too surprised! I mean, I’ve seen Gendry and I can only imagine what he hides under those breeches of his.”  

Arya’s cheeks flushed. She had never engaged in a conversation quite like the one she was in now with Sansa.

When she left nearly five years ago on her journey west, Sansa was becoming queen of the north; too high and mighty to talk about anything vulgar.

“Sansa, I don’t think tha-”

“What? That we should not be talking about it? Why not? Because it’s not queen like? Well, I have some news for you, little sister, things have changed in the five years since you’ve seen me. A lot of things.” She shifted in the bed to prop herself up on her elbows so that she could see Arya’s face more clearly.

“Tell me. What has changed.” Arya asked as she fiddled with the hilt on her sword.

Sansa shrugged, “Not important. Besides, I want to know what you’ve been up to these last five years.”

“You’re deflecting.” Arya moved to where her sister was laying on the feather bed and joined her, sitting on the edge.

“No, I’m asking how you’ve been. Aside from the one or two letters I get a year, I have no idea what you have been up to. The first two years you were away, I got but one raven. Then out of the clear blue, another raven telling me you are in Storm’s End, married to Lord Baratheon! I didn’t even know you knew the man, let alone enough to marry him! And to make matters worse, you were very short in your letters. No more than a few words.” Sansa took a breath before continuing, “I want answers.”

Arya sighed. She had expected Sansa too corner her, but she hadn’t thought it would be so soon. Perhaps they would have supper, a few goblets of wine, then discuss everything she had left out of her letters.

It wasn’t easy telling Sansa that she was married. If were up to her entirely, Sansa would have never found out…at least from her, but Gendry thought otherwise.

Secrecy was sacred to her. She enjoyed keeping things to herself, and she found that if people knew too much that they could use that information to hurt you. Her problem was that people always knew too much.

Bran knew everything, and although Sansa was leagues away, she too would find a way to have little birds’ tweet in her ear.

Arya deflated and succumbed to her sister’s persistence, “What do you want to know?”

A smile creeped onto Sansa’s face, only making Arya’s demeanor sour, “How do you know Gendry? The only thing you said in your letter was ‘don’t worry, I know him. I’ve known him for a long time.’”

“Well, it’s the truth! I have known him for a long time.”

“Okay, but how? Obviously before Winterfell, but when?”

Sansa was like a giggling child, excited with the prospect of learning something she shouldn’t. Arya contemplated on whether it was a good idea to confide in her, but suppose it was a better option than a stranger.

“I met him…the day father died. He saved me from a couple of bullies; threatened to make them sing, like he made steel sing. It was a rather stupid quip, when I think about it, but it worked. We traveled the King’s road together headed towards The Wall. I was pretending to be a boy, and he was the only one who figured out I wasn’t that. He was the only one I trusted with my identity.  I was being taken back to Jon, while he was trying to escape some gold cloaks. Obviously, we didn’t make it and ended up being taken to Harrenhal, where I was a cup bearer for Tywin Lannister. He figured I was a girl but didn’t know I was a Stark. We barely made it out alive. We had a friend with us, Hot Pie, and we walked for days before we found the brotherhood.”

“And?” Sansa persisted.

“And what?”

“How did you two get separated?”

“He wanted to stay with The Brotherhood, and I wanted to find mother and Robb. I was so angry with him for choose them over me. I wanted him to be my family. At the time, I thought that if he came back with me that we could still be friends, but Gendry was right. Mother would have never allowed it. Then the Brotherhood sold him to the red bitch, and I thought for sure that I would never see him again.” She couldn’t help the swell of tears that were forming in her eyes, “I thought he was dead. I thought everyone was dead. That’s why it took me so long to come back to Westeros the first time.”

Arya watched as Sansa absorbed the entirety of her story.

There was much that she had omitted in her original timeline to Sansa, and now that was coming to light, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Arya was never one to care what people thought of her, but her concern for judgement had crippled her ability to fully reveal the truth to Sansa. Of course, her sister knew of the House of Black and White and the faceless men, but never of her encounters before she made her trip to Bravvos.

There was a beat of silence before Sansa cleared her throat, “Well, at least the Gods were kind to bring you two back together.”

Arya scoffed, “That’s the only kind thing they’ve offered me in my 23 years of life.”

“So, where is your handsome storm lord?” Sansa asked as she lifted herself from the featherbed. “Why did he not greet me upon my arrival?”

“He is dealing with a few of our bannermen.”

“Will he be joining us for dinner?” She asked as she poured a hefty goblet of wine.

Arya had made sure to keep Sansa’s chambers stocked with it. Her time spent with Cersei had warranted a few unhealthy habits; the drinking of wine was one of them.

“Doubtful. After his meetings with any of our lords, he tends to wander to the forge to bang out his frustrations. I won’t see him until late tonight, when he comes staggering into our chambers covered it soot.”

Sansa scowled, “Well that’s unfortunate. I have some questions for the man.”

“Which I’m sure can wait until the morning.”

“Yes, yes…whatever you say.” Sansa waved her hand in dismissal as she sipped her wine. “So, tell me, how has it been being the Lady of Storm’s End?”

Arya shrugged, “It’s not all bad, if that’s what you’re wondering. I not a lady in the traditional sense of the word, but my people seem to like me.”

“See! And you thought being a lady was going to be worst thing in this world.”

“I never said that! I just said that I didn’t want to waste my time in some high tower sewing and bearing children for a husband who would not value me.” She said matter of fact.

“Which you don’t! According to Bran’s letters, you’ve quite the name for yourself here.” Another sip, “You have trained new guards, held meeting when Gendry is unavailable, I even heard that you threatened a lord of yours that questioned your ability to lead.”

All of this was true. Arya wanted to prove to the people of Storm’s End that she could lead them into a brighter future, just like Gendry had the two years she was away. There were plenty of lords that did not enjoy here welcome when she returned to Westeros the second time. Few were unsure if she would be a fit lady for a man like Gendry, but she quickly proved them wrong. Even Gendry himself had threatened to skin a few of them alive if they were to disrespect Arya anymore than what they already had.

In the three years she had been his wife and the Lady, she has managed to help the region thrive with trade and goods, even open an orphanage for children whose parents were lost in the Battle of King’s Landing. Taxes have been lowered for those living outside the castle, and even the minor threats from Dorne had ceased. And, although she was sure there were still several lords who questioned her abilities, they kept their mouths shut and let her rule.

Her life had been good here…almost.

“I know I’ve done all of those things, but sometimes I just feel…alone.” She admitted.

“You miss it, don’t you?”

Arya nodded. She missed the freedom she had when she was out on the sea. There were no rules to abide by or orders to take; it was just her, her ship, and her dedicated crew. But the overwhelming feeling of missing Gendry brought her back.

“I do miss it, but not as much as I missed Gendry when I was out at sea.” Arya smiled as she thought about her time at sea. The vast horizon with nothing by ocean ahead was an exciting feeling. There were memories that were made, most that she would cherish for the rest of her life.

“Do you know that I told him not to wait for me?”

“What? When?” Sansa perked, intrigued to hear this story.

“After the dragon pit. I went to him to apologize for leaving him the way that I did at Winterfell. He wasn’t too happy with me but forgave me. We talked about our feelings and I could no longer lie to him, so I told him the truth. Of course, that lead into other…things. While we were laying on his bed, I told him that I was leaving and that I wasn’t sure when I’d return. I told him not to wait, to have a life. To marry and to have children. I nearly broke me to say those words, but he needed to be happy without me. But he is a stubborn bull, and said he’d wait until his last days. How fucking poetic.” She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips as she reminisced about their last night together before her voyage.

“Gods! I tried everything to get his stupid blue eyes out of my head, but not even the lovers I had could remove him from my thoughts.”

Sansa’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head, “Lovers!? How many did you have? And does Gendry know?”

Arya chuckled, “I had three and yes, he knows. Just like I know about his.”

“Well, who were these lovers? Where they handsome? How did they compare to Gendry?” Sansa went on.

“Well, two were women, so I can’t really call them handsome and well the man…he was well endowed, but they never could compare to Gendry. Not once.”

Sansa’s cheeks flushed, “Women? Why, sister, you do get around.”

“Don’t judge, we are all human and we all have needs. I’ll admit, I was surprised, but it was enjoyable.”

“And Gendry didn’t mind?”

“How could he? Besides, he had lovers too. Only two of them, both women. We were both lonely and using these people to get each other out of our heads. It didn’t work and when I realized that, I decided to come home…to him.”

Arya knew that Gendry was her home, no matter where he lived or who he was. She knew that she would always come back to him, it was just a matter of when. She planned to stay out at sea much longer than her two years, but her heart would not allow it. The distance and longing were just too much for her to bear. She needed to see him, to feel him, to hear his voice in her ears. Her heart ached and she needed the pain to ease, so she sailed back to Storm’s End.

Luckily, he felt the same way.

“This is sooo romantic!” Sansa squealed, giving Arya a glimpse of her sister of the past, when all she had to worry about were the fairytale stories Old Nan used to tell.

“If you think so.” Arya laughed.

“It is! And imagine if you have children! They will love to hear the story of how their parents came back to one another.”

Arya’s heart nearly stopped, her smile falling from her face, “Right, children.”

She grabbed a goblet of wine and turned from where her sister was sitting. She quickly down the sweet liquid and filled her goblet once more.

There was shift in the atmosphere and Arya would be stupid to think that here sister wouldn’t have felt it.

“Did I saw something wrong?” Her voice was filled with concern.

“No…no, you didn’t” Arya tried to assure her sister, but her voice faltered, betraying her.

She could feel Sansa’s presence as she came up behind her, engulfing her into a hug, “What’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing, really.” She pushed her sister off and crossed the room to look out the window.

The sea wasn’t visible from Sansa’s rooms, but the training yard and the forge were. She could already hear the familiar banging of steel against steel. Gendry was no longer with the lords, but rather taking out his frustration and anger on a piece of poor steel. Arya wondered what gift she would receive next, out of this current bout of forging.

“Arya, please talk to me? You weren’t shy just moments ago. What’s wrong.” Her sister pleaded.

Arya glanced down at her hand, the forgot goblet of wine left untouched between her fingers. A tear escaped, bridging over her eyes, “I don’t think I can have children.” Her voice was no more than a whisper, filled with a familiar heart break.

There was silence in the room and Arya finally had the courage to lift her face to meet her sister’s.

“We’ve tried. I thought, perhaps that maybe when I was stabbed that it damaged my womb, but the maester assured that it was missed. Judging by my scars, my liver may have received most of the damage. He said it was miracle I lived through that, but my womb was untouched.”

“Are…are you certain?”

“Sansa, I haven’t taken my moon tea in nearly a year and a half. Gendry waited for me to be ready, and when I finally was, I stopped taking it. I never thought that I would ever want children, but as we were building the orphanage and I saw all those children running around in the softy dewy grass, I couldn’t help by wonder what our children would look like, running atop the high cliffs.” A soft sob escaped her lips as she tried to keep the overwhelming, bubbling emotions in check.

“Then you keep trying.”

“No,” Arya shook her head, “I’m done trying. I cannot handle anymore heart break.”

“That doesn’t sound like the sister I know. I’m sure that if you keep tryi-”

“I’ve already lost three!” She screamed, throwing the goblet in her hand to the ground, “I’ve lost three babes, Sansa!”

Tears were now welling in Sansa’s eyes, “Wha-”

Arya could no longer contain her sadness. Sobs racked her body as she began to lose her footing, crashing to the floor beneath her, “We-we…I-I became with child two moons after I stopped taking my moon tea and then two moons later, I awoke with excruciating pain, only to find our bed covers drenched in blood!”

Sansa was now beside her, embracing her into a fierce hug, allowing her to sob into her arms.

“Then-then we tried again. I became with child and I-I thought this one would last. I lost her five moons into the pregnancy. Then again, just a few days before your arrival…I didn’t even know I was with child. I can’t do it again! I can’t put Gendry through that again!” She sobbed.

“Oh, Arya. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I should not have said anything. This is all my fault.”

Arya shook her head, “No, no, you didn’t know. I-” She took several deeps breathes, trying to calm her sobs. She was grateful for Sansa, that she was there. She had yet to tell Gendry of the third, and she was unsure if she should. She saw the pain in his eyes the first two time, and she could not do that to him a third time. For five days she held onto the pain of loosing yet another babe, and finally, with here sister here within her grasp, she could no longer hold any of the emotion in. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve felt alone for several days; felt so unsteady. The pain was eating me inside, even Gendry could tell something was off.”

“Arya-”

“Is there something wrong with me?”

“No! There is nothing wrong with you! You are the strongest person I know, and I hate to see you so broken. I hadn’t realized you wanted children so badly, but you’ve changed. There is nothing that I can say that help ease your pain, little sister, but was I can say is that if you cannot have children, that there are plenty of children in that orphanage of yours that would be so lucky to have you and Gendry as parents. You can still have children; maybe not in the traditional sense, but you can provide a child with nothing, the gift of two parents.”

Arya hiccupped. She wiped her eyes and gazed up into her sister’s eyes, “Thank you. For keeping me steady, when I felt nothing but unwavering sadness.”

Sansa smiled and gave a soft kiss atop Arya’s head, “We may not have liked each other as children, but you are my sister and I will always be here for you. Now, wipe those tears, you have an orphanage to show me.”

[laboratorioautoral]

Continuation to the last Dark Jon Prompt

This one is dedicated to @circe1fanatic and it’s M rated for a reason. If you are looking for cute couples and healthy relationships, you better check somewhere else. You’ve been warned.

The journey back North was worst than she had anticipated. Not because of the weather, nor the company, but because for most of the time Arya was afraid of what she would find once she reached Winterfell.

After seeing Robb’s mutilated body being paraded in front of traitors, her mother being thrown in the river and all the butchery of the Red Wedding, to have hope of finding what remained of her family had a tasted of doom.

Gendry tried to keep her spirits up, at leas while they were south of the Neck. He didn’t like the cold weather or the snow, but to Arya those were good old friends.

They managed to reach Winterfell’s gates at the same time that the blizzard took over the land. It was a good omen or at least a very fortunate coincidence. Arya doubted Gendry would survive another night in the wild, especially with such a harsh weather.

As expected, the guards tried to prevent her from entering the castle, but with Nymeria and Gendry by her side Arya’s will was not to be ignored. The she-wolf was an evidence of her identity, or at least too damn wild and ferocious to convince the guards that staying on her mistress way wasn’t a good idea.

They were taken inside the Great Hall by servants that Arya didn’t remember. There was a fire waiting for them and as Arya removed her gloves to warm her hands by the fireplace, she looked directly at one of the guards.

“Tell His Grace of my arrival.” Arya said with the confidence only nobility could afford. “Have the cookers preparing us something to eat as well.”

“And who should I announce?” The guard looked at her with a hint of disdain. If Nymeria had entered the hall with them, that stupid man would never dare to speak to her like that.

Arya’s left hand rested on Needle’s hilt, letting it show that she wasn’t someone to be disrespected.

“Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, younger daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark.” She said in a deadly cold tone. “If you don’t want my brother to have you hanged, than you better be fast about it.”

Arya wasn’t sure if it was her tone of threat or the sight of the sword what made the man’s face get pale. The only thing she knew what that at the mention of her name, the guard run and disappeared into the dark hallways as if he was running for his life.

As she waited, Arya’s heart started to beat as fast as a war drum. She felt suddenly anxious and self-aware. Her hands tried to make her hair somewhat presentable without much success. Gendry looked at her and considered a mockery, but in the end he remained quiet. It wasn’t his place to interfere with her family’s matters.

The white wolf arrived first. Ghost was now a monstrous beast as big as a horse and he wasn’t pleased with the smell of strangers. Arya suspected that Nymeria’s smell was to blame for his defensive position. He wasn’t used to be around other wolves.

From the dark hallways Jon emerged. It took her a second to recognize him under the full beard, heavy furs and long hair pulled back as her father used to wear. He was no longer a green boy with snow melting in his hair. Something about his face was cold and hard like the Wall itself, but as soon as his eyes scanned her face, something in him softened and Jon opened his arms to receive her.

Arya couldn’t tell for how long they remained like that; holding each other as if they were too afraid to wake up and find out it had all been a dream. His smell, his warmth, the feeling of his fingers running through her hair were enough for her to believe that it was all real.

“Welcome home.” Jon said and his voice warmed her inside like a cup of mulled wine would have done.

“I’ve missed you so much.” They said it at the same time and Arya wished that moment to last forever.

She couldn’t have dreamed of anything sweeter than their reunion, but as soon as Jon let go of her and his eyes noticed Gendry’s presence in the hall, Arya saw a sudden change in her brother’s eyes.

Jon straightened his back and his eyes became cold. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as if he was convinced that Gendry was somehow a threat to be eliminated. That man in front of her was not Jon Snow. That was the King in The North and he didn’t like strangers walking into his house, or staying by her side.

Later that day, when they were finally alone, Arya decided to give Jon an explanation.

“He is a friend.” She said as Jon handed her a horn of strong ale. “We’ve met when I escaped King’s Landing. When I returned to Westeros, I found him at an in half way to the North. He insisted to escort me.”

“Then I suppose I should thank him for his services.” Jon said soberly as he avoided to look her in the eyes. “He will have silver and a horse in the morning.”

“I didn’t promise him silver.” Arya replied and Jon finally looked at her. He seemed like a man that had been informed of a robbery in his property. “I said you would give him a position in the household. He  is a talented blacksmith. Those can be quite handy in war time.”

“I’ll see what use I can have for him.” Jon tried to smile. “I won’t let his services to House Stark go unrewarded.”

Jon honored his word, even if he made it no secret that he despised Gendry. Arya couldn’t tell why he was acting like that, but she hadn’t been the only one to notice Jon’s odd behavior.

Bran was friendly enough and it brought an unexplainable joy to her heart to see her little brother again. Although that was a moment for celebration and happiness, Arya soon learned that a great deal of bitterness and distrust had poisoned Bran and Jon’s relationship. All because of the Throne and the right to be called King.

“He usurped us.” Bran once told her. “Open your eyes! I refuse to believe you to be this naive!”

“What would you have me do?” Arya argued with exasperation. “He claimed Winterfell back and he has Robb’s will. I don’t see what can be done to change this and I’m not convinced it should be changed.”

“A will and a sword are not enough to suppress blood rights. I am Robb’s legitimate heir.” Bran insisted. “Your own rights are being affected by Jon’s intransigence.”

“I do not care for the throne or the title.” Arya said it but deep down she knew Bran to be right. “He has the experience and the acceptance of other lords.”

“Than you will see Rhaegar’s son usurping us, suppressing our lineage and do nothing about it?” Bran’s anger brought to surface a secret he had been keeping to himself. A secret that could bring the Seven Kingdoms down and change everything for the Starks.

For a while Arya wondered if Jon knew about it. She observed him closely to find an answer and after a while it became clear that although Bran had told him about Rhaegar and Lyanna, Jon was trying to live as if that meant nothing.

Targaryen or not, Jon carried himself as a true born Stark and Arya believed it to be a source of stability for the North in a way Bran wouldn’t be able to provide. However, as the time passed the tensions between Jon and Bran became more evident and potentially dangerous. Arya couldn’t tell if the problem between them was solely because of their dispute, of if there was something else.

Bran wasn’t the only one Jon was antagonizing. Gendry complained more than once about how the King in the North treated the blacksmith with despise. Only when Jon determinate that Bran and Gendry should be sent to the Dreadfort for reasons that made little to no sense to her, Arya realized that she would have to intervene.

Arya was convinced that Jon wouldn’t be swayed by reason, politics or even a sense of duty towards her father’s memory. Arya didn’t like the part she was about to play, but her love for Bran and her loyalty demanded for her to take action.

She entered the Lord’s Chambers with a bitter taste in her mouth. In another time that would be unthinkable. Arya would never have the need to argue with Jon in order to defend Bran’s right to stay in Winterfell, but those days were long gone. If they were to survive the war that would soon reach their gates, they would have to stay together as a pack and for it to happen Arya would have to embrace her role and position as the voice of reason.

The alpha female. A leader in her own right.

There was a deliberate innocence to her moves and voice that night, in a way that made Arya sound like someone else entirely. It was just another role and another face for her to wear and it was far from being the most unpleasant one.

Jon bought the lie as Arya sat on his bed as she used to do when they were children. His eyes, always so hard, cold and distrustful, were tender and warm just for her. His voice as he called her “my dear” was condescending, but still...The way Jon talked to her was a demonstration of her own power inside the northern regime. At that moment Arya was convinced that it would be only a matter of time for her to convince him of letting Bran stay.

A few kisses and hugs, nostalgic conversation and the trust that had always been so strong between them would be enough to make Jon realize the extension of his mistakes. Arya was sure that she had the upper hand in their little power play, but the way he talked so closely to her ear; how he embraced her and kissed her neck; should have been enough of a warning that Jon was not only enjoying the game, but also preparing the board for his final move.

“I have something more suitable in mind.” Jon said without Arya realizing how near her tights his hands were. “I could make you Lady of Winterfell officially.”

Was that it? He was truly offering her a tittle? Was it an attempt of buying her loyalty in the matter, or just Jon trying to dissuade her from that argument?

A part of her was tempted by the idea of holding the title that once belonged to her mother, but Arya let her feelings for him to blind her for the deep true behind that offer.

“How?” When Arya noticed his hand on her tight it was too late. In a blink of an eye, Jon slid his hand between her legs to touch her in an indecorous way as he kept kissing her neck. “What…?”

Arya was suddenly dizzy and confused. She didn’t know what to do or how to react to Jon’s sudden display of dominance and...Lust.

A million thoughts crossed her mind in a blink of an eye. She could scream or try to fight him, but who would come for her? Who would dare to go against the King in the North? Maybe Gendry could be that stupid, but he was outside the castle, in his own room by the forge. Even if Gendry interrupted that moment, Jon would have him beheaded for the audacity.

“I’m in need of a Queen.” He said with his voice low, deep and dark. “I also need to put an end to those who question the legitimacy or my rule, but the main reason for it is that I can’t stand the idea of another man laying hands on you, so I’ll just make official what we have always known to be true.” His fingers sank withing her, making a little sound of surprise escape her mouth. “You are mine and I’m yours. It have always been like this, but I’m afraid my blood now demands more from you than just hugs and kisses on my cheek. I’ll have you, Arya; and I want that boy gone once he is reminded that you belong to me and no one else.”

Arya couldn’t breathe for a moment. Her nails sank in his tights and her whole body got tense. Jon’s left arm kept her pressed against his chest and Arya could feel his erection rubbing against her ass as his fingers moved inside her.

“Just relax, my love.” He whispered to her before kissing her cheek. “I want for both of us to enjoy.”

She closed her eyes and thought about Mercy and all the faced she had worn. Her mind took her back to Braavos and the courtesans pleasure barges in the canals. Arya had seen men touching those exquisite creatures like that. Her naivety had once make Arya dream of how would feel like to be kissed, touched, and worshiped like those women, but she would never have the beauty for it.

The resistance in her slowly faded. Jon took her earlobe into his mouth and played with it. Arya tilted her head back and let it rest against Jon’s shoulder. There was a sense of impotence to that moment, but there was also a part of her that didn’t want Jon to stop. It was like a dream inside a dream. Something she might have fantasized when she was alone and feeling deprived of any kind of love.

His nose traced her neck and every now and then Jon would leave open mouthed kissed and bites on her skin. His arm became more of a support to her languid body than a rope to keep her from moving. Jon’s fingers made sinuous movements inside her and as Arya relaxed they became more fluid and pleasant. Her ass kept rubbing against his cock and every now and then Jon would growl and breathe with difficulty. Eventually Jon decided he had enough of that.

He pushed her to bed, making her lay flat on her stomach. She saw him remove his clothes as she tried to get up from bad. Before Arya could move away, Jon was already back. His body covering hers as body remained trapped between his arms.

Jon tore her nightgown apart so he could have access to her breasts. He grinned with dark satisfaction before claiming her mouth. His hands parted her legs to accommodate his body between them.

Her hands tried to push him away for a moment. Jon allowed her bit of space so she could breathe. His body still kept her in place as she looked at his face.

There was a cold acceptance, entwined with need she couldn’t quite describe inside his eyes. That was wrong, wasn’t it? Even if he was Rhaegar’s son and not her blood brother, they still grew up together.

“This is wrong.” She whispered to him as if she was trying to convince both of them.

Jon seemed to ignore her argument as he entwined his fingers with hers and kissed her neck until Arya felt dizzy and numb by his scent. This blissful sensations were suddenly replaced by the pain as Jon entered her with a swift movement.

Arya bit his shoulder and her eyes were filled with tears as her body tried to adjust to the unexpected intrusion. Jon stood very still for a moment as she tried to recover her breath. When his hips started to move again Jon tried to be gentle.

She couldn’t tell for how long the pain lasted. It could have been a minute or an hour, but after a while Arya could no longer feel it. Her hips moved along with his and there was this wild frenzy taking all over her body. Her skin was on fire and at every thrust Jon sent her closer to the edge of her conscience until sheer pleasure took her body like a mighty force, like a gift from the gods.

The night passed and every time Jon’s hands reached for her Arya felt a bit of her humanity being taken in a way not even the House of Black and White have managed.

He was making a statement of his claim. Just like the title and the throne, Jon wasn’t willing to surrender anything. He was making it plain for anyone to see that she belonged to him as well.

When Arya woke up in the morning on the Lord’s Bed, Jon was nowhere to be seen. She was suddenly confused, shocked and embarrassed. She thought of Bran, of Rickon, Robb and their father for a moment. She thought about Sansa and her mother as well. That made her feel nauseous, but despite of the discomfort between her legs, Arya tried to convince herself that it had all been a dream. It was the blood on the sheets and what remained of her nightgown what put an end to those illusions.

Arya grabbed her robe from the floor and dressed it before leaving the room as fast as her intimate discomfort allowed.

She hid inside her room for hours without having the courage to look at her own reflex in the exquisite copper mirror that Jon had given her a couple of weeks before. Arya wasn’t sure if she could face Bran after that night. She wasn’t even sure if she could face Jon. Just the thought of it was enough to get her shaky and at the verge of tears.

After hours, or maybe minutes, a servant knocked at the door and announced that her presence was required at the courtyard.

At the courtyard Arya noticed the unusual agitation of men and horses. It had snowed all night and the floor was all white and if it wasn’t for the harsh winter and her own desolation, Arya would say that it was a beautiful white day.

Bran had been placed in a wheelhouse with the Stark banner painted on it. Arya went to the window and held his hand.

“No! No. No! You can’t go!” She said exasperated as she tried to open the door of the wheelhouse to get him out of it. “I won’t allow it! Get my brother out of this shit right now!” Arya commanded to the guards was slowly gathered around them.

“I doubt there’s much we can do now.” Bran answered bitterly as he held her hand. “It won’t be forever. As soon as Jon is convinced that I’m no longer a threat or that he needs my abilities more than he fears them, I’ll be back.”

“To the Seven Hells with it! You are the rightful Lord of Winterfell! He can’t do it with you!” Arya said as tears of anger and deception took over her mind.

A rough strong hand touched her arm and she turned her face to look at Gendry standing by her side. He was dressed in his warmest clothes and carried his hammer on his back. He put her back on the floor and looked at her with sad blue eyes.

“He already did.” Gendry declared soberly. “I’m not stupid to believe that this has anything to do with him honoring the promise you made me. I’m thankful for the forge, the wage and the safe home, but I know damn well that it will be either this or my head on a spike for daring to look your way.”

“You can’t go.” Arya declared. “Let me talk to Jon. I’ll convince him to let both of you stay.”

“He can’t afford bend to your will now, sister.” Bran’s voice sounded bitter. “If last night didn’t make him change his mind, now that the sun is shinning and he has laid his claim on you...He can’t afford giving in to your caprices. Not without having his authority questioned. You are still a true born Stark of Winterfell and the key to the North.” He turned his face so he wouldn’t look at her crying. “I’ll try to forget what you did. I know you fought for my interests as much as you could. Marry him before he gets a bastard in you and before death, fire and blood reaches this gates.”

Arya had no words to answer to Bran’s accusations. Before she could say anything she felt an arm around her shoulders and a thick cloak covering her. That was Jon’s way of reinforcing his authority and remember all those who were watching the scene that Arya was his.

“You don’t have to worry about it.” Jon said in a cold and sober tone. “Take the time to think about what it’s best for this land and our people. Both Eddard and Robb would agree that I’m the best choice, given the circumstances.”

“I doubt they would like you for bedding my sister just to prove a point.” Bran snapped back, making Arya cover part of her face in shame.

“You better go now. I won’t have you insulting me and my future wife another time.” Jon hit the wood of the wheelhouse to give sign for the party to start moving.

As they moved out of the courtyard, Arya tried to run to them, but Jon had her locked within his arms before she could give three steps ahead.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Hello, everyone! I’m here today bringing you another one of my insane crossovers. This one is a Game of Thrones/Chronicles of Narnia, that I hope you can enjoy.

The Kings and Queens of Narnia found a new world: a place that is also frozen, where people can't be trusted, where a war is approaching fast...

If they are there, there must be a reason. How can the Pevensies help the North?

What is their purpose in Westeros?

Fair warning... If canon is important to you, this might not be a good fanfiction to read. I took (a lot of) liberties, and I believe that the Pevensies are quite OOC in this. Just letting you know.

Chapter 1

“Your Majesty. We are ready to go.”

“Thank you, Oreius.” Peter nodded at the Centaur. “What is taking so long?” He called in the direction of the door.

“What do you think?” Lucy came out, rolling her eyes. “Or who do you think?”

Mr. Tumnus, who was beside the younger queen, snickered. “I’ll leave these for when you get back, My Queen.” He said, looking at the documents on his hand.

“You might as well burn them.” Lucy grumbled.

“Lucy.” Susan chided, coming into the room, finishing the braid in her hair. “Not very queenly of you.”

Lucy gave her sister an innocent smile, then she saw that Susan was alone. “Seriously? Where is Edmund?”

“I’m here!” The last King came almost running, strapping his sword on his belt.

“Finally.” Peter huffed. “We’ve got to go. Helka said they saw the wolves on the East border.”

“Unbelievable.” Lucy growled. “It’s been almost ten years. How can that Witch still have animals loyal to her?”

“That’s what you’re about to find out, your Majesty.” Mr. Tumnus said as he left the room.

“Let us go.” Peter indicated the door with his head.

The first rays of sun were starting to light the day as the dawn broke and the morning air was chilly, but not exactly cold.

Lucy threw her cape over her shoulders and let Susan help her secure her braid.

When Peter walked to the door a sudden wind slammed it shut, along with every other door in the room. “What?” The King was confused, especially because when he tried to turn the knob, it didn’t move. “What is this?”

Edmund was looking around the room. “Is it me… Or it just got darker?”

The other Pevensie siblings looked around, and it was like all the lights blinked, leaving them in darkness for a second. However once they got back they weren’t in Cair Paravel anymore, that was a fact.

Mostly because they were in the middle of an enormous hall, with men in armor and swords gapping at them.

“Oh great.” Edmund grumbled. “I guess we’re not in Narnia anymore.”

Oh Aslan…

Chapter 2 

Jon Snow was tired, exhausted.

He felt like his problems were piling up, accumulating and never being solved. Every time he thought things were becoming easier, something happened.

Like now.

They were on the first year of what promised to be a very long winter and facing an eminent invasion by the White Walkers.

The main problem was that due to the wars and neglect from the Boltons the North was totally unprepared for the long winter. His people might starve.

As for the White Walkers, Queen Daenerys had offered her help to deal with them, as long as Jon bent the knee.

The North refused to. The Lords didn’t want it, his sisters –cousins –didn’t want to. Jon didn’t want to.

However Daenerys was adamant: no help would come unless Jon kneeled.

It was, actually, the topic of conversation now.

He had every single Northern lord on his hall at the moment, demanding some kind of action or, at least, answers. The noise inside was only aggravated by the blizzard outside, with its howling winds and freezing temperatures.

The lords were accusing Jon of wanting to bend the knee, because of his Targaryen blood and Arya had already threatened violence a hundred times. Not even Sansa’s charm and good manners could control the crowd tonight.

A gust of wind blew through the hall and all the candles –even the fireplace –went out, leaving them in the dark for almost a full minute, before coming back to life on their own.

When the light returned, though, there were four strangers standing in the middle of the hall.

Everybody was frozen in astonishment for a minute, and Jon could only look in shock at the two men and two women –who also looked perplexed.

“What the actual fuck?” Arya said from his side.

That made all of them snap out of their trance and the lords started pulling swords and yelling at the same time. The two men in the middle also pulled their swords, preparing to defend themselves.

Lord Glover took a threatening step forward, and one of the women with a blue jacket turned around desperately, until her eyes fell on him.

“My lord!” She cried. “Please! We’ll put down our weapons, if you promise me my siblings will not be harmed!”

“Susan!” The blond man barked at her.

“Quiet, Peter!” She snapped back, then turned her blue eyes to him again. “Please, I beg, my Lord. You have my word if I can have yours.”

“MEN! Hold your swords!” Jon called, his voice thundering on the hall. “You have my word, my Lady. Lay down your weapons and no harm will come to you and your siblings.”

“Susan, no!” The blond man tried to grab her arm.

“Peter, just do it!” She snapped once again.

Then she proceeded to put down her bow and quiver, and unstrap her sword belt. The other woman followed her example still hesitantly. The other two traded looks, but did the same eventually.

The lords were still shouting and demanding answers, yelling about witchcraft, but they were staying put.

“Arya. Brienne.” Jon spoke to the two women without taking his eyes from the visitors. “Check the women for hidden weapons. Davos, the same for the men.”

The four siblings had their hands up, obviously in surrender and let themselves be inspected. Arya pulled an alarming number of knives from the woman in yellow and Davos did the same with the man in green.

“Take them to the cells.” Jon ordered. “Nobody is to touch them until I call them forth again.”

The lords kept demanding answers, even as Brienne and Davos escorted the four out of the hall. As they kept talking loudly, Jon chanced a look at Sansa, but saw that her eyes were fixed on one of the windows. The blizzard was gone and the sky outside was so clear he could see the moon.

XxX

“Well, I guess we’re in trouble.” Lucy commented as she looked around the cell.

Edmund just rolled his eyes, while Peter sighed. “Now what?” He asked Susan.

The other woman just sighed. She had no idea.

When she realized the danger they were in she looked for their leader, because it would be the only person capable of giving them protection. As she looked around the hall it was surprisingly easy to find the man, he was in the center of the room, on a dais. Even without a crown it was obvious he was their leader.

She appealed to him and she was relieved he was a man of his word. At least so far.

“It’s cold in here.” Lucy shivered from her position.

“I haven’t felt cold like this since we arrived in Narnia.” Edmund murmured from his place against the wall.

They all traded looks, because they were all thinking the same, but Edmund was the only one brave enough to say it.

“Do you think…” Lucy started, but Peter shook his head, silently indicating the tall woman that was guarding their cell.

“We can only wait.” Susan said. “Once their lord gives us an audition we can explain this.”

Her siblings gave her a look, because what could they explain? They had no idea of how they ended there.

“I’m cold.” Lucy sighed.

There were only two blankets there and the boys had given them to their sisters, but it was not enough, not really.

“Sit with Peter, I’ll sit with Ed. We’ll try to keep each other warm.” Susan smiled at her sister.

They all bundled up together and Susan saw Peter drop a kiss on Lucy’s temple. She hoped they’d make out of this alright. They had to.

XxX

“What should we do?” Jon asked the people around his solar.

“The Lords are screaming ‘witchcraft’ outside.” Sansa informed him. “They’re demanding answers. The good news is that they forgot about the Dragon Queen for now.” She finished dryly.

Jon sighed. “What do you think, Arya?”

“I don’t know about witchcraft, but I know that hall like the palm of my hand, and there’s no way they could’ve gotten there that fast. The candles just blinked.”

“We can all say we’ve seen stranger things.” Ser Davos indicated.

It was true. Arya had trained with assassins that could change their faces, Jon had died and dragons had flown over Westeros.

“Well, someone here has more experience than us with those things.” Sansa reminded them.

They all traded looks and Arya groaned. “You mean the Three-Eyed Bran, who only speaks when he wants to?”

Sansa gave her a warning look, but Arya knew that her sister shared the feeling. Bran was an odd sight these days; he only spoke if he wanted, rarely slept or ate, and when he did speak, it was in riddles. It was extremely difficult to get a straight answer out of him, but who else could they ask?

Ser Davos excused himself to look for Bran and Jon took a deep breath. He didn’t need this kind of problem in his life right now.

Not when the North was still reeling from the revelation that he was a Targaryen –a fact that he still hadn’t completely accepted -, not when Bran was still missing –and unlikely to return -, not with the lives of so many people on the line.

His mind went again to the woman that talked to him. She had something regal about her, like she was a highborn lady. She was also smart; she’d figured out that asking Jon for protection was the safest bet and went for it. He didn’t think she was the oldest, but the other three had heard her.

She was also… Beautiful. Extremely beautiful.

Jon had seen beautiful women before: Sansa was exquisitely beautiful and so was Daenerys, but there was something different about her. Something beyond mere beauty.

Susan. That was what the other man had called her.

“Your Grace.” Davos cleared his throat as he entered the room

Jon looked at Bran as Meera pushed him into the room. His cousin had an air about him, like he only did what he wanted. Even now, when he’d called him to be there, it looked like he’d expected it and was only there because he wanted to. Bran certainly wasn’t the boy Jon remembered.

“Bran.” He gave her a short nod. “What are your thoughts about our visitors?”

“I had a vision about them yesterday.” He replied placidly.

Arya snorted. “Of course, you did.”

Jon ignored Arya and pressed Bran. “You knew four people would appear in the middle of Winterfell’s hall?”

“I knew four siblings would come.” He explained. “I saw them: fighting battles, bringing Spring.”

“Excuse me?” Sansa looked at her. “Bringing Spring? We still have years of Winter ahead.”

“They’ve done it before.” Bran continued, his voice still without any inflection or emotion. “Ask the one they call Gentle Queen. I saw her riding the back of a Lion, fighting an army. She can confirm it or deny it.”

Arya rolled her eyes so hard Jon feared she was going to lose them.

“The blizzard stopped after they arrived.” Bran reminded them.

“Which one is the Gentle one?” Sansa asked.

“Just call the name.” Jon decided. “See if one of them answers to it.” He looked at Ser Davos. “Bring me the Gentle Queen.”

Notes: There you go. Two chapters just to give a proper taste.

Let me know your feelings.

[theladymeera]

A Little Ghost-Breaking, Part 1

A short fic for @gendryxaryatrash, happy new year!

Things got a bit busy this week and today I had to sit down and read an entire book before overdrive could delete it from my shelf so I didn’t have time to finish this today. Instead we’ll all have to live in suspense until tomorrow! Enjoy!

Bears strong influence from The Haunting of Hill House (the novel), The Ghost and Mister Chicken, Stranger Things, and Ghostbusters. Oh, yeah and there was definitely no influence from that family trip to the Grand Canyon when I was seven.

Here’s the link to it on AO3 [x]

“Wait, are you telling me that you believe in this shit?” Arya asked Gendry, incredulous.

Gendry drew himself up defensively, “Hey, you can’t tell me what I did and did not see. This was way before I ever met you.”

“So you were what, five?”

“Twelve.”

“And you trust your twelve-year-old eyes and brain to tell you that you actually saw a ghost? Not some green light –”

“– it wasn’t green this isn’t Ghostbusters.”

“Or a sheet floating in the wind or whatnot?”

“It didn’t look anything like that.”

“Oh yeah, what did it look like then?”

“It was just this sort of – form – thing, and it spoke. It was muttering something about people I’d never heard of that no one else had heard of when I asked about it but some of those names were in an old family bible that was up in the attic.”

“The ancient family bible was being stored in the attic?”

“Yeah, don’t ask me why it was put up there.”

“Look it was freaky, it was real, and I saw it four different times over that week. And that wasn’t the only weird thing that happened while we were there.”

Arya waved him off and was quiet for a minute. She grabbed her coffee and took a sip, it was starting to get cold. “Well what if we went up there this weekend and checked it out? Then I can prove to you that it was all some elaborate scheme or Joffrey’s or something.”

“Fine. I’ll make the arrangements and this weekend I’ll prove that it was all real and you’ll have to admit that you’re wrong for once.”

Arya rolled her eyes at him but the wager was agreed upon – if she could prove it was all fake he’d have to concede to her restaurant picks for the rest of the year, if he won she’d have to admit that she was wrong and come to all his boring events for the rest of the year.

The drive up to the old farmhouse was long but the scenery was lovely. It was peak season for looking at leaves and Arya made Gendry promise that they’d stop and get pumpkins and cinnamon sugar donuts on their way back on Sunday. The farmhouse was old and dilapidated, about three hundred years old Gendry told her. Considering the age, the distance from any other people, and the long dirt driveway leading to the place Arya figured that Robert Baratheon must have chosen the spot for a vacation with all his children as a way to punish the wealthier ones such as Joffrey. Though Arya had no doubts someone as messed up and vindictive as him would have found some way to entertain himself anyway. She hoped the barn cats had all steered clear of the cretin.

The boards on the porch were a bit shabby from decades of feet pounding on them, Gendry knew a surprising amount about the house and could tell her that the porch had been replaced within the last fifty years. The floors inside the house were much older though, the original hardwood had been cleaned and polished recently – obviously the owners would have had the house cleaned before the weekend guests got there. These boards were truly well-worn with slight grooves in the paths that feet tended to go often. Arya tried to avoid those spots as much as possible, making a game out of stepping in the oddest places. Gendry’s teasing her by shouting “Parkour!” every time she made a particularly difficult move didn’t stop her.

There was nothing remarkable about the three-story house Arya thought. There weren’t even any particularly old and shabby blankets or memorabilia that she was used to seeing in such lived-in places. In fact nearly everything in the place was new except for the structure itself.

“Remind me again why you thought this place was so creepy?” Arya asked her boyfriend as she peered into the disappointingly empty chest at the foot of their bed.

“You haven’t seen the root cellar yet for one,” Gendry told her as he deposited their bags in the closet. “It’s also very different at night. Even without the ghosts there’s the wind coming up off the coast and sometimes I could’ve sworn we were hearing wolves howl outside even though they were killed off centuries ago.”

“So there are ghost wolves too? Sounds like my kind of thing.” Arya flopped down on the bed, checking the firmness of the mattress. It was new and felt just right for her back. She’d been expecting one of those ancient ones that are either rock hard and squeaky or that are so worn the springs would stick into her back.

“This is a nice mattress,” Gendry sighs, “Way better than the old ones.”

Arya twiddled her thumbs over her stomach, letting herself relax for a moment. It was a nice mattress, just not what she was expecting from the age of the place. “What’s this about a cellar?” she said when Gendry got relaxed enough to start snoring.

He woke with a start and begrudgingly led her to the trapdoor into the cellar. He hadn’t been joking about it being creepy. The place was a dugout under the house, the shelves were clearly ancient and covered in cobwebs. Both Arya and Gendry avoided those because if there was any place to get bitten by a spider it was down there or in the barn. Arya got several fantastic pictures of the light shining through the cracks and spaces in-between the slats and of the abandoned tack and farm equipment. By the time she was finished it was getting dark out. The coastal wind whipped Arya’s hair into her face determinedly on the walk back to the house and Nymeria was howling for her dinner. “I think I found your ghost wolf babe!” Arya shouted back to Gendry.

“Does she normally howl for dinner?”

“Nah, but I’m not right there or anything tonight. Don’t be such a wuss.”

Their dinner was a fresh clam chowder and sourdough bread that Arya had insisted on picking up when they passed through the nearest town. Arya had developed a fondness for seafood and sourdough bread in college and while she liked cooking and was good at it she didn’t have much experience with seafood or sourdough and she figured it was worth it to get some since she didn’t get towards the coast very often. “Besides,” she told Gendry when they stopped for the food, “I’d like to spend our first night at the cabin-thing doing something other than cooking.” Gendry appeared to have gotten the wrong idea about her planned activities but she didn’t correct him, after all she might lean that way herself later.

“So,” Arya started when they’d finished washing up, “do we need to do anything special to make the ghosts come out or d’ya think they’ll come on their own.”

Gendry glared at her for a moment before answering, “I don’t recall anyone acting out of the ordinary before the ghosts showed up last time.”

“I think I saw games in one of those cupboards upstairs, do you want to play Monopoly while we wait?”

“The real question is,” and Gendry leaned forward across the table, “are you ready to lose Monopoly?”

Arya did lose Monopoly, or so Gendry insisted she would have had she not decided the game was over and packed it up by the time it became clear she wasn’t going to win. She won the drawn-out game of Scrabble that was made more difficult by a lack of cell service – “Odd,” Arya thought to herself, “I still had coverage when we got here.” But to admit that it was weird would have felt like she was conceding to Gendry’s insanity and she would not allow that. “It’s probably just because of the wind or something,” she assured herself. After they’d either played or rejected all of their options Arya excused herself to the creepy shower and with the exception of the spiders she had to wash down the drain it wasn’t so bad. Her dorm had been much worse. “At least we don’t have to use the outhouse,” Arya said to her reflection as she brushed her teeth. The thing was still standing and had been filled with very large spiders when Gendry had opened the door on their tour. It reminded her too much of her family’s vacation to the Grand Canyon when she was little. She’d gotten a urinary tract infection from holding it too long because her only opportunity to relieve herself for a five-hour period when she needed to go was in an old, creaky outhouse and she hadn’t gone because there had been a tarantula on the seat.

By the time the two of them had curled up together, Gendry’s arm thrown over her waist and Nymeria laid out along the foot of the bed, Arya had nearly forgotten that she’d come there for a possible ghost-breaking. But Gendry was already asleep and he’d sworn he and his half-siblings and cousins hadn’t done a thing when he was here before, the ghosts had just shown up during the night though they weren’t as interactive as they were in A Christmas Carol. Arya shifted so there was less weight on her arm and went peacefully to sleep.

Much later Arya began to wake, faintly aware that Nymeria was growling on the edge of the bed and Arya could have sworn she heard a long “CREEEEEAAK” somewhere nearby. It was also freezing and Arya pulled the blanket tighter around herself, snuggling back towards Gendry’s warm embrace.

“Nymeria hush there’s nothing there” Arya mumbled but the wolfdog didn’t listen. Instead she stood up and growled louder, Arya could see the whites of Nymeria’s teeth in the dim light that filtered through the window. There was nothing there in the space between the bed and the door. Only there was. Arya froze. There, in the three feet between the chair by which Arya had deposited her shoes and the door to the hallway there was a – a shape. The faint outline of a person. It was sort of luminescent like the little glow-in-the-dark stars Arya and Sansa had both once collected and stuck all over their shared room.

Then, over Nymeria’s vicious growls and little warning yips Arya heard murmuring. She couldn’t quite make out the words but they were coming from the direction of the vaguely colonial historical-reenactment womanish figure Arya could almost make out in the dim light. Arya didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t breathe but Nymeria kept growling, the figure kept murmuring, and Gendry’s arm tightened around Arya as he woke up. There was a ticklish sensation running up Arya’s leg and she twitched, there was a slight sting on the back of her thigh and she yelped. Nymeria lept off the bed towards the door and the figure – whatever it was – was gone.

Gendry struggled and rolled out of the bed, landing on the floor with an unmanly shriek and a thump before he stumbled to his feet and turned on the lamp. He threw back the covers and Arya turned to see what he was about. She saw a rather large spider running across the sheet before Gendry’s hand flipped it off and into the darkness towards the wall. Arya scrambled away and said shakily “did you see what kind it was?”

“No, sorry.”

Arya turned back towards the door, “Nymeria get back up here” she said, patting the bed. “I don’t know what got into her” she lied, settling back down and keeping her face away from Gendry.

“Oh sure you don’t know. I know you were awake and scared out of your little mind,” he grumbled but he climbed back into the bed and turned off the lamp. Arya did not deign to reply.

[ladytp]

First lines meme

Tagged by lovely @hardlyfatal for this meme, and following the suit of her interesting and long post. The rules are: List the openings of the last ten stories you published. Look to see if there are any patterns that you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any!

I am tagging fellow writers @asimplylucia , @thefeatherofhope , @zip00198704 , @sarahtheblack , @weshallflyaway ,@bluecichlid and anyone else who feels thus inspired! Hopefully also including some kind of summary of their own conclusions if they see a pattern...

My own observations are that my openings seem to be a bit scattered; several where the actions starts immediately and we catch the characters in the middle of doing something, a few where the character is internally musing about something, and two (for special challenges, I may add) which start with a depiction, in an epistolary-type opening. Conclusions? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This Time, We'll Do Better 

The sounds of someone walking about, scraping noises of the furniture being moved, clink and clatter of something being set on the table, alerted Sansa from her deep slumber.

“Good morning, my lady. I trust your sleep was peaceful?”

She startled awake with a gasp, not only because of the presence of a stranger in the room, in her room, but also because of the odd way that stranger spoke. Formally, deferentially, with an accent that was not from Kings Landing nor from any other region of Westeros Sansa knew of.

Her heart drummed a few extra beats as her eyelids fluttered open – and then another realisation hit her. She was – as a matter of fact – not in her room. Not in her bedroom in her family’s comfortable house in White Harbour, nor in her modest hotel room on the foothills of Visenya’s Hill in King’s Landing.  She was…

Gods!

Horrified after latching on the last recollection of her still foggy mind Sansa shot up, expecting to see a disapproving frown of a museum guard directed at her. Instead, all she saw was a freckled face of a young girl dressed in a period costume, pouring water from a jug to a basin resting on a side table against the wall. At her sudden movement, the girl turned to her and smiled, a hesitant smile but one that looked genuine nonetheless.

In the Quiet of the Night, Candour

“Scheiße!” Lord John Grey muttered as he examined the rapidly swelling bruise in his left ankle. It already showed a distinctive shade of red, radiating from the ankle bone and promising to develop into a spread of interesting hues from purple to blue to yellow.

“Heiliger Strohsack!” he said a bit louder, attracting the attention of Jamie Fraser, who was cleaning sand and mud from his boots just a small distance away. It hurt, it hurt bloody much, and despite having endured worse Grey closed his eyes and hissed through his teeth. The Scot’s only reaction to this unusually unrefined show of displease –amplified by the use of German swearwords, exclusively reserved to most dire adversities - resulted however in no more than a raised eyebrow before he got back to his task.

And it had all gone so well up until – well, until things have started to go bad.

I’ll Share My Secrets If You Share Yours

Arya heard her coming; soft shuffle of steps, leather slippers against the stone floor. She heard everything and everyone, everywhere. Never would she be taken unawares again, never would she be in a situation not knowing who was near her, in the other room, in the castle, in the yard.

Sometimes it tired her – being alert at all times and never letting her guard down. At other times she was glad of her training and how it had become her second nature.

Safer that way.

“What are you thinking?”

Sansa smelled of herbs and flour and a log fire burning in the big ovens of Winterfell kitchens. Her tone was uncertain, guarded, but still, she made the effort. Arya respected that even though part of her found it alien. It had been such a long time when anyone had cared about her thoughts or paid attention to her state of being.

The newly established relationship between the sisters was still fragile and they both danced around the tender bond cautiously, willing to move forward but wary of what lay hidden under the surface. Their differences from a long time ago had been forgotten and pushed away like children’s foolish squabbles – which they truly had been – but their paths since then had been so different. What if there was nothing left but a name of their house to join them anymore?

Four Stages of Courtship

Stannis Baratheon shook his head and closed his eyes wearily, hearing the words but not truly registering their meaning. It had been the same that day, long ago, when Robert had told him that he was to forfeit Storm’s End to Renly while being forced to take that sevenforsaken Dragonstone as his own seat. He hadn’t believed him at first, thinking it to be only a distasteful jape at his expense, but when had Robert ever japed about things he wanted to go his way?

Still, surely he had heard her wrong.

Is she mocking me?

Stannis had accepted that this was a situation with no escape. He had fought and lost and now all there was to do was to die with honour. Stoic - he could be stoic. His whole life had prepared him for this moment; to die under a sword of an enemy. He only wondered if it would be a sword, or something more brutal.

He scanned the room and saw the dark-skinned soldiers in spiked caps carrying long spears lining the wall. Would he be subjected to a thrust of a spear instead? Or maybe a noose around his neck? Was he to become fodder for dragons, perhaps?

“I realise my proposal may be surprising to you, but let me assure you it is an honest one.” Her purple eyes fixed on him and Stannis, the man who didn’t shy away from beast nor man, flinched. There was a rare aura of utter self-confidence and certainty radiating from her, the slip of a girl. 

Past Was Such A Long Time Ago

Sandor touched the smooth surface with his fingertips, let them travel down the exposed grain admiring the way the shapes undulated and weaved their way in the wood. He could feel every nick and roughness clearly – he had lost callouses from years of holding a sword and musket already a long time ago, and his hands were now his most sensitive tool of the trade.

They were large and gnarled still; those of a man who works with them every day. Prominent veins formed the web against the backdrop of browned skin dotted with sunspots.

Old man’s hands.

He huffed and got back to work, finishing the already scraped surface into an even finer sheen. Swoosh – swoosh – swoosh, the pumice stone sang against the wood. There was a rhythm to it and he found himself in tune with it, with his body and soul.

It was the same rhythm and flow of peace he had finally found in his life, and his heart sang to its tune. 

A low growl from the floor alerted him and Sandor lifted his head.

“Quiet now, boy.”

The huge black dog sprawled down on his stomach went silent but revealed its teeth and a murmur below human hearing vibrated its chest, making Sandor glance out of the window.

He froze.

There, on the worn path leading to his little hut, walked a woman; tall and proud, carefully coiffed clusters of auburn curls framing her face and cascading down the front of her pale blue silk dress. The face whose features were achingly familiar although it had been a long, long time since he had last laid his eyes on it.

It was her.

Sansa Stark. 

Winter, thy enemy, thy friend

Sandor pushed the door open, the old gnarled wood giving in reluctantly as if wishing to hold on to the secrets it held behind it.

Damp smell, musty whiff. Coarse wooden furniture knocked over, dust settled on surfaces. That mattered not.

His feet felt leaden when he stepped across the threshold and collapsed onto the floor, the girl in his arms almost getting crushed under him. Deep ragged breaths filled his lungs with stale air. Safe.

After gathering his breath for a moment he scrambled onto his knees by pure force of his iron will – the same will that had seen them through the snowstorm and never-ending howling wind. Slowly he climbed to his full height, supporting his weight against the wall. He felt too weak to lift the girl but he dragged her by the shoulders just the same to the pallet at the back of the room. She looked like a broken doll lying there, face paler than snow. Sandor leaned in slightly and saw her lips quivering, her face screwed up in pain or cold or both. 

Good. She is still alive.

Would That She Would Cleanse Me

“What do you plan to do with her, Your Grace?”

Stannis had to duck to avoid being hit in the head by a load of planks carried on the shoulders of a builder, both navigating their way to the opposing directions through the corridors of Red Keep. He took no umbrage at the hapless man though - everyone was busy and the keep was seething activity; men going here and there, carrying things, running errands, shouting, arguing, trying to clean the mess left by the battle.

Yet the overarching impression was order – with a touch of chaos perhaps, but order just the same. And he liked it that way. Stannis was not the kind of war leader who let his men run amok among the conquered. The battle was one thing and ferociousness and mercilessness were to be expected during one, but after it was over, it was time for law and order to return.

Ser Davos Seaworth walked by his side, also ducking and weaving to keep up the pace with his king. They were on their way towards the throne room, where Stannis had called the key members of his council to gather on that first day of his rule.

Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

Stannis was not a vain man, but he appreciated the sound of that. Not that it mattered what he thought of it – the kingship was his by law and it was his duty, whether he liked it or not.

Until Thine Will Is Done

*BANG-CLATTER-CLANK*

A loud crash woke Sandor; the clatter and crash of tin mugs and claypots smashing against a stone floor.

He turned on his pallet trying to ignore the racket that followed; cries and shouts, the clumsy servant girl getting dressing down from her elder, and more clinks, rattles and sobs as the wretched wench tried to clean up the mess. Attempting to cling to the vestiges of deep slumber Sandor squeezed his eyes shut and curled his body into a tight coil. Even through the haze between sleep and wakefulness he knew that he didn’t want to wake up just yet.

No more were his nights filled with an abyss of dark horrors and impotent fury, only able to be conquered by stupor from drink or fatigue. These days his sleep was unperturbed, but even after many years the notion was still fresh for him and there were mornings when he woke up slowly, marvelling at the lack of nightmares.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure what to do with himself, with this newfound freedom.

Nonetheless, it was not the leisure of sleep that enticed him this morning, but the dread of the day ahead. Yet it was useless - his senses had been woken and his mind had already started to race ahead like a caged animal. Sandor cursed, pressed his face against the pillow and felt the tension in his muscles increasing until he was taut as a bowstring.

Fuck!

The Great Tournament, The New Noble Brotherhood And The Mystery Of The Missing Lady

It is with Special Pride that The Gazette announces the Beginnings of the Great Tournament to be held at the Gates of the Moon, that most illustrious keep of noble House Arryn.

As we advised our avid readers in our previous Edition, this Prodigious Tournament is devised for the Establishment of a new Brotherhood, the Brotherhood of Winged Knights, to serve the Noble Heir of this ancient house, the Lord of the Vale and the Warden of the East, young Lord Robert Arryn.

It was thus announced that four-and-sixty Knights have been invited to compete for the honour of serving Young Lord Robert in his personal guard, only eight brave Combatants to be afforded this privilege and the Right to bear Falcon’s wings in their war helms and guard their Lord. The competition will undoubtedly be Fierce, and will consist of several days of Jousting, Sword Fighting, Archery and Melee. Nonetheless, even those who shall not receive the Greatest Award will not go empty-handed, as the Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Paramount of the Trident and Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale, Lord Petyr Baelish, has donated heavy purses to the Second-Placed in each Category.

The young Knights of the Vale have endorsed these invitations overwhelmingly and every thus honoured Candidate has accepted the Challenge, and over the last days, these brave young Men have started to arrive in the Place of Festivities.

From Her Lips to His Ears

Act I - SCENE: Kingsroad, somewhere near Trident.

It is morning, the sun still low on the horizon, its warm rays falling on the hive of bustling activity on the ground. A young woman, hardly more than a girl, with delicate features and auburn hair, walks slowly along the side of the road with a huge direwolf following her on a leash. The road is crowded with soldiers, servants, wagons and supply carts, all busily getting ready for yet another day on the road. Dust swirls lazily in the air, raised by the commotion of many feet and wheels.

The girl walks unhurriedly, eyeing the activities curiously but cautiously, stepping aside to avoid a puddle of water spilt by men carrying buckets. The wolf presses her nose against her side and she scratches it behind the ear, talking softly to it as she does so.

A tall, broad-shouldered man clad in half-armour observes her from among the trees, near where the horses are tied up. His face is a ruin, half of it terribly burned, and despite his long dark hair being combed to the burned side to cover it, the sight is gruesome. His eyes are grey and sharp and relentlessly trained on the girl.

As she meanders closer to where the man is standing he squares his shoulders, sets his jaw and walks towards her. At first, the girl doesn’t pay him attention, but when he gets closer she notices him. An unsure beginning of a smile – forced and polite – appears on her face. The man speaks.

“That little sister of yours is getting herself into trouble.”

[filhadoboto]

Jon meets R'hllor

 Jon encontra com R'hllor

This story was written for 'Jon Snow Week'

 @jonsnowsource

DAY SEVEN: Free Choice (Prompts: Free choice + Prophecies + Family + Adversity).

Summary: Jon is murdered a second time and R'hllor finds him in the space between life and death.

Also on AO3  English    |  Português

Jon felt the cold before anything else. And when he opened his eyes, he realized that he was lying in the snow, all dressed in black and surrounded by weirwood trees. He got up with difficulty, a sharp pain in his chest made his breathing difficult and within seconds he recognized the place. This was the same godswood where he and Sam had said their vows when they entered the Night’s Watch. In the distance, above the top of the trees, he could see that the Wall was still there, majestic and imposing.

He tried to remember how he'd come to that place.

He was in the great hall in Winterfell.

Daenerys was there. So did Arya, Bran, and Sansa. His family was together.

He was happy because the truth about his birth had been told him and he finally knew who his parents were. Daenerys and he had decided that it didn’t matter that they were aunt and nephew, that their love was more important. And besides, that same love had begotten the son Dany now carried.

The Northern Lords were making a toast to the alliance between the North and the Targaryen Queen, still oblivious that their King was, in fact, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

All the people who mattered to him were there, as well as his new allies, preparing to fight the Night King and his army of dead and... and then he began to feel a nuisance in his chest and this nuisance became pain when he couldn’t breathe.

Daenerys had supported him when his body collapsed and Sam had tried to help him... but then...

But then everything had gone dark and... and he had woken up in the forest beyond the Wall.

There was only one explanation for all that.

He was dead.

He had been murdered.

 Again.

"No! No, no, no..." he shouted "I cannot die now!" He fell to his knees in the snow "I just found a reason to keep on living, to keep fighting ... Dany. My Dany! I cannot die now. Right now that I found her. I cannot leave her alone... I... I'll never be able to hold our son in my arms. My son will never know the face of his father... just as I didn’t know the face of mine..."

Footsteps caught his eye, and as he turned toward the sound, he found himself in the company of a human-shaped being, but its body was slender and its skin was red. Its hair was long and looked like the flames of a fire, and wherever it passed, the snow around it melted. Its form seemed to flicker as it walked, and Jon couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman. The stranger being stopped a few paces away and Jon could feel the heat emanating from the being on his skin.

"Why are you screaming?" It said looking directly at Jon, and he realized that its eyes glittered like ember.

Jon got to his feet "Because I'm angry. I finally found the love of my life and now I've lost her forever."

"You seem to love her very much."

"I love her more than my own life. I had so little time to stand beside her. It's not fair that I die now that I've found her."

"Kings, commoners, men, women, young, old, rich, poor. Death takes all without distinction, Jon."

"How do you know my name?"

The being smiled "I know the name of all those who come to this place."

"Where we are?"

The being looked around "We are in the space between life and death. But you see it as the godswood where you uttered the Night’s Watch vows. It was in this place that you began your journey to save the world."

"How do you... Who are you?" Jon asked.

The being smiled and the fire in its eyes seemed to grow more intense. "I am the one who gave you back your life when those who claimed to be your brothers took it away from you."

Jon stared at him, his mouth open, haunted "Are you the Red God? R'hllor?"

The being nodded. "I am. I thought it would be nice to talk to you in person."

"What do you want from me?"

"What do I want from you? Is that still unclear?" R'hllor took another step toward Jon. "You have not fulfilled your destiny, Jon. You still have a very important role to play. I want you to go back to the living world and get your place back. But just like the other time, it's your decision to stay or come back. If you decide to stay, mankind will have to try to survive the long night until the three prophesies are reborn. If you decide to return, mankind will have a chance to win. The Great War for the Dawn has begun and the Great Other is getting stronger. You saw his servants with your own eyes, just like the other two chosen. Three were prophesied, Jon. And without you, they probably will not win this war. "

"What prophecy are you talking about?"

"Daenerys Targaryen, Brandon Stark and you are the three heads of the dragon. Together, you are Azor Ahai. Together you are the Prince who was promised. You will defeat the servant of the Great Other and make sure there will be another dawn. Brandon has access to all the knowledge you need. Daenerys, bringing the dragons back to your world, reforged the Lightbringer. And you have the strength and skills to help them defeat the servants of the Great Other."

"One of your servants, Melisandre of Asshai, claimed that Stannis Baratheon was the Prince that was promised, the Azor Ahai reborn and the bearer of Lightbringer. She said all these prophecies referred to Stannis. "

"Melisandre. Yes, my servant learned from her mistakes how much prophecy can be dangerous. Something that mortals don’t seem to understand is that the signs of prophecy should not be interpreted literally. Even with the visions I sent, my servant didn’t follow the path she should follow. She was blinded by her own pride and refused to see what I showed her. I guided her to you and even then, she still refused to see who you really were. When they took your life, I used Melisandre as an instrument to resurrect you. Can you imagine my frustration when, after getting the three promised to live at the same time, one of them keep dying over and over again?"

"Well, I didn’t have much control over it, did I?" Said Jon, indignant at the god's words. "I've never been able to fight for my life."

"You are an honorable man and you believe that others can be that way too. You believe that people can be good and trustworthy. And I even like that about you, Jon. But once again you were killed because of it. You trusted the wrong people and once again paid with your life for your choices."

Jon could still feel the echo of the pain he had felt when the poison had taken effect. "I never imagined Cercei Lannister would be able to have me killed after everything we showed her. But I couldn’t lie, I had already bent the knee and pledged the North to Daenerys."

"Correct reason. Wrong person." Jon looked at him confused. "I'm sorry to inform you that the person responsible for your death is much closer to you than you can imagine."

"Are you implying that someone from my own people would try to kill me after I've got a gigantic army to fight on our side against the army of the dead?"

R'hllor shook his head, denying "The person responsible for your death thinks that you have usurped what by birthright should be hers and only hers, the throne of North. And that with you being the heir to the Iron Throne, she will never have a chance to be queen."

Jon looked at R'hllor in disbelief. "No. That cannot be true. She would never... she's my sister!"

"Half sister, or rather, your cousin. And as she herself told you, she learned many things from Cercei Lannister and Petyr Baelish."

"No. That cannot be true. Please tell me you're wrong, she would not be able..."

"I'm sorry Jon, but this was not the first time she betrayed her own family to be a queen. And this time she believes that everyone will blame Jaime Lannister for your death and that she will get everything she wants. After all, who would suspect the daughter of the honorable Ned Stark? Who would accuse the King's sister of murdering him? With your death, she thinks the North will hail her as Queen and that the Lords will break the alliance with Daenerys."

"I trusted her..." Jon's heart was devastated. First he had been murdered by his Night’s Watch brothers for doing what was right. And now his sister had done the same. "Is Dany in danger? Or Arya or Bran?"

"No. Everyone is alert. And it will not be long until the Three-Eyed Raven finds out who's the real culprit."

Jon breathed in relief.

R'hllor gently touched Jon's shoulder. "The time has come for you to decide whether you want to go back and fight for humanity or if you want to move on and have your well-deserved rest."

"Why do you need me to choose to stay or come back?"

"Magic works only if you're willing to go back. If I tried to send you back against your will, your body would work again, but your mind would still be dead."

"I'll remember what happened here and everything you said to me?"

"No, just like last time, you will not remember anything. But I needed you to know all this before asking you to make a decision."

"Will I still be myself when I return?"

R'hllor smiled. "Go back from the dead takes its toll, Jon. But don’t be afraid of what you might lose. Remember everything that awaits you if you return."

"I want to keep fighting." Jon took a deep breath "I'm ready. You can send me back."

R'hllor nodded, pleased "Before you get back, I have a gift for you." he said and pointed to something in Jon's back, which looked back.

Jon had never seen those two people, but he would have recognized them anywhere.

The woman was much like Arya and a wreath of winter roses adorned her long black hair. The man was slender and had silver curls and violet eyes like his beloved Dany.

"Mother. Father" he said, touched, tears flooding his eyes.

Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen smiled, walked up to him and wrapped him in their arms.

The feeling of being held by his parents was indescribable. "I wish I had known you both." Jon said, wiping his tears away.

"I'm sorry you grew up without us and not knowing who you really were." Lyanna said, her little hands clutching her son's face.

"We are so proud of you, my son!" said Rhaegar.

"I... I have so many questions!"

"And the time will come when we will answer them all." said Rhaegar.

"You're going to be grandparents!" Jon said "Daenerys is pregnant."

"You both deserve all the happiness the world can offer. Your fate has always been to find each other." said Lyanna.

"Jon, you need to go now." R'hllor said.

"We'll always be with you, son." said his mother kissing his face.

"We love you so much." Rhaegar said and hugged him once more.

The two then vanished and disappeared. Jon turned to R'hllor. "What did you tell me the first time for me to decide to come back?"

"I said that Daenerys Targaryen was coming to meet you and that you would need each other's help."

Jon smiled. "And now she and our son are waiting for me."

"Yes."

The Red God raised his hand, passed it in front of Jon's face, and everything went dark again.

***

First, he heard her voice. She whispered softly about how she had fallen in love with him in Dragonstone. Then the heat and pressure of her body holding his. And then he felt the soft scent of lavender from her skin and then her tears wetting his face. But it was only when he opened his eyes and met her marvelous violet eyes that Jon knew he was really home.

[bitchfromtheseventhhell]

How was the pull out?

stranger things spoilers

“I’m not afraid,” Arya muttered to herself as she sat down on Thoros’ guest bed.  The drunken words rankled.  Arya wasn’t afraid of anything, and she certainly wasn’t afraid of Gendry.  What's his name?  Right!  Ned.  We like Ned.  We don't love Ned.  “And I don’t retreat.”  She never retreated, she never backed down.  She was the only one who still cared enough about Weasel to actually try and do something about it.  Ned had been convinced that they couldn't do anything, that they shouldn’t, that their lives would be at risk if they did.  Gendry, on the other hand, had come with her.

Which was how she ended up on the squeaky mattress in Thoros’ house, a little too tipsy to drive back home and his words ringing in her ears.  It is a curse to see so clearly.  It wasn’t clear.  She and Gendry had never done anything.  

She did not retreat.  She shifted on the bed and got to her feet, crossing to the door and opening it.

“Trust issues,” Gendry huffed.  Ok, I’m confused, what's going on here, Thoros had said, and Gendry had wanted to sink right through the floor of his house, to hide, because he’d known what was coming.  Lovers’ quarrel?  He’d laughed at their protestations that they were just friends.  You’ve got chemistry.  History.  Plus the real shit: shared trauma.  Trust issues, am I right?  Something to do with your dad.

Gendry’s dad didn’t have anything to do with him anymore.  He was out of his life, had been useless last year when everything was going on with Edric.  Gendry had begged him for help and gotten nothing.  “I do not have trust issues.”  He got to his feet, annoyed at the words in his mind.  

He climbed from the bed and a moment later was out in the dark living room, crossing to the guest room where Arya was sleeping.  He’d apologize, or something.  He knew what Thoros was, and besides she was with Ned even if he didn’t like it and--

There she was, coming out of her room in a long button down shirt that looked almost like a nightgown on her.  “Hey,” she began, “I just wanted to say that--”

“Don’t worry about it.  He's so drunk,” Gendry said, his face doing something dumb because he was trying to shake the awkwardness of it all.  It hadn’t been awkward until Thoros had said something.  Bad enough that the lady at the motel had given them a look when they had said they wanted two beds.  But at least she had kept her judgemental gaze silent.  Thoros’ laughter still rang in his ears.

“Wasted,” Arya agreed.

“Yeah.  I mean,” Gendry crossed his arms over his chest, “He's got us for a couple of hours and he's got us all figured out?”

“I know.  Exactly.  I'm glad... I'm glad we feel...the same way.”  She was smiling, and Gendry swallowed.  She was so pretty.  But that was a useless thought.  

They stood there for a moment, nodding to one another, smiling awkwardly, and then Arya spoke.  “So...goodnight I guess.”

“Yeah,” Gendry responded, backing away.  “Goodnight.”

He turned back towards the study.  He turned when he got to the study, saw Arya slip into the spare room before he slid the door shut.

God he was such a coward.  Trust issues.

It wasn’t trust issues--not even a little.  Arya had trusted him when she shouldn't have, had been there when no one else had been after Edric had disappeared.  They’d fought off monsters and tried so hard to figure everything out together, and after all of that she was still with Ned.  She was still with Ned.

Trust issues.

Everything they'd been through hadn't put them together last year.

Except she was with him now.  With him, and god it hurt how much he wanted her.  

He took a deep breath, and got up.

Arya sat on the bed staring at the door. I don’t retreat.

Except she had.  She had just retreated.  She’d gone out there to talk to Gendry to...to what?  To knock on his door, to confront him about...about what?  

She should sleep.  They’d said goodnight after all, agreed that Thoros’ drunken words didn’t matter at all.

Except that they so very clearly did, because she was still awake and the way he'd crossed his arms over his chest.  Maybe it was the usual drunken Gendry or maybe, just maybe...

Arya threw herself across the room and opened the door and to her complete surprise he was there, right in front of her, standing over her in the dark.

And then his lips were against hers, warm and soft and she could still taste some of the alcohol on his breath.  Could he taste it on hers?  The kiss was hot, and unpracticed and she was a hundred percent sure that she was Gendry's first kiss, because who else would he have kissed?  Who else would want to kiss him?  Who else knew him half as well as she did, cared about him half as much as she did...

They broke apart, looking at one another, eyes flickering at each other in the dark.  

We like Ned.  We don't love Ned.

And she threw her arms around him, and pulled his lips down to hers again and his hands were in her hair and they were stumbling back, kicking the door to the bedroom shut behind them.  The mattress springs squeaked beneath them as Gendry tumbled her down onto her back, and she let out a surprised hiss at the weight of him.  She knew he was strong--anyone with eyes could see his build--but the weight of him like that...She held him tighter, feeling the way that her nightshirt was riding up her legs as he moved on top of her.  She didn't care though.  Why should she care?  She was making out with Gendry right now, wasn't that part of it?  When had she turned into the sort of girl who’d just make out with someone because an old drunk was playing matchmaker?  Was she even officially broken up with Ned?  He’d seemed to think so outside of the gym the other day.

She ran her hands up and down his back, finding the hem of his shirt and sliding them underneath to feel the heat of his skin.  He sat up on his knees and tugged the shirt off, which was not what she'd been intending but she found she liked the look of him in the half-light.  It was right somehow.  Right in a way that Ned never really had been.  She swallowed.

“Are we really doing this?” she asked him.

“I...” Gendry swallowed.  “Do you want to?  I don't want to push you or...or...” he seemed to be deflating, but Arya sat up and kissed him too, her fingers tugging at her own nightshirt and tugging it up and over her head so that she was sitting there in her underpants. 

“I do,” she whispered.  His eyes were on her breasts now, on her stomach, on the plain white underpants she'd put on that morning never expecting to show them to anyone.  “Do you?”

Gendry swallowed again.  “I’ve never...”

Arya smiled gently.  “I know,” she whispered and she pulled his lips back to hers. 

The heat of his chest against hers was enough to make her blood boil.  She gasped against his lips without really meaning to because of the way her blood was racing.  She reached her hands down and cupped his ass, feeling muscle there too as she held his hips to hers.  She could feel the telltale bulge of him against her, growing stiffer and stiffer by the second.  

Her hands moved along the hem of his pajama bottoms from back to front until they were resting just above him.  She paused in her kissing.  “Is this ok?” she asked him.

Gendry nodded into her neck, and she reached her hand down under the fabric and took hold of him, pulling him loose.  He reached down and shoved the pajama pants down his legs and Arya helped him kick them off.  Then his hand came to rest on her stomach, just above her underpants.  She tugged them off too, awkwardly, since he was hovering just above her, but when she settled underneath him, her hand stroking at his dick, she looked up to kiss him again and saw him watching her.

“Do we...” Gendry began, looking uncomfortable.  “I don’t have a condom or anything.”

“I don’t either,” she whispered, feeling herself deflate a little bit.  “I guess we’ll...” She didn’t know.  He hadn’t even touched her yet, and probably didn’t know what to do.  She wasn’t exactly expecting him to be Cassanova on his first time or anything.  She took his hand and pulled his fingers against her.  They were warm, and stiff, and surprisingly gentle as they began to rub at her.  She sighed and her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, liking the feel of him, the heat of him, the sound of his breath.

Trust issues, the words floated in the back of her head.  But those were his--according to Thoros--not hers.  She trusted Gendry.  As much as she’d ever trusted anyone.  I don’t retreat.  “I guess if you think you could just...just pull out or something?” She looked up at him, and he nodded, a look on his face that she couldn’t quite understand.  

But it was enough.  She pulled him closer, guided him into her, and he groaned into her neck as he pressed, deeper and deeper into her.  She gasped as she stretched around him, and canted her hips slightly to feel more of him.  He rocked into her, slowly at first, as though he were taking in every sensation of it, and then slowly growing faster, and faster, and faster.  She reached her hand down between them like she’d read in some magazine at some point and found her clit, circling it with her fingers, the pressure of his weight and movement pushing her hand against her so nicely.

Then he was gone from her, and she looked up at him, because he was still over her, but she didn’t feel anything the way she thought she would--he was still panting and when she looked down, his hand was on his dick, and with two more strokes he let out a strangled cry and there was the heat she’d been expecting the moment he’d pulled out.

He leaned forward and kissed her again and she felt him lean sideways so that he wasn’t on top of her when he let himself collapse against the bed.  

It was cold without him, and she turned herself towards him, hand still rubbing between her legs, letting the smell of him wash over her in just the right way to send her throbbing.

She lay there for a moment, feeling his jizz drying against her belly and turning to press herself into his chest.  I didn’t retreat, she thought.  And he trusted me.

She smiled.

[tiny-little-bird]

Jon and Sansa grew up as siblings, they've always seen each other as brother and sister, you really don't you think that would be a big obstacle for Jonsa? I should add that I'm not a Jonsa shipper, I only ship Gendrya in the show and I'm curious to know how and why you don't think that they would just forget about being brother and sister.

Because they never saw eachother as such, not really. 

Sansa was as distant from Jon as anyone could be, she avoided him like the plague, she never saw him as a brother, even though she would call him her “half bastard brother”

Sansa aspired to be Cat 2.0 Cat was her role model growing up, so she emulated her, she emulated her hatred and her despise for Jon, therefore she was never close to him, and he was never close to her, they never shared the brotherly and sisterly love/affection/relashionship like her other siblings, they never shared a scene in the books/show, never had dialogue, she always kept him at a distance. 

Sansa treated him as she would a stranger, worse actually, she was as she said an “ass” towards him, she thought him inferior to her, due to his bastard status, and she didn’t think of him as part of her family.

Jon was often observing her, calling her “radiant” while walking by Joffrey’s side. He’s always wanted her affection, her approval, just like he wanted Cat’s, he longed for it, but he never got it, they were the only ones keeping him at distance. So yeah he never had the chance to develop a sibling like relationship with Sansa, she was his sister in name, and name only, and that was it. 

Jonsa will happen in the books too, that’s why George had Sansa, and Jon be the only ones estranged while growing up, it was for this very reason.

When Jon and Sansa met again at castle black, they met as two complete strangers. 

Yes, they recognized each other, but not really. In their reunion scene, where Sansa is having supper, Jon looks at Sansa as if he’s thinking, she looks like Sansa, but she’s completely different. He already knew her very little, and now all those things he knew her for, are gone, leaving her a complete stranger to him.

This woman in front of him, who used to be mean to him as a child, who used to keep him at a distance, who to him, is behaving in a completely different way towards him, showing him affection and acceptance, smiling to him, chatting with him. All things she would’ve never done as a child. He’s taken aback by it, he’s taken aback by her. 

You can see just how intrigued he is by her. In pretty much, every scene he’s had with her in season 6, he is always studying her, observing her, looking at her. Again, what I get from him in S6 is, “She looks like the Sansa that I wached grow up before my eyes, but she’s not, she thinks differently, she behaves and acts differently, she’s a completely different person”, she looks familiar, but at the same time she doesn’t. And same thing goes for her, even more so. Jon would observe her, when they were at Winterfell, but Sansa did no such thing, she had no interest in him, nor in observing him. He is more a stranger to her, than she is to him. 

So, we have two people, two strangers who come together, after both of them, in the course of 5 years, went to hell and back.

Sansa has been raped, tortured and beaten by Ramsay, everyday, for months, and before that she was kept hostage in Kingslanding, where she was tormented abd humiliated her, and when she managed to escape, she was brought to the vale, and her aunt almost killed her, the both of them didn’t get a break for 5 years, and they had to go through it all, on their own.

Jon was just murdered by the men who he thought were his brothers, and was brought back to life, had to hang a boy, and had lost all hope and will to live.

When they found eachother again, no matter how estranged they were to eachother, they still poured their hearts out to one another, they comforted eachother, they helped each other, they took care of each other, because despite not knowing eachother, they both shared their love towards Arya, Bran, Rickon, Robb and Ned, it’s the one thing that linked them. 

But still, you don’t magically become brother and sister in a few months. They have become very close, but their relashionship does not have sibling dynamics, it has a companionship and partnership feel to it.

Sansa cares for him, because he’s linked to her childhood, he’s linked, to happiness, to the bliss that was her life before leaving Winterfell, and same thing goes for Jon. 

She’s found safety with him, she knows he would die for her, he would die protecting her, he’s basically the valiant, brave hero/knight she’s always dreamed of. 

“But now that they reunited, she thinks he’s/she sees him as her (half)brother.” 

I know, but can you blame this poor girl, after the living hell she’s been through, for involuntarily developing feelings for a man, who is the living embodiment of what she’s always wanted in a man? He’s shown her love, kindness, he gave her security, which she hasn’t felt since her father was executed. She trusts him wholeheartedly that he will NEVER hurt her in any way. If you blame her for it, idk man… If you don’t think that it’s possible, for her to develop these feelings, even if she knows/thinks it’s wrong, then again, idk what to tell you…

What did Jaimie say? “We don’t choose whom we love.” Sansa will never act on these feelings, not as long as she thinks he’s her brother, same goes for Jon, the Starks are too honorable, but that doesn’t change the fact, that the feelings are there.

“But he thinks she’s his (half)sister.”, again, can you blame Jon for developing feelings for her, when he was murdered in cold blood, then resurrected, and after being resurrected, SHE, the once little girl who never accepted him, was the one giving him hope again, giving him something/someone to fight for, she was the one giving him purpose, and getting him out of the depression he was succumbing into? Can you blame him for developing these feelings? Cause I sure don’t.

They both feel conflicted, but it’s something they can’t do anything about, it’s out of their control.

In a short span of time, Sansa became Jon’s everything and viceversa. They became each other’s confidants, strength, happiness, they became each other’s pillars, keeping each other from falling apart, they pieced each other back together. 

What I see when I watch their scenes, is that they’re both confused by how they feel for eachother, they know it’s different and not how they should normally feel, they both know that it is different from what, for example Sansa felt for Robb and from what Jon felt for Arya. 

Despite getting close and spending time with each other, there is this awkwardness and tension between them, that if their relationship was meant to come off as platonic it shouldn’t be there. 

And that forehead kiss he gave her. Listen, if he had smiled at her sweetly and she had done the same, like Ned and Arya did, when Ned sweetly kissed her on the forehead, then yes, I would’ve/might’ve thought, okay, that’s a platonic kiss, but no, they linger on eachother’s lips, both of them, twice, the kiss lasts waaay too long, too (4 seconds), Jon even closes his eyes, as you can see below, Ned doesn’t. Both Sansa and Jon. had these ambiguous, serious, intense expressions on their faces. 

I’ve shown the forehead kiss to many people who don’t watch GoT and all of them were like, “whoa, he’s so intense, the way he looks at her, man.”, so yeah, no, that scene was not meant to give us platonic vibes, and to top it, to give even a more romantic, ambiguous vibe to the audience, snow was slowly falling around them. 

Just see for yourself, look at how different these kisses are. The first one is a sweet, affectionate kiss, from a father to his daughter, and the second, well, it’s not a brother and sister forehead kiss, Sansa’s and Jon’s forehead kiss scene was intense af.

They have no idea wth is going on with these feelings, with their emotions. I think both of them are partly in denial, they try to shove these feelings away, but are unable to, they can’t help it, they’ve been through a lot together, shared their sorrows, and helped eachother, Sansa by helping him to get back to his old self, and Jon by restoring her faith in men. They both realize they’d be perfect for each other, and they truly are, they complement each other so beautifully, but they cannot be, because they’re brother and sister, and that’s all they can be, that is, until the big reveal will happen in season 8.

Jon loves her, choking Littlefinger the way he did, as soon as he said “I love Sansa, as I loved her mother”, confirmed that, he snapped, we have never heard Jon, literally, growl in an animalistic way like that before, never. Even a simple mention of her, visibly irritates/bothers him, he’s territorial, he behaves as if she were his, as if she were off limits to anyone, but him. 

And Sansa, she initiates touches with him, harm grabbing, hand holding, she’s a rape victim, a rape/torture survivor, but she trusts him, fully, so much so, she even lets, HIM, touch her, caress her head, and kiss her on the forehead.

There is a reason why they were never close as children, why they never shared a scene together, and why they were the first ones to reunite. I’d like to also add, early on, Sophie asked the directors, why she had to dye her hair red, she was told, that her hair being red, is and will be very important for the plot. Now, Bran has auburn hair, Robb has auburn hair, and so does Rickon, if I remember correctly, and yet, Sophie was the only one who had to dye her hair red. We all know Jon has a thing for redheads, so yeah, when you put all these little details together, it becomes more and more obvious where D&D are going with Jon and Sansa.

Jon and Sansa when were younger, wanted believed in the same things, had similar dreams and aspirations. 

Jon wanted to prove himself, and to do so he decided to leave his home, to become a brother of the night’s watch, which is a sort of knight, I believe they’re also referred to as black nights. He always dreamed about having a family, a wife, children of his own, a son named Robb. 

And Sansa, she wanted to become Queen, and therefore leaves for Kingslanding with Ned. In her dreams, her children look like the brothers she has lost, there is even a girl that looks like Arya. Jon looks like Lyanna, Arya looks like Lyanna, Jon and Arya look alike, Sansa’s dream might be foreshadowing, that Jon and Sansa will have a daughter someday, a daughter that will resemble her younger sister, Sansa has predominant Tully genes, Jon has predominant Stark genes, so yeah, it’s possible all their children will look like Sansa, red hair, blue eyes, with the exception of the girl from her dreams that looks like Arya, that takes after Jon.

Do I think that they’ll forget about the fact they’re brother and sister? 

They started to acknowledge each other as brother and sister, a few months ago, because in everyone’s eyes, that’s what they are, but what they feel for each other isn’t brotherly and sisterly love, and they both know it, we can see it by watching their body language

by their lingering stares 

by watching the way they fight, which is literally like a married couple. 

So I believe setting aside the “omg he’s/she’s still my brother/sister” won’t hard for them at all, because they don’t see each other as brother and sister, they have strong repressed feelings for eachother, I think the news will liberate them both, and free them from the guilt.

I don’t know, if they know, that they both feel the same for each other, but I bet my hat, both of them are at war with themselves, thinking, why am I feeling this, what is up with these feelings, what is wrong with me, Sansa would be disgusted/Jon would be disgusted, if she/he knew I thought of her/him this way. 

So they keep it to themselves, and what we get as a result, is an awkwardness and sexual tension, that is seen among two people who are in love with one another, but that can’t/won’t confess their love to each other, because they are afraid etc., so they try to suppress it, and that makes it worse lol It makes both people act rather foolish, awkward, tense and frustrated around each other. Frustration is another thing you can see between Sansa and Jon, they frustrate each other 🙈

So yeah, this is my take on their relashionship. I see them as each other’s companion, they have a partner like relashionship, I get no sibling vibes from them, they clearly have ferlings for each other, their scenes are shot too romantically, and hell, they are full of romantic tropes too.

They’re going to both be hit by even stronger waves emotions once the secret about Jon’s parents gets out. I’m really looking forward to see how their dynamic will change, because oh my, if it will drastically change. I feel like after suppressing their feelings for so long, they’re both going to explode (not literally lol a figure of speech) when the secret get’s out lol

Whoa I think I’ve rambled enough, I’ll stop here. 😅😅

Thank you for the ask dear anon, hope my answer satisfied you.

[queeringthethumbring]

jus primae noctis - jon x sansa

A/N: posted this on AO3 on the actual day but now I’m posting it here for your viewing pleasure ;).

Warnings: NSFW, can be perceived as anti d*ny but isn’t really like a huge anti-d*ny.

Description: “You may be King Consort in the South, Jon Targaryen, but in the North I am queen. The right of the first night is mine. Would you deny me my right?” 

— The night before his wedding, Jon comes by to say goodbye. It isn't what he expected, or even dared to hope for.

  (It's much better.) 

The night before his wedding, Jon finds himself in front of the Lord’s ( Queen’s, he corrects himself) Chambers. To say goodbye, he tells himself as he tentatively knocks on her door. To ask for forgiveness. To reason with her. 

However, when the door opens, revealing his barely-dressed, sleepy-eyed cousin, his mind goes blank. The excuses fall away, leaving only one reason. The one that he didn’t want to consider, didn’t want to accept: to see her. He is simply here to see her.

Her cheeks are pink, her auburn hair unbound and cast around her shoulders. The shift that adorns her slim frame is beginning to slip off her shoulder, baring her collarbone and a sizeable expanse of skin to him. Firelight flickers behind her, illuminating the outline of her curved waist and long legs.

“Jon,” she says, cold despite the shock in her eyes. She straightens, all at once becoming the impenetrable Queen in the North. Jon’s heart burns at the observation. The things I have had to give up for her to keep that title. The things that I give up, even now, as I restrain myself from tucking that one wayward  hair behind her ear. He quickly washes the thought away, feeling guilty. 

“Sansa,” he greets. He wonders if she notices how hard he tries to prevent it from being a sigh. How harshly he fails. What was he supposed to say? He can’t remember. 

“What are  you doing here?”

She’s so cold. She’s been this cold to him ever since he returned from the South with Daenerys, having not talked to her ever since he left Winterfell to fight the Long Night. His snubbing of Winterfell to accompany Daenerys South had, however, not been purposeful. He’d done it partly to appease the queen, who’d come to doubt his loyalties ever since Bran revealed his identity, and partly for reasons of his own. 

It hurts him, more than he can say. Winterfell is home because of Arya and Bran and Sansa. Without Sansa sitting by his fire, sewing and humming songs that she has only recently recovered, advising him, arguing with him, Winterfell is nothing. Winterfell is just another castle. 

“I’ve come to...to say goodbye, I suppose,” he finally says. “To you. I’ve come to apologize.”

“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her voice is sweet and courteous, but her eyes are blazing. “You could have said goodbye tomorrow, my lord. There was no need to trouble yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

 She moved to shut the door, but Jon quickly stopped it with his foot. He winces.

 “Sansa. Wait. You have to understand - “ he cuts himself off, huffing in frustration.

“Understand what, my lord?” Sansa tilts her head innocently, but does not open the door, leaving his foot awkwardly lodged between them.

“Don’t do that, Sansa. Please. Never call me that.” Jon can’t stand the idea that Sansa has now alienated him with her careful courtesies. He can’t stand the idea that he is no closer to Sansa than the Lords who sit her small council, or the suitors who she regally and politely turns down.

“Then what should I call you?”

“Jon. Just call me Jon, as you always have . ”

“That would be most improper. Even monarchs must respect each other, my Lord.”

“We’re not - I’m not - “ Jon hears a noise and breaks off. Footsteps down the hall. It reminds him how much he’d like this to be private. “Please, Sansa. Please. Let me in. Let me speak with you.”

Sansa’s eyes are so hard, her face set so plainly in her mask, that Jon thinks she will deny him. She might. And if she does, if she tells him No, my lord, in her cold voice, he might just leave. If she tells him no, he will never seek to bother her again.

Instead, she steps back, freeing his foot and opening the door to him. “If it please you.” If her face changes at all, he does not see, as she turns away from him to stand by the fire. “You may sit.” 

Jon cannot draw his eyes away from her. Even in her shift of see-through silk, with her auburn hair mussed, she is regal as ever. Her posture is perfect. He remembers how it was slightly hunched when she answered the door. Was she expecting someone? The idea of Sansa expecting a man in her bed fills Jon with bitterness. She could have been. She could have been disappointed to find you, instead of some other man.

He comes to sit in the chair by the fire, and only then does Sansa turn back to him. Her blue eyes search his face, and he can’t help but hold his breath under her scrutiny. Sansa was the only one who so adamantly shunned him when he returned to Winterfell, the only one who greeted him with coldness and courtesy. He tries to catch her eye, get some idea of what he can say to make her understand , but she looks away before he gets the chance.

“Say what you need to say. I would dearly regret keeping you, if you are too tired to wake on the day of your wedding.”

This is no true wedding, Jon wants to tell her. This is what Daenerys needs to show the North that we are a unified front. When we return to King’s Landing, we will once again have a ceremony at the Sept.

But Sansa knows that. She likely guessed it herself, when Daenerys lied that they were taking vows before a heart tree for Jon’s benefit. She is merely wearing a mask, and Jon finds that he has grown weary of Sansa’s cold shoulder.

“Sansa - “ he stops. He has never been good with words, so he scrubs his face instead so that he may stall. Sansa stares blankly into the fire, not sparing him a glance. “I need you to….I need you to understand, what brought me to these….this conclusion. The factors of my….my decision ….”

He trails off, looking up at her. Still, she watches the fire. The glow turns her own auburn hair to flames, but it does not melt the frosty look in her eyes. Quickly, he continues, “Marrying Daenerys….it’s a smart political match. It was the best decision. You said I had to be smart, Sansa. You said that. I-I had to do it, I had to - “

Suddenly, she turns to him. The coldness melts, giving way to a sudden anger. “Oh, you had to do it? Which part? Abandoning me? Giving up on the North, and then somehow getting it back without consulting me even once? Not even sparing Winterfell a glance on your way South? Then coming back with a Southern title? ”

Sansa’s outburst startles Jon into silence. Quickly, she turns to the fire again. “I have no quarrel with Daenerys Targaryen. Do not misunderstand. I just cannot see what she has that could break your oath to the North. You said you’d fight for it, no matter the odds -”

He rises, cutting her off, drawing her eyes away from the fire. “ And I have! Sansa, you must hear me. It was the only way - “

“Jon, if you had asked me, we could have found one - “

“The only other option was war - “

“It didn’t have to be! It didn’t have to be this, either, with you so far away, with me alone in Winterfell - “

“I did it for you, Sansa!” Jon yells, so forcefully that Sansa stops completely, her cheeks red and her breath coming out in pants. He hasn’t seen her so incensed since their argument before he left Winterfell the first time. You’re abandoning the North! She’d accused. It was sweet to see her this passionate again; lips trembling and eyes wild with frustration. It evoked the Sansa he’d known in the candlelit glow of the military tent, the Sansa he’d known before he went South and everything had come apart. The girl who trusted him with her real emotions, her sincerest self, instead of the cool Queen who wore a mask of ice.

(It would also be sweet, he knew, to see the Sansa he’d known on the morning he’d departed North to fight the Night King once again, leading Winterfell’s army away. The one who had hugged him so sweetly and kissed him on the cheek. Before then, her demeanor had been chilly - especially upon discerning the true nature of his relationship with Daenerys - but seeing him preparing to leave once again, knowing that he could die, had broken her mask. Under the eye of Daenerys Targaryen and the mix of Unsullied and Northmen alike, she’d thrown herself into his arms. Through his shock, he recognized it as the goodbye it was and held her as tight and tenderly as he could. He wished he could feel that again, the feel of Sansa in his arms, her breath against his cheek. Come back to me, Jon. )

He softens, not wishing to speak harshly with her. He does not want to evoke the image of Joffrey or, even worse, Ramsay. “It was for you, Sansa. For Bran and Arya. For their security. And for yours. So you could have a title tying you to Winterfell.” His eyes search her face, looking for - oh, he doesn’t know. Something, anything, that can indicate that she understands. Or that she can understand, one day. Because being separated from Sansa was painful, but being in the same castle as her and not even being able to speak with her is even worse. He cannot lose her completely. He’s awful with words, but these ones feel so natural to him. “Please, Sansa. Please. Don’t be cold any longer. Don’t treat me like a stranger. I can stand you being angry with me, but not...don’t hate me, please. I couldn’t bear it. I wish I’d stopped at Winterfell before I went South. You don’t know how much I wish that. But I...I feared that if I saw you, I would lose my nerve.”

He’s trying to catch her eye, but she’s staring right above his head. The fury in her eyes has dissipated, replaced with a steady frustration. She’s so stunning, her copper hair rippling like a flame as the fireplace flickers, her rosy cheeks glowing. The dim light renders her eyes into a darker blue, intense and gorgeous. She’s bouncing a little on her heels, her shoulders tensed as if she’s holding herself back.

“Look at me,” he begs. His heart is bared for her judgement. It’s impossible for her not to know, now. It is guilt that keeps him from saying it outright, but he knows for a fact that he doesn’t need to. Everything in him, every word he has spoken, every muscle ticking along his jaw, says it for him. I love you, Sansa. More than I should. More than I have loved anyone.   “Sansa, please. Say something.”

Finally, she looks down at him, her eyes locking onto his. His breath abandons him, his stomach coils with regret. She’s going to send me away. She’s going to yell at me. My window has closed, there’s no room for forgiveness here. And who am I to blame her? The thought makes his heart burn with grief. I should have stopped at Winterfell before I went back South. She should have been the first to know, and maybe then. Maybe then everything wouldn’t have fallen apart.

But she does not send him away.

“Jon, you fool. You gods-damned fool,” she whispers. And then she kisses him.

It happens all at once - she is surging forward, and his arms are instinctively rising to catch her, and her lips crash onto his. After a moment of shock, he kisses back with equal ferocity, his hands going to her hair. He wonders if this is a dream - if he will wake once again to find silver hair on his pillow, and a dragon in his bed. But when she bites into his lip, he knows, he knows that it is real, no matter how good it feels. It’s so strange, to realize that sometimes good things can be real.  Her hair runs through his fingers like water as he grips her. Her own hands are pressed against his back, sliding down the ridges of his spine in a way that makes his blood heat.

She backs him up against the chair he had once been sitting on, and it is the force of them tumbling into the cushioned seat that stirs him from his haze. She is on top of him, straddling his lap. When he draws away, he is half-hard already. Looking up to see her hovering above him, with her blown out pupils, mussed hair and swollen lips, does not make it any better. His hands have fallen to her hips to keep her steady on his lap, even though he knows what he must do. Even though he knows he should push her away.

“Sansa…” he says, breathless. What is she doing? “Sansa, you don’t…you don’t have to do this.” 

“You may be King Consort in the South, Jon Targaryen, but in the North I am queen. The right of the first night is mine. Would you deny me my right?” The look on her face, regal and demanding, makes his blood heat even more, if that is possible.

 Jon’s breath shudders, his eyes reverent. Already, he knows that this is a mistake. But he als9 knows that he cannot say no to her. Just one night. Just one night, he tells himself. It is an outdated practice, the right of the first night - but she is queen. And he wants this. He wants this. “No, Sansa. Of course not. Never.”

 “Then kiss me. Jon,” she whispers. “Kiss me.”

 He does. Of course he does - for who is he, to deny a queen?

He kisses her feverishly, his heart hammering like a war drum. Her teeth scrape at his lip and he allows her tongue into his mouth with a groan. When he draws a way to kiss a trail down her neck, she is gasping, holding him against her.

“Jon,” she moans. “Jon, Jon, Jon.”

His name has never sounded sweeter.

His hands trail up the ridges of her spine to settle between her shoulder blades, holding her up, and he kisses the length of her collarbone, never daring to bite her for fear that he will hurt her.

It’s only when she begins to unlace him that he thinks to give her pause.

“Wait - Sansa,” he pulls away, eyes searching. Her face is obscured by the mess of auburn hair, pieces of which fall into her eyes. He brushes them back, wishing to see her face fully, his calloused fingers lingering at the skin under her ear. She is beautiful, more beautiful than the Dragon Queen has ever been. But maybe that is just his bias, his love for Sansa pushing every other woman into the shadows. “Are you sure?”

He knows what has been done to her. He wants to know that she wants this. He needs to hear it from her, for he knows his mind is too clouded with desire to deduce it from her touches and kisses. Her lips may be willing, but is she ?

“Don’t be stupid, Jon,” she says, and ducks to kiss him again.

It’s agonizing, but he turns his face away so that her lips land on his cheek. When she leans back, her brow is raised, her eyes blazing with irritation. He can’t tell if he’s imagining the hurt that also resides there. It’s almost enough to break Jon’s resolve.

Almost.

“Sansa, you have to be….you have to be sure. You have to want this. I do not wish to dishonor you, or, or make you do something you might regret,” he intones. He moves his hand from her ear to her cheek, cupping it as gently as possible.

The irritation fades from her eyes, giving way to shock. The look on her face makes her seem both young and old at once; vulnerable like a child, but tired like a woman. It reminds him of the shock that she’d shown when he entrusted the North unto her, the shock she’d shown when he noticed her flinch at a Lord slamming a table and bellowing with laughter, and he’d taken her out of the hall to stay with her in a quiet place until she told him it was fine.

He waits, patient despite the agonizing desire, for her response, not wishing to pressure her, and he thinks that shocks her even more.

Her voice is soft and welcoming. It is not the voice of a queen, cool and indifferent, but of Sansa. Just Sansa. His chest tightens. “Yes, Jon. Yes, I want this.”

She ducks to kiss him again, and this time, he does not stop her. His hand slides down to grip her thigh as they kiss, and he only pulls away for air. Feverishly, she begins to lay kisses along his cheekbones, down to his jaw, to his neck. She doesn’t dare suck his skin, fearful of leaving a mark no doubt. But he doesn’t need her to. Just the feeling of her lips is enough to steal his breath.

The bed, he thinks, his mind muddled. Get to the bed.

Not pulling away for even a second, he cups her arse and pulls her against him so that he can hoist them both up. She gives a little squeak of surprise, but wraps her legs around his waist all the same, pressing her face against his neck and resuming her ministrations.

He places her on the bed as gently as possible, then climbs over her, settling between her open legs. Their lips meet again, and God, it’s like coming home. Again and again and again. He wants to kiss her everywhere. He wants to kiss her cunt and make her moan and feel her thighs tremble against his ears.

His hands slip up to the hem of her shift, fingers grappling at the silk, but she grabs him with an iron grip.

“No,” she says. “Don’t...you can’t see…”

“See what, sweet girl?” he holds onto her thighs, traces circles with his thumbs that make her shudder.

“My skin is a mess.”

His heart tightens. Tyrion has let slip the abuses she suffered at Joffrey’s hands before, and her slight flinch every time a knight or any man comes near her is enough confirmation about how she has been treated by others.

What can he say? Sansa is the kind of woman who deserves to have every inch of her skin worshipped. He wants to see her, all of her, to feel her feverish skin against his lips, But he will not force her - of course he wouldn’t. Instead, he’d like to give her reason to trust him. Trust that he will not impart the judgement or disgust that she so fears.

He leans back onto his knees, away from her but remaining between her legs, and the way her eyes flutter shut and her shoulders slump make his heart clench. Instead of saying a word, he peels away his doublet and underclothes, bearing his scarred chest for her. “Sansa,” he rasps. “Sweet girl, open your eyes. Look at me.”

Slowly, she obeys. Her lips part at the sight of the raised, jagged signs of his brother’s betrayals.

“Don’t think to feel shame before me, darling. Nothing about your imperfections are not perfect to me.”

She sits up to touch his chest, fingers lingering on the line above his heart, making him shudder. She’s so close that he can feel her breath on his skin, smell her lemon perfume. He stares at her, at her bright blue eyes trained on his chest, at her swollen lips, at her fiery hair, splayed over back and shoulders gracefully.

When she looks up, the shock in her eyes has given way to hunger , hot and desperate and...and for him. It’s all he’s been dreaming of and more. She surges forward and he meets her in the middle, their lips crashing with renewed passion, and this time when he grapples to pull away her silk shift, she helps him. Her shift flies off into the dark as he tosses it away.

For a moment, all he can do is stare. It’s true, he’s spent many a guilty night visualizing her body, imagining how her skin might taste if he kissed it, how wet her cunt might be if he touched it. Those are the nights where he finds the most relief, all the while condemning himself. Even so, the pleasure that expectation gave him has no measure against the reality. In reality, he can see how the light falls against her skin, how the shadows pool between her breasts. In reality, he can feel her, feel her chest pressed against his.

But also, the imagination could not account for the web of scars on her stomach. His jaw clenches as he sees them, the shock of anger is only dulled by the warmth of Sansa pressed against him.

He is only able to pull away when she  speaks,voice shaking. “I warned you, they’re disgusting. Don’t….you shouldn’t look.”

He can see in her eyes that she has misconstrued his anger as disgust.

Words are wind , he remembers the saying. Anything he says will be an empty platitude. He shakes his head slowly, gently pushing her down so that her back presses against the bed. She complies, albeit stiffly, her face puzzled.

Jon revels in the tiny hitch of her breath when he brushes his lips against the first scar. He presses kisses along the flat web of scars, sucking at her skin gently and making her whimper. Gods, the sounds she makes. His blood is singing in his veins, hot with arousal and affection. In no time at all, he has gone past her navel, has finally reached the patch of auburn hair between her legs. He presses a kiss to each hip, sucking on the tender skin, and now she’s gasping, the sheets bunched in her clenched fists.

He’s starting to close in on her cunt, stopping only to mark her burning skin with his lips and tongue, when she gasps out, “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” he sighs against the inside of her thigh. Her answering shudder makes his heart race. “I want to taste you.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.” His lips drag across the spot on her thigh just below her mound. He pulls her left thigh over his shoulder, fingers finding purchase on her leg, and stoops lower so that he can finally, finally lay a kiss on the lips of her wet cunt. “Here,” he tells her, then buries his tongue in her.

Her hips buck into his face, her answering moan low and hot and musical. “Jon,” she keeps saying, thighs tight against the sides of his head. The taste of her wetness, the feel of her soaked pussy on his lips and chin, make him moan himself. His nose is buried in the mound of auburn hair, his eyes open as he feverishly caresses the lips of her pussy with his needy mouth and peeks up at her every few moments.

He begins to suck on the little swollen nub in a way that makes her pant and whimper and say his name with even more conviction. “Jon, oh gods, Jon, don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

As if he ever would. Her hands find his hair, bury themselves in the dark curls so that he can feel the tug of them on his scalp. She presses his face closer into her and all he can see is her creamy skin, all he can taste is her pleasure, all he can smell is that citrus scent that clings to her. Her thighs tremble against his ears, clench around his head, her nails dig into his scalp and everything is just Sansa, Sansa, Sansa, as she pants and whimpers and moans his name, back arching off the bed.

He continues to lap and suck her womanhood, helping her through what is likely her first climax, until she finally releases his hair and pushes gently on his shoulders to stop him. When he pulls away, her juices coating his skin and facial hair, he only gets a moment to breathe before she is taking her leg from where it rests on his shoulder and pulling him up to kiss him. Her tongue slips into his mouth and he groans in response. The feel of her hardened nipples makes his breeches even tighter, somehow, and he reaches between them to palm her breasts and finger her nipples.

Not even breaking away, Sansa reaches down to unlace his breeches and inch them lower. He releases her breasts to steady himself so that he can kick the damned garments off, leaving him in just his loincloth. He’s so distracted from her lips and her scent and her hands on his back that he doesn’t even realize what’s happening until it’s happened. She wraps her legs tight around his waist and rolls him over so that she is on top.

He gives a little grunt of protest when she pulls away, leaning back to sit right on his hardened cock, trapped by his loincloth. The little buck of his hips makes her smirk.

“So eager,” she teases, voice low and achingly husky. Despite her air of confidence, he can see how unsure she is, how she is improvising almost.

“Only for you. No one else but you,” he croaks.

“Not even for your dragon queen?”

“No, sweet girl. Not even for her.”

Her tongue darts out to wet her swollen lips. He cannot pull his eyes away.

“Then prove it,” she raises her chin. Slowly, she begins to grind her arse against his trapped cock. “Moan for me. Moan my name.”

He gasps, voice ragged. “Oh, sweet girl, have mercy.”

“Call me queen,” she demands, her confidence rising as she sees the effect she has on him.

“My queen,” he groans. “My queen Sansa, my sweet, beautiful girl.”

She has reduced him to a pathetic, panting mess. He’d be ashamed if he wasn’t too in love to care.

“Yes?” she answers innocently, grinding down all the harder. Beads of sweat dot his hairline as he tries desperately to control himself and not spill like some greenboy. “Is there something you want, my lord?”

Oh. The words that may have once made him feel alienated from her now only serve to make his cock throb.

“You, sweet girl, I want you.”

“I want you….?”

“Please,” he gasps, “I want you, please, your grace.”

“And if I let you have me, what would you do, my lord?”

Her line of questioning is agonizing and formal but so, so, sensual. The way she peeks at him from below her fluttering lashes, feigning innocence, despite the way her pupils are blown out with lust.

“I would touch you - “

“Where?”

“Your breasts, your lips, your cunt, everywhere - “

 "What else?”

 "I’d like - I’d like - “

 Abruptly, she stops grinding on his cock. “To fuck me?” her voice is sharp, the coyness of her gaze replaced with a needling, expectant look. The sound of Sansa, polite, proper Sansa, saying fuck is so damn sexy he can barely take it.

“No,” he shakes his head slowly. It’s an effort to form coherent sentences while she is pressed up against him like this, but he manages. “Not right now. Right now I only wish to serve you. Whatever you want, sweet girl. You are my Queen and the right of the first night is yours. I am yours.”

Again, shock colors her features.

“And if I want you to...to kiss my womanhood again?”

“Then it’s done.”

“If I want you to leave?”

His eyes snap closed, heart twisting. “Then I’m gone.”

All he can hear, for a moment, is the sound of her breathing, shaking and unsure.

“If I want you to...peak for me?”

He opens his eyes, looks at her again. “I’m halfway there already.”

For a moment, the world hangs on a sword’s edge. And then she rises up on her knees and his heart is racing and aching with dread, but she doesn’t send him away.

Instead, she reaches for his loincloth and begins to slide it down his thighs, letting his weeping, hardened cock spring free at last. He doesn’t need instruction - he shifts his legs and kicks the restrictive garment away.

She leans back, sitting down on his legs so she can scrutinize it. Jon feels suddenly self-conscious and ashamed, that his aching cock is so hard, like he’s just a boy of three-and-ten seeing a woman’s cleavage for the first time.

“This...for me?” she asks, softly, unsurely.

Which part? He wonders. The love in my eyes or the hardness of my cock?

He supposes it doesn’t matter. They are both for Sansa, anyway.

“Who else, sweet girl?”

She raises her eyes to meet his, perhaps looking for dishonesty, but there is none to be found. The hunger that blooms in her gaze when she realizes the sincerity of his words keeps his attention, prevents him from turning away. Even as she rises up to hover over his raised cock, he does not look elsewhere. Slowly, torturously, she lowers herself down onto him, taking him fully into her. The whole time, he does not dare tear his eyes away, even as his member aches and he feels a shock of pleasure.

Temptation to grab her and roll her over and thrust into her hard and fast overtakes him, but no. He will not. He will wait for her signal, let her have her way, even if she sends him away seconds before his own peak. 

She looks so gorgeous when she is in control, besides. He wouldn’t dare do anything to change that.

“You said you wanted to touch my breasts,” she reminds him.

“I still do.”

“Then do it,” she demands, before sliding back up again just as slowly as the first time and lowering herself. His hips buck a little, another zing of pleasure coursing through his body.

He obeys, palms flattening against her ribs as he takes each nipple between his fingers and fondles it. Her silky red hair falls around her shoulders and brushes his hand. As he does this, she begins to rolls her hips against him.

“May I - “ he pants, “May I take one into my mouth, my queen?”

“And do what?” she asks, breathless even as she slowly bucks her hips against his.

“Suck on it, your grace,” he brushes his thumb over the tip of her right niple, hears how her breath hitches.

“I’ll allow it,” she says, more of an exhale of breath than a command. Quick as a mouse, he sits up, one hand gripping her thigh to keep her steady on his lap, and leans down to take a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling over it as he sucks on it at first gently, and then harder as she begins to moan.

Her hands tangle in his curls, the gentle tug that she applies to his scalp a feeling not unwelcome, and he groans as she begins to move up and down his cock in wider movements. The steady rhythm of her cunt slapping against him, along with their labored breathing and the crackle of the fire fill the room.

Jon thrusts his hips to meet her with eagerness, a string of barely audible compliments and terms of endearment falling from his lips as he continues to suckle her tit. “My sweet girl, my Queen, my Sansa, oh you beautiful, lovely woman, so wet, so tight, so good, so good….”

She writhes against him, panting but not saying a word, simply absorbing his sweet nothings. Soon, she is oscillating between a fast and slow rhythm, marvelling at how Jon has enough self control to follow her lead. He kisses between her breasts, runs his tongue along her cleavage, before taking her other nipple in his mouth and still muttering muffled nothings against her skin.

She begins to roll against him faster again, but this time more desperately, and he can feel his pleasure beginning to mount as he meets her with every thrust, his speech devolving into just one word, the only word that he knows right now. Sansa, Sansa, Sansa. He pulls away from her nipple and buries his face in her neck, one hands gripping her hips as she rolls against him.

Her climax comes first, Jon, she moans. He raises his head to press his lips to hers, but she keeps moaning his name.   Oh, gods, Jon. 

His release comes hard and fast as she clenches around, and he’s panting so hard and he can’t stop saying her name, feeling the soft hiss of the s , the blunt edge of the n, the hard surface of the a.

It feels like forever, it doesn’t feel like long enough. After they come down from their high,  Jon pulls out of her and lies back down, still holding her flush against him. She lets him, albeit with a weak protest.

“We’ll be caught.”

“Not if we wake up early,” he assures her easily. Despite his exhaustion, he decides to strike up a conversation. Or, try at least. It’s his best chance. “How is Winterfell?” he questions.

Sansa gives a little laugh. “We haven’t had a civil conversation since you returned, and you pick Winterfell of all things to talk about?”

Abashed, Jon shrugs. “I figured something neutral would be best.”

“Well, Winterfell’s fine, if you must know. The rebuilding efforts are progressing smoothly, the stores for the oncoming winter are where I want them to be, and I think the Lords are actually growing to respect me as more than a woman.”

“More fool them if they don’t.”

She gives a little breath of laughter.

They continue on like that, just talking. They speak of Robb, briefly. How much they miss him. Whether or not he’d be proud of them or ashamed. They speak of Rickon, too, their wild little brother who would likely have grown under the doting of Davos Seaworth, had he ever grown at all. They speak of Arya’s fierceness, Bran’s strange visions.

They speak of themselves, too. Jon relays to her the story of his scars. She, more haltingly, also tells her story, though he says she doesn’t have to.

“It’s what I deserved. I betrayed father, practically sold him to Joffrey. The gods were punishing me.”

“No, Sansa, no,” he takes her hand from where it rests on waist, kisses her wrist and does not let go. “You didn’t deserve that. The only people who got what they deserved are the ones that hurt you - and even then, I wish I could kill them all again.”

“You’re too good to me, Jon,” she sighs, squeezing his fingers.

“No one can be too good to you, Sansa, even if they gave you the world,” he laughs. She lets out a little laugh of her own, making his heart soar.

They avoid conversing about the situation they find themselves in. That is for tomorrow , Jon tells himself. For now, it’s just us. Talk of Daenerys has no place in our bed. 

At the end, right as he is drifting to sleep, Sansa tells him. “I missed you. The nights we spent by your fire. I hadn’t felt that level of...safety since before Father was arrested. Did you miss me?”

“No,” he sighs, content in her arms. He snuggles against her, fingers tracing little circles on her hip bone. “You were always with me. In my dreams.”

Sansa grabs his hand from her hip, lays a kiss on his knuckles, but doesn’t say a word.

Jon’s heart is sleepy and content, his skin is tingling from her kiss. It comes out before he can even think to stop it, “I love you.”

They both freeze. What once went unsaid but understood is now spoken, glaringly obvious. Now that it is said, there is a chance of rejection. But he can’t take it back. Most importantly, He won’t. He's too far gone.

“Don’t say that.”

“Even if it’s true?”

“Especially then.”

He raises himself up to look at her. As his cheek brushes hers, he feels a cool wetness. . His eyes  turn to her face, and he feels a hitch in his breath at the tears he sees there. He never wants her to cry.

He especially never wants to be the cause.

“There’s no need to cry, my sweet,” he intones, though he’s not sure if he believes it himself. He’d say anything to make her stop. “You don’t have to love me back.”

Sansa refuses to look at him, her eyes stubbornly lingering on the ceiling.

He begins to pepper kisses on her face, taking each tear away with a kiss, but they keep coming. She doesn’t stop him. Finally, she says, “You’re to be wed tomorrow.”

“Aye, sweet girl,” he does not stop kissing her.

“And then you’ll be gone.”

He’ll say anything, do anything, to stop the salty tears sliding down her cheeks. “We can work this out.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll...I’ll talk to Daenerys. We can find some other way to keep the peace.”

“Together?”

He nods, presses his nose to her cheek. “Together.”

“Oh, Jon,” she says, voice mournful, “You shouldn’t have come.”

It’s like being slapped. He pulls away, and her eyes finally meet his. “Do you regret it then?”

“No,” she whispers. “No.”

It’s no I love you, but it’ll do. “Tomorrow, everything will be right again. We’ll find a way. I’ll...I’ll stay here, with you, if that’s what you want. Everything will be alright”

Desperately, he wants to believe himself. He thinks Sansa does too, because she gives him a quiet nod. “Everything will be all right.”

“We’ll work this out,.” He lays back down and  nuzzles her neck, slings his arm over her torso. She pulls the blanket up to cover them both before placing her hand in his hair and holding him to herself.

“Everything will be okay,” she agrees.

Laying a kiss on the cool skin of her collarbone, he presses his face into the crook of her neck and slowly drifts to sleep, the gentle rise and fall of Sansa’s chest rocking him into oblivion.

 She stares at his sleeping face, her heart aching. I wish you hadn’t come here. I wish you hadn’t given me something to hope for. Because it was foolish, she knew it was foolish, to believe that Jon could release himself from his agreement with Daenerys so late in the game.

It was too late for them. She knows that, and yet she can’t help hoping that some miracle will save them from becoming a tragedy.  

“You should have come back first,” she tells his sleeping form. “You were supposed to come back to me.”

He shifts against her in his sleep, nose twitching endearingly. She has seen him asleep before, once when  they were sitting by his fire, but he didn't look half as peaceful as he does now. 

“I love you too,” she whispers. If no one hears the words, were they ever said? “I love you, I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Sansa hopes that her words will reach his dreams. Because she knows that he will never hear them again, not from her.

The morning after, Sansa is not in the bed with him. She is standing by the dying fire, watching the glowing embers flicker out. She’s wearing her shift again, but in the dimness of the early morning hour, he cannot see the lines of her body through it. Her hair is a braided rope, falling down her back with grace. Contentment fills his chest, seeps into his bones. Everything is going to be okay. Sansa is talking to him again. He has just woken from the sweetest dream. He is home, and here to stay.

This image of her, seconds before she says the words that break him, will be the one that he always remembers.

“You told me you wished only to serve me,” her voice is stiff and somber.

“Come back to bed, sweetling, we can speak of this later.”

“I want you to get up and go back to your rooms. No one can see you. I want you to get dressed and leave.”

His sleepy mind cannot grasp what she is saying. “Sansa, please, come back to bed. It’s freezing.”

“You said you’d leave if I wanted you to.”

That wakes him up. “What? Sansa, what are you saying?”

“Last night, all of it,” she pauses, and he can see her hands tightening around her shift. “It was a mistake. You have to leave before anyone notices you are gone. You have a wedding to prepare for.”

“Sansa, I thought - “

“You thought wrong. We can’t change anything, and frankly, I’m not sure if I care to. You’re the fool in love. I am just a woman who made a mistake. I want you to leave, and never speak of this.”

“You said you didn’t regret it,” he says softly, not bothering to hide the crack in his voice.  

“I didn’t know what I was talking about. What matters is that I regret it now, and I want you to leave before the consequences get any worse.”

Finally, he nods, agony plain on his face. Not anger or petulance. Just agony.

He climbs out of the bed and begins rooting around for his clothing, his heart aching. First he finds his loincloth, then his breeches, and finally his undershirt and doublet. It feels like an eternity of silence. He can feel his hands trembling, but every time he looks at Sansa, she is perfectly still, like a porcelain doll.

He dresses in silence too, although several times he fumbles with his laces and can’t get them done. Finally, he chooses to leave them open. All the castle is still asleep, no one will even see him if he’s careful.

He remembers the warmth she had for him the night before. What happened? He wants to ask, but he doesn’t dare. He knows what happened. Sansa realized that what he’d done was unforgivable, that they could never come back to how they were. And perhaps, he’d also scared her off with his declaration. She didn’t love him back, and he’d foolishly declared his own love for her.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he turns to her. “You really want me to go?”

She stares into the fire, not answering him for a while, then gives a curt nod.

He mirrors the gesture, albeit slower, and then opens the door to leave.

Mistake, mistake, mistake, her words keep playing in his head. But also he can’t stop remembering her saying, Jon, Jon, Jon.

Jon wonders when he’ll stop hearing her voice. When he’ll stop dreaming of her, of her moans and her whimpers and her warm smile.

(Already, he has resigned himself to a life of misery and longing.)

  The door clicks shut behind him. He didn’t even slam it, the way Joff always would when he was in an upset. Silence fills the room, silence that replaces the comfort of Jon’s soft breathing.

He’s been gone for a while before she finally allows herself to sink to the floor and cry. At first, it’s just a gentle weeping, but soon her ragged breaths become ugly, hiccupping sobs.

She almost expects him to come back and hold her. But it’s a fool’s wish, she knows. Just like she knows it was a fool’s hope to think that there was any other way to avoid war with Daenerys. Stealing away the Southern Queen’s betrothed from right under her. She’d be branded a whore, a temptress, and the world would erupt in chaos once again, just as it did in Robert’s Rebellion. Except this time, with dragons. The North would fall, the Stark line finally diminished. For her sake, for Winterfell’s sake, for Bran and Arya’s sake, she could not let that happen.

She’d been awake half the night trying to find ways for Jon to cancel the wedding without offending the Dragon Queen. She’d come up blank.

It was too late for them, she’d realized finally. But not too late to save Winterfell. She’d had to choose. Her own selfish desires, or the freedom and safety of her family and people.

It was a choice she’d been given before, but this time she’d chosen correctly.  The North would never be bound again

And if that meant giving up the only man for whom she’d ever felt something other than fear or disgust, then so be it.

[christabellanikolai]

The Untitled: Chapter 9

Jon comes to a decision and forms a new alliance before another unexpected visitor arrives at Winterfell.

Also available on [Wattpad] [AO3]

<-Previous Chapter

The cold air bit at his face, the sting bringing him back to reality. He found himself moving, alone. He did not know where he was going; his legs and feet seemed to be moving on their own. He only knew he had to keep moving, ignoring everyone around him. He found himself within the Godswood, staring up at the Weirwood. As he stared at the weeping face on the tree his body lurched forward, falling to his knees as the contents of his stomach threatened to re-emerge. Leaning forward he pounded his fist into the ground, screaming out as he begged for some type of guidance from the gods.  

He didn’t believe them when they had first told him. He wanted to brush it off as nonsense or as a dream Bran was misinterpreting as a vision. Sam though had also believed it to be true, showing him a note in one of the texts confirming some of what Bran had said. They went to the depths crypts and looked through the hidden archives. There they found the evidence, a marriage certificate and handwritten note that would forever change who he was. 

Ned, the man he thought to be his father had lied. He wasn’t his bastard son; he was not even a bastard. He was the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. Lyanna had not been kidnapped, the two had run away together and married in Dorne. Rhaegar’s previous marriage had been annulled making any children he had with Lyanna legitimate. His name wasn’t Jon and nor was he a Snow. Inside the crypts, they learned his real name. Aegon Targaryen. 

Finding a small amount of strength for a movement he pulled himself off of the ground. Sitting on the bench with his head in his hands he tried to make sense of everything he had just learned. He knew why Ned had lied about all of this. If King Robert had known he would have been killed. Jon considered for the briefest of moments if he would have been better off dead. Remembering how as a child his presence had brought nothing but shame and hurt to his family, whom they believe to be evidence of a Father's greatest betrayal.

He turned toward the path when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching and the soft sound of a young girl crying. There he found Arya, tears pouring down her cheeks. Seeing his younger sister like this, the one who had become so strong, hurt him more than any knife or sword could. He stood up, almost running to her before pulling her into his arms. She clung to him, continuing to cry. 

“Listen to me.” He said, looking down at her and bringing her face in his hands. “This changes nothing. Do you understand? I am still Jon Snow, I will always be your brother.” 

“But you are not Jon Snow.” Said Arya, shaking her head. “Don’t you understand? You are more than that now.” 

“Aye, I am King in the North and that is all.” He said, bringing her to sit next to him on the bench. He continued to hold her, both of them doing their best to comfort one another.  “No one can know about this, not right now.” 

“He has ordered us to not tell anyone.” Said Sansa to Davos as they once again looked over the evidence they had of Jon’s true identity. “We have to hide all of this.” 

“We should return it to the crypts.” Said Davos. 

"Yes, but we have to be careful. There are people still in Winterfell who would love to get their hands on this information and use it to destroy Jon.” Sansa recalled her conversation with Littefinger and how she had seen him on separate occasions speaking with some of the other Northern Lords. Especially the ones who openly voiced their dissatisfaction over the time Jon had spent with Daenerys. “Maybe we should just burn it all.” 

“Absolutely not!” said Davos. “If Jon were to change his mind then this really is the only we proof we have.” 

"Jon isn't going to change his mind," said Sansa as she began to organize the books and documents. "I think he made that very clear to us when he returned from the Godswood last night.”

Daenerys looked out onto the waterfront from the inside of her war room. She watched as her Dothraki soldiers prepared to depart for the wall. She had spent the morning preparing to mobilize them and her unsullied for Jon. Watching Jon had inspired her to take a more active role in the preparations. She had returned to the mines, ordering her men to mine more Dragonglass and then had them make more arrowheads for the Dothraki. When some her Bloodriders had questioned why they needed them, she did her best to explain everything in their native tongue. 

"Your grace." Said Varys, looking up from the battle plans on the tabletop. "Many of the Dothraki are starting to become frustrated. They want to know why they are going North and not to Kings Landing.” 

“Because it is what their Khaleesi has ordered them to do.” Said Daenerys. 

“But they are beginning to feel like they are serving Jon more than they are serving you.” Said Tyrion “They watched you walk out of the flames, not Jon. He is a complete stranger to them.” 

“But I am not a stranger.” She said pouring herself a glass of wine and sitting at the table. “Once they see what the North is up against they will better understand. If we do not stop the Night King no one will make it to Kings Landing.” 

“Why don’t we send the Unsullied instead?” asked Varys “They have the strongest loyalty to you.” 

“We don’t have the numbers to send any Unsullied, not after our failure at Casterly Rock.” Said Daenerys, glaring at Tyrion as she mentioned his childhood home. “They will remain in Dragonstone with the rest of the Dothraki. I will order them to go North if we need to.” 

Missandei entered the room, silently approaching the Dragon Queen. A small sealed scroll in her hand. “A raven Your Grace, from Winterfell.” 

At one of the camps that had been set up along the Northern parts of the Kingsroad Jon sat in a tent. Arya and Jorah sitting alongside him, both of them had ridden out with him that morning. They waited for the arrival of Lyanna Mormont who had left Bear Island at her King's request. Jon had decided it was better to arrange the meeting between her and Jorah away from Bear Island, just in case she would take offense to his presence.  

“Are you okay Ser Jorah?” he asked, seeing that Jorah still appeared somewhat nervous about the meeting. “Remember you are offering her assistance, not asking for forgiveness.” 

“Aye Your Grace.” He said, taping his fingers against the desk, a nervous habit he shared with the King in the North. “It has just been a long time since I have seen anyone from my family. I have never even met Lyanna.” 

"She is young, but she is wise beyond her years." Said Jon, he was doing his best to comfort the Knight but even he knew this meeting was going to be tense. He only hoped she would listen to reason, just as she had when he asked her to help him take back Winterfell. 

It was another half hour before the young girl arrived, her bannermen around her. Everyone stood, the men nodding their heads as she entered the tent out of respect. “Lady Mormont, thank you for coming on short notice.” Said Jon motioning for her to sit. 

“Your Grace you look well, much better since the last time I saw you.” Said Lynna, referring to the court Jon had called after returning to Winterfell. He barely had been able to stand then when he addressed the Lords. "I am glad to see that."

"Thank you, my Lady." Said Jon. "Now there is something important I must discuss with you. I have determined that Bear Island will be one of the safest location to send evacuees if we need to, the other of course will be Winterfell.” 

“Aye Your Grace, I have already prepared safe shelters if anyone were to need it.” 

"Thank you but I can not ask you to do this alone." Said Jon "While you are truly a great leader, you are going to need counsel that goes beyond a Maester during this war. Someone who knows strategy and war, someone who is a member of your family."

“Many in my family and house are gone, Your Grace. They died fighting for you and your family, as will I if the time should come."  

"Aye, but I have found one member of your family." Said Jon looking toward Jorah. “My lady this is Jorah Mormont. His father was your Uncle, Jeor Mormont.” 

“Jorah Mormont, my Mother told me you were disgraced for bringing shame upon our house. The last I head you were serving the Dragon Queen.”

“I understand your hesitation, but Jorah only wishes to offer you his counsel and aid during the war. He would be in charge of helping to get people to the island once they have been evacuated. We have made an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen who right now is helping us to man a small naval fleet who will be stationed at the Bay of Ice. He would see that it all runs smoothly. This allows you to remain in Bear Island and protect your home and people.” Explained Jon, Lyanna still wasn’t convinced. He was thankful when his sister Arya spoke up.

“Lady Mormont I don’t personally trust the Dragon Queen nor any of her companions. My brother, your King does though. If we are going to survive this war then we need to trust in his judgment.” 

Sansa walked through the courtyard inspecting as the groups began to stockpile supplies and weapons. Preparing to continue to move out along the Northern portions of the Kingsroad. She held up one of the daggers, admiring at what little sunlight the North had left bounced off its blade. As she admired the shine she saw it, even before she heard the heard the screech. The shadow of a wing, covering the sky as the creature sailed through the clouds. 

She dropped her dagger running with everyone else outside of the courtyard, around to the back gates where they saw the dragon land. The guards already had their bows and arrows pointed toward the dragon, others had their swords at the ready. She saw its rider stand with her hands up, ensuring those in Winterfell this wasn’t an invasion. Her dragon still screeched at the men who surround her. She walked toward the front of it, rubbing her hands on its black snout, soothing it. "It's just me," Daenerys said turning toward Sansa. "If you would please have your men lay down their arms."

“It’s you and a…” Sansa was at a lost for words. She, of course, knew how Daenerys got her name ‘The Dragon Queen”, but actually seeing one left her breathless. She hesitantly stepped forward to meet Daenerys, careful not to startle the beast. “Jon is still on the Kingsroad with Arya, they should be back soon. We weren’t expecting you for a few days though.” 

"Davos sent me a raven, he says he has an urgent matter to discuss with me." Said Daenerys shaking Sansa's hand as she stepped away from the dragon. "Drogon will not harm you unless he feels threatened." She motioned for Sansa to order the men to clear out. Sansa did and they made their way back to the castle. “What is going on?” she asked the redhead as they entered the gate. 

"I am guessing Davos wrote to you discuss a very private matter." Said Sansa ushering her toward the private quarters' entrance. As they entered Jon’s chambers they found Davos sitting at his desk; the books and documents proving Jon’s heritage sitting in front of him. “Davos, Jon said not to tell anyone. Why did you bring her here for this?” 

“She has the right to know.” Said Davos as he motioned for Daenerys to sit down, passing the book toward her. 

“Thank you back there.” Said Jon as he looked toward his little sister. The two rode together on the Kingsroad making their way back to Winterfell. Lyanna had agreed to allow Jorah to aid her at Bear Island, but it took a lot of convincing. Jon knew that if Arya weren’t with him, then negotiations would have most likely failed. 

“I meant it all you know.” Said Arya “I trust you and your judgment but not her.” 

“I know.” He said with a smile, Arya simply rolled eyes making Jon laugh. 

“You never told me what happened to you after you left Kings Landing.” Said Jon changing the subject. “I overheard Gendry say you tried to come to Castle Black.” 

“Aye, Yoren helped me escape, said he would reunite me with you. You would keep me safe.” 

“You never made it though, nor did Yoren ever return with any recruits. Word was he was killed by the Lannisters.” 

“He was and most of us were taken prisoner by the Lannisters at Harrenhal before we all escaped.”

“I wish I could have been there to protect you.” Said Jon 

"You did, the day you gave me Needle." Said Arya smiling toward her brother. She hoped to one-day share with him every time she had used it. She knew he would be so proud of her. The two continued to ride together, Arya continuing to share with him all about her time with the Brotherhood without Banners, The Hound, and in Bravos. She then asked him how he really became the King in the North. 

He told her, everything. He shared with her his time as a spy for the Night Watch, how he helped end the Wildling attack on the wall to become the Lord Commander. She listened as he shared with her the story of Hardhome and how he watched the Night King revive the dead to build a new army. Then he told her about that night when Olly tricked him into believing a member of the Freefolk knew where his Uncle was. Instead, he found a sign labeling him a traitor before a knife was plunged into his heart.

It was the first time he shared the story with anyone, apart from a small conversation with Beric beyond the wall. The only people who knew about it were those who were there at Castle Black and the ones who heard about it from them. Both of them were left stunned silent. Jon had been surprised at how open he had shared the worst night of his life with his little sister. Arya because her older brother, the strongest person she knew, had died. Brought back to life by a woman she had always planned to kill. She made a promise to protect him, even if it meant losing her life to do so. 

As they approached Winterfell Arya had been the first to notice. Around the back, she saw the great beast pacing back and forth before taking off to circle around the castle. She stared wide-eyed as it flew over her head. She did her best to put into words her shock and excitement at what she was seeing. But before she could speak Jon rode ahead of her toward the gates.

He didn’t even bother making sure his horse was put away, instead dismounted and headed straight for his chambers. Ignoring those who tried to speak with him along the way. Once inside he found Daenerys sitting at his desk, looking at the documents they had found in the crypts of Winterfell. He crossed his desk, shutting the book and taking the piece of paper from her hands.

“This changes everything.” She said looking up at him, her voice dripping in shock.  

“It changes nothing.” He said gathering the documents, placing them inside the book. He would order Sam and Davos to return them to where they came from. 

“What do you mean this changes nothing?” she asked, rising to her feet and approaching Jon on the other side of the desk. “Do you understand what this all means? You are the son of my brother, you are the true heir to –“

“I know what it all means!” snapped Jon. “I may have been raised a bastard but I do understand how succession works.” 

“Then why are you pretending that this means nothing?” fumed Daenerys 

“Because I don’t want it!” shouted Jon, “I accepted the role of ‘King in the North’ because this is my home.  My duty is here, not in the South.” 

"It's not that simple Jon, you are the son of Rhaegar my Father's firstborn, and that means the seven kingdoms are yours.” 

"I don't have to accept them." Said Jon. "I served the Nights Watch with your Great-Uncle, Aemon Targaryen. When his father and older brother died, he refused the crown because he swore an oath to the Nights Watch. I swore an oath to the North and that is where I will remain."

“Okay don’t accept them.” Said Daenerys grabbing Jon’s hand, tears threatening to form in her eyes. “But what does this mean for us?”

Jon placed his hand on top of hers, staring into her eyes; his demeanor becoming soft. In regards to his true parentage, this was one thing he had thought long and hard about. It should disgust him, the thought that he had fallen in love with his Aunt. For some reason, it did not. Maybe it was the Targaryen in him, who knew. All he knew was that he was still as in love as he had been before he returned to Winterfell. “I will not pretend that this doesn’t complicate things, but I will also not pretend that I still don’t love you because of this secret.” 

“I too still love you as well.” Said Daenerys bringing her hands to his cheeks. “I will respect your decision. We will continue to focus on defeating the Night King, together.” 

"Thank you, Dany." He said before closing the gap between their lips as he wrapped his arms around her. He pulled her to him as they kissed and when they broke apart he held her to him. As they stood together, staring out his chamber window just like they had in Dragonstone they could hear a rising commotion outside. 

“Archers, arrows at the ready!” One of the men on the bridge shouted. The sound of men running toward the gate could be heard throughout the castle. "Stay here," Jon commanded running toward the door, unsheathing Longclaw as he moved. When he got outside he saw a group of his men with swords drawn, Arya in the center with Needle pointed to a man on his knees, his arms up in surrender. Jon pushed the group aside to stand next to Arya. Removing the man’s cape he gasped when he saw who had caused those around him to raise such an alarm. Jaime Lannister. 

Next Chapter --->

[trueloveforeverbeautyandthebeast]

Live Blog For Game Of Thrones 7x05 "Eastwatch"

# Bronn, Jamie's white Knight # "You could have killed me" seriously Jamie, he just risked his own life to save yours # Bronn not here for fighting against dragons, he's out # Tyrion really not suited for war or the aftermath though I suppose the other two battles he was involved in he passes out so his never seen the aftermath # Just drogon doing some modeling # Dany doing another version of the break the wheel speech, glad she's staying true to her goals # Drogon roaring "bend the knee to my mama bitches" and them all dropping instantly # Tyrion arguing with Randyll about how Cersei murdered Margaery and killed their leige house # Dany and Tyrion contemplating sending Randyll to the wall but him refusing, does he want to die or something seriously # Dickon you idiot listen to Tyrion and your father # I'm thinking Dany is very against imprisoning people due to her name "breaker of chains" she would seem like a hypocrite to her unsullied if she puts chains on men # just change your bloody minds Tarly's seriously # she has the same resigned look on her face when she says Dracarys as when she was forced to behead the former slave :( # Jamie saying Dothraki will beat any mercenary army Cersei hires, damn right # "This isn't a war we can win" Jamie being smart # "If you were Olenna would you rather your granddaughter marry Joffrey or Tommen" damn good point Jamie, you really are smarter # Cersei calling Jamie "the soldier" damn that's cold # How long has Jon been waiting on that cliff for his future wife lol # Jon being dramatic AF wearing his cloak # Drogon going who is this yummy snack # Jon being conceal your fear don't show it # Dany hoping Drogon doesn't eat her new crush # Jon hoping Drogon doesn't bite him # omg I wanna pet a dragon # Jon being amazed at Drogon, thinks his pretty cool # Dany feeling so hot right now ;) # Dany being such a proud mama, gushing out her babies # Jon not agreeing causing Dany to give him a death stare causing Jon to backtrack and agree with her lol # "They're my children" aww Dany # "Fewer" Stannis would be proud Dany # "We both want to help people, we can only help people from a position of strength, sometimes strength is terrible" what a amazing speech Dany, making complete sense # Was Jon about to tell her the truth? # omg Jorah, Dany's brave bear has returned to her # The smile Dany has at seeing Jorah lights up her face in a way we haven't seen for seasons # Jorah and Jon eyeing each other off, get along guys I love you both # Dany so happy at saying "you look strong" # Jorah calling Dany "My Queen" aww my feelings # Jorah asking to be accepted back into Dany's service and Dany saying "It would be my honour" with the biggest smile # Dany slowly and tenderly wrapping her arms around Jorah in the sweetest most vulnerable hug I've ever seen, they're together again. All the feelings are killing me 😭😭 # I live for jealous Jon ;) his going what the hell, what about me! # Bran being amazing by controlling a flock of ravens to spy on the night king # The Archmaester the only Maester listening to Sam about Bran's raven, still not quite believing but wanting the truth # I am her hand not her head, good line Tyrion # Jesus, Varys telling Tyrion how he watched as the mad king tortured people for fun # "Daenerys is not her father" damn right Tyrion # "did you read it?" "It's a sealed scroll for the king of the north" "what's it say?" lol Varys and Tyrion cracking me up # Jon's blank expression saying Bran and Arya are alive, Jesus Jon you are allowed to think about something other than the White Walkers otherwise what's the point in living # "I'm happy for you....you don't look happy" Dany already reading Jon so well # Jon knowing shit's about to hit the fan # Jon wanting Dany to join him North but Dany not willing to leave Westeros to Cersei # Tyrion and another brilliant plan, Not! # "bring the dead to her" lol that doesn't sound so great Tyrion # Jon definitely considering it # Varys making a lot of sense, saying Cersei will try to murder them # Tyrion counting on Jamie's love for him to help them # lol When Dany asks how he would get in to Kings Landing both Jon and Tyrion stare at Davos, smuggling time # omg Jorah NO! You just got back, stop being so heroic and volunteering yourself # Dany not wanting Jorah to leave her and risk his life but knowing she can't convince him otherwise # Jon looking between Jorah and Dany, not being able to work them out and feeling jealous lol # Jon now volunteering himself as well, what is this a competition boys! # Jon and Dany only staring at each other # now Jorah looking between Jon and Dany # Dany trying to be queenly to protect both her northern boys from a suicide mission but failing # "I put my trust in you" "for all my people...our people" "I'm asking you to put your trust in a stranger because it's our best chance" wow Jon just wow # your an idiot lord Glover, how can you possibly win with fewer than 10,000 men and only two weapons Longclaw and Oathkeeper to kill the white walkers with. Bloody dumbass! # Arya all "hell no bitches, you don't ever go against my brother!" # Shut your trap Lord Royce, why are you even still here. Your not a northerner. # I swear these northerners need someone to babysit and hold their hands constantly # Sansa standing up for Jon like a good sister should # "you always liked nice things, made yiunfeel better than everyone" girls your sisters try to get along # Arya not happy about the lords insulting Jon, Sansa trying to keep the peace # Arya being the biggest Jon supporter and wanting to cut the heads off people who insult him # Okay Arya and Sansa need to sit down together and talk about everything they've been though to understand each other better because this is just ridiculous # "last time I was here I killed my father with a crossbow" "last time I was here you killed my son with wildfire" damn Tyrion you sure do like your Kings Landing Kills # Bronn leading Jamie down in the dungeons and Insulting him while he does it lol # Come one, I wanna actually see Tyrion and Bronn talk! # Jamie looking betrayed by Bronn # Tyrion trying to break the ice by complimenting Jamie and failing # "I told Bronn if I ever saw you again I'd cut you in half" "it'll take awhile with a sparring sword" omg Tyrion cracking a joke when your brother threatens to kill you # "he hated me because of what I am" omg Jamie on the verge of tears and so am I # Tyrion telling Jamie that Dany is not her father # omg Gendry, you finally stopped rowing. Where did all that beautiful hair go though? # "Thought you still might be rowing" omg the writers taking advantage of all the memes, bloody brilliant # Gendry instantly hoping on fighting what's coming train, without barely any explanations so eagerly lol # Gendry feeling like he has a higher purpose in life # Gendry and his hammer ;) # Davos being horrified prices have gone up since his last been to Kings Landing lol # "fermented crab..." Like Viagra apparently lol # lol Davos to tell them to hurry to a brothel otherwise they'll put a hole in their chainmail. Wow his hilarious this episode # The Gold Cloaks recognizing Tyrion with his scar, bloody hell after all of Davos hard work # Gendry eagerly smashing the gold cloaks faces in with his hammer, damn he really enjoyed that # Cersei's blank face and utter silence when Jamie tells her he met with Tyrion # Jamie not impressed when Cersei suggests punishing Bronn. Bronn is off limits Cersei! # Cersei being delusional in thinking she can manipulate Dany # Cersei sucking Jamie back in her web by announcing she's pregnant # Jamie being happy until Cersei threatens him "never betray me again" and his face drops # Davos telling Gendry to pretend his someone else, Gendry agrees then blurts out to Jon his Robert's bastard lol # "your a lot leaner" "your a lot shorter" lol Ned and Robert would be proud, Jon's face though when he gets called shirt lol # Gendry eagerly volunteering himself for the suicide mission, all these brave dumbnesses # "you may not believe it but I've missed you Mormont...nobody glowers quite like you" lol # "our queen needs you" aww love the Tyrion and Jorah friendship and how much Tyrion understands how much Jorah and Dany need each other # aww the way Dany and Jorah look at each other with such sad eyes :( # "we should be better at saying farewell by now" I don't want anymore farewell guys just stay together # Jorah not knowing what to say so Dany just holding his hands 😭😭 # Jorah looking at Jon approaching before kissing Dany's hands so sweetly # Dany watching Jorah leave once again :( # "At least you won't have to deal with the king in the north anymore" "I've gotten used to him" aww you two lovebirds # Their looks kill me # Dany watching her northern boys leave her 😭😭😭 # Gilly so excited about what she's reading # Gilly inadvertently saying Rhaegar married Lyanna lol # Poor Elia though, she deserved better. He could of at least let her return to Dorne before that so her family could of protected her and their children # Sam frustrated, him just wanting to help against the fight against the white walkers, so off he goes to steal books to help with the war and ditching the citadel, you go Sam! # Arya spying on Littlefinger but Littlefinger being on to her, she ain't fooling him # Littlefinger planting S1 Sansa's letter for Arya to find even though Catelyn, Robb and Luwin saw right through the letter and knew they were Cersei's words not Sansa's, Arya not seeing the same, bloody hell Arya your smarter than this don't let him fool you # lol Tormund cracks me up # Tormund wanting Brienne and Jon knowing what's up lol # oohh lot's of tensions, Jon recognizes The Hound, Gendry recognizes Beric and Thoros, Jorah recongnizes Thoros but in a good way, Tormund knowing Jorah is Jeor Mormont's son the former lord commander lol loving the tensions # "we're all on the same side...we're all breathing" damn Jon has had some good lines this episode # my adorable band of misfits going on a suicidal adventure together, I am living for this

[mollymauk-teafleak]

The Seal Lullaby: Chapter 12

Ao3 | My ko-fi

Thanks so much to everyone who gives me support and encouragement with this, especially my fantastically talented beta readers @minky-for-short and @childofdustandashes and my amazing friends @oversaturated-ocean @purearcticfire @brainypaperbullets @lookatvanessasface @arya-durin-51 @hollywoodx4 @kilocurican

Alex realised, as he watched his family grow, as he shifted through college applications with Philip and learned what certain times in the month not to touch Angie’s stuff without permission and to make sure the kitchen was well stocked with hot chocolate and kissed and murmured to Eliza’s belly every night, that he was never going to stop worrying about his kids. Whether he still had to change their diapers (which he was getting very good at doing one handed, saved time) and remind them with rain boot went on which foot or he stayed up until midnight pretending to Eliza and himself that he was really, really invested in this Civil War documentary so he could meet them coming in from their first high school party. Some of it was the kind of worries he heard the other parents talking about on the afternoons he’d spend leaning against the school railings, on his own, humans tended to avoid him when he didn’t have Eliza with him to wind her arm through his and help him feel like he belonged there. Something in his eyes, she reassured him one day when he was feeling sad about it, after he’d seen a few words passed between two of the younger moms less used to him, words even his ears couldn’t pick up but they came with hard lined mouths and raised eyebrows. Never a good sign. Eliza let him rest his head on her bump and stroked his hair and reassured him that it was just his eyes.

“You just look so…focused,” she’d smiled gently, leaning down and kissing his temple, “Like you’re thinking such deep thoughts. People just don’t want to interrupt you.”

That had made him feel a little better but still, as he waited for those of his kids too small to be trusted to walk home on their own (Philip elected to walk home on his own, Alex knew fine well, so he and Theo could go down to the beach and kiss) he couldn’t help but feel like he was eavesdropping without meaning to. Standing on the fringes like a badly cast extra in a play where he didn’t know half of his lines, someone shoved on from the wings and the last minute, shuffling his feet until little Johnny would come sprinting out with his too big backpack and Jamie’s eyes would brighten just from seeing his Pops across the yard and Alex would find his place in it all again.

Still, it was good to know part of his life sat somewhere on the axis of normalcy, that he could pretend, as he pulled his grey sweater closer around him even though the day was unusually warm for Oregon because the seawater in his blood made him cold, that he was a normal human man with a normal heartbeat and a social security number and a wedding certificate. Who had some job that didn’t involve pouring out his soul, where he sat in a cubicle and, what, looked at numbers? Went to meetings? Made mood boards? It was half unsettling, half stimulating to feel like that.  It helped that the other parents around him were also fretting that their sons stayed up too late or their toddlers ate too much sugar or didn’t look where they were going when they crossed the road.

Though it never lasted long. It never could, not when the possibility of a life so different none of these people could even imagine it when their minds were at their freest lay just within his reach. Physically at least, mentally what was left of his skin might as well have been a threadbare cotton scarf from the back of a junk shop with no more magic than anything. Right now, the sound of two heartbeats sending bright red pearly blood in a healthy rush under Eliza’s skin, sounding like the sea itself, powerful and natural and very pregnant, was all he needed to satisfy his wanderlust.

The invisible but undeniable wound in reality that separated him and the mothers and grandparents and scant few fathers, in Alex’s opinion, was a peculiar thing. And none of them would ever know it.

How didn’t they see it?

But then he had to stop worrying about that, he only ever worried about things like that when he was alone and here were his boys, his AJ and Jamie and Johnny, sauntering and hurrying and sprinting respectively over to him though they all knew they had no choice about the huge hug from their Pops, regardless of their varying levels of enthusiasm.

Basic mathematics and simple facts of biology told him he couldn’t hold all of their hands as they walked home, as much as his heart ached to. So instead Johnny clung to his back, stroking his fingers, still adorably chubby with fading baby fat as his body lengthened and his proportions fell into place, through his dad’s hair. Babies always seemed to have a fascination with Alex’s soft dark hair, at the perfect length for grabbing.

Jamie held the hand of his dad’s that wasn’t weighed down with too many heavy schoolbags for a normal man his age to really carry but he lifted them easily. AJ opted out of the whole affair with a wrinkle of his nose, keeping a teenage respectable distance up ahead, though Alex’s quick, sharp eyes didn’t miss how his namesake stooped halfway along their meandering path home to pick up a smooth, palm sized rock of a somehow instantly calming slate grey, shot through with exposed veins of deep green sea glass where the endless churning of the waves had hurled two things never meant to mix into one beautiful object. Alex didn’t need to ask his son to know that the stone was for Angie, to add to her collection of the pebbles and trinkets she kept so she could run the edges of her thumbs along the worn places and smooth parts when her breathing got fast and her sweat ran cold and her heartbeat got too quick to bear.

Maybe his little girl felt some kind of kinship, an understanding, with those stones who were also wearied from a long and difficult journey with an uncertain end. Or maybe she aspired to be like them, to have all her hurt and torn and vulnerable parts heal smooth and clean or be patched with something that sparkled beautifully. Either way, they brought her some modicum of comfort and Alex loved AJ so much in that moment he couldn’t speak, for finding Angie another moment of peace along the shoreline.

Another thing his eyes, trained and honed to sharp points by days spent in water so dark and thick he’d once wondered if the night sky had begun to run like candle wax and drip into the sea, another thing they didn’t miss was how AJ’s ears picked up a little, how he stood a little straighter when his reaching for the stone he’d decided must be Angie’s brought him in reach of the sea. Alex could almost see ethereal fingers of salt tinged, bitter air, reaching for him, seizing his attention, pulling him off balance.

He couldn’t help it, he bristled. Instincts that weren’t as buried as he’d like to pretend rose at the threat to his pup and pulled his lips back from his teeth a little and tensed his muscles so Johnny blinked dolefully, made his black pupils widen and fill and leak until they flooded most of his eyes with darkness.

And a solid, heavy pounding in his heart that thickened the lining of his throat with acidic, tarry fear, beating a single word, no, no, no, no, no-

But the moment passed so quickly it was almost anticlimactic, in a way. But Alex would take anticlimactic, he’d take it with desperate enthusiasm and breathless relief, he’d claw at it until the joints in his fingers broke. As long as there was that tiny, daring, contemptuous smile on AJ’s face, so slight Alex couldn’t even say if his son was aware of it himself, something so youthfully disrespectful, something that said, ‘ not this time’.

Hopefully not the next time either, or the time after that or any time.

Alex honestly wasn’t that worried, as he watched AJ lazily toss the stone from one hand to the other, catching it deftly like it’s path through the air behaved according to his playful wishes rather than any law of physics before stowing it away in his jacket pocket.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was.

Maybe his wanderlust tainted blood became diluted for every baby he and Eliza had; maybe the stranger currently growing under and rounding out his wife’s skin so beautifully right now only had a sixth of the saltwater than ran through poor Philip’s veins. Maybe Alex had proven himself with his first sacrifice, the one he’d made for his eldest son that he was willing to make for every one of his babies but prayed he’d never have to (not least because he wasn’t sure his skin held enough material, he wasn’t exactly the biggest of guys, physically) but maybe the debt had been paid and the scales had been levelled with just the one. Maybe it was just a numbers game, like whatever precise, three decimal point percentages determined which of their children got Alex’s ability to fold his tongue in three different places or Eliza’s uncanny knack of licking her own elbow with her unusually long tongue and Philip had simply drawn the scrap of paper with the black dot staining it.

Alex didn’t want it to be that, that concept terrified him, for there to be a roll of the dice marring every time he and his Betsey made something so beautiful. Of course, there always was, a million different near misses and sidestepped eventualities for diseases and mishaps on the cellular level that even Alex, with all of the medical texts he devoured, didn’t have names for. But this was one more immediate. One he knew he was solely to blame for.

No, for all the evidence that was stacked against it, as much as it went against so much of what his tired, permanently shadowed eyes had seen, Alex wanted to believe life had just given him a break.

Whatever it was, wherever this little quirk of fate had come from, whether or not Alex would continue to worry for the rest of his life about it, none of his other children felt the same pull to the sea Philip had. For them, it was something they barely recognised, that they couldn’t pin down enough to name. Waking up every morning with the scent of salt in their noses from the breeze wriggling its way in through the cracks in the windowpanes sated it just fine.

Alex was dizzyingly relieved by this, so grateful he could barely stand it. He’d have torn his pelt to shreds for that, for his children to have a normal childhood. Instead, he’d been given it as some gift. He could count his gifts on one hand; Eliza, his children, his mother and the life she’d given him. This. And they still felt like so much more than he deserved.

Of course, he knew Eliza’s genetics had a lot to do with it, her calming influence, the sense of peace she seemed to have that she shared so selflessly with everyone she met. Alex made sure to praise every inch of her, her glorious human body where he could taste the unfailing lushness of greenery between her thighs and the tranquillity and immortality of the earth in the hollows of her neck and the agelessness of the stars on her tongue, whenever he found the opportunity. So unfamiliar, so contrasting with his own makeup but he loved it too much for words. He knew he had more to thank her for than he could ever know, the ability of his children to make their homes on land, to find peace in a way he never would, was the least of them.

Eliza was his world, his entire planet and he worshipped her accordingly.

Satisfied, watching AJ return to the path, kicking up sand idly with the toe of his boots in blissful witlessness to the forces moving around him seeking to pull him in one direction or the other, Alex let himself drift back into the immediate. He re-tuned his mind to what was happening around him, his ears back to picking up the gentle, happy babble of Johnny perched on his shoulders. His youngest never seemed to fall silent, having taken the longest of all of them to find his voice and learn to talk he was now apparently making up for lost time, narrating every little detail like he was just so happy to be here. Alex was in love with it, often sitting the little boy on his lap while he worked, letting him give his own often hilarious interpretation of what his Pops was writing. Honestly, his ideas were often a lot better than what Jefferson ended up publishing.

“So, I’m gonna sleep forever and ever ‘cos there’s no school so that means no alarm clocks,” Johnny declared, bunching and un-bunching his hands in Alex’s hair, enjoying the softness and the scent of it he’d forever associate with comfort and home, “So I’m gonna wake up with the birdies and then me and mama gonna have pancakes for breakfast and I can have as many blueberries as I want, gonna eat a million blueberries!”

“Oh really?” Jamie sounded bemused, nodding and smiling his way enthusiastically through his little brother’s babble though he must hear it from first thing in the morning when Johnny woke up in the bed next to his own until the little boy fell asleep, “That’s a lot.”

“Yes!” Johnny nodded proudly, “A million million blueberries an’ then AJ’s gonna take me to storytime at the library- “

Up ahead of them, AJ stiffened immediately at the sound of his name, turning quickly on his heels with an expression Alex rarely saw on his namesake’s face. Uncertainty. Even worse, silent uncertainty.

“Is he?” the corners of Alex’s mouth twitched upwards a little, “But doesn’t mama always take you to storytime? And I seem to remember AJ saying he’d rather backflip off the end of the pier wearing nothing but his gym socks than get up before ten on a Saturday morning.”

Johnny frowned a little, his young face wrinkling up at this wobbly piece of pavement jutting up and ruining the perfect logical path he’d constructed, “But he said he would, he said he’d take me so I could hear the one about the billy goats again, that’s my favourite! He promised!”

AJ blushed a deep and intense crimson, one Alex recognised well, having felt it’s burn on his own face many, many time. AJ did nearly everything exactly the same as Alex, so many little physical quirks and idiosyncrasies he saw in his son like the weirdest mirror ever.

“Look, I said I’d take you and I will, okay?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at his littlest brother, “So shh!”

Alex tilted his head, growing more curious by the second, almost in perfect timing with his smile growing harder to hide, “So I suppose we’ll be fishing you out of the dock sometime around noon on Saturday then?”

AJ gritted his teeth, “It’s no big deal…”

“Just trying to help your mama and me out?” Alex smirked, “Cos that doesn’t sound like my boy. Maybe there’s another reason you’re super eager to get to the library at nine o’clock on a sunny Saturday morning…”

AJ stared resolutely at his scuffed shoes, his shoulders tense, “I just wanted to, okay?”

Alex hitched Johnny up a little higher, experiencing one of those moments of clarity that make children firmly believe their parents are omniscient, “And I’m just saying that I think the reason you so desperately want to…is maybe the very nice young man from your class that reads to the children and volunteers behind the counter.”

AJ went even redder, if that were even possible reaching colours that probably went right off the visible spectrum, “No! Course not! I barely even know him, why would I…that’s just…you don’t…oh, shut up!”

He reeled around and stomped off for home at twice the pace, just a stone’s throw up ahead, with the back of his neck still blazing and his posture wired, all of it telling Alex that he had hit the mark. Not that he minded in the slightest that his son was so clearly crushing on the sweet young man who gave up his weekend mornings to read picture books to children and process late fees, who wore a silver star of David around his neck proudly and complimented Johnny on whatever unusually patterned pair of socks he was wearing every single day. Nothing about that situation brought him anything but delight.

He himself had felt a flutter of the heart when he stumbled across a word in a book one day, a description that he felt he’d known all his human life but had never heard it verbalised until that moment. Bisexual. Devoted to one, not because of her gender. A desire just for beautiful people, one way or the other. Eliza had smiled when he’d excitedly shown her, after he’d finished his rushed, ecstatic explanation and she’d come to him the next day with three strips of bright cloth sewn together, colours that seemed to just go together and mean something just by being adjacent, forming an upraised fist, a straight back, a proud and bold smile just by standing back to back. He’d hung the flag up in his office and even now, when it was fraying around the edges and getting a little dusty, much in the way that the years were carving their mark on Alex’s face, it still brought a spark of pride and self whenever his eyes caught it.

All he wanted was for his children to feel the same. Whatever gave them that spark, whatever shape it took, whatever title it carried, he just wanted them to find it. And maybe AJ had found it with his library boy with the carefully written nametag that read ‘Elijah.’

“Whassup with AJ?” Johnny tilted his head, the little heart shaped face and rounded cheeks he’d inherited from Eliza creasing in brotherly concern.

Jamie gave a knowing sort of look and Alex grinned at him, putting a finger to his lips.

“Don’t you worry about your brother, Johnny boy,” he reached up and took hold of his littlest son’s hand, “He’s going to be just fine.”

He had to tell Eliza about this.

-

Years could pass, the world could turn as often as it liked, go up and down and even sideways but people in small towns would always talk.

Why would they ever stop, when the Hamilton family, rattling around in their cottage by the sea that, despite the fact it had been gladly utilised to within an inch of its life, somehow still deserved the title of folly, provided them with so much material?

Not that they didn’t like them, gossip was never intended as malicious as it was passed back and forth across the bar or the gingham laminated table covers at the café or the dented, scratched Formica of the diner. It was part of living there, there was nothing but fondness in it. This was how affection was shown in such places, through raised eyebrows and critical remarks and discussion, the way people would get in groups to pick apart their favourite books or dissect much appreciated films. People talked about how the librarian really needed to stop letting his cats wander around the stacks, shedding on all the sofas and knocking the reference cards all higgledy piggledy but to any out of towners, they boasted proudly of their many feline library assistants, showing off their library cards with inky paw marks as the signature. The people talked about how the old woman who spent her mornings combing the beach, indifferent to the weather like a well-seasoned veteran grandmother unmoved by the temporary tantrums of their beloved charges, armed with a surprisingly deadly and well cared for pickaxe. As she broke apart the limestone shores and scaled the cliffs in search of fossils, her neighbours would tut and roll their eyes and bemoan that they’d be calling in air support to save her old bones from certain death any day now. And yet, they listened with equal enthusiasm to her breathlessly excited descriptions of the treasures she’d uncovered, to the difference between ammonites and trilobites, her hastily scribbled replications of complicated evolutionary trees on the back of the napkin that had previously been wrapped around the postman’s scotch on the rocks. They even threw her a party in the church hall when one of her papers was accepted into whatever journal published such things, none of them even had a clue.

And they talked about the Hamiltons.  

No, in the small seaside village that seemed to have reached a kind of stasis of its own around the nineteen forties, aesthetically at least, the unusual, slightly isolated family were well loved. Respected even, protected and conferred over in much the same fashion as the townspeople talked about the various myths and legends specific to their little hamlet.

Because that’s what they were, really. In a strange kind of way that not even the townspeople themselves could really put their finger on (not that it was in any of their natures to go finger prodding, more to accept what was there at face value), it was like a paragraph of one of the leather bound tomes full of the area’s fireside stories had floated free, perhaps knocked loose by the idle paw of one of the cats, caught on some breeze and materialised in real life.

Ethereally beautiful parents, living secretive, secluded lives, appearing as if by some magic hand in hand along the beach at dusk or sat together on one of the benches at the tiny communal park, very, very occasionally emerging for the evening in the town’s one restaurant. Eliza did spend what little free time she seemed to have trying to get involved with the community’s bustling life, as friendly and infectiously sunny as ever, apparently only growing more beautiful as motherhood and a little maturity suited her. It was as if she just radiated a pure and uncomplicated certainty that this was where she was supposed to be and what she was supposed to be doing, an unshakeable contentment with everything around her. Every child in the town who had had her as a teacher thought her one of the most wonderful people in the world, none of them left her classroom without getting some kind of sense that being compassionate, being gentle was the right way to be. For this reason, maybe others, the pride all the residents felt was perhaps a little stronger for her than it was for her husband.

Sure, Alex was pleasant whenever he was run into at the store or at the library or on one of his long walks, the guy could talk for hours. But there would always be something…distracted about him. Like he was too aware of everything he did and said, like he was trying to follow a long and complicated script from memory but only at times. At other times, it was the complete opposite, he was so vague it was a little disconcerting. There seemed to be nothing behind is eyes, or at least something buried so deep it looked like nothing.

Things were different when he was seen with Eliza or with the rest of their family, as he was ninety-nine per cent of the time. Then he was just like any other devoted father or husband, often leaving conversations half-finished when one of his little ones dragged him away to join in their game or not looking like he saw much beyond his adored wife, more often than not resting her head on his shoulder, her arm wound around his waist.

He was still a fond figure, a treasured fixture of their place by the sea. But, even at his best, most human moments, Alexander Hamilton was considered an ‘odd one’.

One of the things most discussed, most poured over, most satisfyingly eyebrow raising, was just how many children Alex and Eliza were planning on having, whether they were going to keep going until they could stage their own family production of the Sound of Music or until the foundations of the lopsided cottage they somehow continued to make work for a family so large actually gave way. It was almost like the tides or the return of the swallows, with a regularity not too stringent to be called clockwork but with a loose pace and beat of its own, Eliza would turn up at the town’s little grocery store or the crafts shop to get more wool or the bookshop she and Alex and their children loved, in a dress more shapeless than usual or jeans clearly borrowed from her husband; soft, forgiving shoes even if the near constant rain had left the ground outside more in common with a swamp than anything else, a cardigan so careworn with holes in the sleeves and under the arms but was clearly a treasured item that had its flaws forgiven when great comfort was needed. There’d be no change in her shape, not yet, the evidence would be in the way she carried herself, the knowing light in her eyes like the Mona Lisa, like she had a secret she wasn’t sharing with anyone else, the way a soft, indulgent smile seemed to be the default setting of her face. Or else, her shopping cart full of nothing but peaches, cookie dough that was clearly never going to see the inside of an oven and cans of whipped cream gave the game away fairly quickly. If Alex was with her, further proof would be found in the way he kept a tight perimeter around her, never willingly moving more than arms length away from her, stealing more kisses and gentle touches of her hair than ever before.

Everyone in the village had learned to recognise the signs, like the well-recognised ciphers of a coming winter; the leaves shrivelling and losing their footing in the way Eliza started piling it on top of her head as it thickened, the first careless spill of frost in the shadows under her eyes. But of course not a word was said until the bump was actually visible and Alex was going around what always seemed like every single individual with a pair of eyes in a five mile radius, excitedly showing them the sonogram. Then it was weeks of watching Eliza blossom and flourish, a living Demeter in chord dungarees and hiking boots, listening to the existing Hamilton children chatter excitedly about their new sibling and draw pictures for them in the corner of the tea house when they came along with Alex for his early afternoon caffeine hook up, seeing Alex’s smile grow surer and more easily seen.

And then there would be another name to remember.

Oh, they were just grouching. They were just grumbling in the same way they did every time it rained and every time the sun shone with too much heat and every time there were leaves or snow on the ground, the way they just did.

All the little Hamilton’s were fondly thought of by pretty much everyone in the village. Though it had to be said they were a little like dryads, appearing out of nowhere, going about their own little businesses, following their own unseen paths and then dematerialising just as quickly. Those who caught glimpses of them most often learned where the scattered, aimless threads of their daily wanderings tended to converge and overlap and tangle into knots of time. It was possible to catch them, sometimes, if the wind was in the right direction and you knew the tricks.

For example, Jamie could usually be found sat in the smallest table, right over in the corner of the tea house, at the chair with no cushion and a leg that wobbled but it was always the one he chose, even when Rosie casually mentioned that she could keep one of the plush, obese couches over under the specials board free for him if he liked? Jamie always politely shook his head, turned back to the homework or the Lego model or the sheet music or the book that was occupying him that day in silence. Though, occasionally, on the days he was apparently feeling especially brave, he would go up to the glass counter that held the cakes and pies and other pastry gems Rosie’s girlfriend, Jessie, made so lovingly, press his wondering eyes to the cool surface and quietly ask what different ingredients she’d used, courteously suggesting alterations or changes with the respect of a fellow savant. Jessie adored him, Rosie guarded him and no one was surprised when, the Saturday after his sixteenth birthday, after his usual customary glass of iced tea, he slipped on an apron that seemed to fit him perfectly, picked up a notepad and tucked a blunted pencil behind his ear and got to work.

However, if it was Will you wanted to find, the quiet, contemplative young boy who followed on Johnny’s heels and whose hair was always in his eyes, getting caught in the joints of his glasses, then the place to try was the small plaza outside of the town hall. He would habitually brave the rain with his usual easy indifference to anything but his handful of interests, somehow manoeuvring his awkward angles and jutting joints into spectacular breakneck tricks on his battered skateboard off the architecture there. Little Will was rarely seen without pastel coloured band aids laddering his skinny legs, usually with motivational slogans written on them by his older sister, and he seemed to wear them like badges of honour.  Either he was risking life and limb on the village’s only and slightly regretted flirtation with the sweeping curves and flowing lines of eighties design, flirting with a trip to the ER on a skateboard with mismatched wheels that looked like it should have collapsed into splinters a long time ago or, if it was Saturday (or his mother was anywhere near) he would be volunteering at the tiny animal shelter on the outskirts of town. That was his true second home, where a light seemed to come on in his eyes and he seemed able to stand a little bit straighter than usual, working some kind of magic through his fingertips to soothe half feral cats who hissed and spat at everyone else or nervous puppies who only freed their tail from between their legs and stilled their frightened shaking for him. He never asked for any pay, any kind of compensation for what he did. All Will seemed to want in the whole entire world was for no one to touch his skateboard and to see the animals. That was all he asked for.

It was a surprise to everyone in the village, no one more so than Eliza and Alex when, out of the blue, almost without thinking, like it had crept up on them, their seventh child turned out to be a little girl. They’d all hear the story of how an exhausted Eliza refused to believe Alex when he tearfully informed her that the tiny little squalling baby in his arms, loudly experiencing her very first sensation of the outside world- the gentle, protective touch of her father’s hands, was a girl. Even she couldn’t believe that they’d finally broken their streak of Y chromosomes. She was even more shocked, so much so that, by all accounts, she burst into fresh tears, when Alex grinned through his own calm weeping to tell her than she was going to be named after the greatest and most wonderful woman he knew. Her mother.

Of course, it would be as scandalous as a grandparent having a favourite grandchild for anyone in the village to love one Hamilton child more than the others but, if pushed, if really, really pushed, there was a good chance many of them would say little Liza. Not only because she was an angelic thing, all sunset coloured skin and bouncing black ringlets and her mother’s beaming smile as well as her name. Also, more for the entertainment factor, for how many times they’d seen the toddler waddling down the main street at a surprisingly fast pace, usually in some state of undress or wearing more clothes than was strictly typical or perhaps holding the glasses her Pops ended up getting quite reliant on later on in his life, with Alex himself a few paces back, trying desperately to catch up with her. Alex was known for being fast, quick on his feet, but somehow his daughter was always faster.

The villagers felt themselves off the hook once Liza started preschool, surely seven was more than enough? Privately, they’d all thought that maybe five or even six had been enough but each to their own.

But no, apparently, Alex and Eliza wanted to go for the even number.

Though, along with the fact that Mrs Adam’s Christmas decorations were a little flashy this year and that the library fees were getting a little extortionate, weren’t they, it was a well-established fact in that corner of the coastline that Rachel Hamilton was an absolute treasure. Smiling so prettily with such a genuine, innocent warmth, eyes that looked older and seemed to hold so many more depths than a two-year-old would be capable of, usually seen lovingly following her mother, always stooping to lightly brush any flowers she past. Not pick them, never pick them, she’d hate to keep them for herself. Just to touch them with the curious pads of her fingertips, a greeting and a question and maybe even an answer in one little gesture.

Nearly a year after Rachel arrived, Eliza got the sense that there were a lot of eyes on her, a lot of loaded questions, a lot of glances. They only stopped after she casually mentioned to the florist that she and Alex had made the decision that their family was the size it had always meant to be. She didn’t use the phrase, not in front of the sweet old gentleman she chatted about gardenias and gypsophila with, but in her heart, she felt it; their pod was complete.

The moment the words were out and into the collective ears of the village, Alex looked up from his desk sharply, frowning, wondering if he’d just imagined that distant sigh of relief that sounded as if it came from a hundred mouths at once?

Though change was rarely a good thing, in the eyes of such granite carved, salt burned people. What would they talk about now, that they’d lost the swelling population of the brightly coloured, lopsided cottage growing down by the shoreline? Even a family with a goddess for a mother, an alien for a father and dryads for children could only provide so much material. But it was sweet to see, after all, to see a collection of people so loved and loving, protected and protecting, working in their own strange little ways and yet in perfect harmony with each other’s. It was just that they’d miss the excitement they brought, that’s all.

After everything that happened next, in the months that followed, the excitement that came crashing down on the Hamilton family, the townspeople would feel a pang of guilt.

[ebmordecai]

Gendrya prompt from timecubed... My response

Five times Arya cooked for Gendry + one time Gendry cooked for Arya

@timecubed

Life has that funny way of reminding you that you’re not in control. I had plans for myself. I was going to graduate from culinary school as this famous chef and then travel the world, but life decided to throw me a curve ball and remind me that I’m powerless. So, instead of traveling the world I find myself with two jobs and barely any time left to sleep.

The first job, which is my day job, is a waitress gig at a fancy Italian restaurant. Not my ideal choice, but I need the money. My second job, at night, is closer to my degree, but far from my dreams of traveling. I’m the chef for a billionaire tycoon. I wish I could say he was someone you could easily hate, but that’s far from being true.

Gendry Waters had earn his money the hard way, working his way from the ground up. He owned numerous business dealing with iron and metals. He had taken his skills and turned it into a billion dollar industry. I respected the hell out of him. He was a private man, staying out of the spotlight as much as possible. There wasn’t any heavy scandals with his name involved, yet he remained a total stranger to people, including the people who worked for him.

Monday…

I pay the cab fare, as the man driving stares out at the mansion I work in. The kitchen is my fortress, and everyone knows to give me space as I work. Tonight’s menu is lamb with mint sauce, asparagus seared in butter, hot rolls and a glass of chardonnay. Mr. Waters has a set menu that he seldom strays from, which makes my life simple seeing as I’m sleep deprived and I don’t need to give much effort to the menu.

Mrs. Caldwell, my supervisor awaits my arrival with instructions for tonight’s dinner. As usual, Mr. Waters will be eating alone. He never has dinner guests, not that I’ve seen in the three months I’ve worked for him.

When I enter the dining room He’s already seated, his face hidden in a newspaper. I serve him the hot meal and stand off to the side against the wall in case he needs anything. These silent moments are my favorite, for I get to watch him without him being aware of it. He’s still wearing his three piece charcoal suit from work, looking like a Greek god. I see why he’s considered Westeros’ most eligible bachelor.

His hair is as dark as night, worn short in the back and long in the front. His bangs almost come to his eyelids and I watch him push the hair from his forehead several times. The few times we’ve made eye contact I’ve come face to face with a set of sea-blue beautiful eyes. His sleeves are rolled up giving me a clear view of sculpted arms. So, yeah, I have a crush on my boss.

Tuesday…

My feet hurt. That’s all I can think as I enter Mr. Water’s home. I need rest, a vacation, but I know that’s never going to happen. My mind’s heavy tonight, but I don’t have time to think on all my problems. I need this job and it’s good pay, badly.

Tonight’s menu is spaghetti and meatballs. I had laughed the first time Mrs. Caldwell showed me the menu that he wanted. Spaghetti was the last thing I thought someone like Gendry Waters would want. He was country clubs and yachts. But I cooked him what he wanted, my grandmother’s special recipe.

He seemed to like it more than the lamb, and I’m caught off guard when he looks up at me. Our eyes meet and I stand a little taller, trying to ignore the screaming pain in my feet. He gives me one of his rare smiles and I feel my cheeks burn. He never speaks, not to me, but his smiles say the words his mouth doesn’t. Thank you for reminding me that I’m human, it says, just by serving me spaghetti. He’s as lonely as I am… his smile says that too.

Wednesday…

I’m running late tonight and my head is pounding from the table of twenty I served at the restaurant. Old men taking more grabs at me than they should, their drinks of rum coming every five seconds seems like. I’m in a foul mood, and my cell ringing doesn’t help. I swear if it’s Mrs. Caldwell I’ll hang up on the woman with the first word. Yes, I know I’m late.

“Hello?” I mumble.

“Hello, Miss. Stark, this is Nancy Forrester.”

I freeze on the cold sidewalk as the world around me shifts. I forget the pain in my head immediately. The blood runs from my face, leaving me chilled. Something’s happened.

“Are you there?” she asked, concerned. “Y—yes,” I answered, softly.

“There’s no easy way for me to say this, Miss Stark, but the money has run out. It’s time to think of other options. We can give you a few days, but by Saturday we need you to make other arrangements. We will help you any way we can.”

I’m feel lost and alone. I knew this day would come, but I thought with the two jobs I could stay ahead of this dreaded day.

“How much do I need to come up with?”

“Two thousand dollars, Miss Stark.”

The weight upon me becomes heavier, and as I hurry into the kitchen at Mr. Waters home I’m fighting back the tears. I can’t come up with that money by Saturday. I barely have six hundred in the bank. I don’t have a choice. I ignore Mrs. Caldwell’s beady eyes as I place the Lobster Bisk and cob salad on the plate and hurry out to the dining room. Wednesday’s are Mr. Water’s light days. Soup and salad. Looks like I’m not the only one who’s late or in a foul mood.

Five minutes after I place his food on the table, he enters mumbling under his breath about stupid investments. His tie hangs loosely at his neck and he digs right in. The more time that passes in silence the more I know what I need to do, but I’m scared to open my mouth. Mr. Waters can help me if he chooses. He’s really the only option I have, and I’ll do anything at this point. I wait till he’s done and he looks up at me. There’s no smile tonight, but I press forward.

“I was wondering, sir, if you wouldn’t mind giving me an advancement on my check. I’ll pick up other chores around the house to pay you back quicker.”

He stares at me, surprised that I’ve spoken to him. For what seems like forever no word is spoken.

“Arya, correct?”

“Y—Yes, sir.”

He nods his head, but let’s more minutes pass before answering. “And you need this advancement because?” he questions.

No one, not even my boss, knows my issues. I don’t want, nor need, anyone’s sympathy. I’ve made the decision to take on this burden, and until now I’ve needed no help. It’s the least I can do.

“Personal reasons.”

His eyebrows raise, “I see. I don’t give advancements. I’m sorry.”

With that, he stands from his chair and leaves me standing in shock. I feel hot tears in my eyes, but I blink them back. I’ve lost the only option I had in a matter of seconds.

Thursday…

I’ve picked up two extra shifts and talked to a loan officer, but all that gives me is fifteen hundred. I’m five hundred short. I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours and all of the stress is making me sick. My hands shake as I place the ribeye steak next to the baked potato and broccoli on the plate. Mrs. Caldwell is watching me closely, but I ignore her.

I almost don’t make it to the table before dropping the plate. He’s there, his hands reaching out to steady me. I don’t make eye contact with him, but I feel his eyes burning into the back of my head as I take my place in the corner. I want to sleep for days and not wake up, but life doesn’t give me that option.

“What’s the advancement for?” he asked, making me jump in shock.

When I look at him, his blue eyes are intense. If I tell him the truth he’ll fire me. He will know my baggage and question my reliability. He’s never shown interest in me, so I hoped I could get the advancement no questions asked… I was wrong.

“I’m sorry I asked for the money, Mr. Waters. I don’t need it.” I barely got the words out. I need the money more than anything.

“Are you in some kind of trouble? And call me Gendry. My father was Mr. Waters.

“No, sir. Nothing like that, Mr—Gendry.”

“You’re not doing drugs? No gambling debt?”

I clenched my jaw, trying my best not to be pissed. He’s only trying to help, I tell myself.

“There’s nothing like that going on, I promise you.”

Mr. Waters… Gendry wiped his mouth with his napkin and stands. I think He’s going to leave it there, but he stops half way out the door and turns to me. “How can you expect me to help you if you don’t even trust me enough to tell me why.”

I’m left feeling worse about my situation as he storms out of the room.

Friday…

I’ve searched every pocket of jeans, every hole and crack that money could fall in and I’m still four hundred-eighty five dollars short. I allowed myself two hours of sleep before my double at the restaurant and then Gendry’s. My last hope is my tips I could make tonight, though it’s been slow this past week.

When I walk in my manager is waiting at the door for me and signals for me to follow. I swallow the lump in my throat as I sit before his large desk.

“I’ve had to cut back, and I regret to tell you that you’re no longer needed here. You’ve served me well, Arya, but I need full time staff, not part time.”

I felt sick to my stomach, and I stood from the chair and left without a word. Before his door closed I heard him say my last check would be mailed to me in two weeks. I’m not down just a little anymore. I’m down the whole amount, for I needed that last check early. No check… no loan officer. I spend the rest of the day on the phone, calling around for another option to my problem. It’s not good.

When I finally entered Gendry’s kitchen my eyes were red and swollen, but it couldn’t be helped. I had come to the end of the line. Mrs. Caldwell scolded me twice when I burnt the chicken and had to start over. I wanted to throw the chicken in her face, but this was my last job… a last way to get money. Finally, the Zuni Roast Chicken with Fennel Panzanella was finished and laid out for Gendry. I walked to my corner of the room and waited… and waited… and waited. The food I slaved over for two hours grew cold, yet the door never opened.

“He won’t be dining at home tonight, Miss Stark. He said to have his meal wrapped up and sent home with you,” said Mrs. Caldwell.

I didn’t want it, couldn’t eat it even if I did want it. I gathered the food and dumped it in the garbage bin outside. Any other day and I would have wanted to dump it on Gendry’s head for wasting the food, but not today.

I took a cab to the only place I knew I needed to be this late. It was after midnight, and usually they don’t allow visitors this late, but Kate is working. She always let’s me in. Sure enough, she pulls the door open and ushers me in, making sure no one saw me.

I enter a darkened room, but I know this room as well as I know my own bedroom. I’ve spent the majority of my time here for the past six months. This room is the reason I don’t sleep some nights. The person laying in the bed is the reason my burdens are so heavy.

“Hey, Sansa,” I whispered, knowing she’s not going to answer me. She hasn’t answered me for six months.

I reached out and took her hand in mine, laying my cheek upon her smooth skin. My older sister doesn’t respond to my touch. She’s all I’ve had since I was twelve. Our parents died in a car accident. She was seventeen when she took over my care. We had each other, and no one else. Now, our roles are reversed and it’s me taking care of her.

Or I was taking care of her. The insurance money we saved from our parent’s deaths has run out. There’s no money left, and I’m having to take her out of the care home she’s in, but I have no where to take her. Six month ago Sansa walked out of our apartment to go to the store and never came back. She suffered a brain aneurysm in the store and has been asleep ever since. There’s some brain activity but not much. One of the options they will discuss with me come morning is letting my sister go. I can’t do that. She’s all I have left.

I laid my head on her bed and allowed the tears to fall. It’s the only time, in the darkness, that I allow myself to feel hopeless and alone. No one can see my weakness.

“Please, Sansa. I don’t know what to do,” I cried, softly. “Come back to me.”

There’s no response. Just the silence and my soft sobs. Tomorrow will come soon, so for tonight I give in to my grief.

Saturday…

“Miss Stark.”

I come awake with a start to see Nancy Forrester standing in my sister’s room. I feel the dread consume me, knowing what’s about to happen. I have no answers to this problem.

“M—Mrs. Forrester. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. I came in last night to pack my sister’s things and fell asleep,” I said, not wanting to get Kate in trouble.

Mrs. Forrester looked at me, confusion in her features. “Are you moving your sister? But, I thought after you paid the entire year you were keeping her here.”

Her words took several moments to register in my mind. I couldn’t have heard her right. I opened and closed my mouth, not able to comprehend what was happening.

“W—What?” I said, my words choking me.

“We received your payment for the rest of the year. I was coming by to make sure your sister was comfortable and in good care.”

“That’s impossible,” I whispered, my vision blurred in tears.

She looked confused and laughed, as if uncomfortable. “I assure you there is no mistake. The person on the phone said he was a cousin of yours, said he would send money whenever it was needed, and that he wanted Sansa well taken care of.”

“He?” I said, and before she could finish I was on my feet and out of the door.

The fifteen minute ride to Gendry’s was the longest of my life. I laughed, smiled, cried… every emotion hit me at once.

I entered the house, realizing it was unlocked and no butler to meet me. I searched the house, every room, until I heard movement in the dining room. When I entered I noticed the dining table fixed up for two. The plates were laid out with wine glasses ready to be drank.

Gendry came from the side door connected to the kitchen with a large pot in his hand. When he saw me, he froze. He had his sleeves rolled up, sweat dripping from his brow. Had he been cooking?

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” he said, hurrying to sit the pot on the table.

“Gendry,” I said, my voice cracking.

“Come and sit. We can talk after we eat.”

He pulled a chair out for me, and I sat down feeling like I’m in a dream. He poured us a glass of white wine. When he raised the top off the steaming pot, and I saw what was inside, I burst out laughing. All of these months I struggled with my sister and being alone came out of me in those few seconds. For the first time I sobbed in front of someone.

“Do You know why I ask for spaghetti on Tuesdays?” he asked, pointing to the hot spaghetti in front of me. I shook my head no. “My parents died on a Tuesday. They left me to grow up in an orphanage. The last memory I have of them is my mother in the kitchen making me spaghetti. Every Tuesday I visit their graves. It’s the hardest day of the week for me. When you cook this for me, it helps me to cope with the loss. Now, I want to help you the same way, so I slaved over this spaghetti and I pray it’s half as good as yours.”

I take a bite and am surprised at how good it really is. I look up and meet his kind blue eyes and smile. “Its delicious,” I whisper.

“Good. You eat while I talk, then. I did some research and found out about your sister. I hope you aren’t mad at the intrusion, but I worried. When I found out that they were releasing her everything made sense to me. I couldn’t let that happen. I paid for the entire year and have set up an account to keep your sister stable for as long as she needs it.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he doesn’t let me.

“Eat. Not on only that, but I’m flying in three experts in the field of brain trauma to look over your sister’s case. If there is a solution they will find it, but even if they don’t she will never want for anything. You will never have to worry for her.”

“But, why? Why are you doing this?” I ask, a tear slipping down my cheek.

“Because, you may not realize it but you take care of me, and I wanted to return the favor. And…”

He hesitates, unsure of himself. “And?” I ask.

“Since the moment you walked into my house three months ago I’ve tried to get up the nerve to tell you how you’ve captured me mind, body and soul. I didn’t help your sister for payment, but I couldn’t allow you to do this on your own. And… if you will allow me, I’d like to take care of you as well. I’d like to take you on a date, Miss Stark,” he says, his cheeks growing red.

I am up and out of my chair before I know what I’m doing. I wrap my arms around Gendry, feeling his heart beat as wildly as my own. His arms snake around my waste and hold me tightly. In that moment I let go of all of my baggage, all of my hurts and pains. It’s going to be okay now. I can finally say it’s going to be okay… and I say it over a pot of spaghetti. Maybe life does know better than me.