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dontbotherwiththepronunciation · 1 year

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EDIT UPON LAST READING:

This was written on the 30th of may mostly because I got in trouble with a subset of sansa fans at the time and I felt like I should try to joy in her character again. I am no longer sick, I no longer feel like talking about romance, I no longer feel like talking about Sansa but doing this was fun and I am always curious

For the sake of this post, and only this post, I will refer to the term "ship" or any derivatives of the word as "feeling interested by a dynamic's fanon, semi- or canon romantic connotations".

Can't believe I have to say this but god people can get so unnecessarily mean. Before people start being pedantic about something as harmless as rarepairs, it seems like I really will have to say: I don't believe in any of these options possible canon endgames. Many of these have not even interacted. I deserve to have fun with stuff as trivial as dumb inconsequential fanon ships.

Under the cut I wrote down my preferences + linked some fanwork simply because I’m in a shipping mood after reading some folkloric myths and I don’t really have any strong opinions on ships, and the few NOTPS I have are more about the way fandom treats the ship than the actual ship on itself, but I am completely ill and not healthy enough to do anything more serious and rarepairs are fun. You don’t have to read it or write one yourself, I just feel like talking and recommending fanfics.

On the other hand, if you do want to recommend me fanwork of any type, or share a prompt or show me a wip or just simply hype your rarepair please do so! Everything goes as long as it's a rarepair (less than 500 fics on ao3).

1. Sansa Stark x Brienne of Tarth

Listen, were it not for Brienne and Jaime being clearly written to be read as semi-canon-going-canon and were this book not written by a straight cis white male US American baby boomer democrat, I would be delusionally screaming this is going to be the one canon ship! This would be my protagonist endgame ship for which I would take the mildest coincidence as foreshadowing and die on that hill.

I am coming for you, Lady Sansa. Be not afraid. I shall not rest until I've found you. - Brienne I, AFFC

(Subversions of lady/princess & knight/prince where both are women and one of them is searching for the other and I'll become her Prince and save her! and-)

I just really love how so many of Brienne's issues are tied to her femininity. She does not fit into the traditional idea of womanhood, she wishes she would, she does not want to, she is rejected by the concept and she rejects the concept. And yet, when she distances herself from every possible reminder of her own femininity and takes up a man's armour and sword, she is reminded of her place as a woman and told to conform to her gender.

And then we have Sansa, who romanticises stories about Ladies and Knights; first out of genuine love and admiration for them, and later as a coping mechanism when cruel reality tells her that those ideals are sadly nowhere near true.

This is her knight. This is her strong, brave knight.

My only problem with Briennsa is how we shippers sometimes tend to put Brienne in a position of servitude to Sansa or the Starks and ignore how she is the heir to an island, has a father whom she loves and wishes to see again, and is still on a quest. Hell, she might be Azor Ahai, with her weirwood dream in which she fights White Walkers + her father's sword Lightbringer, out of all the Azor Ahai tinfoil theories this is the one I think has the most canon support. She is not a Hyle Hunt type of errand knight who is just walking around Westeros for the sake of traveling and finding a job, and once the war is over and she has kept her oath, it would be nice to see her going home and proceeding with her life and independence, maybe taking Podrik with her. I would like her to see her father again and see there being love between them.

My nonsensical fantasies involve Brienne being like "Alright, I found one of the Stark girls, still have to find the other one. I'm taking her to Tarth where she'll be safe and have no creeps around who would bother her." and Sansa just completely falling in love with Brienne on the way there.

Also, I would die for the comedic potential of Brienne of Tarth, mockingly refered to as "Brienne the beauty", having a trail of people fawning over her. This post is one of my favourite posts in the world.

To be honest, while I do enjoy the idea of Sansa going North to reunite with her family, I also have a strong fondness for the concept of her actually staying South. I know this is an unpopular opinion that Sansa fans seem to particularly dislike because of the whole "SaNsA iS nOt A rEaL sTaRk" thing, but there is something about lands of childhoods being unretournable. Stepping out of home means never seeing it again. "I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell" perhaps, but the walls of Winterfell were burned and the one Winterfell native who got to go back to Winterfell didn't get to be strong or safe.

I would like to be wrong though, and I think I will be wrong! But still, it would be nice for her to discover a South that is closer to the dreams of chivalry and court she had and perhaps Tarth could be that place, even if only for a short time.

Well, here is a canon-divergent AFFC fanfic in which Brienne finally makes it to the Vale. It has a lot of fairy tale imagery and an interesting characterisation between the Sansa-Alayne personas.

2. Sansa Stark x Jeyne Westerling

"That's what I'll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother's head." A kind of madness took over her then, and she heard herself say, "Maybe my brother will give me your head." - Sansa VI, AGOT

You know how Catelyn and Ellaria both at least got to say goodbye to the remains of their loved ones? Jeyne didn't. Neither did Sansa.

My weird fantasy involves Jeyne Westerling (MY Queen in the North) finally getting Robb's head, even if it's just the skull, and showing it to Sansa. A subversion in a way. Joffrey would have done it in malice and sadism, Jeyne would do it it with care, maybe a feeling of responsibility over what remains of her husband's family.

I have a lot of issues with Robb Stark and the way he is perceived in fandom, I keep hating him until I read the source material again and realise "oh wait, fanon≠canon", but I just think his relationships with the women surrounding him are fascinating and they don't get explored a lot. Sansa doesn't know about him cutting her out of the inheritance line and I wonder how she and Jeyne, the other woman who is a Stark but would no longer be accepted as one by a majority of the Northern lords, would feel about him. I wonder how love, resentment, grief and guilt would mix between the two. I don't think Jeyne is pregnant, but if she somehow ends up caring for Robb's heir (be it Jon, Sansa, or an eventual child we refer to as his) I would love that. I like imagining that Jeyne could learn more about Robb, the boy, since she seems to have only gotten to know Robb, the man and King. I like daydreaming of Sansa and Jeyne talking about Catelyn, whom both admire.

I think both of them, based on what we know of Jeyne, share some similitudes in the way they behave conforming to their gender and what is considered a Lady's attitude while still having moments of defiance and I think Sansa could maybe appreciate that. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, she speaks of "madness taking over her" and, in my opinion, this is usually when she steps out of her own safety to be brave or bold (standing up to Joffrey, trusting Dontos, trying to hide her first menstruation) and I think it could be nice to see her realising these are not things she should be ashamed of. It always reminds me of Jeyne tearing up her clothes and fighting her mother. Jeyne Westerling, like most Jeynes, doesn't get treated very well in fandom. I hate how the interpretation of Robb breaking his vows to marry her is always one putting him as a selfless saint who practically sacrificed himself for a girl he didn't even love when the fact this all plays so mysteriously can open so many possibilities.

And it seems to me people forget how metal she became.

Sometimes Sansa's f/f ships tend to get simplified to "girls being girls and doing girly things together" and I understand why people enjoy that and they are valid for doing so, but in my case I usually prefer to have a little more conflict to it and I think this ship can balance the "girls making flowercrowns and braiding each others hair" and "exploration of complex feelings and estrangement" well enough for me to find it interesting.

Here is a fanfic I'd recommend that takes place in Winterfell with a reluctant Queen Sansa and lots of survivor's guilt + an edit done for said fanfic!

3. Sansa Stark x Garlan Tyrell

When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. - Sansa I, AFFC

(Yes, I know all those allies are kind of perpetuating her misery too, but she seems to have some affection for them. The reasons behind the affection can be discussed and dissected to examine whether that affection should be there or not, but as of now I don't want to talk about that. People can cherrypick to their own wishes.)

Not something I like to visualise as an endgame because Garlan seems to be quite happy with Leonette and I honestly think Margaery and Sansa's break up/middle school betrayal might not be as easily solvable as we wished, but I like thinking about Sansa & Garlan.

I like Sansa but she is fetishising a gay man who just lost the love of his life when she has a broader shouldered, bearded, straight person who looks very similar to said gay man who is called Garlan the Gallant and how can she be so blind? Why is her unrealistic teenage crush so poorly chosen? Garlan is so humble and his name is so fitting. He is more chivalrous and mature than Lawrence and he is so strong and agreeable and he treats her and Tyrion with respect. He takes her out to dance and makes her laugh and if going by how she describes the Tyrells, then he is so very handsome too and- Why are you laughing? - My father, swooning over Garlan the Gallant on the phone

I do like imagining her having a bit of a very one-sided mild crush sometimes, not something serious but one of those light early adolescent crushes you won't ever act on. Sansa finding moments to daydream and cherish in the hell of a life she is living in King's Landing where se feels cared for, even if it is by someone who is not particularly invested in her. Admiring Leonette and wondering how happy she must be, without ever being truly envious or malicious but simply wishing she had something similar. So, less actual romantic interest but more of a one-sided "I wish" in response to unexpected and (hopefully) genuine emotional help.

I usually prefer gap fillers in fanfiction and I am so eagerly waiting for a gap filler of Sansa's time in King's Landing where she gets to interact more with Garlan and Leonette. Where we see her being wistful and melancholic, longing for her dreams of courtship, chivalry and the sort of love that would be a mix between that which she has heard in songs and witnessed between her parents. Having small moments of joy feeling like a girl again for allowing herself those dreams and realising they can be true.

It's a pity there aren't many fanfics or fan art focusing on their canon or fanon dynamic. I like them a lot.

4. Sansa Stark x Myranda Royce

This is the light to C€rsei x Ta€na's darkness. I love them as friends and I would rather keep them as friends, and for some reason I ship Myranda x Mya, but I enjoy the ship A LOT! Out of the female connection's Sansa builds as the story goes on, I think their dynamic is the most endearing one, and I live in fear of GRRM turning Myranda into Sansa's new villain. I talked a bit about them in the later part of that one post, and I don't have a lot more to add, I just genuinely enjoy their dynamic and how natural Sansa's friendship with her is. I think Myranda embodies certain aspects of Margaery and Jeyne, but until now she is more genuine than Margaery was, and Sansa is also more mature in her treatment of her compared to Jeyne. I just like them.

So, if Myranda gets to wake up the sapphicness in Sansa, I would not complain. She spends so much time flirting with her! I love her for that. "You do turn such a pretty shade of pink.”, "So you're brave as well as beautiful, "I can see how virtuous you are just by looking at those rosy cheeks and big blue eyes of yours."

Sometimes I see this small fraction of fandom being mistrusting of Myranda and I honestly think we are just falling into Littlefinger's trap when we do that. If Petyr tells Sansa not to befriend Myranda, then I will 100% hope Sansa has the common sense to befriend Myranda. Don't take Myranda's derogative comment about Alayne's "Bastard breasts" as genuine, her literal bff/girlfriend is a bastard herself. Nah, but seriously, do we really think that Mya Stone who has been struggling with feelings of abandonment since before we even met her would be "as close as sisters" with Myranda Royce if she truly were a classist evil schemer? I honestly think Littlefinger might be a little afraid of her. She is shrewd, she might not be on board with her father's alliance with Petyr. Maybe that is why she is being threatened by her father to be married to a suitor she wouldn't approve of.

I might be wrong though, who knows. I do understand how her constant bawdy jokes could have also been a method for disorienting and questioning her but the twow preview chapter made me doubt it. For some reason I find her more genuine than Margaery, but as said I'm open to being very wrong about this.

Anyway, here is a small Drabble + art someone made and it's cute and Myranda is funny. I love Myranda.

5. Sansa Stark x Harrold Hardyng

I didn't have a strong opinion on them but then I was sold on them by a fanfic. It seems like this is where canon might be heading and I'm honestly happy for Sansa if she gets to have her high school movie annoyance to lovers romance with a handsome-popular-everybody-wants-him Prep/Jock guy. Good for her. I don't think Harry is an evil person and I hope it remains that way. Depending on which approach GRRM takes to their relationship it could be very comedic while still holding the political plot for the Vale. Their interactions during the Alayne TWOW preview chapter were gold and everything I would expect from the high school AU set in the Middle Ages, this post encapsulates it, I want them to be cringe and weirdly out of place. All the important lords and ladies are talking politics while these two are constantly making everyone uncomfortable with weird one liners.

On the other hand, depending on how long Sansa has to keep up with the Alayne farce, it could also provide for some angst and explorations of identity issues. Lady Waynwood agreed to the betrothal on the condition that Harry himself would agree to it and find "Alayne" to his liking. And I will admit there is something that would be so sweet about Sansa being loved by Harry THE HEIR, as Alayne Stone, some petty lord's bastard.

It is not me she wants her son to marry, it is my claim. No one will ever marry me for love. - Sansa VI, ASOS

I would be so genuinely happy if she is proven wrong. And yes, the Alayne persona is not simply Sansa with another hair colour and name, but it is still part of her. It is a mask of her own face, smoother and only presenting that which she wants to present. It would be interesting to see an actual love story blossom out of this, while she is still painfully aware of their union being a machination of Littlefinger, maybe feeling guilt and insecurity over Alayne being made to play the seductress while Sansa is still underneath that facade wanting to be loved, being loved but not fully aware of it.

Anyway, here is a light angst fanfic about the Sansa-Alayne identity and Harry! It's probably one of my favourite Sansa fics ever, but warning for Petyr Baelish being himself!

+ I think people sleep on the concept of us readers getting to see Littlefinger "losing the girl" for the supposed prep/jock fuckboy again, that would be great.

Not a favourite, because I don't know a lot about Harrold except for that he is kind of a jerk, but I am a very canon person, so I'll probably end up tolerating/liking it if it actually gets to happen.

6. Sansa Stark x Myrcella Baratheon

I feel very weird about this one because I personally tend to distance myself from the captive x captor (including captor's family) ships in asoiaf when they are portrayed as something positive (nothing against those who like them, it's just a personal preference), but maybe because in this case both of them experience the position of hostage/ward and they didn't get to spend a significant amount of time together (two years at most), I am less appalled about possible scenarios in which they meet again in the future. Myrcella being passed off as legitimate when she is a bastard, Sansa being passed off as a bastard when she is legitimate, becoming pawns in political intrigues of others, being isolated from their families at a young age. Dorne treats Myrcella significantly better than King's Landing treated Sansa, but it still is the place where she was maimed and almost killed.

+ The fact that Myrcella is supposed to look almost exactly like Cersei (someone Sansa admired and wanted to emulate only to come to fear and hate her) but has none of her cruelty could be very interesting and torturous to explore if people want to write angst and get into Sansa's psychology. You can make this dark and macabre without having to open the bag with the dead dove.

Here is a (sadly abandoned) post ados fic in which Myrcella travels North as a ward to Lady Sansa, Warden of the North, sent by Queen Daenerys. Othe ships are also tagged, but since it was discontinued they don't appear. It has a very entertaining characterisation for Myrcella and it doesn't bash any of the girls mentioned, so I liked it.

7. Sansa Stark x Lancel Lannister

So, imagine a universe where Sansa chooses Lancel over Tyrion.

At the time, Lancel is still recovering from his wounds, if I remember correctly, and is experiencing his religious awakening. Imagine how different Sansa's arc would have been. Would she be the one seeking for some sort of connection between her and her husband? Lancel would probably have no interest in any possible romance, but he might be less indifferent with Sansa than he was with Amerei given how she aided him when he was wounded even when he had always been a passive participant in her abuse. Would she keep plotting and hoping for an escape with Dontos? Or would Lancel take her away from King's Landing? If he's not marrying Amerei, then he is not getting Derry, but perhaps Sansa could become a claim to Riverrun post-Red Wedding and that would be interesting to see. Sansa in her mother's home, retracing the steps of her parents, but this time differently, as an unwilling usurper to her uncle. Would she meet Jeyne once the Lannisters retake Riverrun?

Would there be a religious conflict between the two? I am an agnostic theology enthusiast, so I really love seeing how religion plays out in the story and since Sansa believes in the Seven Gods and the Old Gods, I think her dual faith would be interesting to see in opposition to Lancel's devotion for and indoctrination by the faith of the Seven.

+ both have Cersei related trauma and I am a sucker for "we share an abuser" dynamics.

I actually really love this possibility, but didn't came up with any of it on my own! What I wrote above is based on conversations between @team-mom-wannabe, @selkiewife and @nosafeanchorage. They created an entire AU for these two, with an astonishing amount of details and care, and then I had to go through the disappointment that is realising no one has ever written a fanfic centred on their possible marriage.

8. Sansa Stark x Val the Wildling

I really like Val. I know some people hate her because they claim she is "not like other girls" or because she wants Shireen to be killed, but I hate the way nlog rhetoric has developed and I come from a continent where 95% of the population was killed by foreigner's diseases (and also by the foreigners themselves of course), so yeah, I will never hold that against her. I understand why that is upsetting to others, but I'm different.

It's weird to me that although show!Sansa was given traits and storylines from many erased female characters and was kind of deprived of her own (and I still hate that show for that and so many other things), they never teased the concept of giving her a wildling partner! Tormund was a completely different character compared to his book counterpart, he was much younger, conventionally attractive and acted as the main leader of the Free Folk after Mance, so I thought they would maybe merge him with Sigorn and tease him and Sansa, but that didn't happen (I don't remember what happened to him. Did he die?). And I won't deny that the lack of a wilding/northerner marriage lead me to have some thoughts about how interesting it could be for her to meet someone from the free folk. And then, because I'm very very sapphic, Val came to my mind, another cool woman they erased. Beautiful and deadly. A subversion of the princess in a tower.

It's fun to see how both, Sansa and Val, are considered the keys to the North/the Free Folk when their titles are practically honorary; Val is not a real princess and the Free Folk wouldn't submit to anyone who forcibly married her, Sansa has been cut out of the inheritance line because she was made to marry an enemy whom the North would never allow into its territory. I think it would be entertaining to see them meet and observe possibly feelings of mutual respect grow and I just really like seeing people from different cultures interact. Free Folk's beliefs around courtship and how romance and marriage are always meant to carry some sort of violence are fascinating to me. The idea of being "stolen" is a concept I initially associated to non-consensual dynamics, but in fairy tales we often have characters saving the female heroine/love interest by stealing/rescuing them. The way women are often made to be objects of conquest or rewards in most folkloric stories and fairy tales conditions their rescue as theft, since they often belong to the villain only to be passed to another male character. This also is somewhat true in Sansa's case specifically with Tyrion and Petyr, although I would argue Petyr is a lot worse for Sansa than Tyrion. Anyway, I would really like to see how Sansa, who has always been on the edge of rape but has managed to avoid it (she has still been mistreated and fondled in situations of dubious consent, but not violated like Jeyne or Dany), would react to their customs.

+ depending on whether you believe in Sansa's possible complicity in the poisoning of Sweetrobin there could be soooo much room for projection and angst if she gets to see Val being motherly and so very loving to "her nephew" (even when it's not really her nephew and she knows) while still advocating for Shireen's death. Oh, that could be very very fun to read.

9. Sansa Stark x Podrick Payne

awwww he is crushing on his boss's wife! :D

I feel weird about this one being so low given how it's the only one in this bunch with some canon support. This is uncommon for me. It's probably simply because I find her dynamic with Tyrion more interesting, but this is cute anyway!

I do wonder why no one has thought more seriously about them in canon given how Pod is Brienne's traveling companion and might come to meet Sansa again sometime soon (if they survive LSH (on that note, I'd love it if he gets to tell her about Catelyn/LSH)).

I don't know. Podrick is a good kid and Sansa deserves good things. I just haven't found a lot of thematics in their possible dynamic that interest me, but I'm open to them.

+ Sansa's weird traumatic dreams involving Ilyn Payne. Someone make something out of this.

Sadly haven't found many fanfics that have sparked my interest, but I really like this gif-set!

10. Sansa Stark x Tristifer Botley

I had been wondering about this concept for a while and thought that in another universe where the war didn't happen or the possible Iron Islands/The North alliance was settled in terms that included more marriages between them, this could have been interesting, albeit improbable since House Botley isn't as relevant as House Stark, but interesting! And then I came across this really sweet post-ados fanfic by @/alleyskywalker in which Sansa is married to him to build bonds with the Islands since all realms are now independent again and I thought it was cute. Tris was lovely and I liked reading him. He is a character I feel conflicted about, but I don't think he is evil, I just didn't like the way he approached Asha. I jokingly refer to him as a nice guy™, but honestly he is just an actual nice guy with a gentle nature and romantic tendencies and I really love how he is a character whom Asha deems "too sweet for the Iron Islands", and still he is part of the Iron Islands and is accepted as one by the other Ironborn. Her claim is never backed on by anyone else.

His courteous and polite ways could probably match Sansa's dreams of chivalry very well. It would also be fun to see her adapt to the Islands, considering the Northerners' mistrust (and also some bigotry) for the Ironborn and how different their culture is compared to that of the southern courts that Sansa dreamed of and idealized. It could be fun.

My honour mentions in no particular order

Sansa Stark x Harras Harlaw

For similar reasons to Tristifer Botley, but although we know less about Harras' personality, we know he is a salt son and a knight, something most of his fellow Ironborn frown upon. To me, that is odd and fun to think about. Does he worship the Seven Gods AND the Drowned God simultaneously? His mother is a Serret of the Westerlands. Could she have been the one to make him be more fond of southern culture? I don't know, but I like to think that is the case and if so, I think him and Sansa could possibly have some things in common.

Sansa Stark x Mya Stone

Not one I'm actively searching stuff for, but I get a visit from my good ol' friend Sarah Tonin whenever I stumble upon it and I can understand why people are into it:

Baratheon x Stark (but f/f)

Bastard x Noble (but f/f + subverted because "Alayne")

Mya's connection to Catelyn (Lady Stoneheart would approve)

There is also the fact that Mya is one of the most honest and frank characters Sansa has met ever since the story began. I will defend Myranda but I think she is shrewd, Margaery...well we know how that ended...Mya is different! She doesn't seem to be hiding any secrets or have any ulterior motives in her friendliness. Her abandonment issues would be interesting to explore among with Sansa's overall introspection + her isolation in King's Landing and her new (and sadly well) founded mistrust for others.

Honestly, my favourite daydream just involves them having a conversation about Sansa's parents and Mya telling her all she can remember and consoling her, while being open about her own issues, but sadly I don't have any creative abilities and can't come up with anything beyond that.

Here is a short, but interesting, fanfic that takes place post AFFC, but was written before the TWOW preview chapters came out. I thought it was lovely.

Sansa Stark x Jeyne Poole

Kind of an obvious one and one I struggle with because I can see the appeal of childhood friends torn apart by war and then reuniting after both went through different hells, but the way fandom treats it often just annoys me. I think there are a few unaddressed issues that make it more difficult for me to enjoy the way it's portrayed in fanon. I guess we could say I like it as a rhænicent that never got truly toxic and just remained bittersweet with a few kneeps of resentment, feelings of inferiority and maybe some misplaced anger coming from Jeyne . There is a fanfic though that I think is unmatched when it comes to what I would like : (1) + (2) but warning for canon compliant Jeyne storyline fucked upness + mild ambiguous Theyne (the Jeynsa is ambiguous too, but in my opinion less than the theyne, and it is just as important, not a side-ship. Overall one of my favourite fics ever).

Rolly Duckfield

"He is as tall as Griff now. Three days ago he knocked Duck into a horse trough." "I wasn't knocked. I fell in just to make him laugh." - Tyrion III, ADWD

I love Duck. He reminds me of my best friend and I think Sansa could use someone like that in her life. I have nothing else to add.

#I’m only really invested in Sansa x Brienne and Sansa x Jeyne W (romantically) but I really like putting her with uncommon suitors #just for the sake of having fun with it.#sansa stark #asoiaf #speaking #fanfic rec #I think W€x P¥ke could be nice too but if I'm shipping him with a northern girl it will be W¥lla because of the potential for #comically uncomfortable inconveniences for the0n.#I am tagging the ships just in case someone has blacklisted some of them sorry for spamming #sansa x brienne #sansa x garlan #sansa x harry #sansa x jeyne #(w)#(p)#sansa x lancel #sansa x myranda #sansa x myrcella #sansa x Podrick #sansa x tris #sansa x val #sansa x harras #sansa x mya #sansa x duck #some of these are probably not blacklisted but it would be very funny if someone randomly decided to hate sansa x duck #I have blacklisted ships that are very well loved but this would be even funnier #I would applaud that audacity!

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ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

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Blood in the Rivers: VIII

A/N: I apologize for the wait (again). Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on the last chapter. And thank you for all the shenanigans about dogs and unicorns last night. You all make me smile

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T - mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, my continued overuse of italics

Word Count: 9.2k (Don’t look at me)

Read Chapters I-VII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Eight: Pockets Full of Pebbles

“Raise your elbow.”

The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory.

“Perfect. Now loose.”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child.

Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. “All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,” her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words.

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw.

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces.

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat.

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.”

“You look ill. You will be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she would gently massage the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.”

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?”

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.”

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally.

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N.

Daemon rowed her out to the Black Wind and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down.

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in.

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight.

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.”

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit.

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?”

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.”

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her.

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.”

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.”

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.”

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?”

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.”

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?”

“He is a Lannister!”

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.”

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed.

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.”

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning.

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?”

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.”

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.”

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.”

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.”

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady.

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.”

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden.

And everyone in the room knew it.

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.”

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side.

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?”

Grey Wind whined, offended.

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.”

“I apologize, Daisy.”

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” When she finished, Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeeze at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap.

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.”

“I am going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.”

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.”

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.”

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone.

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep.

All she could do was stare out to the sea.

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes.

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs.

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan.

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her.

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam.

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water.

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip.

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand.

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N.

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but two people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room.

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.”

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat.

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?”

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to live, my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.”

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.”

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day.

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left.

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa.

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work.

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out.

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,” Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked.

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.”

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment.

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall.

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.”

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.”

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.”

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.”

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin.

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling another bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed another arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood.

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.”

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched.

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed.

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.”

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic.

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.”

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too.

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered.

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.”

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.”

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!”

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched.

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.”

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.”

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!”

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?”

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.”

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?”

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.”

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.”

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile.

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her.

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.”

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.”

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth.

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.”

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place.

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.”

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away.

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion.

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way.

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.”

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.”

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.”

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a roll tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out.

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin.

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.”

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.”

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.”

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.”

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return.

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression.

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.”

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!”

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

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