#should have done this for two weeks of theon but i couldn’t get it to work out quick enough akskdj 😭😭😭😭

[atopvisenyashill]

The noose I wore was not made of hempen rope, that’s true enough, but I felt it all the same. And it chafed. It chafed me raw.

[lunnybunny12]

Sandor Clegane X Reader (Your secret sworn shield)

Thank you to @1ofjokersgoons for the request

A/N: here you go hope you enjoy it. This my mind to all kinds of places so sorry if it's not exactly what you wanted.

Master list

Word count: 1,787

Warnings: Swearing, fighting

Your nose burned in the frigid air, and you squinted against the sun reflecting off of the armed men around you.

The cold wasn't something you were used to. Hells, you'd only ever seen snow twice in your life and you weren't exactly fond of it then either. Thankfully It was the summer when your father roped your family into his campaign across Westeros.

"You can always ride with your Mother of you're cold, princess, " Your father said in a mocking tone as he rode beside you.

"I'd rather lose a hand to frostbite," You chuckled, adjusting your position on the saddle.

You were the eldest of the Baratheon brood and the jewel of Roberts eye. Unlike your siblings, there was no mistaking you were your fathers daughter. You had the looks and grace of your mother, yes, but you also had the attitude, appetite for fighting and signature brown/black hair of a Baratheon.

" And father please don't call me princess. You know how much I hate it,"

"Ah but that's the issue young lady, you ARE a princess and I want you to act like one. When we're at home you can come on hunts and roam about all you like, but not here. At Winterfell you need to put on those dresses you hate so much and you will watch your tongue in front of the Starks. Am I clear?"

Your jaw clenched in frustration. Your father had been saying this for the past week in not no nice ways but you understood full well why. One reason being that he was the only one you'd listen to. The second was that since you were born a girl, the Iron throne could never be yours. Your place as the eldest princess was to be wedded off to whomever your father deemed worthy of you, and thankfully (since the king held you in such high regard) that day was long overdue.

"Fine... But I want Clegane."

"The Hound? What need do you have of him?"

"If you want me to be a lady I will, but if I get attacked I can't protect myself properly while wearing heels and a bloody corset. I need a shield."

Another chuckle left your father. This time it wasn't out of cheer it was more in amusement.

"Ay you have the mind of a Lannister"

"One of the few good things that family gave me," you smiled.

When you got to Winterfell later that day it was a relief, to say the least. As much as you enjoyed the outdoors and hunting around the red keep, the warmth the castle provided was a godsend. It seemed like everyone from the north had arrived to catch a glimpse of your family but it's not like it was hard to miss. Your mother and siblings wore the bold Lannister red and their heir shone as brightly as the gold they mined. Your uncle Jamie in the white armour of the kings guard and you in the Baratheon colours, sat on your horse, taking it all in.

As you were getting ready for the feast a knock was heard on your chamber door. An audible gasp was heard from your chamber made then they saw the hound lumber into the room and holt at seeing you.

You were stood there in a long, (Favourite colour) dress with long sleeves and a matching cloak. Your hair had been styled the northern way, simple yet elegant. The southern styles were too fiddly for your taste.

"Ladies, you are dismissed" you said.

The women immediately scurried out of the door and shut it behind them with a heavy thunk. You smiled as you watched the man search the room for any threats or anyone that could eavesdrop. When he deemed it safe he was the one that spoke first.

"You wanted me, you got me. For the whole week"

"You're making it sound like a bad thing, my love"

"It is if I can't keep my hands off of you" he growled and pulled your hips to kiss you roughly.

You were 10 when Joffrey was born and he was more of a disappointment to you than anything else. He was brash, rude, inconsiderate, boorish, egotistical and above all a coward. If someone. When he was younger hed always be at your heels, annoying you to no end and constantly tried to get you in trouble (The keyword being tried) and since Sandor's purpose was to protect the future king, he was with you too. You ended up becoming his babysitter and whenever you were training the boy would shout and say nasty thing to make you lose your concentration. One day you had, had enough of his heckles and asked him to spar with you. However, instead of being a man and doing it himself, he sent his dog to do it for him.

"Clegane isn't always going to be with you little brother and neither will anyone else if you don't lose that sour attitude. So be a man, and spar with me yourself."

It was the way you said it that shook Clegane. He expected you to lose your rag or just leave the training area all together but instead, you talked like you would a scared child. Calm and collected yet firm. As expected Joffery took the challenge, lost and then whined about it like the boy he was.

You parted from the kiss with a cheeky grin as you held his neck in your hands, making him shiver.

"You've controlled yourself before Sandor, and you can do it again,"

"You put far too much trust in me Princess"

"No Sandor I put all of my trust in you. and don't call me princess."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days had passed since the feast and you didn't like who you pretended to be. You didn't like the dress or hair or corset but it kept your parents off of your scent for a while. A couple of times you were able to sneak off with Sandor and do your own thing and since you were there to keep up appearances, you weren't missed.

One evening as you were walking across the courtyard, you heard a scuffle coming from behind the stables. You were met with a fully stocked armoury and training area. The walls were lined with a variety of weapons, from knives and slingshots to swards and axes. You reached your gloved hand towards a sword a sudden voice made you jump.

"Be careful, your grace. They're sharp"

It was one of the Stark boys. He was on the older side, about the same age as you may be a tad bit younger. Admittedly you'd been too caught up in being with Sandor that you hadn't taken the time to know your hosts.

"Sorry I didn't mean to scare you, your grace,"

"Don't worry about it... um... sorry I'm so bad with names" You said to the black-haired boy.

"Robb Stark, your grace," He answered kissing your hand.

A deep growl came from behind you, and an amused smile crossed your face. Sandor knew full well the boy was just being polite but he felt protective of you regardless.

"and please be careful around the swords they are sharp. We can't have a lady hurting her self,"

The tone Robb used was like he was talking to a child that couldn't tell the difference between a knife and a toothpick. Sandor picked up on it too. He knew what you were going to do before you did.

From what the boy had said he wasn't aware of your training, nor your personality in general and a fake, sheepish, smile spread across your face.

"Well I have had a little bit of training in how to fight but since I came to Winterfell I've forgotten most of it... you look like you know a few things do you mind catching me up?" You said, acting naive and from the look Robb gave you, it worked like a charm.

Robb agreed to "help" you and took you into the training area. He introduced you to Theon Greyjoy and his half brother Jon Snow.

Sandor watched as you continued your act with an almost invisible smile. Whenever you were in the Red Keep you were a completely different person, you were you but god's did he find that facade entertaining.

By that point, Rob had shown you how to hold a sword, jab and do a couple of swings and before you knew it you were going to spar.

"Are you ready, your grace?"

"I'm a little scared" you answered in fake concern.

"Don't worry your highness, I'll take it easy on you"

You could hear the boys chuckle in the corner of the arena and you knew they were laughing at you... or at least Greyjoy was. Sandor had taken it upon himself to stand by the pair and tell them to hush and watch the show.

The second Robb called "go" you swiped his legs out from under him, knocking him flat on his ass.

"Oh sorry," you snickered "I did tell you I had some training didn't I?"

The Stark stood up and brushed himself off. "Its alright princess, let's go again shall we?"

Almost immediately he lunged at you again, that time you blocked his sword with yours and then knocked him down.

Round after round Robb lost and each time your smile grew.  By the tenth round, Robb had finished "Taking it easy" on you and you were completely fine with that, If he wanted to hurt you he would have done it already. It was all in good fun and after one more knockdown, Robb yielded.

"Nice skills Stark, your father should be proud" You said as you walked up to him and extended your hand to pull him up.

With a smirk, he grabbed your hand. "Likewise your majesty. Although you could have told me before I made a fool of myself"

"Aww and wheres the fun in that?" You said handing the boy the practice sword. "Its been a pleasure Lord Stark that was quite entertaining, but I must bid you good night."

As you walked to the exit of the arena you saw Theon and Jon looking at you gobsmacked.

"Have a good evening Gentlemen." you bowed to the 3 of them and they bowed back.

Many, hot, steamy, lustful kisses were exchanged that night. Not out of jealousy or anger or hatred, but out of pure infatuation. After a particularly long kiss, he rested his forehead against yours.

"Do you know what you did today?"

"No."

"You made me fall in love with you,"

[butterflies-dragons]

You’ll Be Queen One Day

This is something I wanted to say about the current debate of Queen Sansa.

For a big faction of the fandom, Queen Sansa is only D&D fan fiction and that won’t be Sansa’s endgame in the Books. ¡¡¡NEVER!!!    

According to Bryan Cogman, the man named by GRRM himself as the Keeper of the Lore, hints of Sansa’s Show endgame as Queen in the North were there since the Pilot Episode back in Season One:

BRYAN COGMAN: In the pilot, Sansa’s main function was informing members of her family and the audience that the only thing she wanted was to get out of Winterfell and go live in the big city and become queen—except a very different kind of queen than the one she ended up being. So Sansa’s storyline was always meant to have a note of triumph at the end, especially after all that she went through in the middle of the series. It was appropriate that she came full circle at the end. She was the only Stark left in Winterfell and leads the North into this new chapter. She’s the best hope for the North’s future.

—Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Game of Thrones and the Official Untold Story of the Epic Series by James Hibberd

"Winter Is Coming"

“In the pilot, Sansa’s main function was informing members of her family and the audience that the only thing she wanted was to get out of Winterfell and go live in the big city and become queen.”

Please take note that GRRM was very involved in the first four seasons of the Show. Especially the first one, he participated in the casting, he was part of the original pilot, he travelled to filming locations, he wrote one episode per season, etc.  

Season 1, Episode 1: "Winter Is Coming". Directed by Tim Van Patten & Written by David Benioff & D. B. Weiss.

SANSA: Do you think Joffrey will like me? What if he thinks I’m ugly? CATELYN: Then he is the stupidest prince that ever lived. SANSA: He’s so handsome. [CATELYN rolls her eyes.] SANSA: When would we be married? Soon or do we have to wait? CATELYN: Hush now. Your father hasn’t even said yes. SANSA: Why would he say no? He’d be the second most powerful man in the kingdoms. CATELYN: He’d have to leave home. He’d have to leave me. And so would you. SANSA: You left your home to come here. And I’d be queen someday. Please make father say yes. CATELYN: Sansa… SANSA: Please, please. It’s the only thing I ever wanted.

Watch the scene here.

Curiously enough, the immediately previous scene was a scene of Dany, the one where she said to Viserys: “I don’t want to be his [Khal Drogo] Queen. I want to go home.” A scene straight from the Books:

"I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home." 

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys I

What a contrast with Sansa’s scene!

But Sansa’s scene is not from the Books. We don’t have any scene between Sansa and Catelyn at Winterfell.  

Sansa wanted romance more than being a monarch. She certainly was not opposed to marry a prince or a king, but her wishes were more about romance, being a Lady in a song, a wife of a gallant knight, and a mother of future ladies and gallant knights.      

This is what happened in the Books:

“Honors?” Ned laughed bitterly.

“In his eyes, yes,” she said.

“And in yours?”

“And in mine,” she blazed, angry now. Why couldn’t he see? “He offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen. Her sons could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with that?”

“Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven,” Ned said. “And Joffrey … Joffrey is …”

She finished for him. “… crown prince, and heir to the Iron Throne. And I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon.”

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

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

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

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment. "Beth, you shouldn't make up stories," Sansa corrected the younger girl, gently stroking her hair to take the harshness out of her words. She looked at Arya. "What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He's very gallant, don't you think?"

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Catelyn pushed Ned to accept the betrothal while Sansa corrected Beth’s comment about her being Queen.  

* * *

Later in the the Fourth Episode of the First Season, Cogman wrote a scene between Sansa and Septa Mordane where the septa says that Sansa will be Queen someday.

Again, this scene is not from the Books.

"Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things"

Season 1, Episode 4: "Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things". Directed by Brian Kirk & Written by Bryan Cogman.

SEPTA MORDANE: Someday your husband will sit there and you will sit by his side. And one day, before too long, you will present your son to the court. All the lords of Westeros will gather here to see the little prince... SANSA: What if I have a girl? SEPTA MORDANE: Gods be good, you'll have boys and girls and plenty of them. SANSA:What if I only have girls? SEPTA MORDANE: I wouldn't worry about that. SANSA:Jeyne Poole's mother had five children, all of them girls. SEPTA MORDANE: Yes, but it's highly unlikely. SANSA: But what if? SEPTA MORDANE: If you only had girls, I suppose the throne would pass to Prince Joffrey's little brother. SANSA: And everyone would hate me. SEPTA MORDANE: Nobody could ever hate you. SANSA: Joffrey does. SEPTA MORDANE: Nonsense. Why would you say such a thing? That business with the wolves? I've told you a hundred times... A direwolf is not... SANSA: Please shut up about it. SEPTA MORDANE: Do you remember your lessons? Who built the Iron Throne? SANSA: Aegon the Conqueror. SEPTA MORDANE: And who built the Red Keep? SANSA: Maegor the Cruel. SEPTA MORDANE: And how many years did it take to build... SANSA: My grandfather and uncle were murdered here, weren't they? SEPTA MORDANE: They were killed on the orders of King Aerys, yes. SANSA: The Mad King. SEPTA MORDANE: Commonly known as the Mad King. SANSA: Why were they killed? SEPTA MORDANE: You should speak to your father about these matters. SANSA: I don't want to speak to my father, ever. SEPTA MORDANE: You will find it in your heart to forgive your father. SANSA: No, I won't.

Watch the scene here.

* * *

Later in the the Sixth Episode of the First Season, there is a scene between Sansa and Joffrey where the prince says that Sansa will be Queen someday.

Once again, this scene is not from the Books.

"A Golden Crown"

Season 1, Episode 6: "A Golden Crown". Directed by Daniel Minahan. Story by  David Benioff & D. B. Weiss & Teleplay written by : Jane Espenson and David Benioff & D. B. Weiss.

SEPTA MORDANE: My prince. SANSA: My prince. JOFFREY: My lady. I fear I have behaved monstrously the past few weeks. With your permission? Joffrey offers Sansa a necklace. She turns around, for him to put it on her, as acceptance. SANSA: It’s beautiful. Like the one your mother wears. JOFFREY: You’ll be queen someday, it’s only fitting that you should look the part. Will you forgive me for my rudeness? SANSA: There’s nothing to forgive. JOFFREY: You’re my lady. One day we’ll be married in the throne room. Lords and ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come, from the last hearth in the North, to the salt shore of the south. And you will be queen over all of them. I’ll never disrespect you again. I’ll never be cruel to you again. Do you understand me? You’re my lady now, from this day, until my last day. The two share their first kiss.

Watch the scene here.

I think that Sansa & Septa Mordane scene and Sansa & Joffrey scene were written from this Book scene:

“The king is dead.” Sansa could not say how she knew it, yet she did. The slow, endless clanging filled their room, as mournful as a dirge. Had some enemy stormed the castle and murdered King Robert? Was that the meaning of the fighting they had heard?

She went to sleep wondering, restless, and fearful. Was her beautiful Joffrey the king now? Or had they killed him too? She was afraid for him, and for her father. If only they would tell her what was happening …

That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known came before her, to bend the knee and say their courtesies.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

So far we have:

Sansa: “And I’d be queen someday.”

Septa Mordane: “Someday your husband will sit there [Iron Throne] and you will sit by his side.”

Joffrey: “You’ll be queen someday.”

The Sansa and Joffrey scene even got his own theme, a song composed by Ramin Djawadi called: 

You’ll Be Queen One Day

¿Why changing “Someday” for “One Day”? Maybe this curious detail means nothing... Maybe it means something...  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Why reiterate some many times that Sansa will be Queen, if it was clear that Sansa was betrothed with the Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon, the Heir of the Iron Throne?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“—except a very different kind of queen than the one she ended up being.”

This is not the first time that Cogman alluded of that old say that says: “Be careful what you wish for” in regards of Sansa. He said something similar about Sansa’s arc in Season Five, specifically her marriage with Ramsay Bolton. 

Basically, when we decided to combine Sansa’s storyline with another character in the books it was done with the idea that it would be hugely dramatically satisfying to have Sansa back in her occupied childhood home and navigate this Gothic horror story she’s found herself in and, of course, to be reunited with Theon – setting her on the path to reclaiming her family home and becoming a major player in the big overall story. 

This stupid line “hugely dramatically satisfying” is BS of course. Men..........    

I have the impression that after they run out of canon material, D&D, Cogman and all, decided to recycle old plots. Here with Sansa, they basically gave her ANOTHER ONE GOTHIC HORROR STORY.

Since they didn’t like Sansa’s Vale plot as Alayne Stone, they gave Sansa “another lesson” like Kings Landing and Joffrey: “Be careful what you wish for”.

Sansa wished for a Southern Courtly Life with her Prince in Kingslading, and she got a Ghotic Horror Story. 

Sansa started to wish to return North, to Winterfell, to her Home, and D&D, Cogman and all decided to gave her Ghotic Horror Story 2.0 in Winterfell with Ramsay. Sexual abuse included. Men..........        

GRRM uses “Be careful what you wish for” theme very often, you just need to read his tale: “In The Lost Lands” or re-read Cersei’s story with Maggie the Frog. And as I just mentioned, Sansa’s wishes for a life at court in the south with her gallant Prince Joffrey. But D&D are just... not so good adapters.            

“So Sansa’s storyline was always meant to have a note of triumph at the end, especially after all that she went through in the middle of the series.”

¿How the majority of the fandom interpret these Cogman’s words? This way: “Queen Sansa is a reward for Sansa’s Season Five arc.” 

But Season One is four seasons before Season Five, and there were hints since the Pilot Episode... 

The fandom: SANSA WILL NEVER BE QUEEN, ¡¡¡NEEEVEER!!! 

..............................

“It was appropriate that she came full circle at the end. She was the only Stark left in Winterfell and leads the North into this new chapter. She’s the best hope for the North’s future.” 

Full Circle: From wanting to be Queen consort in the South to be the Queen in the North, by her own right.

Sansa’s Show endgame is also very in line with characters getting what they wished for but not in the way they thought. That is like the bit that follows: “Be careful what you wish for” = “You might just get it.” Seriously, go and read GRRM’s tale: “In The Lost Lands.” You can thank me later.     

Please also take note that GRRM has repeatedly said that:

Sansa is a major character. Part of the core that dominates the story.

He knows the endgame of the major characters for decades.

You can read more here.

So, if Queen Sansa is only D&D fan fiction, then WHOA! They planned it all since the very beginning, since the pilot episode itself. How surprising! Especially since GRRM was very involved in the Show back then.  

D&D wrote the pilot: “Sansa’s main function was informing members of her family and the audience that the only thing she wanted was to get out of Winterfell and go live in the big city and become queen.” AND GRRM LET THEM.

Cogman wrote a scene that was not from the Books where Septa Mordane says that Sansa will be Queen someday. AND GRRM LET THEM.

D&D wrote a scene that was not from the Books where Joffrey says that Sansa will be Queen someday. AND GRRM LET THEM.

D&D commissioned Ramin Djawadi to compose a theme for Sansa called: “You’ll Be Queen ONE Day,” for Sansa and Joffrey scene. AND GRRM LET THEM.

D&D wrote that Sansa’s Show endgame was being crowned Queen in the North. AND GRRM LET THEM.

And if you wanna read about Queen Sansa from the Books, please read these posts: Here and Here.

Good night.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 11 | Of Delusions and Grandeur

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 8,500

*Warning* Our angry bean having some serious PTSD flashbacks, also death, quite a bit of death. 

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡  Oh boy did this one take a reallllllyyyy long time for me to write. I hope it’s worth it! Also, I apologize for any mistakes, I probably didn’t proofread as many times as I should’ve 🤍

When she was a little girl, Visenya was called into Lord Stark's study nearly every day. She'd shuffle into the room, hiding a coy smirk and mischievous giggles behind a straight face, unable to look him in the eyes as she fumbled through unconvincing lies. At the time she thought herself the finest liar in the Seven Kingdoms, ego growing larger with each doe-eyed look, and words of denial laced with feigned innocence. And each time she stepped out of the room, she'd miss the small smile pulling on Lord Stark's mouth, eyes glittering with amusement as melancholy consumed him, reminding him of times when he was much smaller and the world much bigger.

With age, each step into that study grew less intimidating, the walls growing shorter as she grew longer. At some point between six and ten it changed, instead of swiping pastries from the kitchens, she was hiding away with Jon, waving around a training sword that's too large and too sharp; and inevitably, one morning a large cut blossomed on her face. She went into the study sobbing like an infant while holding a medical cloth to her wound, fears of getting in trouble making her anxiety soar high into the cloudy sky. But instead of sour eyes and trembling lips, she left with a beaming smile on her face and orders to begin training with Ser Rodrik. Immediately she was ushered to Maester Luwin and put on bed rest for the day - Theon called her a stupid girl trying to act like a man, whilst Jon brought her wildflowers from a field. She made sure to hit Theon extra hard during their sparring sessions.

Then there was the time she tackled Theon and beat him bloody when she was a girl of ten and two after he insulted her father; wailing like a banshee, screaming into the universe that Theon and his family were cowards. Her small fists beat into him with as much tact and technique as a wild animal. Everything he ate for a week straight had a metallic aftertaste, while Visenya wore her smugness like a crown. Lord Stark gave her a stern lecture about not hitting people just because they make you angry, yet she couldn't help but preen like a bird when noticing the glint of amusement in his icy eyes. Robb would laugh every time he saw Theon for a full month, meanwhile, Theon's glares didn't disappear until his final scar did. Only then did he begin to acknowledge Visenya's presence again. He never brought up her family again, and she returned the favor.

Of course, she could never forget the time she was brought in - shivering like a leaf, looking as if she'd slept in the deepest ocean - two guards at her side as they escorted her. Lord Stark dismissed them immediately, waiting with patient eyes and a kind smile for Visenya to explain where she'd run off to. The dam broke and she began sobbing, blubbering nonsense that not even she understood. But Lord Stark didn't yell at her, demanding she speak clearly. Instead, he stood up, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and carefully approached Visenya. Kneeling to be eye level with her smaller form, he just hugged her, encompassing her with the fatherly warmth she couldn't remember ever getting from Rhaegar Targaryen. Maybe he did hug her when she was a child and the world wasn't crumbling around them, but if he did, she couldn't remember. So she just hugged Lord Stark so tightly she wouldn't be surprised if he had red marks where her arms were.

Then only four years later, she was called in again, only this time Lady Stark stood beside him, strained smiles and stony eyes greeting her, and held tightly in Lord Stark's hand was a letter, the parchment nearly ripping in half from his grip. It was nearly identical to the one she sent off three days prior, with Essos it's destination and Targaryen the receiver, signed with a desperation to connect with blood. Lord Stark gently explained to her that the King may see it as treason if she was found to be contacting the only other remaining Targaryen's, finding the reason to do what he's been itching to do since the rebellion. And Visenya couldn't bring herself to tear apart her family by selfish actions, not after everything they've done for her. That day she didn't walk out triumphant or ecstatic, instead, she burned with rage and shame; rage at the world and shame at herself for caring so much. She never tried to contact Daenerys again.

The final time she ever walked into that study was a week before Robert Baratheon was set to arrive at Winterfell. Lady Stark wasn't there, in fact, no one else was anywhere near the vicinity. He told her to sit down, not willing to delve into the reason that she was there until she complied. Ned Stark was never one to beat around the bush, finding it more practical to just say what needs to be said and move on. That was the first time Visenya ever saw him fumble over his words. Finally, he managed to tell her what exactly the King had demanded when he was in Winterfell. He wanted Visenya married off and out of Winterfell. She was a statue at that moment, having a million things she wanted to say, but simply nodded, turned, and left the room without another word. A day after the King arrived, so did her potential suitors. The King insisted he should be the one to choose her husband, completely crushing the dwindling hope that her future husband wouldn't be so terrible. The decision ended up being between a child of ten and two and a boy only a year older than that, both from two minor houses in the South; until Robb interrupted - respectfully of course - and declared that he would marry Visenya. She couldn't decide what was worse, the prospect of marrying someone she sees as a brother or watching Jon's crestfallen face. Jon wouldn't look at her until the night before he left for the Night's Watch, and she couldn't look Robb in the eyes until he did.

This time, standing in front of the door that leads into the room Jaskier and Geralt reside in, with damp hair and clothes sticking to wet skin, she is a storm. A flurry of emotions raging in her mind; anger, sadness, melancholy, and fear melting together until she can't feel anything, the sensory overload leaving her numb. She eyes the empty hall like an animal stuck in a cage, her heart pounding, seconds away from bolting out of the inn and never returning, living in the forest as far from people as possible. But then the sound of Jaskier talking and Geralt's angry mumbling filters into Visenya's ears. Her anxiety increases, but the storm softens as she straightens her back, all thoughts of running suddenly gone.

'The blood of the dragon must not be afraid.'

Visenya sends a prayer to the Warrior for courage and the Crone to give her the wisdom to not let her anger control her, not wanting to lash out again. She reaches a hand up, pausing it midair for a second. With one last silent prayer, she grasps the handle in hand and pushes open the door.

"--quit your complaining, you look great! Scary and dashing, what more could a Witcher want?" Jaskier says to Geralt, waving his hands wildly. Geralt stands in the room, wearing clothes suited for minor nobility, a stark difference from his usual armor, a scowl chiseled into his beautiful face.

He's in shades of blue: a Stark blue cotton jacket hugging his biceps, a stone grey shirt tucked into his leather pants that hug his toned legs in the most flattering way, wolf pendant hanging from his neck. His white hair is tied back in its usual fashion but appears to have been brushed, clearly the doing of Jaskier. Despite his obvious discomfort, he's like a piece of art, looking like the subject of a painting that hangs in a noble lady's room.

As the door clicks behind her, Geralt and Jaskier look at her. Jaskier's eyes immediately flicker away, face draining of all color as he takes a small step backward. It's small, the change in his demeanor, but it's enough to break Visenya's heart that she thought had been encapsulated by stone and ice. A million words nearly fall from her mouth, at the very tip of her tongue, but she finds herself losing the ability to speak. So instead she turns her attention to Geralt, feigning the smirk that usually naturally falls on her face.

"You clean up nicely. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't think you were just covered from head to toe in monster guts," she teases, willing her voice to sound as light as air, not at all weighed down by the anxiety in her heart. Geralt narrows his eyes, seeing through her façade the second she places it on, but he says nothing. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and grunts, turning back to Jaskier.

"See, I told you it's fine. Now Jane, be a dear and put on that dress in the corner." Jaskier moves through the room like water, stepping behind Geralt and pushing him towards the exit, making Visenya step further into the room, flattening against the wall to allow them to slip past her. Geralt's shoulder brushes against her, and it feels like electricity. Not that she'd ever tell him that. Meanwhile, Jaskier is looking anywhere and everywhere, as long as he doesn't have to look at her.

The door clicks behind them, the shuffling of feet gone, leaving Visenya alone with her thoughts, again. She shuffles over to the other side of the room, seeing a bundle of dark fabric that must be her dress. She closes the distance, holding the fabric between her fingers. It's a deep purple and almost softer than anything she's ever touched. Sighing, she begins to pull her clothes off of her body, haphazardly throwing them onto the ground. She holds up the dress, the ends touching the floor; it's beautiful, with a silver belt cinching in the waist and a slit up the leg, allowing free range of movement. And for a moment she thinks Jaskier chose these colors on purpose, purple for the eyes she used to recognize, and silver for the hair that used to flow freely, but that's impossible. How could he know the importance of those colors when he doesn't even know her real name?

So she pushes those thoughts away and begins the process of stepping into the dress and pulling it on. The fabric drapes loosely off the shoulder, the back flowing into a sort of cloak style. It's light as air, moving in perfect sync with her, ideal for looking pretty but also loose enough to allow her to fight if necessary; nothing like the heavy and restricting dresses of the North. She clasps the belt, adding some shape to her body so it no longer looks like she's drowning in excess fabric. She holds Renfri's broach, the emeralds, and rubies shining and bright compared to her dress. She pins it in the place it always is, over her left breast.

She puts both hands under her hair, starting to pull it out from under the dress when there's a knock at the door. She starts to turn, the dress moving around her feet like a soft breeze, when the door clicks, creaking as it opens.

"Jaskier wanted me to bring you--" Geralt says, trailing off as Visenya turns to face him, the dress fully on display. A smile pulls on her previously dour face, as the last of her damp hair falls over her shoulders. In his hands are a pair of velvet black boots, the heels higher than her usual travel shoes, with a silver buckle adorning them, not as fine as what high royalty would wear, but certainly nicer than her everyday ones. His gold eyes rake up and down her body, mouth slightly agape.

"My shoes? Thank you, I was hoping I wouldn't have to go to this feast barefoot." She saunters over to him, making sure to take her time with every step. She stops right in front of him, tilting her head up to look at his face, Geralt's large form looming over her. His eyes follow her, tilting his head down as well.

She grabs onto the shoes, pulling until Geralt grip on them slacks. Without moving her eyes from his, she slips each shoe on, the inside lined with a soft fabric, making them hug her feet comfortably. Geralt breaths out a laugh, but says nothing else.

"You look nice." he finally says, his voice rougher and lower than usual, causing Visenya's eyes to light up as he struggles to swallow for a moment.

"You don't look too bad either." She raises a single brow, slowly raising herself to stand on the tips of her toes, inching closer to Geralt's face.

"Hmm." He just grunts, leaning down to close the distance between them. And when their lips are seconds away from touching she veers to the left, placing a ghost of a kiss on the corner of his lips.

"See you out there." She leaves the room, closing the door behind her, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

o0o0o0o

"--keep your head down and pretend to be a mute, can't have anyone figuring out who you are," Jaskier mutters to Geralt as soon as they step into the Great Hall. Most of tonight's guests have already arrived, standing in small clusters that are interspersed throughout the large room. They're rowdy, much more like the Northerners that Visenya's accustomed to, tankards of Cintran Ale in the hands of every person. They're dressed in a wide variety of colors, most of the women wearing dresses made from velvet and much warmer fabrics than the chiffon that languidly hangs off Visenya. A season of jewel tones surround them: reds, greens, and purples as far as the eye can see.

"Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher!" a voice exclaims, a slew of loud drunken shouts from the nearby crowds following the proclamation. A man in forest green finery that looks slippery to the touch begins to approach them. Well dressed, but certainly not the most expensive-looking man in the room. His shoulder-length thick black hair is pushed away from his face, a matching thick beard covering his chin. Light reflects off of the greying hairs that pepper it, betraying how old he is. His eyes, that are as green as his tunic, scan the three of them, lingering on Visenya but ultimately he focuses on Geralt.

"Oh shit," Jaskier mutters, glancing around the room, smiling and waving awkwardly at everyone looking at them.

"I haven't seen you since the plague," he says, silver tankard in hand as he draws closer, an easy smile on his face.

"Good times, Mousesack," Geralt says, his tone and posture rigid and uncomfortable; never one for crowds it would seem. The man doesn't seem put off by Geralt's dour demeanor, instead, he breathes out a laugh, pointing at Geralt with his tankard.

"I have missed your sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair, but now that the White Wolf is here, perhaps all is not lost." he closes the distance, grabbing ahold of both of his shoulders, the smile on his face falling just an inch. "Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?"

Geralt turns to Jaskier, his signature scowl on his face. Jaskier just turns to look at them, playing with his fingers, eyes wide and nervous, but ultimately silent.

"And who might this be," the man says, moving his attention from Geralt to Visenya. She grants him a smile, much closer to Geralt's stiff one than his easy-going smile. He holds out a hand and she shakes it, trying to match his firm grip.

"Jane."

"Mousesack, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He's charming, with a wide grin on his face and bright eyes. There's also a spark when he makes contact with her. Not the kind that plagues sappy romance novels, but a literal spark of...something that leaves the hair on her arms standing and her spine-tingling.

"Mousesack is a druid." Geralt answers her unspoken question, looking between the two of them with a blank expression.

"I see, and you and Geralt are friends I presume?" Visenya asks, slipping her hand from his tight grasp.

"Old friends, it's been what...50 years?" Mousesack says, glancing at Geralt for confirmation.

"Something like that." Geralt says, scanning the crowd. Visenya turns to him, eyes widening a fraction.

"How old are you exactly?" She asks, eyes narrowing. It never occurred to her that a Witcher would age differently. The passage of time here never occurs to her much. She goes to sleep at night and wakes up at dawn, spending the day traveling, sitting in inns, or looking threatening and mean to potential aggressors, only to start the cycle over again. How much time has passed since she first arrived? Everything seems to pass in a blur, she never bothers to think about it.

"Over 100," he gruffly responds, glancing over at her before returning his eyes elsewhere.

"You don't keep track?" Visenya asks mind short-circuiting momentarily. How is that even possible, to be over 100 years old, yet not look a day over 30? It has to be a side effect of being a Witcher, it's the only logical explanation.

"Why would I?"

"I guess when you're that old it doesn't matter," she says, brows furrowing as her eyes narrow.

"I never thought I'd see the day that someone matched your dour attitude. Come, walk with me," Mousesack merrily exclaims, words slurring together. He flashes Visenya another smile as he begins to effortlessly move through the crowd of people. Geralt follows beside him, Visenya keeping pace with him.

"I've been advising the Skelligen crown for years. A tad rough around the edges, but they're of the earth. Like me," Mousesack says, people, cheering and holding up drinks towards him as he passes.

"Old and crusty," Geralt says. "How long before this horse-trading is done? I find royalty best taken in... small doses."

Visenya snorts as she observes the room around her, trying to memorize every tiny detail. There's a high table at the very end of the hall, with a large throne in the center, like a shining prized jewel. It's nothing near as magnificent as how she imagines the Iron Throne to be, but it's large none-the-less. Sitting by the empty throne is a girl, closer to Visenya's age than not if her appearance is anything to go by. With pale skin that glows in the dim candlelight, her golden-silvery hair compliments her beautifully. It's in an ornate braid on the back of her head, falling over her shoulder, a gold ribbon weaving in and out of it. Her emerald green dress is adorned with a large gold necklace, the small emerald jewels in it dancing in the candlelight, a delicate gold circlet resting on her head. Their eyes lock, and Visenya finds herself entranced by her bright blue eyes, unable to force herself to be aware of her current surroundings.

"I wouldn't count on leaving before dawn. These suitors will vie all night for Princess Pavetta's hand. Marrying into this monarchy is a mighty prize. Who wouldn't want to be king of the most powerful force in the land?" Mousesack says, his only acknowledgment of Geralt's first comment is the small smirk on his lips.

"Hm. So, which one of these little shits is your coin on?"

"Come with me, there's much for you to see. It's not a fair bet. That red-headed scanderlout over there, Crach An Craite, will marry Pavetta. The Lioness has already arranged it with the boy's uncle, Eist Tuirseach." Mousesack says, pointing towards a large man with fiery hair and a matching beard that stands with a large crowd of people, easily one of the loudest people in the room.

Princess Pavetta's fair face wears a frown, similar to her own, but not at all with the fire Visenya holds. Instead, she looks more like a scared girl than a defiant dragon. Not at all unlike herself all those years ago, when she sat at the High Table beside Lord Stark in Winterfell, with weaves of traditional Northern braids in her hair as Robert Baratheon auctioned her off to the highest bidder, like a prized broodmare. But that's the life of a princess, exiled or not, your love is sold off for political and monetary gain. Marriage is never about love for royalty. Yet Visenya's heart aches for the girl who looks like a scared doe, rather than the daughter of the Lioness of Cintra, who fought and won her first battle at only fourteen years of age.

"She doesn't seem too happy about it," Visenya mutters, glancing back at Mousesack. He meets her stern gaze, bright expression dimming just a hair.

"No, I'm afraid not. Princess Pavetta is much softer than her mother."

"They almost always are," Visenya says, eyes moving back to Pavetta, feeling as if she's entranced. Something weeps inside her, shaking so fervently her body almost vibrates. If things were different, that would've been, no, should've been Visenya. But could've, would've, and should've been is nothing when destiny dictates that your world be nothing but ash and ruin. So she snaps her gaze away, unwilling to look at the image of what is always just out of reach.

Mousesack and Geralt continue speaking in low voices, Visenya following them like a ghost, lost in her head. A few minutes in, Geralt moves away, leaving her alone with Mousesack.

"You seem quite focused on the Princess tonight," he muses, pulling Visenya from her chaos.

"She's the most exciting thing in the room right now," Visenya says, raising a single brow at Mousesack, shoving away the sinking feeling that something horrible is going to happen.

"Moving past that insult to my character--" Visenya snorts. "I feel as though it is something more. I can see it in your eyes, you feel for the girl."

"It's hard not to. A man no matter how well-traveled and wise he is will never understand what it feels like to have your whole life laid out for you by someone else. Being sold into a marriage with someone not a good match for you only hurts worse when it's your own mother."

"Personal experience?" Mousesack raises a brow, mouth in a straight line.

"Nonsense, my mother died when I was a child," Visenya says, moving her attention away from him and towards the crowd.

His eyebrows raise causing small lines to form on his forehead, slight shock painting his features. He purses his lips, opening his mouth, only to close it again.

"The life of nobility." he finally says, letting out a sigh as he shakes his head.

"The life of a woman, no matter their status," Visenya corrects him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"All rise for Her Majesty, The Lioness: Queen Calanthe, of Cintra!" a man near the Main Hall entrance cries out, silencing any of the noise in the room.

"Luckily for the girl, horrible husbands tend to disappear rather quickly when you're royalty." With that last comment, Visenya disappears into the crowd, gliding past noble ladies and lords as she maneuvers towards the secluded corner Geralt claimed as his own.

Chairs scrape as everyone scrambles to stand and Jaskier quickly runs over to where the other minstrels are, lute in hand. Nearly in perfect synch, the entire room turns towards the entrance. Shortly after, a middle-aged woman strides through the parted crowd, a smirk on her blood-stained lips. She wears gold armor that's dull from the dark red blood that's splattered over it, fresh from a recent battle. Her dark brown hair is braided away from her face, but not as neatly as expected for an occasion like this, instead, it's wild and pulled apart, in knots and gnarls with dry blood. She holds a helmet in hand that she quickly tosses to one of the many people in the procession following behind her.

"Beer!" she exclaims, grabbing a tankard from the hands of a pompous noble as she passes him, taking a swig from it immediately. "Apologies, noble sers. A few upstart townships in the South had to be reminded of who was Queen," she says, voice oozing with confidence and a tinge of arrogance. This causes an uproar of cheering from the nobles around Visenya, waving their tankards in her direction as golden ale spills onto the floor.

"Fighting is good for one's blood and humor. Ready your suitor's tales of glory, good lords. My daughter is eager to have this over--" she says, taking another drink from her mug and turning towards the high table. "--as am I." She mutters. "Bard, music!" she yells, waving a finger in the air, towards Jaskier's general direction, stomping up the marble stairs. Jaskier starts the first note of a song, his sweet and delicate singing voice ringing through the room before the Queen swiftly cuts him off.

"No, no, no; a jig! You can save your bloody maudlin nonsense for my funeral!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes and continuing up the steps. Jaskier sighs, before counting down from three, beginning a much more upbeat song that swiftly blends into the background as the room's noise levels grow. People begin to fill the gap they'd created for the Queen, forming small rowdy groups.

Finally, she closes the distance between her and Geralt, grabbing a tankard of ale from a table as she does. She stands beside him, posture as stiff and straight as his, taking a drink from the cup, eyeing the party. She watches the Queen as she leans down to speak with her daughter, hands resting on the table, her words too quiet for Visenya to discern. Suddenly a man slams his tankard of ale on the table

"You lying little shite!" the man that Mousesack labeled as Crach An Craite yells. He stands to his full height, towering over a scrawnier man he's arguing with. "You never faced so much as a bad meal in your life, nevermind a manticore!"

"I've had manticores thrice as fat and ugly as the likes of you perish under my steel," the second man spits back, unfettered by Crach's intimidating aura.

"Under your bullshit, more like. How many stingers has it got?"

"Two."

"Ha. Go away and shite, it's got five. I know, I've actually killed one." Crach An Craite spits at him. He scoffs and turns away from the other noble, as the crowd around them grows more excited as the argument begins to escalate.

The smaller man rushes forward, grabbing onto Crach An Craite's tunic, the small crowd around them rushes in as well, eager for an excuse to fight.

"Enough!" the Queen exclaims, stopping everyone in their tracks. "We have a renowned guest tonight. Perhaps he can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth" she says, walking down the steps. In unison, nearly every turns to look at Geralt, and in turn, Visenya as well.

"Neither." Geralt says, not bothering to meet anyone's gaze.

"Are you calling me a liar, old man?" Crach An Craite mutters, face nearly identical in color to his hair.

"The Butcher of Blaviken bleeds utter nonsense," the smaller one says, dismissively waving his hand in Geralt's direction as he leans against a nearby chair. Geralt glances towards Jaskier, who is frantically shaking his head, with puppy dog eyes and a slight pout his only weapon. Geralt sighs, moving his attention back to the impatient nobles.

"Perhaps the lords encountered a rare subspecies of manticore."

The room is completely silent after that, the tension in the room quickly dropping. Visenya breathes out, clenched fist relaxing at her side. The Queen breaks the silence, loud laughter leaving her mouth, gaze solely on Geralt.

"Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us with how he slayed the elves at the edge of the world?" The room immediately breaks out into cheers. Fists pound on tables, tankards waving in the air, and nobles yelling so loudly their lungs might collapse. Visenya raises her brow, glancing at Jaskier with a disapproving gaze. That stupid song is nothing but embellished falsehoods, so wrong it's nearly infuriating every time Visenya hears it.

"There was no slaying. I had my ass kicked by a ragged band of elves. I was about to have my throat cut, when Filavandrel let me go." Geralt speaks up, silencing the room instantly.

Instead, their cheers are replaced with boos and loud groans, nobles shaking their heads at Geralt.

"But what about the song?" the shorter man exclaims.

"At least when Filavandrel's blade kissed my throat, I didn't shit myself. Which is all I can hope for you good Lords, at your final breath, a shitless death." Geralt exclaims, bringing his tankard to his mouth, "--but I doubt it," he mutters, his words once again riling up the crowd. And if she didn't know any better, Visenya thinks Geralt just might like the fanfare, even if he won't admit it.

"It would've been your blade at Filavandrel's throat if you'd been there your majesty. Not that any elven bastard would crawl from their lair to meet you on the field." Lord Eist speaks up, a smug smirk on his face as he looks at the Queen. She looks at him, preening under all the attention with a smug look on her face. The movements cause the dried blood to crack and crumble onto the floor.

"Any man willing to paint himself in the shadow of his failures will make for far more interesting conversation this night. Come, Witcher, take a seat by my side while I change."

Geralt simply grunts, rolling his eyes as the Queen turns away, moving up the stairs and disappearing through a side door, a handmaiden following dutifully behind her.

"Come on," Geralt grabs onto Visenya's hand, dragging her behind him.

"She didn't invite me."

"Well she invited me, and I'm not going through anymore suffering alone." Geralt says in between clenched teeth.

"How polite, throwing me straight into the lion's den just so you won't have to face it alone. I never knew you to be so thoughtful Geralt."

He simply grunts in response, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He moves up the set of stairs, boots pounding under the stone ground. One of the men that came in with the Queen directs Geralt to a chair beside the throne. Silently, he pulls out his chair, glaring at the finely dressed nobleman that is sitting in the chair by him. The man meets his gaze, and to his credit, manages to remain expressionless. However, he still stands, his legs wobbling just the slightest, and moves to the other side of the throne, sitting by the Princess. Geralt nods his head towards the now vacant chair. A smirk forms on Visenya's lips as she moves behind him and into her new seat.

"You get to deal with the Queen if she's unhappy with my presence."

o0o0o0o

The feast is even duller from the High Table. It hasn't even been a full hour, and yet all that's happened is a few arguments, suitors vying for the hand of the princess, and the Queen speaking with Geralt. Visenya sits in silence, scanning the crowd and listening in on the conversations around her. There's still that sinking feeling in her stomach, a dreadful fear she's unable to escape telling her this is all going to end horribly. Crach An Craite stands up from his seat, when suddenly the door is slammed open, a man in full plate armor barreling through, swiftly taking out the two guards by him. Like an unruly bull, he stomps to the center of the room, lowering himself into a kneel. The room is completely still, as Visenya leans forward, grip tightening on the knife in her left hand.

"Forgive my late intrusion, Your Majesty, and for the misunderstanding with your guards. Please! I come in peace. I need but one moment of your time. I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald and I have come to claim your daughter's hand in marriage," he says, bowing his helmet-covered head.

The room is filled with gasps of shock, women all around covering their mouths in horror. The Queen becomes as stiff as a rock, veins faintly protruding from her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, Visenya sees Pavetta go completely still, yet her face doesn't convey the same horror it has with every suitor before.

"A knight... of no renown... from a backwater hamlet... who dares to enter my court without revealing his face?" Queen Calanthe spits out, shaking in rage as her words burn like acid.

"I apologize, Your Majesty. A knight's oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell." Urcheon says, not sounding shaken by the threatening aura swimming around Queen Calanthe.

"Bollocks to that," Lord Eist exclaims, moving forward and knocking the helmet off Urcheon's head. The metal clatters against the ground, echoing in the room, as the knight is revealed to be a...hedgehog man. Visenya leans further out of her seat, nearly laying on the table. Gold eyes wide in shock as she examines each and every needle that protrudes from his face, tracing his animal-like nose and beady black eyes. He looks around the room, very much looking like a cornered animal.

"Witcher--" the Queen hisses, "kill it."

"No," Geralt says, intently watching Urcheon.

"Whatever the price," she continues.

"This is no monster."

"I order you," she continues, the same patience she previously possessed slipping away.

"This knight has been cursed." Geralt says, unable to be swayed by her words that hide serious threats.

"You're as useless as the rest of them," she seethes. "Slay this beast!" she exclaims to the rest of the room.

Two guards immediately move towards Urcheon, weapons in hand. With swift and highly skilled movements, he disarms the guards, knocking them to the ground.

"Lioness of Cintra, I come to claim what is rightfully mine! Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise." he yells, pointing towards the Princess. More guards approach, and to his credit, he attempts to fight back but is quickly outnumbered. He's thrown to the ground, blood pouring out of his...snout. One of the guards lifts their halberd, seconds away from slicing into them. Geralt quickly jumps from his chair, moving past Visenya and down the steps at the speed of light.

"No!" Princess Pavetta exclaims.

At that moment time slowed down. Geralt reaches the scene when the halberd is mid-swing, pulling out his sword and cutting the weapon in half. The top piece slams on the ground and Urcheon catches the bladed part.

It's silent until the Queen breaks it.

"Kill them both!" she yells, pointing at Geralt and Urcheon.

o0o0o0o

Swords ringing, bodies crashing to the ground, and screams ricocheting off the walls into Visenya's ears. It's all familiar. A horror so intrusive and fresh in her mind that feels like only hours ago her whole world crumbled, leaving her vulnerable in a new reality. So different with its magic and dragons, but the same in the way its tragedy claws at her throat, phantom tears following her like the deaths of everyone she ever loved. Like an inescapable curse that continues to stalk her no matter how far or fast she runs. And maybe that's because none of this is real, a delusion she's created in the darkest recesses of her mind, happy enough to grant hope of a better life, yet enough devastation cloaking it to be believable.

She watches in a daze as Geralt moves through the room, dancing with his blade like a master. The porcupine man roars as he charges the oncoming guards, cutting into their flesh with less fluidity than Geralt, yet deadly all the same. Invigoration surging through his body from the White Wolf joining his side, more than happy to slice through anyone who confronts him, whether his foes wield sword or fist. The lords in their fine garb beat, stab, and strangle each other; using the chaos as an opportunity to take down their adversaries. A small group of nobles huddle in the far recesses of the room, cowering and whimpering in fear as the slaughter escalates. Women cry and the minstrels quiver, yet the queen and princess remain at their high table, unmoving. Princess Pavetta watches with glistening blues eyes while the Queen is clenching her jaw so tightly, her face is painted white.

Visenya's hand ghosts over where her blade should be, the empty spot where its sheathe would rest feeling uncomfortably light. A lord drunk on the adrenaline in his veins rushes Visenya, wild like an animal. She knows all too well how this will go if he gets his way: with her bloody and praying for the release of death. But she's not that little girl of five hiding in a crawl space as she listens to her mother's screams of agony. Now she breathes flames each time she talks, eyes like a city turned to ash.

She holds her arm up towards him with an open palm, the movements rigid and not her own, as if an otherworldly creature possesses her. Moments later he slams into her, the width of his neck perfectly fitting in her palm. Automatically her finger closes around him, tightening with each second as she locks him in place. She's emboldened with strength she shouldn't possess, as she raises her arm upwards, his legs dangling in the air, helpless. Gold eyes illuminate, embers of fire she's smothered igniting in that instant, festering pain bursting to the surface. Heat builds, the smell of burning flesh rising in the air, the crackle of skin against fire. He screams, a blood-curdling one that makes Visenya's insides turn. Yet she doesn't release him but holds tighter and tighter until his screams turn to choking, and then silence. With a dull thud, his body drops to the floor, unmoving.

A sharp pain pierces her left side, leaving her staggering forward with an unsteady footing. Howling like a wounded animal, Visenya turns to face her adversary, a heavily armored guard. He jabs towards her, but she manages to move out of the way just in time. She sneers, blood dripping from her mouth. He goes to stab again, but in full plate, he's too slow for her nimble movements. She ducks behind him, grabbing a shard of broken glass from the ground as she does. And before he can comprehend where she is, she stabs the glass into the side of his neck, watching the thick red liquid coat it. He coughs, choking on the blood pouring out of his neck. The guard wobbles, slowly losing his balance as he claws at the air for something to hold onto, then scratching his throat, attempting to save himself. Visenya watches, eyes cold and unfeeling. She lifts her leg and kicks him onto the ground before stepping over his body.

Each footstep thunders in her mind as she presses forward, every face nothing but a blur, and instead of tabards with three proud lions, she sees two blue towers united by a bridge. Every guard and noble that falls is a Northern soldier, with surprise and agony painting their face, while every attacker is a Frey. Sneers carved into their features; screams turning into shouts of glee as they cut through anyone in their way. In a flurry of blood lust, eager to drown her sorrows in the pain of others, she throws punches at everyone within reach, kicking bodies on the floor as they writhe in pain. It's intoxicating, living out her darkest fantasies without a care in the world.

It'll fade, the comedown far worse than the high, but at the moment, it's worth every second of loathing it'll inevitably create. A grunt follows a swift punch to the gut before Visenya grabs a hold of a chair, smashing the wood against the charging noble. His face morphs, no longer a nameless lord, instead, he's one of Walder Frey's sons who sunk his blade in her flesh as his friends shot her down from a distance. The chair breaks into a million pieces as he falls to the ground, unconscious. She roars as the adrenaline pumps higher and higher, the blood running in her veins faster and faster. Geralt appears in the corner of her vision, at some point they move towards each other like magnets, twirling around each other as if they've practiced it a million times. And just as soon as he's there, he disappears into the chaos as Visenya loses herself to the beast inside her.

Another soldier approaches her, a flurry of sword swings and spittle his greeting to her. She dodges out of the way of each of them, moving as if she's the water, her dress fluidly flowing with her. She steps to the side, taking advantage of his blind spot, due to his helmet that obscures part of his vision. She grabs a hold of his sword arm, managing to pull it back far enough to hear a gnarly crack, a loud clang following it, as his sword falls to the marble floor. He sneers at her, but she returns the favor. Yet before she can do anything, another burst of pain shoots through her, and her eyes flit down to the source, a dagger sticking out of her abdomen. She looks up at him as he twists it, before letting go and pushing her away, but instead of falling to the floor to bleed out, she pulls out the blade. Using his surprise to her advantage, she smoothly grabs his sword from the ground, using a maneuver she learned all those years ago in Winterfell to knock his helmet off his head from the back. And as it clangs to the ground, she drives the dagger into his throat.

She stumbles forward, hand clenching her new wound as blood pours out of it. She whirls around, determined to find safety, but a glimpse of auburn curls and Tully blue eyes with a direwolf coat of arms fighting a noble in rich blues captures her attention.

Robb.

Numb to the pain pulsing in her body and the wounds that are dripping with blood, she runs. But it's like walking through thick molasses, feet not moving as fast as they should, no matter how hard she tries to push forward. Desperation rips her apart from the inside out as she tries to stop what's inevitably going to happen, the very same thing she sees in every one of her nightmares. And when she's only a step away, the noble slashes low, throwing Robb off balance, and with one swift plunge of a dagger, he falls limp.

She's too late, again.

Her legs are never quite fast enough, reaction time a second too slow, and no matter how hard she tries to do it, she never manages to save Robb.

An ear-piercing screams tears through her throat, or maybe it doesn't, it's hard to hear anything above the ringing in her ears.

The noise is a culmination of a lifetime of sadness, but it's also a battle cry, promising nothing but fire and fury. And as Robb collapses, armor clanging against the ground, she reaches out and grabs the hair of the noble, pulling until there's a distinct crack and a shout of pain, a large chunk of brunette locks her prize. With the snarl of a wolf and tight tension on his head, she wraps her other arm around his neck, and a simple flick of her wrist is all it takes as his neck snaps, body crashing onto the ground.

And Visenya falls too, crumbling into nothing but a shaking form, sobbing so hard she nearly throws up all the contents in her stomach, trapped between the dead bodies of Robb and his killer. Tears mix with blood, staining the floor with her misery.

"Robb!" she cries out, but her voice is nothing more than a croak, getting swept away into the chaos of the fight. "Robb!"

A shaky hand reaches out, moving to brush his hair out of his face, but there's nothing there. And as her tears pour down her cheeks, Robb distorts, wild curls becoming a bald head and Tully blue replaced with bleak brown. She removes her hand as if it burnt her, and scrambles to getaway.

Bodies rush past, moving around her as if she's nothing more than a figment of their imagination. Everything slows down in the room, as salty tears slip into her mouth, dark spots covering her vision.

She blinks; once and then twice. Everything is blurry until it's not.

A sea of dead bodies, suffocating her. She throws a hand up, desperately clawing to escape, But each movement only traps her further under them. She screams, the sound muffled yet clear as day in her mind.

"Jane. Jane!" Someone's holding onto her, pressing onto her cheeks, the warmth of soft hands cupping her cheek. "Jane, are you alright?" The voice is distant, yet familiar all the same.

She blinks again, and once more.

Another scream rips through her throat, tearing apart her vocal cords. She continues to claw, fighting harder against the dead weight that presses heavily against her. Gold meets gold as the light shines in her eyes. The first rays of day hit the side of her face, illuminating the cast of dry blood caked with mud on her face. Eyes flicker from the left to the right, seeing, yet not, at the same time. It doesn't register in her mind, the ocean of death she finds herself swimming in, all she sees is daylight, while everything else is blurry.

"Please bring me water or wine, just bring me something!" The familiar voice echoes in Visenya's head, footsteps rapidly tapping against a marble floor following.

A glint in the light captures her attention, something piercing through her hazy vision. It blends into its environment at first, but with a keener glance, she sees it. With new vigor, she wiggles out of the pit, crawling on all fours, eyes on the prize. Six beats, that's all it takes until she closes in on her fixation. A person, a dead person.

The body doesn't have a head, but she already knows its face, the same one she sees every night in her worst night terrors. Unsteady hands reach out, tracing the cloak clasp, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat inside her. Hot fingertips trace over two direwolves meeting in the center. Then she forms a fist around it, holding so tightly small cuts form on the palm of her hand. No tears pour down her face, spilling onto the fine garb Robb donned for his own funeral, there's nothing left to cry. Her eyes are dry like a Dornish desert, she's cried too much to have any left. A second scream tears out of her mouth, sending any scavenger birds flying away with haste, slicing through the silence of the field that is drenched in dawn. It's harsh and coarse, leaving the ground beneath her quaking in its wake.

"What's wrong with her?" A timid woman's voice asks.

"I don't know. Let me see that." There's rustling, ice-cold water hitting her face moments later. "Gods Jane, you're bleeding!"

She blinks one more time.

The field disappears, a ballroom wrought with chaos replacing it. She's flat on the ground with Jaskier kneeling beside her, face hovering over hers. His eyes are wide with distress, gaze solely focusing on her. She attempts to stand, but the weight of her head is too much, so instead, it just bangs against the hard floor. Swords clanging and people shouting filters into her ears again, replacing the devastating silence that once resided in her mind.

"Jaskier."

"I'm here, I just need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that?" he asks, holding her hand so tightly his knuckles turn white.

"A sheep can't command the dragon," she mutters, eyes fluttering shut, only to snap open when something cold and wet splashes over her face, again.

"Well the next time we meet a dragon, I'll let them know." She glances over, seeing the weak smile pulling at his lips. His pale face is stark white, the flush of red usually in his face completely gone, with dark and deep bags under his tired and dull eyes.

"You already have, I am the daughter of dragons," she mutters, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

She opens them again, blinking a few times and finding herself back in the open field and kneeling over Robb's body. She stands with unsteady legs and a weary body. Visenya turns around, staring at Walder Frey's keep, eyes solid ice with a stony expression. One step, two steps, and another, and then another, staggering towards the keep. The anger simmers, burning so hot it's cold now. Fire dances on the tips of the fingers, the flames licking up her arms with each step she takes.

"Can you do something? She's been injured?" Jaskier's voice echoes in Visenya's mind.

"Possibly, step aside and I will do my best to heal her," another familiar male voice rings in her ears.

A comforting feeling fills her body, smothering her pain in all things that are warm and homely.

She blinks, opening her eyes and finding herself back in Cintra with Jaskier and Mousesack hovering over her. She's delusional, she has to be. The only problem is, she can't decipher which reality is true and which one is a hallucination.

"Are you alright?" Mousesack asks, grabbing Visenya's hand in his own. Between Jaskier and him, they manage to help Visenya sit up just in time to see Queen Calanthe meet Geralt in battle. She holds her sword up to his neck and Geralt meets her blade with his own.

"Stop!" the Queen yells.

o0o0o0o

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[a-libra-writes]

How the GoT Characters React To Your Kidnapping

No one asked for this & its another weirdly specific long one, bc this is westeros and shit aint sunshine and roses so idk lets just do this oh gods why is it so long

To the Gendry & Mance anons: i got u, fam ♡ 

In this preference, you'll be rescued by: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Dolorous Edd, Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane, Theon Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jamie Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Beric Dondarrion, Gendry

NED STARK

It happened many years ago, but the incident still gave you shivers when you recalled it. It was at the height of Robert’s rebellion, when fighting and chaos was at every House’s doorstep. Your family supported Robert wholly; your father and brothers had been away at war since the beginning. You were maintaining your family’s keep in your father’s stead. The Riverlands was a bloody battleground, and you made a point to visit neighboring keeps and their smallfolk to offer food and shelter in your own castle. You were returning from one of these trips when you were taken by brigands wishing to ransom you.

Your father was riding with Ned when he heard the news, and he made it clear he wouldn’t continue on until his only daughter was found. Ned had befriended him in the time they’d fought, and agreed to help. Together they traced the trail you took to the fishing villages, and soon found which abandoned house you were being held in.

You were filthy, exhausted and hungry at that point, and afraid of the sound of fighting you heard outside the door. Then the door opened and a tall Northman came in, gently asking if you were okay and carefully untying the bindings around your wrists and ankles. You remember how Ned wrapped his cloak around your ripped dress and picked you up so gently. He set you on his horse and rode behind you, asking a few questions as you two rode back, like how you were faring and if the horse was going too fast for you. Back at your Keep, he insisted on carrying you to the Maester, all while your parents thanked him. They let Ned and his host of soldiers recover at their castle, even if food was low, and Ned visited you each day to check on you. You kept his cloak curled around you as you watched the Stark host finally leave. Even well after you two met and courted, and finally married in the godswood at Winterfell, you kept that cloak with you. Ned didn’t know, but you liked wrapping up in it when he had to leave for a long time. 

ROBB STARK

It happened at the worst possible moment, in the midst of the chaos of the war. You insisted on accompanying his war camp through the battles, in spite of the danger to yourself. You were newly married, but you didn’t want to hide away in Winterfell. Robb was grateful for the counsel you provided, even if he worried for your safety. You were surrounded by soldiers, you should have been safe. Should have been.

Once Robb discovered you were well and truly gone, with your personal guards found dead, all he could see was red. The young wolf immediately went to gather men and scouts, ignoring the lords who told him to leave the rescuing to soldiers. Robb couldn’t forgive himself if something happened to you - he couldn’t keep fighting the war knowing his wife was in danger, and he’d run himself ragged to find you. Grey Wind caught onto your scent and within just a few hours, they found the makeshift camp you were being held at. You gasped as Grey Wind jumped at the man beside you, tearing at his throat, and Robb wasted little time in dismounting and following his wolf. While his men took care of the remaining kidnappers, he threw his arms around you and pulled you into a crushing hug. 

Once you were back at camp, Robb had you looked after, buzzing with anxiety the whole time. He’d be adamant about sending you to Winterfell for your safety, wanting his mother to go along with you. Even if you’d try to argue with Robb, he’d truthfully tell you he couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. He’d rather miss you until the war ended than grieve you for the rest of his life. 

SANSA STARK

Upon hearing about your kidnapping, Sansa immediately felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t believe such a thing could happen to you - she remembered the last conversation you two had, what you wore, the jokes you both laughed at, the last kiss you shared. It was jarring to contrast that with some terrifying dungeon, and for the next few weeks she could hardly sleep or eat, constantly replaying those memories and thinking of them as “the last”. She didn’t care who tormented her, whether it be Joffrey or Cersei or anyone else. Sansa’s mind was too occupied with terrible thoughts of how afraid you must be and if you were hurt.

She heard rumors of your rescue, and that manifested into your arrival back at King’s Landing. She awaited you anxiously, thinking of what to say, worrying about what you endured. Finally, when Sansa saw you arrive at the Red Keep, all thoughts left her mind. Forgetting decorum, she pulled you into a hug, and even though you were still aching from your captivity, you held her back with as much emotion and strength. 

When the two of you finally got some time alone, and she leaned against you and held your hand as you explained all that happened. From that point, she’d try to be at your side as much as possible, and feeling like she had to appreciate each day with you in case something terrible happened to either of you. Anytime you noticed her worried expression, you’d kiss her brow and reassure her, and she’d just shake her head, insisting that she ought to be the one comforting you.

BENJEN STARK

You’d wanted to accompany him on a mission for months, and he let you go on small trips here or there, but never anything like this. Accompanied with three other brothers, the four of you were assigned an important task by the Lord Commander. In spite of the seriousness, Benjen teased you like he always did, and even risked being cheeky, since the other two brothers knew your gender and your relationship with him. They’d just roll their eyes and joke along with you. It felt freeing to be beyond the wall, and you enjoyed the expanse of snow and trees so much, you forgot about the danger.

You and one of the brothers split off from the group to investigate some odd tracks. It turned out to be a trap, and while he was killed quickly, you put up a fight and were dragged off. The wildlings recognized you as the “little crow” who followed Benjen around, and since he had killed one of their leaders months before, they wanted revenge. It wasn’t until much later that Benjen and the brothers found the corpse the wildlings left, and a shredded piece of cloak you left behind for them. Benjen’s face became unrecognizable as he steeled himself for the worst, and urged the men on the trail. He tried pushing aside his regrets and anger at himself as they followed the tracks in the snow and the small things you left for them, like small rocks or an odd shape in the snow.

They came upon the wildling camp as the sun set, and you used the chaos to escape your bindings and steal one of the wildling’s clubs to help the fight. Once it was over, Benjen wasted no time in pulling you into a painfully tight embrace. The wildlings hadn’t done more than threaten you and hit you a few times, but he kissed you in relief several times anyway. All the tension seemed to leave his body as you held his face and reassured him. As the rest of you brought your slain brother’s body back to Castle Black, Benjen still kept you close at hand. You two knew the dangers of what was beyond the wall, so while Benjen eventually relaxed after a few weeks, it was still an unpleasant fright that he tried not to dwell on.

JON SNOW

Your family visited Winterfell often, what with your mother being friends with Lady Stark and living so close. From an early age you were friends with Jon, Robb and Theon, always running about and getting into trouble with your mother. Especially now that you were a lady, she scolded, you couldn’t talk with whichever boys you wanted. Jon was always different to you, though. You couldn’t imagine not being with him, and he felt much the same, even if you both struggled to express it. Jon was determined to spend as much time with you before he left for the Wall, and you would do the same before you were married off to whoever.

Jon knew you wanted to explore Winter Town today, and he couldn’t accompany you, so he waited impatiently for you to get back with your cousin and one guard. It was late in the evening, and both he and your parents began to worry. It was discovered your guard was slain, and you and the cousin were missing. Ned gathered several men to lead the search with your father, and Jon didn’t shy away as he all but demanded to be allowed to look as well. He wasted no time in giving Ghost a handkerchief to track you, and soon the men were following the direwolf through Winter Town. Ghost’s nose led him to a shack well outside of town, where the men wasted little time in surrounding it and pulling out the failed kidnappers. 

Jon thanked the gods they hadn’t done anything terrible to you, and he was the one who untied your bindings and carefully dabbed your bleeding lip. You rode back on his horse, and he carefully helped you down and guided you to Maester Luwin, as much as it upset your mother. You asked him to stay beside you as Maester Luwin checked over your bruises and applied a balm to your broken lip. Well after your parents had left, Jon risked escorting you to your room, where you gave him a sweet kiss in spite of the pain it brought you. 

JORY CASSEL

A lady was supposed to stay in place and entertain, but you were often restless, especially since your brothers could go where they pleased. One of them finally gave into your pleading and took you with him to Winter Town. Your brothers ended up leaving you to enjoy the brothel, and you enjoyed the freedom to explore the town as you wished. Unfortunately, your fine dress and warm cloak caught the wrong kind of attention. When they finally noticed you were missing, they couldn’t be sure how long it had been.

Rushing back to Winterfell, they went to Jory first. He was skilled and he could get a small handful of men to listen to him - and hopefully, keep quiet about it to your parents. Jory was livid, trying to keep his cool as he swept through Winter Town. It was getting dark, and worry was eating him alive. The attempted kidnappers were sloppy, luckily, and hadn’t gone far. They were no match for trained Winterfell men, and Jory had them taken alive so they could be judged by his lord. 

Before that, he had to take care of you. Jory wrapped his fur around you and held you close, patting your hair and asking how you were. They hadn’t done anything, thank the gods, and you trusted his men not to say anything about the secret relationship you two carried on. Once you were back at Winterfell, he visited your chambers in the evening to keep reassuring you, although his relief and worry was evident.

DOLOROUS EDD

He'd told you not to come on the expedition, he'd told the senior officers not to bring you. You two actually argued about it, and you joined the expedition out of spite. Edd had an awful feeling that something was going to go wrong, and it did. You accompanied a small scouting party, and the three of you hadn’t been heard from in days. To say he felt sick would be an understatement. He brought it up with Jon first, looking as dismal as he felt, and his friend managed to send Ghost on the trail. A day later, the wolf didn’t bring good news. Ghost handed his master a bloodied glove, not your’s, but one of the brothers you left with. 

Sam and Jon tried to assure him, but Edd couldn’t keep the darkest thoughts out of his head. He assumed the worst, accepting that you were gone, even if his brothers were positive the scouts were taken, not killed. That was hardly better. When you and the two brothers returned, having escaped your wildlings captors, Edd bit his lip until it bled to hide just how relieved he was. Hiding your gender and your relationship with him meant he couldn’t run up and squeeze the air out of your lungs and tell you that he knew something terrible would happen, and it did, and he couldn’t ask you to strip away a few layers to make absolutely sure you were alright. So, he did this as soon as you two were back at Castle Black.

Hiding away in a small dingy room, you’d try to coax the worried, tight expression on Edd’s face as you assured him you only had a few bruises and scratches. He’d sigh heavily and pull you in an embrace, which made it difficult to put your clothes back on, but he didn’t budge. He’d be morose for a while, keeping close to you while you worked to make extra sure you were alright. 

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

It wasn’t just your beauty, but your ability to fight that drew Tormund to you. He had an utmost respect for your abilities, so when you were sent on this or that mission, he didn’t worry for your safety - he just frowned that he wasn’t going with you. Tormund didn’t worry when the group of free folk you left with hadn’t been heard from in a few days. This was unpredictable land, after all. The trouble came when scouts came back, reporting that most of the group was found dead, but your corpse was nowhere to be found. They suspected crows, who had been on the move in the area.

That’s when Tormund was ready to spur to action and join the group looking to retrieve you. While they were worried you’d give up information to the crows, he knew you’d die rather than betray your comrades, and that’s what filled him with anxiety and anger. Tormund led the men himself, urging them on through the icy tundra. He was hedging his bets on the crows being soft and keeping you alive. 

They found the crow camp and Tormund had to keep himself from just barrelling straight toward you. As the fight began, Tormund was able to cut his sword across your bindings so you could join in. Even if you had a cut on your face, you didn’t seem worse for wear. Once the crows were dealt with, Tormund was quick to pull you in his arms and loudly tell you how relieved he was, adding with a laugh that he knew the crows couldn’t handle such a woman. He’d plan a careful kiss on your brow and look after any wounds you had before you two would return to Mance’s camp, where Tormund would announce to everyone that you were back, and proudly bragged about the beating you delivered to the crows once he cut you free.

MANCE RAYDER

While he loved your cleverness the best, Mance couldn’t deny you had a lovely grace when you fought. It was unlike the other free folk, who stabbed or bludgeoned or slashed until the thing was dead. You were a born fighter, a good one, and you gladly took the jobs that had you in the thick of it. He rarely worried when there was possibility of danger on one of your missions, because you weren’t worried yourself. However, the tribe you were visiting had a terrible reputation, and he told you as much. Mance wanted to go with you, but you were sure you and your men could handle it.

You hadn’t been heard from in some days, and Mance had a gut feeling that he wasn’t comfortable with. That was confirmed when your weapon and the head of your men was sent back to him, with a clear message that the tribe wouldn’t join his army. The fact they hadn’t sent your head was little comfort. Mance gathered his best men and rode out at once, his face stony and his eyes betraying the terrible fear gnawing at his heart.

When they came upon the camp, it was a hard fight, and Mance grasped the leader by the throat as he demanded where you were. You were carelessly left in one of their tents, bound and suffering more than a few injuries. Mance untied you, wrapped you in his arms and assured you that you’d be home soon. Back at the main camp, he tended to your wounds in your shared tent, rinsing them with warm water, good-smelling balms and soothing you in a soft voice.

THEON GREYJOY

You spent plenty of time at Winterfell, usually playing with Sansa and Jeyne, but Theon was fond of teasing you just to see your cute face flush and yell at him. He wasn’t always a jerk. He’d been helping you work on your archery, and you two could talk on and on about horses. He knew your parents and Lady Stark didn’t approve of your friendship with him, so he always got a little thrill when he stole your attention. Of course, he insisted to Robb and Jon that you were the one with the crush.

His cocky attitude disappeared quickly when your parents came running to Lord Stark in a panic, explaining you were taken right outside their keep and they were delivered a terrible ransom note. Theon joined Robb and Ned on the search for you, trying to still his hammering heart as they followed the scent hounds. He was trying not to think of all the awful things that could be happening to you, and spurred his horse faster once the hounds picked up a scent.

He and Robb were the first ones to ride on the camp and attack the kidnappers. Ned had to remind him to leave them alive to face their punishment - Theon was too eager in beating them to a pulp, and he felt they should be killed on the spot. You were tied up and dirty, but still alright, and Theon hoped because he was the first one to come to your aid, that you’d ride back on his horse. You rode with Lord Stark back to Winterfell, and Theon sat outside Maester Luwin’s room as the old man looked over your injuries. It was hard to act like an ass when you were so tired and shaken, so he sat at the foot of your bed and tried to make you laugh instead.

YARA GREYJOY

She heard news that your host of men had encountered trouble, but Yara didn’t worry like an old woman. She trusted your skills and abilities, and you weren’t the type to want some honorable death in battle. Then she received the message - a warning from the Northmen who took you. She sighed, picked up her axe, gathered a half dozen men and left Deepwood Motte to get your sorry butt. Yara wasn’t going to let you live this down.

She found where they were holding you in a good amount of time, and you bitched out Yara as she walked in the room laughing. You headbutt her in annoyance once she untied you. The Northmen had tried to interrogate you on the Ironborn’s plans, but like Yara expected, you were made of tougher stuff. Still, she didn’t like to see the bruises on your arms and wrists, or your swollen lip and cut brow. While her men stole what they wanted from the hideout, she took a moment to take you aside and take care of those little wounds. You hissed and she told you to stop bitching, even as she carefully patted at your brow and lip. 

During the next few days, when you'd laugh then wince from your lip or shift uncomfortably from the bruises, Yara would slip an arm around your waist and hand you a drink. She'd try to be subtle about touching you more carefully in bed and kissing your lips with less firmness. She didn't want you to feel coddled and mother henned after, but she didn't like seeing her girl hurting so much, either. 

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

To say she was angry was… an understatement. All of the Free Cities would hear of her wrath once she discovered you were taken by her enemies. There would be no negotiating or ransom, period - She’d call for Jorah, Barristan, the Unsullied - everyone to look for you, to find the ones responsible, to get anyone with information. Once you were found, she’d take you into a suffocating hug. Barristan would have to remind her that you needed to be tended to, and she’d hold you just a little longer before reluctantly handing you to him. 

While you were being helped, she’d gather all the culprits in a public space and give them a proper execution with her dragons, a clear warning to anyone with similar ideas. Even after that, she’d be buzzing with anger and once she was calmed, the worry and anxiety would set in.

As your wounds were cared for, she’d ask the care-taker if they were sure about what they were doing, then she’d want to test your food, then bathe and dress you, insisting you to be still and not help. Once you were in bed, she’d still want to keep you in a close hug, insisting that you were safe now and it wouldn’t happen again, but you were sure she was trying to convince herself and not you.

For the next several days, or even weeks and months, Daenerys would insist you not leave her side, or if you did, you’d have several Unsullied for protection. She’d become quite over-protective, and when you’d express that it was getting to be too much, she’d admit she never wanted to feel that fear of losing you again. 

JORAH MORMONT

He noticed you hadn’t been back from your scouting on time, and after an extra hour passed, he began to worry. You two weren’t just lovers, you were protectors of Daenerys, and you always promptly returned from the duties she gave you. When Jorah’s suspicions were confirmed and he learned you were taken by Daenerys’ enemies, he wasted little time in gathering a group of Unsullied to help retrieve you. However, it was Jorah himself who cut through most of the kidnappers once they found the hideout. While the Unsullied finished up, Jorah beelined to where they kept you. 

Since you had kicked one kidnapper senseless and nearly bit the ear off another, they’d had you painfully bound and gagged. The adrenaline was leaving Jorah quickly as his shaky hands pulled you free, and you were pulled into his embrace so quickly, it made you dizzy. You were going to tell him not to hold so tight, but your exhaustion caught up with you and Jorah carried you all the way back to the Great Pyramid. Once you two were back at your shared rooms, he immediately began fretting and worrying, wanting to give you a hot bath and a good meal and soft clothes, completely ignoring his own exhausting and the blood on his cheek and hands. You were only able to calm Jorah down by pulling him into the bath with you, and even then he was apologetic, thinking it was his fault in some way. You kissed him until that sorrowful look finally faded, and he took care of any need you had that evening. For the next few weeks Jorah was quite dogged about following you around and insisted on going with you during your patrols and investigations. Sometimes it was a bit too much, but you noticed how he kept looking at the bruises on your wrists or the cut on your forehead that was taking a long time to heal, and you let him tag along.

MISSANDEI

She didn't want to believe such a thing happened. While Missandei initially feared for your safety when you went out into Meereen's streets, she'd become more comfortable because of your training with Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah. And today you left with several Unsullied, but that hadn't helped. The report came back that you'd been taken by enemies of Daenerys, and Missandei's heart sunk into her stomach as she thought about what could happen. She couldn't even pretend to be alright. 

So she waited, feeling sick and buzzing with nerves, unable to do more than pace. When Daenerys herself came to tell her the news that you were recovered, and your wounds were being tended to, Missandei collapsed with relief. She waited impatiently until you were finished, trying to gather herself, but all the strength left when she saw you sitting up in bed, fresh bruises and wounds on your body. You pulled Missandei into your arms and comforted her, already feeling comforted by her warm presence. Once you wiped her tears and she took a deep breath, Missandei was quick to make sure you had everything you needed. 

She'd continue to tend to you herself, bringing you food, drink and checking your wounds. You'd notice her gloomy expression and try to cheer her, and several times she'd make you promise to be more careful once you were better. Well after your wounds healed, and you announced you were patrolling again. An unmistakable look of worry crossed Missandei's face, and she only smiled after you kissed her and reassured her. 

GREY WORM

He preferred it when you patrolled together, both because you two made a good team, and it was the best way to make sure you were safe. On the days when you two had separate patrols and duties, Grey Worm would seek you out once he was finished. Normally, finding you was no problem - he knew your usual routes and you often told him what your duties were beforehand. But this time, he was having trouble finding you in the winding streets of Mereen. He didn’t worry at first, but after searching for some time, Grey Worm was beginning to get a bad feeling. He trusted his gut instincts and he just knew something was off.

That feeling was confirmed when he found your weapon buried in the chest of a thug, both carelessly left in an alley. Grey Worm knew you’d never leave your favorite weapon  behind, and the scene had signs of a struggle. He gathered several of his men together and with a rigid determination, set to tracking you down. Even if he was steady in giving his orders, his heart pounded with a frightening feeling he’d never experienced before. It made his stomach churn, but he pressed on.

When they found you, it was just in time. Since you had killed one of their men and given another a hard beating, the kidnappers were ready to hurt you even more than they planned. Grey Worm and his Unsullied comrades dealt with them, and as soon as the last spear was shoved in the last one’s neck, Grey Worm was immediately at your side. He insisted on carrying you back, and he watched the person tending to your wounds with sharp eyes. You had to pat Grey Worm’s hand and tell him to take a deep breath and relax. Your wounds weren’t the worst you’d ever experienced, but he was still tense in the next few days, and asked that you stay home until your wounds were totally healed.

TYWIN LANNISTER

It would take a fool to kidnap the wife of Tywin Lannister, but it happened all the same. Your captors were confident he'd give up all sorts of riches for you, but you were anxious, worrying what sort of wrath he'd unleash - or worse, if he was coming for you at all. You tried keeping that thought from you as you stayed in captivity. It was sudden when the rescue came, Lannister men easily slaughtering your captors. You shook in fear as Ser Gregor of all people led them. A soldier carefully helped you to your feet and led to a large tent. As the captives screamed behind you, you were checked for wounds, given food and drink, and dressed in new clothing. The soldier explained that Lord Tywin was sending for you, as if you were just being picked up from visiting a friend. Still in a daze, you were hastily brought back to Casterly Rock in great comfort.

Once you arrived, you were again immediately attended to. Handmaidens gave you a fine nightgown you don’t remember owning, your bed had additional pillows and you were brought your favorite foods and drink. It was all a little overwhelming, so you sent them all away, and curled in bed, wondering where Tywin was. You were stirred from a deep sleep, feeling fingers running across your cheek and hair. You awoke sleepily, and it was odd to see that gentle expression on his face as he sat next to you on the bed, but you could tell he was trying to be stern and calm as he asked after your condition. Tywin would be adamant about you getting proper rest, and you could tell he was holding something back, but soon you were falling back asleep, still feeling the fingers running along your skin.

In the next weeks you’d have guards always following you, handmaidens attending to anything you needed, and he’d keep you close in public, when he could. In private, he’d handle you with care, and hold you much closer when you two were in bed. One sudden night he’d apologize, saying he failed, assuring you that it absolutely wouldn’t happen again. It was a vulnerability he rarely showed, making you realize the experience rattled him as much as it did you.

TYRION LANNISTER

It was wrong of him to assume that just because you two were betrothed - the marriage arranged by Tywin, no less - that you’d be safe from Cersei’s wrath. You were subtle when you defied her, just enough that she knew you were being insolent, yet careful so she couldn’t openly punish you. Tyrion warned you about treading this fine line, even if he admired and loved your courage. It was bold of his sister, downright foolish, and she’d learn that. She’d learn what it would mean to cross him like this, but for now, he was single-mindedly focused on finding you.

He didn’t anticipate her men would kill you, as that would ruin the alliance between his and your’s, but things were worse than death. Tyrion gathered all the hill clansmen he had and a group of city guards to sweep King’s Landing, and he’d even call in a favor with Varys to find out if the spider knew anything. The moment they found you, he wanted to know - the idea of you being hurt and alone made him sick with fear. 

Bronn and a few of his men were the ones who found the small room you were being kept in. Tyrion came at once and had you quietly escorted to a lovely chateau outside of the Red Keep. He brought you everything you could want; food and drink, lovely dresses, a luxurious bed where a maester he trusted attended to your minor wounds. He tried to hide just how anxious he was as he explained you should stay here for a while, with several guards he trusted. While you rested and recovered, he was more than ready to enact the revenge he’d been stewing on.

JAIME LANNISTER

When you didn’t show to the usual secret spot that you two met in during the afternoon, nor in the evening, Jaime immediately felt anxiety brewing. Had you two finally been caught? Was Cersei on your trail, so you were avoiding him? The next day came, and by the second evening your absence was finally noticed by several others. It was a kidnapping, your family claimed, and they had evidence. Jaime was furious with himself at the time he wasted, but he knew he couldn’t leave the Red Keep. He went to Tyrion, shocking his younger brother with how he almost begged for help in finding you. 

The kidnappers hadn’t had the smarts to leave King’s Landing yet. He wasted no time in cutting through them, a sort of ferocity that didn’t often come to him when he fought, and he finally had you in his arms again. It was only two days, only two days, but it felt like longer. It could’ve been longer, or forever, if his sister was truly behind this and wanted a way to have you killed. You had to gently ask Jaime to not hold so tight, and that snapped him out of it. 

Once you were brought back and cared for under a maester he trusted, one who could keep quiet, Jaime didn’t want to bring to your family yet. Tired as you were, you tried to remind him of his sister and his duty, and you were shocked how he didn’t care. He’d stay with you even if you shoved him away, which you didn’t. You were too tired to argue,, and allowed yourself to rest against his chest as you fell asleep. In the next few weeks he’d visit you often, to the point where even Cersei was noticing his distance and you had to remind Jaime not to be so reckless. 

SANDOR CLEGANE

Gods damn it all, you told him. You tried to tell him. You talked of the enemies your family was making, the threats they gave your mother and father. Sandor insisted as long as you stayed in the Red Keep and “didn’t run off to do stupid shit”, you’d be fine. When he didn’t see you for some time one day, he didn’t think much of it - you both were hiding your relationship, and sometimes that meant staying away to keep off suspicion, as much as he hated it. Then your disappearance was brought up by your parents at court, and Cersei more or less dismissed them. Sandor offered to look for you, but he was shot down. Later, he told one of the other kingsguards to watch Joffrey, and when the man argued, Sandor grabbed his neck and nearly throttled him. 

Once he was free of the Red Keep, he scoured through the shady streets of King’s Landing, places he knew well, going off information your parents had and daring himself to hope. The kidnappers had you in a little hovel that he broke through with little regard for his own safety. You heard him, and the sounds of men dying as he cut through them. It wasn’t his usual detached killing; you heard distinct agony as the men were harshly wounded and thrown aside. When he all but tore down the door to the room you were in, you ignored your pain to run and fling your arms around him. 

He should’ve taken you straight back to the Red Keep, to a maester and your parents, but his body moved on its own. He took you to the small house he owned, just outside the Keep. You had scrapes and bruises, a nasty knot on your head, and you both were quiet as he did what he could. You stayed with him the rest of the day and evening, and Sandor let you hold him as tight and as often as you wanted. He hated that he didn’t heed your words, and the thought that you may have been raped or killed had shocked him into something of an angry, sullen silence that only your comforts and soft kisses could pull him from.

BRONN

When he heard about your kidnapping from Tyrion, he nearly dropped the wine he was drinking, and when Tyrion confirmed it he tossed it aside as he jumped up from the table. You had mentioned some enemies your family was making, and he had brushed it off and reassured you, positive you were safe in the Red Keep. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t there to protect you, and cursed himself endlessly as he led the search and rescue for you. Much of Bronn’s humor would be gone, and he’d take it upon himself to do most of the searching.

He tore through the kidnappers with his men, and as soon as he saw you, he sheathed his sword and pulled you in his arms. Regardless of your condition, Bronn would feel all the tension leave his body because you were alive. He’d have a smirk and give you an overly-confident reassurance, as if he wasn’t making himself sick with worry the past few days.

You’d both ride his horse, with you in front of him and his arms wrapped around you as much as he possibly could. He’d still try to remain casual, attempting conversation, giving reassurances that you’d both be home soon. Your tired silence unsettled him. Finally he’d just kiss your cheek and mumble how sorry he was for not getting there sooner. 

Once you two were back and you were cared for, Bronn was quite protective in the next few months, often shirking his Kingsguard duties to follow you around personally, and you’d notice when you two were intimate he’d be attempting to be gentle of your wounds, a side to him you’d never seen before. 

PETYR BAELISH

Petyr blamed himself completely when it happened. There were quiet rumors and distant whispers he heard, your family had upset several Houses and created enemies, and you were a possible target. He took measures to protect you, of course - more of his spies watching you, a few incognito guards that would make sure you made it to your room safely. It wasn’t enough, and the culprits struck faster than he anticipated. Petyr set out to correct his mistake at once.

Your family was considering leaving you to your fate, and he wouldn’t forgive them for it, but ... he’d deal with them at a later time.

For now, Petyr used a considerable amount of his resources to find who took you, and where you were. Normally he would stay distant and let other men do his dirty work, but Petyr wanted you by his side as soon as possible. His plans of a grand rescue, rehearsed words, some sort of gallant action, went completely out the window when he finally had his arms around you again. Not trusting your family or anyone else, Petyr would bring you to his private suite in his brothel, personally tending to any injuries himself and giving you sweet reassurances. If they were serious, he’d call a maester, but otherwise he’d want you all to himself.

You’d notice Petyr would become increasingly more protective, insisting it would never happen again, as if trying to reassure himself more than you. He’d absolutely threaten your family behind your back, trying to contain his anger as he considered punishing them with some made-up treason or strong-arming them into allowing him to marry you. Perhaps he could have both, especially if you were already taken with him.

STANNIS BARATHEON

Once he received word that you’d been taken, the tension and anger in Stannis’ body was so fierce and immediate, his men thought you had been reported dead. Finding the culprits and retrieving you safely became his utmost priority, and as the days would pass, he’d sleep and eat less. He’d grind his teeth until his jaw ached and would struggle to wait for news; he’d have to be held back from just going after you himself. He’d implore Melisandre to try something to find you, and once you were located, Davos would be the only person Stannis trusted to get you back to him safely. 

When you’d finally reunite, you’d be shocked at the strong embrace your husband would pull you into. It was almost be painful, and he’d bury his face in your hair and struggle to express his relief. Stannis would then pass you to a maester, who would check you over, and he’d stare at the both of you with intensity, making sure any injury, no matter if it was just a bruise, was found and tended to. You’d be able to finally rest in your bed again, and you’d wake up to Stannis asking if he could stay with you. Of course you’d accept, seeing how exhausted he looked. Stannis would climb in with you and bring you close to him, and you’d notice in the next few days how deeply he’d sleep and how tightly he’d keep an arm around you. 

In the morning and following days, he’d want you to be by his side as often as possible. He’d occasionally stop whatever he was doing and look over you, sternly fretting about your wounds and sending you to the maester for the dozenth time. From then on, you’d be followed by a regular guard if you weren’t by his side. He wouldn’t budge on this, and when you finally expressed that he was being perhaps too over protective, Stannis would frankly tell you that he didn’t want to suffer a scare like that ever again. You could’ve been lost to him forever, and he failed in his duty as your husband to protect you.Right there, he’d take your hand and swear to you it wouldn’t happen again.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

He wasn't the first person to know, and that made his heart ache. Of course he wasn't - your relationship was secret, and your father wouldn't tell the likes of him about his daughter being taken. At least the man made you a priority: He bluntly told Stannis that he wouldn't join the war effort until he found you, especially since he suspected deserters took you for quick coin. To your father and Davos' shock, Stannis assigned the onion knight to the task. Your father was slighted, but Davos understood. You were taken at the docks of Storm's End, a place he knew all too well. 

He tirelessly talked and bribed each fishmonger, sailor and captain on the docks, trying to focus on his work and not let panic set in. Your father was convinced you were taken away from Storm's End, so he searched elsewhere, but Davos still had a few men. He knew he had to find you by a certain time, it'd be impossible to know which ship left with you. Finally, he got a good lead, and more or less used Stannis' name to board an inconspicuous trade ship. Hidden amongst crates under the deck, you and several other girls were bound and gagged, meant to be sold off in Essos.

Davos' composed, determined demeanor dropped completely once your arms were wrapped around him and he could hold you tight. While the soldiers helped the other girls, Davos stayed with you, trying to keep his voice steady as he asked if you were hurt. The whole "secret relationship" thing flew out the window as you stayed close to him all the way back. When your father irritably told Davos to step back, you told him off right away and explained how he saved you. There would be plenty of gossip, but you were too exhausted and overwhelmed to care. You snuck into Davos' room that evening, wanting his comfort, and he gladly gave it to you. 

MARGAERY TYRELL

She would’ve been one of the first ones to know about your disappearance, as you two were close and you didn’t show up at the secret place you two kept. Margaery went to all your usual spots and your room, and immediately felt something off. She heard you mentioning the enemies your family had made, and although she told you to be careful and maybe come with her to Highgarden, neither of you thought this would actually happen.

She’d act quick, rallying her best household knights and even her brothers Garlan and Loras. Margaery would go to Olenna, trying to logically explain that your House was close to the Tyrells, and being kidnapped while staying with them would look bad. Olenna would play along, although she had plans to find you anyway, knowing how close you were to her granddaughter. Once you were finally brought back, Margaery anxiously waited until you were checked out by the maester and safe in your room. She’d sneak into your room and throw her arms around you, unable to keep her emotion and anxiety in check any longer, and give you several kisses out of relief. 

Once you both calmed down, she’d brush your hair or rub your shoulders if you wanted to talk, and if not, she’d be happy to take you in her arms while you two dozed off. From then on she’d want you by her side all the time, growing nervous if you were gone for too long, and if she couldn’t be there, she’d want a guard she knew and trusted with you. She might even have some handmaidens or guards report on you, to see if you were shaken from the experience or if your wounds were still bothering you. Whatever you like to eat, drink or wear, it would be provided for you. Margaery could come across as a bit excessive, but only because she was still reeling from the idea that you could’ve been gone for good. 

BRYNDEN TULLY

He hadn’t known about your kidnapping until several days after it happened, during the chaos of the war. He nearly throttled the messenger, and then rounded on Edmure, wondering why he wasn’t informed. While he couldn’t leave his command to look for you, you’d be on his thoughts in the night, and he’d prepare himself for the chance of you being dead. He’d think about the last time you two were together, what you said, how you felt and the way you smiled, and he’d try to keep those thoughts away as he fought, hoping that they weren’t the last memories he’d have of you.

It seemed like the gods answered his prayers when his men caught rumors that your kidnappers had fled to a nearby holdfast. Leading the rescue himself, they finally found the little fort you were being held in. He dealt with the men easily, cutting past them like they weren’t even there, hastily sheathing his sword before crouching down to pick you up. He’d hold you so carefully, like you were made of glass, and whisper sweet and comforting words as he’d carry you back to his horse. 

Back at Riverrun, he’d ensure the maester tended to you immediately, waiting impatiently the whole time. Once you were in back safe in bed, Brynden would waste little time in curling up with you, apologizing for taking so long and not being there. He’d be truly heartbroken, and would ask you to forgive him. Even after you reassured him and fell asleep, Brynden would struggle to sleep himself, still overcome by the guilt and relief that was hitting him at once. 

EDMURE TULLY

The Riverlands were safe for anyone, so you and your husband opened Riverrun for the smallfolk seeking refuge from bandits and Lannister soldiers. Edmure confidently left Riverrun and the smallfolk in your hands. When he returned some time later to resupply his men, he was confused by the somber and terrified mood the smallfolk held, then he was told: just two days ago, you had left to help a razed village evacuate to Riverrun, and you were captured in the process.

All the fatigue from marching and battle left Edmure completely, replaced by a frantic panic. At best, they’d ransom you, at worst, you were dead. He knew this, but Robb’s fear was they’d use you to get Edmure to surrender the castle. He sent an impressive number of men with Edmure to try to find you, figuring they couldn’t have gotten far, especially since no Riverlander peasant would ever help Lannister soldiers hurt their beloved Lady. It seemed word of your kindness had spread far, and many peasants were willing to report strange things they’d seen. It meant you were alive, and that spurred him on in spite of his aching body and heart.

The soldiers were just a small group that had overpowered the few guards you left Riverrun with. They’d lured you out with a false report that a village was razed and the surviving smallfolk had too many wounded to leave. You cursed them so much they’d knocked you unconscious to keep you quiet. Edmure panicked openly as he picked up your limp body, and one of his men pointed out you were breathing. Once you were safe at home and your head wound was tended to by a Maester, Edmure finally collapsed next to you on the bed. He increased the Garrison at Riverrun and had to be reassured over and over that you were alright and had no lasting injuries.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

She would be an absolute wreck from the initial report that you were gone, to realizing it was a kidnapping, to setting off with Podrick to find you herself. Several times Pod would have to stop her, telling her to sleep and eat properly, but she’d want to forge ahead. She wouldn’t be able to stop worrying, thinking of worst-case scenarios. Her head would only clear when she had to fight, and even then, she used a ferocity that didn’t often show itself in her. 

More than anything, Brienne would be angry with herself, as she swore to protect you and this happened. Once she finally came upon your kidnappers, she’d swiftly dispatch them, not even thinking as her sword guided her. A calm would settle over her as she found you, checked you for wounds, and led you back to safety. It wouldn’t be until you held her face and cried that she’d finally crack and cry with you, the days of emotional and physical exhaustion hitting her all at once.

Once back home, you’d bathe together and she’d have a maester clean your wounds, although she’d hold your hand the entire time. You could tell a heavy weight was resting on her, and once you ate and were in bed, you’d invite her and hold her close. She’d confess she blamed herself, and how fearful she was, and you’d have to reassure and soothe Brienne that nothing was her fault and you were so glad she came to rescue you. You two would end up snuggling and sleeping for most of the day and night. Once you were feeling better recovered, especially with Brienne bringing you breakfast and more medicine, she’d be even more loyal and dogged in her guardly duties. You couldn’t complain too much, as you liked having her close, but you hated the idea of her blaming herself still, and you had to reassure her often. 

RAMSAY BOLTON

It would take an absolute madman to kidnap the wife of Ramsay Bolton, and the only explanation is that your captors hadn’t the slightest idea of who you were, no matter the warnings you gave them. They caught you while you traveled on the road, seeing you as a dumb and pretty noblewoman they could ransom.  When you didn’t come to dinner that evening, Ramsay was immediately angered, assuming you had run away. Unbeknownst to you, he had trained his hounds on your scent, and fetched items from your room that they could track. He thought he would find you quickly, but the hours passed by, and he finally came upon your dead guards. Ramsay realized it was a kidnapping, and was gleeful, wondering what sort of men would have the gall to take his wife.

As his hounds followed the trail, his glee became apprehension, and that turned to irritation and anger. He wondered what they were doing to you, what they had done already. The thought of your skin being touched or bruised by anyone other than him made his blood boil. When Ramsay arrived at their camp, he and his men dispatched with the kidnappers in a brutal fashion - naturally, he wanted the ringleader and a few others captured alive. He’d find you quickly and ask all sorts of impatient questions - where they touched you and where you were hurt, and you’d struggle to answer. Finally he’d take you back to the Dreadfort, carrying you with an unusual carefulness as he brought you to the maester - he wanted to treat your wounds himself, but his father insisted.

Waiting for the maester to check on you and then for you to wake up wore on his patience, but Ramsay did it, alternating between torturing his captors and waiting at your bedside, sometimes not even bothering to clean the blood from his hands or face. Once you woke, he’d be delighted to inform you of what he already did, and all but beg you to tell him how you wanted the remaining kidnappers punished. 

ROOSE BOLTON

He knew becoming the Warden of the North through unsavory means meant he would have enemies, and Roose took precautions in your safety, having you stay in Winterfell with several guards following where you went. His most trusted were the ones who protected you, and he never anticipated one turning against him. He struggled to maintain his aloof demeanor as he was told the news. When the first night had passed, his facade began slipping as he demanded his soldiers to keep looking. When the third night passed, Roose would go out on his own, even enlisting Ramsay and the hounds. His mind was at odds, the cynical side of him insisting you were dead or had endured something terrible already, but he wanted to hope you were safe.

Once his men finally found and retrieved you, he’d pull the fur off his shoulders and wrap you up, keeping you close as he took you back to Winterfell. He’d want to see any wounds for himself, caring for them and giving uncharacteristically gentle kisses to your temple and your lips. The worry would be evident in his icy eyes, and he’d give you whatever you asked, bathing you himself, dressing you and tucking you in with great love. Roose wouldn’t join you right away, though, insisting you needed to sleep. 

Once he left you, the rage would enter his body all at once. Following his earlier instructions, his men took the kidnappers alive. Roose dealt with the leader, and once his anger was sated, for once he’d allow Ramsay to do whatever he wished to the rest. After that Roose would be particularly protective of you and wouldn’t want you to leave Winterfell for months. No matter how you asked or begged to leave, he’d refuse. He never wanted his enemies getting ahold of you again. 

OBERYN  MARTELL

He would’ve been one of the first people to notice you were missing, given that he loved being around you at every moment and you hadn’t been at any of your usual places for hours. He’d do his own investigating and, being the hot-headed man he was, would immediately gather a rescue party to find you. He’d be seething with anger, wondering who could’ve done such a thing, conflicting with his own guilt that perhaps you were taken by someone who wanted to hurt him. He’d be relentless in looking for you, anticipating the worst, and his men wouldn’t be able to calm him or get him to slow down. 

Once he finally found where your captors were keeping you, they were dealt with swiftly by his own spear. He’d set it aside and quickly take you in his arms, petting your hair and giving you a dozen relieved kisses. He’d try to keep calm so he could soothe you better, but you could tell how tense he still was, like he was on the edge of a breakdown.

Back at your shared home, he’d want to bathe and care for you himself. You’d get plenty of soft and comforting touches, but you could still see intensity in his eyes. He’d promise you he wouldn’t let this crime go unpunished. Once you two were snuggled in bed, he’d keep a tight hold on you, and for the next few weeks Oberyn would be absolutely underfoot. He would want to do all the caring for you, rather than your handmaidens or the maester. He’d want lots of reassurance from you, as he’d be shaken and would want you to feel safe and happy in your home again, and would even feel guilty, as though he personally failed you as your protector. It would be a long time before Oberyn let you out of his sight, or let you go without guards he personally trusted.

BERIC DONDARRION

When he heard you had been separated from one of the Brotherhood’s scouting parties, and possibly taken by Lannister soldiers, the whole camp went cold at once. The most affected was Beric, who felt like ice was clawing at his heart instead of the usual fiery warmth he felt. The sternness from his knight days, combined with an almost frantic strength, led him as he led a rescue party. While a few men grumbled as to why he’d go through so much effort to save one girl, the ones following him had grown to see you as a comrade and a sister. 

To their relief, you had left something of a trail with rocks, small sticks sitting upright in the dirt and even a few scraps of clothing the soldiers didn’t notice you dropping on the ground. You were terrified, anticipating the soldiers would do as they pleased with you, torture you, kill you - or all three, most likely. You heard a commotion, one of the soldiers was shot through with an arrow, and in an instant several members from the Brotherhood jumped through bushes and trees. Before you could even look for him, Beric was beside you, untying you and holding you close.

He wanted to get you away from the camp right away. While his men finished off the soldiers, Beric held you close and looked shaken. He’d take you to Thoros, who’d assure him that you were fine apart from bruises and scrapes, but it didn’t comfort the former knight. You’d curl up to him that evening and he’d sigh deeply, apologizing for what you went through. After that, Beric would be very resistant to sending you on any further scouting missions. His shoulders would visibly tense and he’d sigh again, asking you not to do such a thing.

GENDRY

He always had to watch out for you, because if you weren’t helping Arya with one of her schemes, you were hatching something of your own. While he admired that courage of your’s, he teased you were a bad influence on the already wild girl. However, when Arya came running to him that day, the look in her eyes made his heart sink. She told him no one had seen you nearly the whole morning and day, and she knew Lannister soldiers had been pestering you. She was afraid they’d taken you, like they sometimes took other girls. While he usually wanted to keep his head down, he found himself gritting his teeth, grabbing a hammer from the forge and handing Arya a dagger. Together, they snuck away into the dusk.

At an empty part of Harrenhal, they came across a Lannister soldier who was knocked clean out, and they followed the shouts and yelling. They were just in time: You had hit one of the soldiers with a rock and knocked him out, and the other two were ready to kill you for it. Gendry’s body moved on its own as his powerful arms knocked one of the men dead, and Arya was quick to stab the second. Gendry dropped his hammer and pulled you into an embrace, telling you it was safe now, even if his voice was shaking as bad as your body.

The three of you snuck back into Harrenhal, cleaning the weapons and returning them to the forge. While before he was considering keeping his head down and just working Harrenhal’s forge, now he wanted nothing more than to run away with you. When you said you had a plan days later, he stared at the bruises left on your arms and firmly agreed to help.

[schnoogles]

Tales of the Stranger written for the @jonsa-halloween event! Day 3: Tales/The Stranger Read on Ao3

Ever since Lady's death, Sansa has felt like she's been cut off from the Old Gods. And she no longer believes in the Faith of the Seven. Except maybe one. So she prays to the Stranger after her family’s death. She prays for everything and they all get answered. Joffrey's death, escaping King's Landing, her family's return, finding Jon, resurrecting Jon. Unfortunately, the Stranger doesn't give gifts freely. They all have consequences.

“I don't pray anymore.” She had told Tyrion. But it was a lie. Oh, Sansa prayed alright. But not to the Old Gods who had cut her off, just as her Father cut off Lady’s head. They showed her no kindness. And not to the usual Seven either. Father, Warrior, Smith, Mother, Maiden, Crone? Useless. There was no mercy and justice for she has been forsaken. So she turned to the last face. The one whom she feared most as a little girl. The Stranger.

Perhaps her neglect of him is the cause of the tragedy that befell her family. People said that praying to the Stranger could be dangerous though. That it was taboo and that he took more than he gave. But she didn’t care if those stories were true or not. If they were, Sansa would gladly go into his welcoming arms if it meant her torment in King’s Landing was over. So she prayed. She prayed that he would take care of the family that she had lost. And she prayed that he would leave Arya alone. She prayed he’d leave Jon alone.

--

Jon never gave much thought to the Gods. Sure he’d send a prayer here and there, but if the Old Gods deemed it right to take his Father and brother, even Lady Catelyn, did he really want to send prayers to them? So he took a page out of Sansa’s book: he turned to the Seven. Specifically the Stranger. If the Old Gods could no longer keep his family safe in this world, perhaps the Stranger could keep them safe in the next. Thinking of Sansa made his heart ache. Ache for the family he lost. For the family he never knew. Family. His mother. Did she pray to the Seven as well?

--

When Joffrey died, she didn’t have time to light a candle in thanks for her prayers. But once she settled in the Vale, she made sure to offer a prayer each night to the one face of the deity who heard and answered her pleas. 

But nothing good can last, for she had forgotten the songs and tales about the Stranger. He takes just as much as he gives. So while he took Sansa away from King’s Landing, he gave Arya back to Winterfell, right into the arms of the Bolton’s. When she heard the news, she knew her time as Alayne Stone was over. She gathered the Lords Declarant and revealed herself: Sansa Stark, trueborn daughter to Ned and Catelyn Stark, an heir to Winterfell. With their support, and more from the Northern Houses she gathered along the way, Sansa took back Winterfell in the name of Stark. 

The Stranger proved once again to have answered her prayers. Arya was not harmed by the hands of the Bolton’s. And the Stranger proved once again that the tales of his give and take were true. Arya was not harmed because she was not there, her truest and oldest friend was: Jeyne Poole. With Jeyne healed and by her side, she learnt a great deal. Theon had not murdered her brothers. More prayers of thanks were sent to the Stranger. But, as usual, the Stranger’s gifts always come in two. With news of her surviving brothers came news of her losing a brother. House Reed came and declared their fealty, along with a declaration of a long kept secret: Jon Snow was not her brother. He was her cousin. A forgotten Targaryen. And Targaryens had this unfortunate ability to die before their time. 

--

Before Hardhome, Jon hadn't thought to bother with prayers. After Hardhome, he prayed to any deity that would listen. Don’t let this be how we all end. If anything, he needed to fight for the family that was left. For Arya. For Sansa. He thought his prayers were answered. Uncle Benjen was back! But the gods do love their cruel jokes. He felt like every prayer he sent out was returned with a stab through his body. 

As he slowly slipped away, he saw flashes of everything he loved. Arya with her needle. Sansa brushing Lady’s fur. Lady. Ghost. “Ghost,” he whispered. He saw the Stranger then. No, don't take me, he thought. His life wasn’t finished yet. He doesn’t even know who his mother is. His mother.

It was like he was looking through someone else’s eyes. It was Ghost. It wasn’t Ghost. He saw his father, Ned Stark. But not your father, a sinister voice whispered. Suddenly, there were wolves. Then dragons. Wolves again. The Wolves will come again. Who is Jojen Reed? He saw green flames licking at castles. Then nothing. Then he saw hair. Such vibrant, fire-kissed hair. Then more nothing. A dragon hiding in wolfskin the sinister voice returned. Jon was a dragon? But his father was a wolf. Not his father. Then he saw Arya. But not Arya. A woman who looked just like him, standing next to a man who looked nothing like him. Forbidden. The tragedy that followed that union was too much. Too much too much too much. Jon Snow saw nothing.

Then he opened his eyes. So pretty. Sansa?

--

With Winterfell back under Stark rule, the Houses gathered there. It was time to make their stand. The North Remembers. They’ll be an independent kingdom once more. It was through Lord Manderley that she learned of Rickon’s fate. Her brother was alive. When her sister heard she took back Winterfell, she came home. The Stranger truly answered Sansa’s prayers. Her family was slowly growing back. With as much laughter as there were tears, the sisters reconciled. But the scales must be balanced. When Rickon was brought back to them, word of Jon’s death was brought as well. Trusting Lord Royce and Lady Mormont with the protection of her brother, Sansa and Arya departed to Wall, set on bringing Jon Snow’s body home, because brother or cousin, he was still family. 

They reached Castle Black and it was in a disarray. But with two Stark daughters and a retinue of loyal Northerners, the Watch was quickly set straight again, with the mutineers put in the cells. The Lady Melisandre said she could bring him back, and Sansa, tempted with the idea of her family whole once more, insisted she do so. During the ritual, she sent a silent prayer to the Stranger, begging for forgiveness as she took something he already claimed as his.

She smiled at him when he woke. Her heart fluttered when he uttered her name. And then dread filled her. The Stranger gave back Jon, but at what price?

--

Wrong wrong wrong. He knew it but he couldn’t stop it. He woke and hugged his sisters. Not his sisters. One embrace filled him with memories of a past he longed for. The other filled him with a promise for a future he didn’t dare dream for. Wrong. Jon Snow had prayed and prayed for a family. For a name. For a love. For a purpose. Jon Snow should be careful what he prays for. 

At every corner of Winterfell, he saw her. Her and her pretty fire-kissed hair. And when he saw her, he couldn’t stop staring. Her kindness in the weeks he took recovering back inside the walls of Winterfell are forever ingrained in his soul. The way she looked at him. The way she smiled at him. The way she touched him. Forbidden.

 He growled at every man who questioned her leadership. Threatened any and all who looked at her wrong. Wrong. She was his, but not his. Some noticed. Some didn’t. Arya did. 

“You love her?” It wasn’t a question of if he did or didn’t. It was a question of how. He mistook the look of concern in her eyes for distrust and that made him wish the Stranger hadn’t heard his prayers and took him instead. Before she could say anything, the horn of the front gates sounded off. A traveler. 

--

Bran was back. That night, Sansa lit as many candles and gave as many offerings as she could. It was like the Stranger was slowly restoring House Stark. She had her family back. Her Rickon back. Her Bran. Her Arya. Her Jon. No. Not her Jon. She supposes she can’t begrudge the Stranger’s idea of a joke. He gave her Jon, but gave Jon her heart. No matter, what’s done is done. Let her love go unrequited if it meant Jon was alive and well. 

But again. The Stranger and his jokes. She had her home and her family. But did she get them back only for them to be taken away again? A Night’s King. Ice-covered undead. A Targaryen Queen. Fire-breathing dragons. The world’s cruelties seemed to never end. 

As the Lady of Winterfell and Queen Regent of the North, for Bran abdicated and Rickon was too young, she was looked at for taking lead in the planning for the many future battles. Of course, she had Arya and Jon in charge of the actual battle plans. She was no expert and they were. Food and people, clothing and numbers. That's where her expertise was. They couldn’t spare riders, for every man counted. So Bran was assigned to warg into nearby animals to keep watch on both fronts. Enemies to the North and enemies to the South. Despite consequences, Sansa prayed.

--

He fought and he fought and he wouldn’t stop. Not if stopping meant the death and destruction of his people. His family. His Sansa. Not his Sansa. Not yet. With the knowledge of Rickon ruling one day, they threw caution to the wind. Shared ale during dinner, long nights by the fire, stolen kisses under the bannisters. They thought they were stealthy. Arya was stealthier. Bran even more so. It didn’t matter to his siblings -cousins- really, one should find happiness where they could. And so with a promise waiting for him at the end of the wars, he fought.

The Stranger took many that year. Fallen soldiers, innocent children, tyrannical queens. But he left the Starks. He left Jon. And with the war over, Jon didn’t want to wait any longer. He didn’t completely trust the Stranger to not strike again. He married her under the Heart Tree in Winterfell as soon as he could. Being with Sansa was all he wanted and he didn’t know how long he would have with her.

--

After the war came their marriage. After their marriage came Spring. And with spring came children. There was peace and prosperity and Sansa prayed it would stay. She sent word out as well. Secret singers and musicians, all playing a new song of the Stranger. For the once neglected face of the Seven, he was no longer the outcast. At least above the Neck, where Sansa ensured religious freedom. Those who believed in the Old Gods and New coexisted in harmony. The Stranger suddenly had more prayers sent his way. More lit candles. More offerings. 

And so the years went on. Rickon grew into his role and eventually took over as King in the North. Sansa, glad to be done with ruling, left with Jon and settled their family in a nearby keep. Arya and Bran travelled to the Lands of Always Winter. She eventually left him there to live and thrive amongst the Children of the Forest and continued on her journeys. Oh she sends letters home, even visits often. But she doesn’t like staying still for too long. 

It wasn’t until they were old and grey did the Stranger make his final appearance. Just like the tales say, the Stranger never gives anything freely. It was time to collect. Hand in hand and surrounded by grandchildren, Jon and Sansa closed their eyes and greeted their old friend one more time. 

[show-choir-gal]

GoT Preference - How He Asks You On A Date (Male)

Guide: Y/N - Your Name -------------------------------------------------

Robb - He asked you on a date after you were done teaching Arya how to shoot a bow and arrow You finished up teaching Arya how to shoot a bow and arrow for the day. She was so elated and couldn't stop thanking you. You rubbed her head and told her to run along and enjoy the rest of the day. You put the weapons away and you started to head to your house, you ended up running into Robb right as you left the shooting range. "Mind if I walk with you?" Robb asked as he held out his arm. "Not at all." You replied with a smile as you grabbed his arm. You two walked and talked for what seemed like hours. Robb was very interested in you, more than he ever has before but you didn't mind. He was asking a lot about your life before coming to Winterfell and how you got so good at bow and arrow, He really seemed to care and want to know more about you so you kept on talking. You two eventually made it to your house. You were just about to enter when Robb spoke up, "Y/N, I was wondering if you would like to go on a date with me tomorrow? If not, that's okay. I would understand.." Rob asked as he started stammering. You walked closer to him and kissed his cheek, "Calm down Robb, I would love to go on a date with you." You replied as you went inside and waved goodbye. Robb blushed and waved goodbye as you entered your house.

Jon - He asked you on a date after he found you and Theon at the Godswood Jon had heard enough, he cleared his throat loudly to assert his presence. You and Theon quickly turned around and you wiped off all the tears on your face. Theon started stammering, "How long have you been there?" "Long enough to hear everything... Theon, can you leave me and Y/N alone for a few?" Jon asked. "Of course." Theon said as he stood up. He wiped a tear off your cheek and kissed the crown of your head as Jon walked closer to where you were sitting. "What exactly did you hear?" You asked. "I'm pretty sure I heard everything..." Jon said as he started to trail off. There was a few minutes of awkward and tense silence. Neither of you knew where to start, but after a while Jon spoke up. "I don't hate you. It's the exact opposite.... I'm really sorry about how much I've pushed you away. I didn't mean to, I really didn't. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. I promise Y/N..." You interrupted with tears streaming down your face, "Then why did you? Why did you push me away? You hurt me Jon, you really hurt me." "I know, I know I hurt you. I just...I...I can't say why right now..." Jon pulled you in for a hug and he started to run his fingers through your hair, "I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you..." You pulled Jon in tighter as you finally let all the emotions out. You love him and you can't be upset at him for long. You eventually pulled away and looked at Jon in the eyes, Jon started to wipe your tears away. "I really like you Y/N, and I would like to ask you if you wanted to go on a date with me?" Jon asked as he wiped the last tear away off of your face. You were taken aback, a bit surprised at the question but you blushed and smiled, "I would love to go on a date with you." You replied.

Ramsay - He asked you on a date the day before you were due to leave the Dreadfort You were packing up your supplies when you heard a knock on your door. "You can come in." You replied as you kept packing your sewing supplies. The door opened and you looked up to see Lord Bolton's Bastard, Ramsay. "Oh hello, I wasn't expecting to see you here," You said as you closed your bag and looked at him, "Is there an issue with a garment?" You asked. Ramsay blushed and smiled at the floor, "No, no. Not a thing is wrong, they're actually quite lovely and comfortable..." "Is there an issue with anything else?" You asked with a concerned tone. "Uh no, well...yes and no... The only issue I can for-see is that we're not going on a date before you leave." Ramsay said as he cocked an eyebrow. You blushed and smiled, "Would you like that to be changed?" You asked. "I suppose I would... Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?" Ramsay asked, looking shy for the first time ever. "Of course I would." You replied with a smile.

Tormund - He asked you on a date the day after the Battle of Castle Black As Jon and others were helping collect the deceased, you were helping attend to the wounded after a long sleepless night. You were helping person after person making sure that everyone was at the very least okay. You checked on Jon and the others at the big table trying to discuss the plans to move forward and what to do next. You suggested that everyone should try try to rest tonight so everyone has a clear mind and time to reflect and relax. Everyone agreed and started to leave, you were staying back and just staring into the fire roaring in the fireplace. You felt like you were just staring for hours when you were startled by a voice behind you. "I'm sorry to scare you, but you should go to bed." Tormund said as he stepped toward you. "It's okay, I guess I was just lost in my thoughts. I needed someone to snap me out of it." You replied with a smile and a chuckle. You started to head out and Tormund followed you and  you talked until you arrived at your room. You were about to say goodnight when Tormund spoke up abruptly, "I was wonderin' if you would like to go on a date with me when the time comes." He said very abruptly as he blushed. You chuckled, "I would love to go on a date with you Tormund. Have a goodnight." You replied with a smile and you closed your door behind you.

Gendry - He asked you on a date one random afternoon after he got done working You had been spending a lot more time at your fathers shop learning how to create weapons and dabbling in learning how to create armour and helmets. Your father has enjoyed you getting out and secretly trying to get you and Gendry to talk to each other. He likes Gendry, he approves of you liking Gendry. One afternoon, your father sent Gendry home early so he can attend to your mother. You ran into Gendry and you two started to walk together. You two were just chatting about the day and the week and other mundane things. You offered to cook Gendry dinner since you two lost track of time and it's about dinner time. Gendry agreed and went to your house and you cooked just a simple but delicious meal and you two sat in the loft of the barn. You two were enjoying the meal when Gendry suddenly looked up at you. "Can I ask you a question?" He asked. "Of course you can." You replied. "Would you like to go on a date sometime...with me?" He started to blush, and so did you. "I would love to." You replied as a smile grew across your face.

Podrick - He asked you on a date the day before Joffrey's wedding After another extravagant dinner at King's Landing with all the other nobles, you made your way to the garden and just walked as you soaked in the moonlight. You were strolling through the garden gracefully for what seemed like hours. You were looking at the Lady's Lace when you heard someone clear their throat behind you, you jumped and looked at who was behind you, it was Podrick. "Podrick, you made me jump out of my skin." You said with a bit of a giggle as you sat down on a bench. "I'm sorry m'lady. I was hoping you would turn around and see me but you seemed to be in your own world and I didn't want to disrupt that." Podrick said as he sat down next to you. You both sat together in an awkward silence for what seemed like forever before Podrick spoke up. "Are you interested in anyone? Like, romantically?" Podrick asked with a bit of shakiness coming through. You thought for a moment before replying, "I suppose so, now that I think about it... But I don't think he is interested in me back." You and Podrick looked at each other. "Maybe... tomorrow night, after the wedding, we could spend some time together...alone...?" Podrick asked, blush starting to form on his cheeks. You smiled, "If you're asking me on a date, then my answer is yes." You replied.

[a-girl-must-have-a-new-name]

Best One Yet

Gendry choked as he opened the Tyrell’s front door and a fog of dried ice assaulted him. However he waved it away and gallantly held the door open wider so that Arya could slip under his arm and enter. 

“Wow Margaery really outdid herself again this year didn’t she!” It was more fact than question, one Gendry didn’t bother answering as they took in their surroundings for the evening.  Margaery Tyrell had gone all out this year and had decorated her house as if it were a mausoleum, if mausoleums were underground vampire clubs of course. Columns that Gendry was at least seventy-five percent sure hadn’t been there before, now lined the entrance  and into the ballroom  of the estate. Instead of twinkling lights or whatever it was that they usually used for parties it seemed like Margaery and Loras had acquired a couple hundred sconces to light the house in a flickering candlelight. Gendry hoped that when the eventual fire would start Arya and he would be long gone. Though it seemed as though Arya had no such plan, eyeing the “mood lighting” in absolute delight.  

“This is amazing! Robb had said Margaery had been going crazy the last week or so with planning, but even he has to admit it was worth it!”  

“I don’t know, I kinda like last years theme better.” Last year had been a pumpkin carving party with tons of alcohol involved. 

“That’s just because you enjoyed seeing Joffrey accidentally cut himself with a carving knife.”

“And you didn’t?” 

“Well lets just say I wasn’t boo hooing as his goons dragged him to the hospital for stitches.” Arya smiled as she thought back to Joffrey almost fainting from the sight of all his blood.  

“Arya, Gendry! I’m so glad you came!” Margaery Tyrell was on them in an instant hugging and kissing both on the cheek before pulling away to look at them. 

“Love your costumes by the way! Please tell me that you’ll both enter the couples contest!”  Margery spoke over the music. Arya looked up at Gendry coyly and shrugged. This year they had decided to go as Batman and Catwoman.  Not the most original costume idea they’ve had but one that suited them fine nonetheless. In fact Arya was rather proud of the look. Having decided to go with a more vintage looking Catwoman, taking her inspiration right from Julie Newmar. 

Arya had begged Sansa for months to make the costume and after promising to cover Sansa’s chores for the rest of the year. (As well as forking over the money for materials needed and a little extra for service) Arya couldn’t be happier! How Sansa had gotten the pattern needed and an almost exact type of fabric she couldn’t say but damn was her sister good at what she does. Sansa had even offered to help her do her hair and make up, styling it like Brigitte Bardot. 

Arya had thought Gendry would go with the Nolan batman costume or something of that nature. To show off his stature and muscles, also because it was overall just bad ass if she had to say so. However, to her surprise Gendry showed up to her house in the Adam West Costume eyebrow mask and all. Once Arya could stand up straight again after laughing too hard she asked him why the choice? 

“Who doesn’t want to be Adam West? Besides the other costumes made me look strange with all the extra padding sewn in on them.” Gendry did mention off-handedly, obviously a little embarrassed at the explanation but Arya couldn’t see why.  Gendry had a great fucking body, one that was constantly on her mind if she was honest. He was well built from years of sports and hard work, lifting and carrying car parts and tools at his job at Mott’s Garage. He wasn’t crazy muscular  like Dany’s Boyfriend was but he was still fit buff. In Fact with him wearing the batsuit she was reminded of vintage photos of American football players. 

Shaking away her thoughts she turned back to Margaery admiring her own costume choice,  Margaery had opted for a vampire look, befitting this year's theme.  She was wearing a long flowy black sheer and laced corset dress with black and red roses adorning her hair in a makeshift crown that ended up cascading strategically down the back of her hair in smaller roses. 

“Margaery your costume is great, I can see why Robb spent so much on his costume!” Arya 

“Hey from what I heard my costume didn’t cost anything near what  yours did. Hey Gendry what’s up? Batman nice!” Robb had joined the little group, greeting Gendry with their usual hug and leaned over to try and muss Arya’s hair who expertly dodged. Robb’s costume was very similar to Margaery's having an almost Victorian design with the same details sewn into the dress cape he wore.  The group talked a little longer but Margaery had to excuse herself having hosting duties and Robb being the ever dutiful boyfriend followed her.  Arya turned to Gendry eyed him up and down a glint in her eyes as she spoke

“Mr. Wayne would you care to dance?”

“Only if you call me Batman when we are out in public, Don’t want to have my identity known.”

“Purrr-fect.” Arya jokingly said as she grabbed Gendry’s hand and excitedly led him to the dance floor. Where a dark techno beat was blasting. For the next hour or so they danced. It was truly an eclectic set Margaery had put together. one moment it was a haunting waltz music which unsurprisingly for the group that had gathered all knew. (products of their upbringings) Gendry was a little nervous only having learned these dances later in life but Arya gently reminded him as they went and soon it was no problem at all for him, even surprising her once or twice with twirls and dips. 

There were also the songs where they pull each other closer, moving rhythmically to the slowed hypnotic beats. A growing frustration at wanting to be even closer to each other, often forgetting where they were and getting caught up in the moment. Only getting a warning  click of disapproval from Jon once, before his girlfriend Ygritte dragged him away.  

 While jumping along when rave music blasted.  After one final dance, one that was exceptionally energetic, Gendry pleaded for a break and both moved towards the refreshment tables. Gendry in search of food and drink for them while Arya looked for a place to sit.  

“Arya come sit at my table!” Sansa’s voice rang out clearly but Arya had trouble placing it until a wild hand beckoned her forward.  

“Sansa is that you?” Arya was shocked instead of seeing her normal long Tully red hair Sansa was wearing a short dark black wig. Styled in a classic men's side part. It was jarring to see her with dark short hair. Arya thought rather enviously that it suited her even better than when Arya sported a short cropped hairstyle all those long years ago. Sansa’s delicate features were highlighted even more. And was it possible that Sansa’s blue eyes looked even brighter  because of the dark color? Life was unfair.

However, Arya didn’t dwell on it like she would have years ago instead she smiled widely and  approached Sansa who for her part was lounging at the table she had acquired and was looking around the room from time to time.

“This is great isn’t it? I think it’s even better than junior year's Rocky Horror theme!”  Sansa exclaimed as Arya plopped down beside her. 

That year had been a karaoke party while the film continuously played on loop on one of the dance floor walls. Sansa had been dragged up to the mic to sing and pretty much stole the show.  Well at least she had until Olenna Tyrell walked down the stairs for a drink  and came face to er- Renly Baratheon's gyrating hips as he danced drunkenly on one of the tables.

 It had been a night to remember truly. Especially when Olenna surprised everyone and grabbed the mic from Sansa’s hands and with a strength that a woman of her age shouldn’t have possessed pulled Renly down from the table and had him singing along with her in no time. 

“That was a pretty great party.”  Arya admitted remembering Sansa’s scandalized face at the time.

“Hey Arya I grabbed a whole bunch of different things to eat! I even snagged a goodie bag for dessert. I figured we can grab a few more later. Margaery isn’t going to notice- Oh hey Sansa almost didn’t recognize you!  Great costume but I thought Arya said you were going as the little mermaid?” 

“Oh I am, however somebody made a better case that they should be Ariel” Sansa replied casually with a conspiratorial  smile forming across her lips as she looked behind them. 

“Sup Bitches! Gendry I love what you’ve done with your brows!” Theon shouted loudly as he placed two bottles on the table, a water for Sansa and a beer for him.

 Gendry who had taken a bite out of his cupcake  once again  began to choke, though Arya couldn’t be worried at the moment as she grinned wildly at Theon reaching over the table to give him a high five.  Theon had a long red wig on and a purple seashell bra that was slightly skewed. His bottom half Arya was happy to see covered by a mertail.  Which was connected to a stick so he could move it around. 

“Alright I give up, Gendry I don’t think we are going to win the costume contest.”

“That’s fine with me, if you guys don’t win it, the contest is rigged!” 

“Come on now, I think we’ve got a good shot to win this year” Ygritte's voice came from behind as everyone turned to look at them. Ygritte and Jon looked absolutely ridiculous in their Scoops Ahoy costumes. 

Jon had absolutely refused at first, saying there was no way he’d walk around looking like that. Contest or not.

 However, it was no surprise to Arya that, that evening as she was walking through the hallway she spotted Jon meticulously adjusting the sailor hat to sit perfectly on his locks. Jon having caught her looking only sighed defeatedly and shrugged his shoulders.  As if to say  “what can you do?”  

Everyone moved around so that there was more room at the table and Theon nodded his head regarding the newest members of the table looking them up and down  before his normal sly smile crept across his face.

“I’ll give it to you, you’ve got the upper hand in terms of popularity at the moment. But what Sans and I’ve got is pure classic nostalgia, and humor. Though I do have to admit Snow, those shorts are a riot!”

“Not to mention you really nailed the hair Harrington!” Robb joined the conversation plopping on the only chair left at the table next to Jon and ruffling his hair. Causing Jon to curse moving out of reach and adjusting the hat once more.

“Where’s Margaery? Sansa asked, looking around for her.

“She’s setting up for the runway right now.” Robb answered as he swiped Theon’s beer taking a sip for himself while Theon went to go get more drinks for the table.

“She got a runway for this?” Gendry asked in disbelief, rich people never stopped surprising him.

“Hey at least it’s not a haunted mansion like she rented three years ago.” Robb offered knowingly. Patting Gendry on the back.

“But Harrenhal was awesome. I want to go back!” Arya defended. Gendry looked visibly ill at the thought. That was back before they had become a couple, they had decided to go to the party with their friend Hot Pie. It was not a good night for Gendry who up until that moment had been able to keep his fear of jump scares and ghost to a minimum. It also didn’t help that some pretty boy named Jaqen had gone along on their group's tour, walking with Arya and laughing at the scare actors and tour guide as they went. 

The only thing that made the tour bearable was after one close call of Gendry nearly hitting a worker with his Thor hammer. Arya having realized what was wrong, left the front of the group to walk side by side with him the rest of the night. Taking his hand in preparation for the next scare, and squeezing it to reassure him before letting go again. At some point in the night Gendry just kept a hold of her hand. And within the week they were going out. So yeah maybe Harrenhal wasn’t as bad as he remembered.  But still the thought of the creepy burnt house and all the ghost and ghouls that were there was enough to keep him away for a lifetime

The rest of the night ended up staying for the most part at the table, laughing and reminiscing on Halloween’s past. Theon caused everyone to cry from laughter as he retold highlights of his tricks as a child. How he had successfully tee-peed old Walder Frey's house and never got caught. To which Robb added that he never got caught only because Robb was blamed for it instead. It cost Robb a month of cleaning and yard work at the man’s house to make up for it. 

Arya had moved from her chair at some point to sit on Gendry’s lap and leaned into the crook of his neck enjoying the feeling of his body laughing at her brother’s wild antics. It was nice to see the usually stoic man open up and enjoy other peoples company. But Arya  knew it was only because this was her crazy family and he’d known all of them just as long as she’d known him. He was just as much a part of the stories as anyone else.  

The group ate and drank the rest of the night, Robb having left half way through to go help Margaery once more, and soon the contest had begun.  The crowd cheered as each couple walked the runway.  Margaery and Robb walked first after having explained they wouldn’t be competing but still thought the costumes deserved to be appreciated. They looked like quite the power couple. Then after a while Jon and Ygritte had their turn. Both laughing as they walked, people screaming their character’s names and quoting the show as they went.  As they sat back down Jon winked at Arya.

“Beat that.”

“Oh trust me, we will!” feeling her competitive streak rise up Arya hopped out of Gendry’s lap and grabbed his arm dragging him along. After quickly consulting with each other on what they were going to do Arya ran back stage to hand her phone to Margaery asking her to play it on the sound system. By the time Arya got back to Gendry it was almost their time to walk. And as soon as the original batman theme started playing the crowd went wild. Gendry ran out on stage karate chopping and punching the air in wild broad strokes in time with the music. Meanwhile Arya waited until he was about two thirds of the way down the runway and then she was going. Thanking her parents for all the years of gymnastics she had taken Arya carted her way down. Twisting and flipping perfectly down the line. Before landing perfectly next to Gendry. Both grinned like idiots as they took a sweeping bow. Confident in their spot they hopped off the Stage Gendry catching Arya easily in his arms which added more fuel to the fire as the crowd laughed and cheered even more. Walking back to their table Arya eyed Ygritte coyly before asking.

“Still think you're winning?”  

“No, no we know when we’re beat.” Ygritte laughed.

“I just hope you know when you Are.” Jon said with a chuckle as he pointed to the stage where Sansa and Theon were alreadying posing. And once the regular music started once more. Both started to strut the runway. In tandem looking like ridiculous models. At some point Theon somehow was able to wrap the part of the tail that was attached to a stick around his neck dramatically like a scarf before ripping it free at the end of the walk. Sansa for her part pulled out a sword from a hilt and started brandishing it. Arya quickly realized it was her prized fencing sword Jon had bought her.  But couldn’t find it in herself to be mad. Instead she threw her head back wolf whistling as Theon turned “seductively” around showing the complete costume.  In the end it really was no contest. Sansa and Theon won by a landslide. And after a long winded and completely  unnecessary acceptance speech on Theon’s part. (which Arya was very sure she heard Jon muttering to himself that he wished Theon would actually lose his voice.) The party had drawn to a close. The group separated all feeling like the night wasn’t quite over. Gendry hummed in content as he and Arya made it back to his apartment. Having ditched the costumes for more comfortable clothes Arya was snuggled up on the couch in one of Gendry’s large t-shirts, as Gendry flipped through dvd’s before finally settling on one. Quickly putting it in and turning off the lights he sat on the couch as well, gladly letting Arya into his space as she leaned against him once more.  Arya laughed as the title menu for the batman show lit up the screen. 

“Not tired of it yet?”

“No way gotta pay homage to it right?”

“Right, and what better way than a marathon and candy?”

“Oh shit I forgot to get the goodie bags!” 

“I know, that’s why I swiped them, when you were asking Robb if they needed any help cleaning.”

“Why you crafty little thief there’s like 10 bags here!” Gendry laughed as Arya pulled her bag she had taken for the night out and revealed all the treats she had grabbed. Arya merely shrugged, pulling two out and tossing one to Gendry.

“ What can I say? I really wanted to pay homage to Catwoman.” 

This was hands down Margaery’s best Halloween party yet.

[cywscross]

From @lightveils on Twitter (free to use wherever!). I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. I definitely have enough fics to fill it lol~

-0-

A Fic You Love Without Knowing The Source Material:

I was born for this by esama (Assassin’s Creed | Altair x Desmond | M)

Juno did her best to lead him to her preferred fate, but the end is coming and Desmond has doubts.

A Fic With A Premise That Shouldn’t Work But Does:

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

A Fic You’ve Reread Several Times:

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

A Fic You Still Remember Many Years Later:

All True-Hearted Souls by mardia (Temeraire | Laurence x Granby | G)

“For God's sake, if someone doesn't talk Laurence out of these constant heroics, I wouldn't bet a farthing on his chances; no, and not ours either.” Four times that John Granby helped save William Laurence's life. Laurence/Granby. Spoilers up to Empire of Ivory.

A Comfort Fic:

Nothing Improper by Bunnywest (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

“How long since someone touched you, sweet boy?” Peter asks, his voice barely a breath in Stiles’ ear. “Days? Weeks? Months?” Stiles nods imperceptibly at that last one.

“After…after everything, after Allison,” is all Stiles manages to get out.

A Cathartic Fic:

Swing by ShippersList (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles wants to fly.

A Fic You’d Print And Put On Your Bookshelf:

Nose to the Wind by Batsutousai (HP | Tom x Harry | M)

While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?

A Fic You Associate With A Song (x2):

Strange Duet by BelleAmante, thiliart (thilia) (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

The past three years have been a series of shocking, or not so shocking, successes for 2018 Tony award winner and two time Grammy nominee, Stiles Stilinski. You don’t typically find classically trained opera singers singing alternative folk rock to crowds at Coachella. Nor do you find indie singer/songwriters winning best actor awards at the Tony’s for their Broadway debuts. Stilinski has made it his lifetime habit to defy and exceed all expectations.

-or-

A Steter fic loosely based on Phantom of the Opera

~

Full Circle by Nike Femme (FMA | Roy x Ed | T)

Edward Elric returns with amnesia. He has lived the past four years as Auric, a Gatekeeper. But there are some battles that only he can fight. Will his friends be able to awaken Ed, and what happens to Auric if they do?

A Fic That Inspires You:

Off the Line by esama (FFVII | Cloud x Vincent | T)

In which Cloud gets a Virtual Reality Dream Console – ShinRa's latest in virtual reality technology. Aaand everything pretty much goes downhill from there.

A Fic That Brought You On Board A New Ship:

Me and Mine by linndechir (Fast and the Furious | Deckard x Owen | E)

The last time they'd spoken, Deckard had told Owen that he was tired of cleaning up his messes. But the first thing he did after breaking out of prison was to take Owen to the other end of the world so they could lick their wounds and start planning their revenge.

A Fic You Wish Could Be A Movie:

Moving In (To Every Single Aspect of Danny’s Life, Including the Boring Bits like Dry-Cleaning) by westgirl (Hawaii Five-0 | Steve x Danny | T)

It felt wrong for Steve to sound unsure of his place in Danny’s life. His place in Danny’s life was at Danny’s side, driving him slowly insane. Steve should feel secure about that.

A Fic That Led To You Making Friends With The Author:

Begin and End by Rikkamaru (Log Horizon x HP | G)

This is how it begins: a boy rejected by his family, a boy reunited with his brother by his sister-in-law's intervention. A boy who found a family in an online game. But how will it end?

FREE SPACE:

Reverti Ad Praeteritum by Batsutousai (Fullmetal Alchemist | Roy x Edward | M)

Unwillingly forced to serve as a human trial for a crazy alchemist experimenting with time travel, Edward Elric finds himself standing across from Truth in the moment it takes his leg from him. Armed with the knowledge of what's to come and burdened with guilt for the choices he'd made as an adult, Ed sets out to fix every mistake he ever made and save every life they ever lost, no matter what it takes.

A Fic You’ve Gushed About IRL:

Designation: Miracle by umisabaku (Kuroko no Basket | M)

It's been three years since seven human experiments, called "Miracles," escaped Teiko Industries, alerting the world to the presence of super-powered children. Now they're finally integrating into society-- going to normal high schools, playing basketball, falling in love-- and trying to find out if it's possible to truly escape their past.

A Fic You Associate With A Place (have to self-rec for this one):

Safe Harbour by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles x Chris | T)

Peter didn't think he'd find a home here. He certainly didn't think he'd find a home with two other men.

Chris and Stiles prove him wrong.

A Fic That Made You Gasp Out Loud (kind of? it was suspenseful):

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

A Fic You Found At The Right Time:

slow increments by Areiton (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles)

Peter is enigmatic, egotistical, sometimes barely sane. He's sharp and cutting and takes more time to care for the pack than anyone.And sometimes, John catches him watching Stiles.

A Fic That You Would Read Fic Of:

if you try to break me, you will bleed by Dialux (Game of Thrones | Jon x Sansa | T)

It had been a slash across her chest from a White Walker’s sword that finally ended her life. Sansa’d landed in a puddle of her own blood, and she’d died quickly, quietly.

And then she’d awoken with a gasp, trembling, in a bed that had burned under Theon’s betrayal.

A Fic That Made You Laugh Out Loud:

The Path towards Unwilling Godhood by Sky_King (Bleach | Kisuke x Ichigo | G)

Ichigo has never had the most normal life, and this latest chapter of it is no different.

"I'm not a god!"

A Fic With A Line (Or Two) That You’ve Memorized By Heart:

Atlas by distractedKat (Star Trek | Spock x Jim | T)

Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning.

A Fic That Gave You Butterflies:

The Rest of Our Lives by mia6363 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.”

A Fic That Embodies Something You Value In Life:

The Boy Sleuth by Shey (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is eight when he discovers a box of his mom’s old Nancy Drew Mysteries in the back of the guest bedroom closet.

A Favourite AU:

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

A Fic You Stayed Up Too Late To Finish Reading:

Of Dwobbits, Dragons and Dwarves by ISeeFire (The Hobbit | Fem!Bilbo x Fili | T)

Bilba has been a slave her entire life. All she knows of the outside world is what she sees from time to time outside the gates of Moria and the stories her mother used to tell her. Stories of a place called the Shire where her mother once lived and a placed called Erebor where, as far as she knows, her father still lives. Stories of dragons a thousand times larger, and more intelligent, than the beasts the orcs rode and of a strange concept called freedom where one was allowed to live as they wished with no one to tell them what they could, or could not do.

The stories meant little to Bilba. The only future she had was to live, and die, as a slave as countless number had before her.

And then the orcs dragged an injured female firedrake through the gates, her rider screaming obscenities behind her as he fought to reach her side...and everything changed.

A Fic That Made You Feel Seen (another self-rec lol):

i am addicted to death (so remind me what it’s like to live) by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is sixteen years old. He has already died seventy-eight times.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: THIS TOOK ME FOREVER! I’m coming to the conclusion that I require at least 24 working hours to produce smut. u.u

I’m a mess. This weekend was supposed to be my writing time, but a lot of emotional conversations happened (which is always good, because discussing our feelings with our friends is important), and the guy who’s not my boyfriend is moving so we were talking about this... Anyway.

I haven’t forgotten the other asks. I’ll work on them as soon as I finish the other smut.

And remember...

THIS IS SMUT. THERE’S BARELY ANY PLOT. THERE ARE NAUGHTY WORDS AND THAT’S IT.

Hope you enjoy it anyway ;)

***

“Why don’t you just leave?” Sansa yelled, as she marched into her room.

If she thought she was going to get rid of Jon that easily, she was really mistaken; he just followed her there.

“You’ve been complaining the whole night that no one would help you.” Jon pointed out. “I’m offering to help.”

Sansa spinned on her heel, glaring at him. “Well, I don’t need your help. You can go.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jon demanded.

His relationship with Sansa had always been difficult, but this was taking the cake.

He’d been friends with Robb since kindergarten, and most of Robb’s siblings had liked Jon from the moment they met him. Rickon, as a baby, used to sleep better in Jon’s arms than anyone else’s.

All the Stark siblings liked Jon. Except Sansa.

They never got along properly. Even when she was a little girl that adored her older brother, she  hardly gave Jon a second glance. She didn’t talk to him the way she talked to the others -and she was sweet to Theon! -and she didn’t even try to hide it.

Jon never quite understood what Sansa’s problem was.

However, once she got older, he started having a problem of his own. The older she got, the more beautiful she became. Honestly, it was getting ridiculous.

He’d said a thousand different things to himself, trying to remember she was younger, Robb’s baby sister, that she hated him… But all of that was only to hide the fact that he was crazy over her.

And he didn’t mean only as in he wanted her naked body -even though he did want that -but he truly cared about her.

Sansa was sweet, extremely smart, caring and brave. Even if she tended to act like a brat around him, there were these fleeting moments, those rare occurrences when she’d show a different side and…

Anyway. Jon might have a bit of a crush, but he’d never admit to anything.

However, right then, he was dead tired and he was trying to be nice to her, but she was being a brat as usual.

They should’ve been way past that. She was twenty now, and they had been getting along marginally better in those last weeks. How could one party blow it all up like this?

Robb and Arya had bailed on cleaning the party they planned and now Sansa was tired, and somehow it was Jon’s fault?

Fuck no.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” She hissed at him. “You’re the one who’s acting weird.”

“Me?” Jon couldn’t believe this. “You’re angry at me for no reason.”

Sansa scoffed. “I’m not angry at you.”

Then she clearly dismissed him, because she turned her back to him again. And something in Jon just fucking snapped; he grabbed her arm and turned her back to him.

Sansa’s chest collided with his, and Jon had this moment of clarity, where he thought he’d definitely gone too far -he wasn’t that guy -but when Sansa looked into his eyes…

Her pupils were blown wide, her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was shallow. Was she…

Jon didn’t let go of her arm. “Sansa?”

“What?” She probably meant to snap at him, but it came out breathless, needy…

Oh fuck.

This was bad idea, a really bad idea. But then, Jon opened his mouth to speak, and Sansa’s eyes focused on his lips, and he knew he was going to hell, but he couldn’t stop himself…

He kissed her. It was way less suave than he’d like to admit, but it was just an impulse because of the way she was looking at his lips. Sansa gasped against his lips, then parted her own, and that was it.

Jon was going to hell, but he was not stopping this.

He pulled her tighter against himself, his mouth taking hers, kissing her as he’d dreamed about for so long. And maybe -just maybe -Sansa had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her, because she was as avid as he was.

Sansa’s hand went to his hair, then she groaned in frustration. Jon didn’t understand it, until she pulled at the band that was holding his hair in a bun. When his hair was free she sunk her fingers in it, grabbing a fistful of it.

Jon caressed her waist, his hand going under her blouse, his thumb brushing over the lace of her bra. Sansa quickly let go of Jon’s hair to help him get her blouse off. Once it was carelessly discarded on the ground, she pulled him to the bed by his T-shirt.

Sansa fell on the bed, looking up at Jon, while he pulled his T-shirt off. The way she was looking at him, like she could eat him up immediately, made Jon burn. When he got rid of his T-shirt, he kicked off his shoes, while Sansa was already opening her jeans. He grabbed at it, while she scooted up on the bed, leaving her on her panties and bra.

The room was dark, only the light coming from the window illuminated them, and Jon thought it made Sansa look even more beautiful. She was like a siren, a magical being.

Jon put his knee on the bed, then crawled over Sansa, his body covering hers. She pulled him down to her, so his weight settled on her. Jon grabbed Sansa’s -perfect long -legs and hoisted them over his waist.

Jon kissed Sansa’s neck, her shoulder, then licked up her throat. Her hands were trying to open the buttons of his pant and pushed them down at the same time.

Jon needed a minute. “Sansa.” He panted against her neck. “Can we just…”

She’d managed get her hand inside his pants and around his cock. It really made it difficult to keep a conversation, but Jon tried his best. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He finally suceeded in asking.

“Jon Snow, if you stop now, I’ll kill you.” She promised against his ear.

Yup, fair enough.

Although Sansa’s hand on his cock felt amazing, Jon had a dream, a simple dream and he was not going to let anything get in the way of it. He -gently- pried her hand away from him, then started moving down her body, dropping kisses wherever he passed -breastbone, stomach, just below her belly button - until he reached the line of her panties, where he dropped a reverent kiss.

“Jon?” Sansa called, seemed hesitant. “Where are you…”

Jon grinned at her. “I’m about to eat you out, pretty girl. May I?” His fingers were playing with the waistband of the previous mentioned panties.

“You actually want to…” She seemed unable to finish the question.

“I do. I insist on it, actually.”

“Well, then… By all means.”

Jon chuckled, pulling her panties down her legs, until they were forgotten on her floor. He pushed her legs open, and dropped kisses to her inner thighs, each one closer to her cunt. He looked at her, and saw that Sansa’s eyes were fixed on him as she bit her lips, clearly apprehensive. Maybe no one had ever done this to her -or done it properly. In this case, Jon had something to prove here.

He grabbed one of her hands. “Here.” He laid her hand on his hair. “You’ll want something to hold on to.”

Sansa scoffed. “You’re so full… Oh my…” Her words were cut by Jon’s tongue circling her clit.

She brought both hands to Jon’s hair, gripping tightly on it. Jon loved the feel of her pulling his hair while he ate her cunt. Jon gave her his full attention, noticing what she liked better -like a hint of teeth when he sucked on her clit.

She sobbed his name, her hips moving against his mouth, and when Jon put two fingers inside her, she came, falling apart as her whole body convulsed. Jon didn’t give her one second to recover, he just kept doing what he was doing.

Sansa sobbed a protest, tried to push him away for a second, but then her fingers just gripped his hair harder, pressing his sinful mouth closer to where she needed him.

When Sansa came this time, she was pretty sure she blacked out.

Jon wiped his mouth on the sheet and went back to Sansa’s side, lying next to her, his hand making soothing circles on her belly. “Are you okay?” He asked softly.

“I don’t think so.”

His chuckle was smug. “We can stop here if you want.”

Sansa gave him a look that made clear she was questioning his intelligence. “I hope that was a joke.”

Jon grinned at her. “Do you have a condom?”

“The bedside table.” She pointed out weakly.

Jon opened the drawer and recovered a condom. He took off his pants and put the condom on, just to notice that Sansa had been watching him with interest.

“You like what you see?” He teased.

“I’ve always had.”

That was not fair.

Jon would like to say he was much smoother and refined, but after that sentence? Yeah, not a chance in hell.

He had to kiss her and touch her and fuck her. And Sansa really should’ve told him to slow down or something, but she didn’t. She squeezed him between her legs, called his name, grabbed his ass -he was starting to think she was in love with it -and melted under him.

He fucked her hard and fast, sweat covering their bodies, their mouths fused in what seemed a never ending kiss. His hands and lips couldn’t get enough of her and they were everywhere at the same time.

He came faster than he’d have liked -he wished he could stay between her legs the whole damn night -but once he was done, he brought his hand to her cunt and her clit and made her come again, because fair was a fair and he wanted her to feel so good because of him that she’d…

What, exactly?

Once they were finished, Sansa got up and went to the bathroom. Jon was nervous, because he didn’t know if he should go or stay or if he should…

Sansa came back with a glass of water, still completely naked and offered it to him. Jon drank from it, then got up and went to the bathroom.

There might have been a peppy talk in there, but he wouldn’t admit to anything.

Once he went back to the room, she was lying on the bed, a space clearly left for him, and Jon had to prevent himself from crying in relief.

“So…” He started once he was lying beside her. “What do we…”

“Cuddle.” Sansa informed him.

“I can do that.” He pulled her to him, her head resting on his shoulder and it was perfect. “But besides that…”

“You’re not getting back with Daenerys, are you?” She demanded.

“What? Why would you ask me that?”

“Theon said you would.”

“No. We’re done… Wait. Is that why you were so angry at me today?”

Sansa refused to answer, so Jon made her look at him, then dropped a kiss to her forehead. “You’re the one I’m with now, and the one I hope I’ll be from now on.”

She opened a grin. “That was smooth.”

He snorted. “I can be smooth. Sometimes.”

When Sansa fell asleep in his arms it was like a dream.

But it let Jon awake wondering…

How the fuck would he tell Robb about this?

[ihknkm]

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[themockingpoint]

A million minutes late but here is my Sansa Appreciation Week day 5 submission. Takes place during the feast of 8x4. Shout out to @chryswatchesgot because I could not do that stupid cannon quote and their post from that episode gave me the perfect response.

  “It’s alright to be enjoying yourself.” Jon said, to Sansa shaking her out of her somewhat drunken thoughts. “If only for a little bit.”

 “Tell that to your queen.” Sansa said, before she could help herself. She showed off a grimace as she practically felt her brother’s annoyance bleed off him with a sigh.

 Sansa knew that the conflict between her and her brother’s… paramour was causing him undue tension, but she could not help it. Jon told Sansa that she is just refusing to see the Targaryen queen as she truly is and is letting what her family did to the Starks get in the way of that. However, Sansa would argue that it was her brother that was not seeing clearly ever since the two monarchs slept together. She sighed and downed another cup of wine.

 The way that she legitimized Gendry “Rivers” without thinking or consulting her advisors showed Sansa exactly what she needed to know. Putting aside the fact that she barely knew him enough to even know his actual name or the fact that he was her second cousin -and according to the great council of 101 AC that would probably make him, as a male, a stronger contender for the throne- his father was Robert Baratheon and her father was the Mad King.

 As bad of a king that Robert was, the smallfolk did not see it. His era signified an era of peace. Meanwhile her father was Mad King Aerys. He… well he got the name for a reason. Jon may have bent the knee to her, but their lords will always remember their Uncle Brandon and their grandfather. Let alone what the smallfolk will think. Joffrey most publicly was the smallfolks woes, yet Tyrion was the one blamed since he happened to be there once they started. No way would they forget what the mad king put them through. They were slaves waiting to be freed, they were people who just wished to go on with their lives with Highborn war.

  Another thing that Jon was forgetting but Sansa never would, was the fact that she spent years in King’s Landing, years. Joffrey, Cersei, Baelish, Ramsay, all of them taught her how to see a mask of benevolence. The Dragon queen may be projecting the air of the Good Queen Alysanne but Sansa likened her to the Young Dragon, Daeron I. The Dragon Queen may win the throne, but she would never be done conquering. She took over rulership in Meereen but was now looking to rule the Seven Kingdoms. The woman would never be done conquering, and Sansa did not plan on allowing the North and her people to be one of those Kingdoms to conquer that she will eventually become bored with.

 “I’m sorry.” Sansa slightly slurred from drink. “I am a little on edge… Feasts… I do not have the greatest history with celebrations…”

 “Here, here!” Tyrion said, walking behind them causing Sansa to roll her eyes.

 Sansa looked at the man that she used to think was the smartest man alive. When she knew him, he was the sharpest man in the room, taking people’s number without much of a challenge. He, Jon, and Varys -although he seemed to flip-flop worse than the Tyrells- all trusted her, is her own prejudices not allowing her to see the woman truly?

 Jon told her a little bit about the woman. The parallels between Sansa and Daenerys herself were strong, very strong. Sansa would not, could not, deny it and to be perfectly honest? It scared Sansa just how similar the two of them were. Abusive husbands, they were both raped on their wedding nights, both were used and passed around as bargaining chips, and both would do anything to get their countries back. Sansa almost crossed a line she never could have come back from.

 As similar as they were, Sansa knew that the dragon queen was not her friend, and definitely not Jon’s friend. She would only ever see them as subjects, never allies. They would be expected to fight whatever wars she would want to fight at the drop of a hat; ironically not unlike how Robert Baratheon was like with Sansa’s own father. As Sansa said, she would never be done conquering and -like during the Baratheon regime- the North would be dragged into it. She could not let her people be killed by the petty southern wars. She would not fail them; not again.

 “Why don’t you walk around?” Jon said, giving her a sympathetic smile. He knew how the last few feasts that she had turned out.

 “I… don’t think that is a good idea… I think I may be a little drunk.” She said, with a slight giggle.

 “Well I believe in you!” He said, slamming his hand down on the table in an ironic echo of her earlier statement.

 She walked away and a few minutes later saw the queen walk off in a huff of jealousy. She must admit, she was no Joffrey. He never would have abided by someone singing praises that were not directed at him, especially if he thought it was at his expense. She was not her father either, who would have just burned someone alive had he gotten annoyed with them.

 But it does not matter. The North was the North. They were not like the other seven kingdoms, even Dorne had more similarities to the southern kingdoms than the North did. The North just did things differently, they had different traditions, hell even their gods were different from the rest of the kingdoms. They were too detached from the rest of the Kingdoms to be part of such a kingdom that was practically united against them.

 She needed to clear her head as she was depressing herself. As she walked amongst the lower tables she saw where Tormund got to. She froze as she saw who he was sitting next to. Sansa knew he was here. Jon and Arya both mentioned the fact, he apparently had saved Arya’s life during the siege. Sansa has not been avoiding him, but she had not been seeking him out either.

 “Af’er all that he just comes North and takes ‘er from me.” Tormund said, weepily leaning on Sandor. “Just takes ‘er. Like that!”

 “Her?” Sansa thought to herself before she remembered who Tormund had been obsessed with since she had met him. “He can’t… He can’t mean Brienne, can he?”

 Thinking back to how her sworn shield starred at Jaime Lannister with starry eyes as they continued speaking, Sansa quickly realized what had happened when a quick look told her that she was not there. She felt happy for the woman despite her feelings about Jaime Lannister. She was more devoted to her duty than any other person than Sansa knew. She deserved this, she deserved to relax.

 “I’m not ‘fraid of Wildlings.” The serving girl (whore? She know Tyrion hired many to spread into the waiting staff) said, raising an eyebrow as Sansa finished another glass of wine. She doubts that she has even been this drunk and she must say she thinks that she is handling it very well.

 “Maybe you should be.” Tormund said, suggestively wagging his eyebrows.

 As Sansa realized what was happening, she felt a tightening in her own belly. One she had not really ever felt before, except maybe with Loras Tyrell. She shook out of her distraction as Sandor growled at the woman, terrifying her so that she would make her escape. Thinking of the feeling in her belly she walked over.

 “She could have made you happy…” She said, as she sat down. She wondered if his rejection of her was due to lack of interest or because of self-hatred and cynicism. Gods know that he has enough of that. Enough that he tried passing it onto her. “For a little while.”

 He looked up in surprise, whether he was shocked she was there or that she decided to speak to him she did not know. When they finally broke eye contact, he said, “There’s only one thing that’ll make me happy.”

 “And what’s that?” She said humoring him, trying to get him to lighten the hell up.

 “That’s my business!” He growled trying to scare her away. Once, it might have worked. She drunkenly cocked an eyebrow to show that she was unamused. “Used to be you couldn’t look at me.”

 “That was a long time ago…” She said sadly remembering the kiss from the Blackwater. One of the only two people she has ever kissed and the only one she somewhat wanted it from. Is that why he was not looking at her, trying to scare her away. “I’ve seen much worse that you.”

 “Yes I’ve heard… Heard you were broken in… Heard you were broken in rough…” He said, almost smugly and she clenched her teeth. Why was he being so hostile? She was trying to extend an olive branch.

 “Yes.” She said, she had already lost Theon today and her patience was quickly wearing thin. “He got what he deserved. I gave it to him.”

 “How?” He asked, genuinely curious.

 “Hounds…” She said, causing a moment of laughter from him.

 “You’ve changed, Little-Bird.” Sandor said, taking a drink. Once she had a sickening liking to the demeaning nickname. Now it just angered her. “None of it would have happened had you come with me.”

 “And there it is.” Sansa thought to herself. Most of the men in her life tried taking credit for what she was or could have been. To be frank, she was sick of it. Sansa was the woman she was today because of two men and a woman, all of which were named Stark. She may not have gotten everything she has due to her own merits but the men who spit poison and abuses at her no longer could claim credit for it. She would not allow it. No longer.

 “That’s the thing Sandor.” She said, grabbing his hand to his surprise. “I was never a little bird. I was a puppy. And Gods help those who think they can tame a Direwolf.”

 She stood up and grabbed Tormund’s nearly full goblet. If he wanted to stew in his cynicism, hatred, and self-loathing than he was more than welcome to it. She was not going to allow him to infect her with it as well. That is all he tried to do even since they first met at the Crossroad Inn all those years ago. She was done trying to save someone who did not want to save themselves but drag her down to their level instead.

 She would always be grateful for what he did for her sister, but she was done trying to save him. It was not her job. She looked down at her former would be protector and walked off, forgetting the reason that she came over in the first place.

[angel-deux-writes]

Now that Honor Compels Me is finally done, I wanted to do a round-up of all the things I remember that made me say “I feel like I need to tell someone what almost happened here” or “I should probably explain this later lol”, along with my reasons for cutting the last few chapters/what would have happened in them. It’s prob going to be very long, which I apologize for, but I’ll bold the headings so that you can skip to the parts you’re interested in!

I’ll reblog it and add more as I think of them, but for now: 

Dark Dany: VERY originally, like way back in the OG plotline from 2017, Dany was an antagonist, and Margaery Tyrell was Robb’s queen. Dany would have died fighting Cersei in Kings Landing, with the same result (Cersei was ALWAYS going to go out by wildfire lmao). I changed it both because a) it seemed like too many Conveniently Alive people for one story and b) after the shitty ending Dany got, I decided I would try my hand at writing a Dany I could actually root for! For years I’ve been a big proponent/fan of the idea that Dany is eventually going to be an antagonist in the books, but the way it was handled in the show was so irredeemably stupid (gassing her up and gaslighting/scolding her fans later who didn’t see it coming, making her switch at the drop of a hat for the majority of the general audience just for the sake of a twist, etc). I ended up really loving the version of Dany I created. I tried not to soften her TOO much, which is why I had her wrestle with herself even up to the very end (like thinking “I won” after the explosion in Kings Landing and hating herself for it). I didn’t want all the flaws that make me not support canon Dany to disappear just because I started to like her! I do think that writing this story made me like Dany more overall. I still don’t support her canon actions, and I also probably won’t in the books, but I came to find her more compelling as I wrote her. I’m a lot less afraid to write her now than I have been in the past, though I’ll continue to add warnings to all my stories that feature Dark Dany, bc yall Dany stans have been through enough. 

More Death: At various points Dany, Theon, Bran, and Arya were going to die. 

Dany was already pointed out. 

I had Theon die in the Long Night in the plot outline just out of laziness/in keeping with canon, until I remembered that Redemption = Death is stupid and I wasn’t gonna do it. 

Bran was going to die after warging into Drogon and being caught in the explosion of the Red Keep. That actually stayed in until a few weeks ago! I told a bunch of people that Bran was going to die! It was the plan all along! And then I realized that “somebody has to die” was a shitty way of looking at it, and I changed it. I think a lot of this process of changing things was me trying to write what I thought people wanted vs what story I actually wanted to tell. Sure it’s a little fairy tale ending this way, but it’s my story, and who cares? Happy endings are nice. Fuck off. 

Arya...I probably wouldn’t have ever actually gone through with it, because I am a coward, but there was an idea of a VERY heavy-handed “revenge is bad” message with Arya where Arya was much more savage and instead of turning back into Arya, she was turning farther and farther away from her. She couldn’t reconcile with the Lannisters, she rejected her bonds with her family. In the end she would be unable to let go of her list, would refuse to grow and change and realize that she had other things to live for, and she would have set off one of Qyburn’s traps in the Red Keep, igniting the whole thing, killing Drogon and Rhaegal (and Bran) and leading to the deaths of thousands. AGAIN I was like “that’s too dark” and scrapped the idea, but it was definitely toyed with. I love Arya as a character, so this plotline for her would have definitely been more a reaction to fans of her who seem to want her to hold on to that vengeful seed inside of her. 

Prophecies: Listen, I do not give a fuck about any prophecies. I really don’t. Every fantasy universe has some kind of involved backstory that some fans love to get mired in, but I am not one of those fans. Still, I tried to deliver on two of them lmao. 

Azor Ahai ended up being Jaime, with Ice/Oathkeeper and Maiden’s Heart being Lightbringer. Originally, I had Brienne killing the Night King, without any thought to the prophecy at all, but that was another case of “people will like it if Brienne kills the Night King” and I realized that I would like it better if it was Jaime. I’m not sure how it checks out literally, but I figured it worked with a) tempering in water = splitting Ice. b) heart of a lion = Jaime’s change of heart after the Highgarden Battle. c) Nissa Nissa = Brienne’s “maiden’s heart” breaking during the Highgarden Battle. It was Brienne who did the stabbing, but it was Jaime who made it happen, so I figured that made sense. I made sure to mention Brienne’s tears and all the smoke when Jaime was wounded, so he could be “reborn amidst salt and smoke” or whatever, and I had Bran mention a rebirth for him in the next chapter. Which was maybe a little on the nose, but IDK GUYS I FEEL LIKE IT CHECKS OUT! 

I know the show never dove into the Valonqar prophecy at all, and I think we all know that I absolutely HATE the idea of Jaime being the Valonqar, so I would rather not think about it AT ALL. But Bran AND Rhaegal were both kind of responsible for Cersei’s death in the end, so take your pick of which Little Brother actually did the deed! 

Deleted Chapters: I promise you, you are not missing anything with these deleted chapters. They were always messy, and no matter how many times I edited them, they felt too forced and “now let me explain the ending”. 

Sansa: Sansa’s chapter followed Jaime’s and was primarily about her going to Robb and Dany and the three of them talking about the future of Westeros. The Dany/Robb conversation about it was originally absent--the last Robb chapter was added to fill in the gaps when I deleted this and the other chapters--so this would have been the first time it was discussed. It then would have had a time jump and a wedding scene, which I could never make work! It was such a jarring time jump in the middle of a chapter, and I didn’t think the wedding was particularly exciting to write about lmao. 

Tyrion: Tyrion’s chapter would have been Dany being crowned and announcing to everyone that she and her people are going to be dismantling the monarchy and setting up a new government. I think I had her give a period of a few years in which she and Robb would rule, but they were going to be transitioning governments in that time. Kind of the same idea as in What a King Should Look Like. Bronn also showed up, DID in fact get a minor holdfast, and was mocked by both Lannisters for bowing out before he could have earned himself a better one. Olenna found some bastard daughter to legitimize and continue her house.

Brienne: Brienne’s arc was a lot more drawn out in the original draft, and I ended up editing it a few times and making it shorter. VERY originally, this chapter would have been her wedding with Jaime, at which she has the “wow he actually loves me, huh?” realization. Which I thought was funny as I plotted it out, but in execution it wasn’t as good as I wanted it to be, so I moved the realization to an earlier chapter. The original was also going to be Jaime giving up his name entirely, and Brienne cloaking him, but as we have discussed before, I am in fact a coward, so I just deleted the whole chapter lmao. In all seriousness, at this point the endings just felt like Return of the King, and Into the West was actually the chosen song for this chapter, because I knew even as I was writing it that I was doing Too Much lmao. 

Robb: Robb’s last chapter was essentially just a total wrap up chapter. Just Robb and Dany being sappy, Robb being happy he was still alive, and the two of them planning the future. They were at Riverrun for this part, i’m pretty sure, or it might have been Dragonstone? I had trouble even filling this chapter with enough words for it to be a full chapter, because it was basically just an epilogue. As the story progressed, this chapter felt more and more like I was just performing to the “Robb’s Alive” crowd, which I didn’t particularly want to do, because Robb being alive was always a feature, not the focus, of this story. 

That’s all the stuff I can think of for now! If anyone has any particular questions you can message me or inbox me about them and I’d be happy to talk about it! 

[wandlores]

Heart of Gold

Pairing: Robb Stark x Theon Greyjoy  Words: 2,719 You can also read this on AO3. This is for the pride event held by @asoiafsnet :) it is a Modern College AU!

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Theon had a hard time maintaining relationships throughout his life, but one relationship that had always managed to stay afloat was his relationship with Robb Stark. 

It started when he was ten years old. Theon had no friends, and Robb Stark was there on the playground defending him. Theon had said something ridiculously cocky that made himself look like a fool; a defense mechanism he had obtained after his brothers had died. Ramsay Bolton was laughing at him after he had thrown the first failed punch. 

"Theon Greyjoy, practically an orphan with an absent father and no brotherly figures to teach him how to be a man-" but before Ramsay could finish his sentence, he was pinned to the ground with a threatening fist in his face.

Robb Stark, the Robb Stark, the most popular boy in school who still managed to be kind and modest, had come to his rescue. It was then that Theon was smitten, but he never told anyone. He just allowed Robb to become his best friend. He didn't even understand his own feelings at the time, but it was then that he knew Robb Stark was like no other. 

"Say something like that again Bolton, and you will regret it!" Robb had yelled. His rounded face still looked threatening like a mans, and Theon wondered how he managed to make it appear that way, especially when he usually sported soft smiles. His auburn hair was pushed back against his forehead, but one single wave bounced forward so it was hanging in his eyes.

Ramsay tried to laugh, but Robb pinned him down harder. 

"Jeez, calm down, Stark," Ramsay said. Theon could hear the begging tone laced through his words, "I was only kidding-"

"Yeah, well, I don't think Greyjoy thought that, did you, Theon?"

Robb's blue eyes looked up into Theon's, and he had to swallow down a lump in his throat. It was the first time Theon was ever left speechless.

Robb didn't push for an answer, but he got up from pinning Ramsay to the ground as the recess aid ran up to them. Ramsay created a whole story about how Theon and Robb had attacked him. Ramsay, as manipulative as he was cowardly, naturally got away with it. As Robb and Theon sat side by side in the office, Robb finally turned to introduce himself.

"I'm Robb Stark," he said, "I don't think we have ever talked."

Theon looked down at Robb's outstretched hand. He took it and gave him the firmest shake he could muster, and he tried to ignore the tingles that shot up his arm. His father had taught him it was wrong to like other boys, what he was feeling had to not be what he thought it meant. 

"I'm Theon Greyjoy, but you already knew that. You really didn't have to come and help me. I could have handled it myself."

It was a stupid statement, and Theon was internally kicking himself. He knew that he sounded pathetic, and ridiculously arrogant. If Robb hadn't come to his rescue, he would have been six feet under.

But Robb didn't flinch at his words or even give him a glare, his soft eyes just looked into his and gave him a smile, "Everyone deserves to have a friend to defend their honor, don't you think?"

It was something otherworldly for a ten year old to say, Theon realized later in his life, but it was what made Theon knew he could trust him with his life. 

"Sure," Theon agreed, though he had no idea what it meant at the time. 

After that, Theon finally had a friend. A friend for life, if he didn't manage to screw it up.

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Ten years later and they were at college. Theon barely got in, but Robb made it through on a full-ride scholarship. Most of their friends had been jealous of Robb, but Theon never had been, even if he had been insanely jealous of others and their perfect lives. He couldn't help but admire Robb and feel so happy for him, especially when he gave Theon that smile he knew all too well. It had gotten to the point where Theon had to bury down the blush that tried to spread from his cheeks.

"I'm ridiculously happy we were able to sway the university to let us be roommates," Robb was telling him, "Some best friends aren't so lucky. What did you think of that Margaery girl we saw, she was gorgeous, wasn't she?"

But Theon wasn't paying attention to Robb's words. Only the outline of Robb's knuckles as he spoke with his hands. They flexed in a way that made Theon's mouth water. 

"Earth to Theon!" Robb said, "Were you listening to me at all? What do you think of that Tyrell girl?"

Jealousy bubbled up in Theon's throat, but he pushed it down. There was no way Robb could know how he felt, and he would never know. Not if Theon didn't want to lose him.

"Yeah, she's gorgeous," Theon lied, "You should go for it."

Robb gave him a smile and friendly shove to the shoulder, "Will you help me bring the rest of our boxes in?" 

"Sure," Theon agreed. He would do anything to help Robb Stark, even a task that simple. 

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The first few weeks passed quickly at university, and even though Robb had commented on Margaery Tyrell, he still hadn't made his move. Theon tried not to bring it up. It wasn't like Robb hadn't dated before, but Theon always tried to block it out. Theon on the other hand, had gone many years flirting with girls convincingly but never being too serious with one. It was the only way to keep his secret at bay. 

The two of them were sitting behind a wall by the football field. Robb had been rambling about how he wanted to go to tryouts. Theon was only half-listening, until Robb finally got his attention with words that felt acidic to his ears.

"Why don't you ask that Tyrell girl out? Really try and make something serious with her?" Robb pushed, "It is time you got yourself a proper life partner and don't only depend on me."

Theon knew it was a joke about him depending only on Robb, but it was a nightmare in his mind to think that Robb noticed that his whole life revolved around him. Theon looked down at his knuckles and started to crack them nervously. 

"She's not my type," Theon told him half-honestly, "I think you should go for her."

The words burned Theon's tongue to say, but it was the only way to make it seem convincing enough that he didn't want to be with her and also did not want to be with Robb.

Theon could feel Robb's eyes on him, but he didn't say anything. To Robb's surprise, he changed the subject. Then, Robb Stark the hero came out to play again. A freshman, like them, was getting pushed down on the football field by some seniors. His reading glasses had fallen askew, and his books flew to the ground. Robb was up in a flash, and it happened so fast that Theon could only watch.

"Leave him alone!" Robb yelled. Theon's hands were in a fist and ready to fight if needed. He had to protect Robb, it was the only thing he cared about.

"I-I'm fine, really," the freshman tried to say, but the guys who pushed him down started laughing.

"Little Samwell Tarly, or should I say, BIG Samwell Tarly."

The men laughed, and it was then that Robb had punched the ringleader in the face. Theon was expecting a brawl to ensue, but instead, the ringleader ran off without saying a word, and his friends followed in tow. Cowards, Theon thought. Theon couldn't help but smile.

Robb helped the boy named Samwell up, but Samwell didn't feel the need to stay and talk. He quickly gathered his things and ran off from Robb. Theon wasn't sure if he was embarrassed or something else, but he didn't even attempt to stick around.

Robb came back fuming, and as he sat against the wall next to Theon, Theon gave him a comforting hand on the shoulder.

"I don't understand people!" Robb raged, "What is wrong with them? What makes them think that it is okay to do that to someone else?"

Theon knew Robb wasn't expecting an answer, so he stayed quiet and listened.

"It is just like fucking Ramsay Bolton in the fifth grade. I still can't believe he did that to you after all these years! Why can't people be decent human beings?"

Theon wasn't sure where it came from, but it rose up his throat like vomit. It came out like a whisper, but definitely loud enough that Robb could hear. He was sure of it. Theon had blurted, "I'm in love with you." 

Theon watched as Robb paused, but he didn't even acknowledge his words. He kept going. It was then that Theon knew, Robb had purposely ignored his words and was too nice to say something back to hurt his best friend.

Theon was silent for the rest of Robb's rant, and he spoke few words to his best friend in response as they decided to walk back to their dorm. Robb left that night for his night class, and that's when Theon secretly started packing his bags.

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Theon had moved out a week ago without giving any word to Robb. He gave no explanation, he just upped and vanished, just like his mom had done to his dad. He knew it was a dick move, but he couldn't face him. Not after that rejection. Not after the humiliation he had put himself through. It would never be the same. His biggest secret was out, and his whole would was going to crumble down if anyone spoke of it.

Theon had to fake it until he made it, and he ignored all of Robb's frequent phone calls and texts throughout the process.

Oddly enough, Theon had taken solace living with Robb's half brother, Jon Snow, in his apartment a mile away from campus. Jon let him in without any questions; Jon was that kind of guy. A man with few words but just as loyal as his brother. Theon knew he had to of known about what had happen and that Robb was texting and calling him just as much, but he never said anything, until one night as they sat and watched infomercials mindlessly.

"Robb's worried about you, Greyjoy," Jon casually commented, "I think you should tell him what made you up and leave."

"You mean you don't know?"

The words were out of Theon's mouth before he could control. It had been a bad habit he had had since he was a child. He never knew when to act genuine or when to shut up.

Jon perked his brow, "How should I know? Robb doesn't even know." 

Relief rushed through Theon, maybe he hadn't heard him after-all. But as soon as relief flooded his body, guilt flood through as well.

"Oh, oh god," Theon mumbled, "I have been a complete jackass."

"What happened?" Jon pressed.

As Jon leaned forward on the couch with his elbows on his knees, Theon knew it was finally time. This secret had been kept for too long to keep it in any longer, and if anyone would keep his secret other than Robb, it was Jon Snow. He was the second best bet.

"I-I'm gay," Theon confessed in a rush, "And-and I'm in love with Robb. I told him and he didn't respond, but maybe he didn't hear me? And-"

But before Theon could continue, Jon had leaned forward and hugged him. It was the first time he had ever gotten a hug from Jon; it wasn't in either of their characters, but he accepted it and hugged him back. They didn't speak for a few minutes. All they did was hold each other. It was then that Theon realized Jon was his brother too, and for that, he was grateful. 

"I can't say I am surprised," Jon said as they pulled apart, "I always suspected. The way you look at Robb is the way I looked at-"

"Ygritte," Theon finished for him, "I was hoping I wasn't that obvious."

Jon smiled, "I think you should tell him. He will be understanding."

"How will it not change things? He isn't gay, Jon. He won't feel what I feel-"

Jon didn't say anything, but he nonchalantly shrugged, "I just think you should tell him," is all he said.

They didn't mention it for the rest of the night, but Jon did finally put in a movie rather than mindlessly watch infomercials. Theon knew he was right, but did he have the courage? It was time to be just like Robb Stark.

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As soon as Theon called Robb, he bombarded him with questions. Theon didn't answer any of them other than to tell him he was sorry and that he was fine. He just told Robb he would meet him at their dorm to talk. 

Theon's palms were sweating as he approached their door and took out his key to unlock it. He took a deep breath as the door opened, and Robb was sitting on the edge of Theon's bed with his head in his hands.

Robb looked up and Theon watched as his face flooded with relief once they made eye contact. Robb got up from the bed and hugged Theon wordlessly. Theon let himself get lost in the hug for a few moments as Robb whispered in his ear, "I missed you so much. I was so worried about you."

Theon didn't say anything; he couldn't unless he spilled the truth. It was like it was the only words that could be spoken at this point in time.

Robb sat back down on Theon's bed and Theon followed him.

"Can you tell me what happened now? Did-did I offend you protecting Samwell? Was I not listening?"

Robb was talking quickly, but Theon calmed him down by placing one of his hands on top of his. He braced himself for Robb to remove it in disgust, but he didn't. Instead, he watched flush blossom up his neck.

"I'm gay," Theon finally told him, "And I have been in love with you since I was ten years old. I-I told you I was in love with you during your rant like an idiot, but you never responded. I-I thought you just wanted to ignore what I had told you. I don't expect you to feel the same but-"

Theon's words were interrupted by Robb pulling his face closer to his. Their lips met despite Theon's shock. Theon didn't dare pull away, but he didn't move either. He let Robb take the lead. The kiss was sweet and tentative. It was the kind of first kiss that Theon figured Robb had given all his girlfriends.

As Robb pulled away, his cheeks were flushed. Theon could feel that his cheeks were too.

"I-I don't understand," Theon started, but Robb interrupted him.

"I-I have been feeling this way for a long time," Robb confessed, "I like girls too, but there is something about you, Theon. I think I have always loved you from the start. When you left, I went crazy, and it just confirmed what I always knew deep down. It was so confusing until I accepted it, I can't imagine how you felt. Have you ever told anyone?"

Robb grabbed Theon's hand and rubbed his thumb against his knuckles soothingly. Theon tried not to go crazy at the feeling of his hands against his.

"I-I told Jon last night. I blurted it out-just like I blurted that I loved you."

"I'm sorry I didn't hear you," Robb told him, "I genuinely didn't. I get so wrapped up in my rants sometimes that I should be able to listen to you more."

"You do listen," Theon told him, "You always have."

Theon leaned forward then, and this time, he wasn't afraid. He kissed Robb with as much feeling as he had felt for him for all those years, and still, to Theon's surprise, Robb kissed him back.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

A new marriage and an old one, pt2

Summary: Robb is getting married and Catelyn have been married for many years. This is a happy story about the Starks (mostly Ned and Cat, but also the others) that takes place in a world where AGoT never happened and they’re all living happily in Winterfell.

Rating: I’d say mature, but message me if it should be changed.

English is not my first language, so I apologize if there’s any spelling and grammar mistakes. I hope you enjoy it :)

~*~

He had her blindfolded. She didn’t have the slightest idea about where they were going, except for that they had left the Great Keep and were outside. It was cold and she could feel the snow under her boots. And she could hear the people around her. They must have been staring at her, it wasn’t every day Ned Stark paraded his lady blindfolded through the castle. Well, of course she couldn’t know if they looked at her, she couldn’t see. And she highly disliked that, the snow made the ground even more uneven than it was when it was bare. Ned had her in a tight grip and guided her, but she was very afraid of falling.

”Do I really have to wear this?” she asked.

”Yes, it’ll ruin the surprise if you can see it from outside. But it’s not far now.”

”You must have walked me around the whole castle twice by now” she complained.

”Not really” another voice said. ”It’s been four courtyards.”

Catelyn snorted. She had been blindfolded for way too long, no matter how far she had walked. She wanted to be able to see again. She had underestimated how much she liked seeing.

”Good day, Theon” she said. ”How long have you been next to me?”

”Since you left the Great Keep, my lady” the boy informed her.

She could see in front of her how her grinned like he always did. He had left the castle about two weeks earlier together with some men, Ned had sent him to White Harbor for something. He had not told her what and she had not asked. She had just assumed that it was things that had been shipped to the North for the wedding. And Theon seemed to be back with whatever it was.

”Do you have anything to do with this?” she asked suspiciously.

Catelyn was very curious about what Ned had been doing all night, but she didn’t like the thought of Theon Greyjoy being involved in it. Not because she distrusted Ned, she had no reasons to believe that he would do anything that she wouldn’t like. But Theon’s involvement still made her nervous.

”No need to be rude, Lady Stark” Theon chuckled. ”But yes, I helped your lord with this.”

She hoped that the gods would have mercy on her soul.

”Ned, what have you done?” she asked.

”Nothing that will displease you, my love” he replied. ”I promise you.”

She sighed. She trusted him, she really did. But the blindfold was making her nervous.

“Bran! Get down from there” Ned suddenly shouted.

Catelyn stopped abruptly. She knew exactly what was happening even though she couldn’t see.

“Brandon Stark, what have I told you about climbing?” she said.

“That I shouldn’t do it because I might fall and get hurt” Bran’s voice said somewhere to her left.

“Yes. You are twelve, you should know better!”

“I haven’t fallen yet!”

“No, but a day might come when you do fall. I don’t know what I would do if you got hurt. And I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if you died. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Okay, I won’t climb anymore.”

She knew his tell for lying, but she couldn’t see it. Since she was blindfolded. Gods, she hated it so much.

“Ned, did he look at his feet?”

“He did, my lady.”

“It seems like our son is a little liar.”

“I’m not!” Bran said.

And suddenly Catelyn was shoved in the back and stumbled forward with a cry. She tripped on her skirts and would have fallen if Ned had not grabbed her arm and pulled her up again. And when she stood upright with her heart racing in her chest she could hear heavy breathing behind her and feel a hot breath against her neck.

“Are you okay, Cat?”

“I think I might’ve died a second” she managed to say as she tried to slow her heartbeats.

She thought that what she had just experienced felt similar to what heart failure felt like. And she wasn’t ready for that feeling. Gods, she hated the blindfold.

“Bran, keep that wolf of yours in check or I’ll have it chained up in the kennels!” she said angrily when she regained control of herself.

“He didn’t mean to scare you, he just doesn’t realize his strength!”

“You need to have control over him! We can’t have a gigantic untamed wolf running around the castle.”

“He’s not untamed! He just wanted to smell you!”

“He does not need to touch me in order to smell me.”

“But that’s just his way of doing it!”

“You have to understand that he can’t do this to others than you. We can’t have them doing this to our guests, can we? It’ll terrify them, just the looks of Summer is scary enough.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Now hurry to your lessons with Maester Luwin!”

“Yes, Mother” Bran sighed.

And so they continued their never ending walk. She could hear a door creak open and suddenly they were not outside anymore. She immediately recognized the scents of various oils and scented candles. They were in her sept. Had he done something to her sept? She desperately wanted to ask, but remained quiet, he would tell her soon. He walked her down the rows of benches and up to the middle of the heptagon with the seven statues. She couldn’t hear anyone in there, not even Theon anymore. It seemed he had stayed outside. Then Ned let go of her, and she was standing all alone in what she believed to be the middle of the heptagon building.

”Take off the blindfold” he told her.

Catelyn slowly raised her hands to remove it, and suddenly her previously black world bathed in all the colors of the rainbow. She blinked, trying not to be blinded by the light and all the colors. The windows. They had been regular glass, now they were of stained glass. Stained glass in more colors than she had thought existed. It shone down on the statues and the floor tiles, made the little sept more alive than it had ever been. It was like the sept in Riverrun. Exactly like she remembered it from her childhood years. She stared at it in wonder, it was so beautiful.

She turned and looked at Ned, who smiled at her. And the sight of him in the rainbow light from the windows of a sept made her remember.

”It’s our wedding day!” she exclaimed.

It had been twenty years since she married him in a sept with stained glass and seven statues. He had agreed to marry her there even though he believed in the Old Gods.

”Twenty years today. That’s a long time” he said and snaked an arm around her waist.

”It is” she agreed and leaned against him. ”You’re not growing tired of me, are you?”

”I can’t get enough of you.”

”Thank you, Ned. This is so so beautiful. I love it!”

He only kissed her in response. She couldn’t help the soft sigh that escaped her, she liked it when he kissed her like that. And before she knew it he had her with her back up against a wall. His hands were all over her, it was a matter of time before they found their way up under her dress.

”This is not the right place to do this” Catelyn said out of breath. ”We can go back to my chambers.”

”Are you worried about how your gods would feel?” Ned asked and pressed his lips to her neck. “Because I seem to recall that you didn’t object to doing it in the godswood, in full view of my gods.”

She had to bite her tongue in order not to moan. The sensation of his hot breath against her neck was enough to drive her crazy.

”No. It’s not the gods. Our castle is currently filled to the breaking point with southrons who pray to the Seven” she breathed. ”And even though you built the sept for me, they are allowed to come here too.”

He chuckled.

”It’s hard to enter a sept with a locked door” he said and kneeled before her.

It was hard to argue with that. And hard to deny the fact that she very much wanted to do exactly what he was planning. She wanted him to take her right there, in the rainbow light. And in full view of all the gods that wanted to see how much she loved him.

”Septa Mordane will have our heads” Catelyn said as he disappeared beneath her skirts.

”I won’t be the one to tell her” Ned promised and she felt how he began to work her smallclothes down her legs.

”You are a very sinful–”

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

~*~

[onthesandsofdreams]

Prom Night

Fandom: ASOIAF Pairing: SanSan Rating: T Summary:  Truth be told, she had been hopeful that Sandor would ask her to prom. Words: 1728 Notes: For my pal @hisyetisgirl, who always leaves such lovely comments on my fics. Thank you!

Read @ AO3 

Sansa had to swallow down her disappointment.

Prom was coming up and she had not been invited, also, it was themed after one of her favorite stories: Jenny and Duncan. She knew that since her break-up with Joff, she was all but a social pariah, only few of her friends remained, Jeyne, Mya and Myranda had stood by her side when she broke things with Joff. It had hurt when Margaery had began dating him almost immediately and began to ignore her.

Theon and Jon had offered to take her, but she knew that Jeyne liked Theon and Jon liked Daenerys and she could not accept their offers, she thanked them and pushed them to ask the girls they liked. “Don’t worry about me, you both boy should ask them.” She told them.

Truth be told, she had been hopeful that Sandor would ask her to prom.

Sandor Clegane had been a not-so-recent addition to her friends. She had known him, of course, he used to be around Joff a lot, but after Joff began to mistreat her, Sandor had surprised her by taking her side and basically becoming her body guard. At the beginning, Sandor gave the impression that he didn’t like her, he was rough around the edges, brutally honest, with a short temper for idiots (which made her wonder why he was even friends with Joff). That, combined with his height, his scars and body type, screamed ‘Don’t mess with me’, he had intimidated her at first. But once she had gotten to know him, she found him to be good. He was far from perfect, but he was protective without being suffocating, he was brave and strong, he encouraged her to see people for who they were and not for who they pretended to be.

Sandor had also spoken to her about his scars, her heart had broken when she had found the truth. Sandor had smiled at her anger, thanked her for being the only one to validate his pain. From that moment on, they had been nearly inseparable.

Another thing that she liked is, that with her encouragement, Sandor had began to take anger management and therapy. And he had improved by leaps and bounds, he spoke often and highly of a man who went by ‘Elder brother’, who was his therapist. She was proud of him.

And somewhere along the line, she realized she had fallen for him. She realized it when she found herself comparing other boys to him, only to find them lacking. She had dreamt about kissing him, she found herself wanting to hold his hand.

But Sandor had never made a pass to her, and she was much to shy do to so herself. Even with Myranda’s encouragement, she couldn’t do it, her tongue would fail her, she would be a stuttering mess and she just couldn’t ask him.

She sighed, prom was two week away and she had – quite hopeful and foolishly – bought a dress for it. It was ice blue, her mother had said that it brought her coloring well, Arya had approved and Jeyne had squealed, “You’ll be the prettiest!”

But now, she had a dress but no date.

She was sighed tiredly, she had really been looking forward prom and dancing alongside her friends. But it all seemed to say that she would’ve to find something to do as consolation prize. She let herself fall on the bed, groaned out loud and looked around dejectedly, she was about to grab a book to try and distract herself when her phone rang.

She grabbed it and saw that it was Sandor, her heart did a little flip. “Hey, Sandor!” She chirped, no sense in letting him know she was upset. Knowing him, he would ask her out of guilt. She didn’t want that.

“Hey Sansa, I have a question.” Sandor sounded worried.

“Ask away.”

“What color should I get my tux.”

That broke her heart a little, it would seem that Sandor was going to go to prom with someone else. That hurt. “Ah,” she tried to sound nonchalant. “Why?”

“Well, because we should match, shouldn’t we?”

Sansa could almost see him frown, she also did, “I don’t understand, why should we match?”

“We’re going to prom, yes?”

Sansa’s mind came to a screeching halt. “Um,” she was able to get out. “No, we’re not.”

Silence. “Oh. Fuck.” Leave it to Sandor to curse. “Fuck, Little bird… did I not ask you?”

“No?”

“Oh fucking fuck,” Sandor groaned at the phone. “Little bird, I am so sorry! I thought I had! Fuck I’m an idiot.”

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to ask her! She didn’t know what to say to that, she wanted to giggle out of happiness and relief, she wasn’t taking anyone else! “You wanted to ask me?” She managed, her hands got a bit clammy and she did her best to control her voice.

“Yeah,” she could clearly see him scratching the back of his head. “I just didn’t want to put any pressure on you, and well, the test got the best of me and I guess I forgot. But, ah, Sansa… I know we’re two weeks out, but, wanna go to prom with me?”

Sansa felt giddy and happy, “Of course! I’d love to go to prom with you!”

“Oh that’s a relief,” Sandor said. “But wait, can you get a dress so close? I mean, I know I fucked up and I’m giving you very little time, but if you can’t… well, we could go and catch a movie or something.”

Sansa was moved, it was so kind of him. “I have a dress, don’t worry about it. Just get your tux, I think you’d look quite dashing in either gray or blue.”

“Grey or blue? Got it. Well, Sansa, gotta go, need to finish an essay. See you at school, and thanks for putting up with my dumbass.”

Sansa laughed, “Thank you for asking me, see you at school.”

They both hanged and Sansa all but jumped up and down her bed, she was excited and happy. Now she could only hope to find someone to do her hair and make-up, she wanted to be the prettiest Sandor had ever seen her.

***

The next morning, she told her mother about it, fortunately, Catelyn knew a woman who could do both her hair and make-up. “I am glad you’re going,” Catelyn told her smiling. “It was disheartening seeing you be upset for missing prom.”

Sansa hugged her mother. “Well, I’m going and I’m going to have fun!”

“That’s my girl,” Catelyn said and squeezed her tightly.

The days that followed passed in a flurry of activity, schoolwork and her volunteering kept her busy. She had already selected hair and make-up, she had her accessories ready and she was growing ever more excited for prom.

The day of it, she could barely believe that it was finally happening. By the time she was done, she felt like a princess, she had chosen a braided updo that left some thin strands of hair to fall around her hair, her make-up was done in soft shades of pink. Her blue dress fit her perfectly and picked her accessories in silver. She allowed her mother to fuzz over her and take pictures.

When Sandor came to pick her up, he looked quite dashing in a dark blue tux and he had gotten her a corsage. It was a beautiful little thing, white baby roses and baby’s breath, he placed it gently on her hand. “You look beautiful,” he’d told her when they had seen each other.

“And you look quite dashing,” She beamed at him. She relished in the matching smile that Sandor gave her. “I’m excited!”

Her mother had insisted on a couple of photos, neither minded and simply stood still side by side as her mother took them. “Have fun, don’t drink and drive.” That had been her father’s parting words.

Sandor had opened the door of his car for her, only closing it after she had been safely in. He walked to the driver’s seat and climbed on. “Ready?”

“Yes! Let’s go!”

Sandor laughed at her enthusiasm, but started the car and drove them to the hotel were their reception was taking place. Once they were there, he opened her door and offered his arm, she took it smiling and together, they made their way inside.

She gaped at the ballroom, it was all decorated in different shades of green and silver. They found their sitting place and chatted with the people around them, but they only seemed to have eyes for each other.

They chatted while they had their dinner, and once the dance floor was officially opened, Sandor stood and offered his hand and they began to dance.

“I didn’t take you for a dancer,” she admitted.

Sandor shrugged, “I’m not much of it, but that’s the point of today, right, to dance?”

“True.”

And dance they did, only taking breaks when she felt tired or needed punch or a bathroom break. They danced the night away, and just before the night came to a close, the last song was a slow ballad. And they both still dance, her arms around his middle (damn his height!) while they swayed gently to the sound of music.

“Thank you.” She told him.

“What for?”

“For bring me. I wanted to come, but no one asked.”

“That’s because they’re idiots, Little bird. Myself included. I’m just, well, honored that you accepted.”

She looked up, her heart was beating fast and loud. Finding either courage or stupidity, she pushed herself up and gave him a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth, blushing fiercely immediately after. “If you’re an idiot, then, you’re my idiot.”

Sandor looked at her with wide eyes, but then he shook his head, grinned and said, “Yep, I’m your idiot.” And he lowered himself enough to give her a quick kiss to her lips.

She beamed and returned it. “I like you, you know?”

Sandor seemed to catch her meaning, “Well, I like you too.”

Under the soft lights and with gentle music, they both grinned and once more kissed. No matter what happened tomorrow, they would always have this night. But somehow she knew, that something special had been born this night.