#skinchanger reader

[unholygengar]

Winter's Blood & Dragon Fire

Chapter One: A Long journey

The very north of Westeros is a realm where the world seems to slumber beneath an endless blanket of snow and ice. Here, the air is a biting chill, carrying with it the whispers of ancient legends and the howls of wolves echoing through the night. The land is stark and unforgiving, a vast expanse where the snow-covered hills and dark forests stretch out as far as the eye can see, interrupted only by the occasional frozen river or barren, rocky outcrop.

In this desolate and beautiful landscape stands Winterfell, the ancestral seat of House Stark. Winterfell is a fortress as old as time itself, its great stone walls rising up from the white landscape like the unyielding mountains in the distance. The castle is a sprawling complex of towers, walls, and courtyards, each part of it touched by the harsh breath of the North. Its high walls are crowned with frost, and the massive gates, forged of ancient oak and iron, seem to groan with the weight of centuries.

The heart of Winterfell is the Great Keep, a towering edifice of gray stone that dominates the skyline. From its battlements, one can see the vast stretch of the Wolfswood to the west, where direwolves still roam, their eyes gleaming in the twilight. To the east lies the wide expanse of the Kingsroad, winding its way southward through the endless snow towards the warmer, softer lands beyond the Neck.

The Godswood within Winterfell's walls is a sacred place, a haven of ancient trees with branches heavy with snow. At its center stands a weirwood tree, its bark pale as bone, and its leaves a dark red, like the blood of old gods. The face carved into its trunk gazes out with solemn eyes, watching over the quiet grove where the Stark family has prayed for countless generations.

As the cold winds howl around Winterfell, carrying the scent of pine and the promise of winter, the people within its walls go about their lives with a resilience born of necessity. The blacksmith’s hammer rings out in the cold air, the scent of baking bread wafts from the kitchens, and the sound of laughter echoes through the stone halls. The Stark motto, "Winter is Coming," is not just a warning but a way of life, a constant reminder of the harshness of their world and the strength required to survive it.

Sitting beneath the weirwood tree sat the younger sister of Cregan Stark, eyes white as snow and a mind far away from her own body. Atop the great fortress that was Winterfell a bird of prey soared, eyes the same matching white as that of the girl sat against the ancient tree. Humans, in their ceaseless pursuit of power and conquest, found the power to carry swords and armor, their feet bound to the earth while their hearts yearn for what true freedom might feel like. Lyria often watches the birds with envy, their wings cutting through the air with effortless grace, embodying the freedom she craves. Yet, she is grateful beyond measure for the gift of skinchanging, a rare blessing from the Gods that allows her spirit to soar. Each time she melds her consciousness with that of a raven, she savors every moment, feeling the rush of wind beneath her wings and the exhilarating vastness of the world below. In these stolen moments of flight, Lyria truly feels alive, unburdened by the chains of the mortal realm.

A voice of which felt close, yet so far away came to join Lyira’s trail of thoughts, but it was not before the call of her name that her eyes returned to their normal, cool shade of gray. Behind her stood Cregan, her brother, Lord of WInterfell and Warden of The North, his eyes locked with hers, his mouth moving without her being able to make out a single word of what he said. Blinking a few times in hopes of getting rid of the ringing in her ears and the blurriness of her vision, Lyria’s brother knelt made way to kneel before her, his hand coming up to wipe the crimson liquid that escaped her nose.

“How long were you gone, sister?” A question Cregan had repeated for a third time before his sister made sense of what had been asked, her hands found their way to his arms, gripping them lightly as he went on to help her to her feet. When she looked around, it became clear to her that the sun had risen, the sky no longer bleeding gold— she had been gone for a good while without realizing. 

“The sky had yet to look blue when I came outside…” She paused for a moment, taking in her surroundings as she now stood with her feet on the ground once more. Cregan went to link their arms, guiding his sister out from the Godswood, slowly making their way towards the courtyard. “Are we to depart soon? The Gods seem to have granted us fine weather for our long journey– not a single cloud to be seen in the sky.” Lord Stark looked at his sister, her mind still far away even though she walked by his side. It was the usual outcome of her skinchanging— ever since it first happened. It took a while for Lyria to find herself again once her spirit returned into her body, as if it took a while for her to adjust to everything when she no longer saw the world through the eyes of whatever creature she came to possess. 

Cregan turned to his sister Lyria as they arrived in the frost-kissed courtyard, his hands finding and gripping her elbows with a mixture of urgency and tenderness. “We were to leave not long ago, but you were nowhere to be found.” He paused, his eyes locking onto hers with a stern but caring gaze. “I wish for you to stay here, Lyria. The South is no place for a wolf—”

Lyria’s calm fury interrupted him, her eyes flashing with a mix of longing and defiance. “I want to come—no, I need to. I wish to see dragons, Cregan. To feel winds melting my skin instead of the ones that nip at my soul. The North is my home, but you are my pack. You cannot make me stay while you dine with all the Lords and Ladies of the Kingdom.”

Her voice, steady yet fervent, cut through the chill of the air. Cregan’s gaze softened, torn between the protective instincts of a brother and the understanding of a sibling who knows too well the pull of one's heart. All Cregan could do was nod. Knowing his sister as he did, he realized there was no arguing with her resolute and wild spirit. With one final, reluctant squeeze of her elbows, he released her, though his gaze lingered on hers, filled with both resignation and affection. "Aye, then you shall dine alongside all the Lords and Ladies, lie your eyes upon the biggest of beasts, and see all that the South of the Neck has to offer."

Lyria’s grin widened, a flash of triumph in her eyes. With a playful jab to her brother’s shoulder, she spun on her heel and hurried towards her black stallion, her heart brimming with excitement. “Then we shall waste no more time! To the South we ride!” she declared, her voice ringing with a blend of determination and exhilaration as she mounted her horse and set off towards the awaiting journey.

The journey south was a grueling one, a week of relentless travel that saw Lyria and her companions spending a cumulative forty hours on horseback. The Northern travelers, accustomed to the biting chill and the steady rhythm of the snowy landscape, found themselves weary from the relentless pace and the varying terrain of the South. Despite making numerous stops to rest and resupply, the weariness of the road weighed heavily upon them.

As they traversed the Kingsroad, Lyria marveled at the changing scenery. The stark beauty of the North gave way to the lush and varied landscapes of the South. Passing the Neck, the looming silhouettes of the Twins came into view, their stone towers rising above the misty waters of the river. The sound of rushing rivers filled the air as they neared Harrenhal, its massive, crumbling structure a stark contrast to the vibrant life of the surrounding lands. 

The Gods Eye sparkled like a jewel in the early morning sun, its serene surface reflecting the soft light and adding a touch of magic to their journey. They pressed on past Sow’s Horn, its name evoking images of the ancient and the mythical, and Hayford Castle, with its imposing walls and storied past.

Finally, after days of arduous travel and the subtle shift of seasons, the travelers were greeted by the sight of King’s Landing. The sprawling city, nestled against the bay, shimmered in the distance, a vibrant and bustling hub of life. Its towering Red Keep and the bustling streets below seemed almost to beckon, a far cry from the cold, unyielding landscape of the North. As the travelers approached, the city’s grandeur and the promise of new experiences provided a welcome contrast to the fatigue of their long journey.

— — —

Lyria, Cregan, and their small assembly of Northerners made their way through the bustling streets of King’s Landing, the city alive with the sounds and scents of the capital. The Great Sept loomed magnificently to their left, its towering spires catching the midday sun, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. In the distance, the Dragonpit’s dome was a stark reminder of the powerful beast it housed below.

As they continued, the Red Keep came into view, a stunning fortress of red stone that dominated the skyline. Its high walls and grand towers were both imposing and awe-inspiring, a testament to the might and majesty of House Targaryen. The Northerners, weary yet resolute, felt a sense of anticipation and respect as they approached the grand entrance leading into the castle grounds.

Upon arrival, they were greeted by an honor guard of Kingsguards, their white cloaks billowing slightly in the gentle breeze, and their polished armor gleaming. Beyond them stood the royal family, a sight both regal and formidable. King Viserys, though frail and in ill health, was seated in his grand chair, exuding an air of dignified authority. Behind him stood Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, his expression stern and watchful. To the king’s right stood his sons, Aegon II with a proud stance and Aemond with a piercing gaze. 

On Viserys’ left, Queen Alicent stood with a composed grace, her presence commanding and serene. Next to her was the princess Helaena, her delicate features reflecting both beauty and melancholy. The Targaryen family stood proud and united, a powerful symbol of the realm’s might.

Lyria, Cregan, and their companions dismounted their steeds, the journey’s fatigue momentarily forgotten in the face of such grandeur. They slowly climbed the steps leading up to the royals, their movements measured and respectful. As they ascended, the Northerners felt the weight of tradition and history pressing upon them, aware of the significance of this meeting between the North and the Iron Throne. The air was thick with anticipation as they prepared to pay their respects and present themselves to the rulers of Westeros.

All of the guests lowered their heads in respect for the king and his family, though it didn’t go unnoticed by the Stark’s that a certain member of the family was nowhere to be seen— the heir, princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

As the lord of Winterfell and his sister approached the king, Cregan was the first to offer his greetings. Their hands met in a firm yet gentle handshake, a silent exchange of respect and acknowledgment. While King Viserys welcomed the young wolf lord, his gaze shifted to Lyria, whose soft features did not go unnoticed by his Grace. 

Cregan then moved on to greet the remaining members of the royal family, each gesture marked by the formal courtesy befitting his station. Meanwhile, Lyria stepped forward, her steps measured and graceful. She curtsied with deep respect before the king, who reached out and gently grasped her hand.

"Lady Stark, your brother failed to mention your presence, albeit I am honored to be graced with your northern beauty," King Viserys said, his voice warm and welcoming.

Lyria offered the elder man a small smile, holding her head high despite barely standing taller than the seated king. "You honor me, Your Grace. We sent a raven, though it seems that we reached your blessed home before it got the chance to inform you of my joining."

The king’s face lit up with a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he shook his head. "Nonsense, my dear. Your presence is that of a pleasant surprise."

His hand continued to engulf hers, a gesture both reassuring and kind. Lyria felt a sense of warmth emanate from the frail yet resilient king, a stark contrast to the icy winds of her homeland. As she stood there, hand in hand with the Realm's protector, she could not help but feel a sense of profound connection and mutual respect. This moment, amidst the grandeur of the Red Keep and the presence of the powerful Targaryen family, was a testament to the strength and unity of Westeros, a tapestry woven from the diverse threads of its noble houses.

Once the king released Lyria’s hand, she moved on to greet Aegon. A mischievous smirk played on his lips, widening as the snow-white beauty bowed her head to him. In a swift motion, his hands found hers, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a long, rather un-kingly kiss. His violet eyes locked onto hers as their hands parted, his gaze that of a predator eyeing its next meal.

“The Realm has failed to mention that northern ladies are that of beauty, Lady Stark. The view before me is sent by the heavens.”

Surely Aegon thought his flirtatious words would elicit a blush, but Lyria saw the lustful gleam in his eyes, the gaze of a man longing to see what lay beneath the layers of her dress. She smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes—as she replied.

“You flatter me, prince, though I assure you that I am simply human and not a gift sent from the heavens above.”

Aegon chuckled at her response, a small snicker escaping him, followed by a nod. “You could have fooled me, my lady. I look forward to seeing more of you in the coming days.”

Another kiss was placed on her knuckle before she moved to greet the second son of the king: Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed prince. He stood stoic, taller than his older brother, his well-tended hair resting against the black leather he wore. Lyria nodded at him, her eyes fixed on his uncovered violet eye. This time, she spoke first, her hands intertwined in front of her.

“There are widespread tales of your skills with the blade, my prince. It would be an honor to witness them with my own eyes.”

Aemond’s lips curled slightly, a glimmer of confidence shining in his eye at the compliment. He bowed, his gaze never leaving hers as he extended his hand. Lyria placed her hand in his, and he bestowed a chaste kiss upon her pale knuckles before straightening.

“Your words honor me, Lady Wolf. I suppose it would be a pleasure to demonstrate my honed skills—if the celebrations of my father’s nameday spare us such pleasantries.”

Lyria nodded, her eyes meeting his with a mix of respect and curiosity, the formalities of the greeting charged with unspoken understanding and anticipation.

After greeting the king and princes, Lyria made her way to the queen. Alicent Hightower was young—much younger than her husband. Her auburn hair was neatly braided away from her face, falling freely down her back. A stunning green gown hugged her body, leaves embroidered with gold thread stretching from the collar, wrapping around her waist. As Lyria stood before the gracefully composed woman, she was struck by the realization that Alicent embodied beauty itself. Dropping into a small curtsy, she was met with a forced, yet tender smile from the queen.

“Words do you no justice, my queen. You are as graceful as they come,” Lyria said earnestly. She had never seen such beauty until her eyes slipped to the princess beside the queen. Their exchange was brief, only a few words passing between them before Lyria continued on to Helaena.

Just as Lyria was about to bow her head to the princess, she felt soft, cool hands embrace her face. She met Helaena’s gaze, shocked by the sudden touch of her gentle hands. In the princess’s eyes, Lyria found something familiar—a faraway look, though her physical form was present.

“The wolf can fly…” Helaena’s voice was soft, enigmatic.

Lyria was momentarily confused, aware of the many eyes upon them. Despite not fully understanding Helaena’s words, she nodded, her hands finding and holding the ones on her face. She made no effort to remove the princess’s hands, allowing the white-haired girl to maintain the tender contact.

“The wolf can fly, princess,” Lyria affirmed.

With Lyria’s words, it seemed Helaena returned to her senses, her eyes studying the northern girl she had embraced. It wasn’t often that others responded to her cryptic sayings, yet this stranger from a distant land looked at her with understanding and respect. Helaena smiled, her thumbs softly stroking Lyria’s warm skin. The two stood in comfortable silence, as if the world around them ceased to exist, until the queen beside them cleared her throat.

Helaena’s hands left Lyria’s face, the ghost of her touch lingering on her pale cheeks as the princess took a step back, her eyes still on Lyria, mirroring the curiosity of the Targaryen family. “A wolf with wings is but a rare thing—” She paused, as if the rest of her sentence had slipped her mind. “I’d like to show you the Keep, if you’d let me? The Godswood would be a great start to your stay with us, though I’m sure ours is nothing compared to what your home has to offer.”

Before Alicent or Viserys could stop their daughter, Helaena swiftly led the brunette girl away from the gathering and towards the Red Keep’s own Godswood. The two girls moved in tandem, the world around them a blur as they delved into the serene sanctuary, a silent understanding forming between them.

Arriving in the godswood, Lyria realized that the princess had been right—while the royal godswood was beautiful, it was nothing compared to that of Winterfell. The white bark of the weirwood trees did not blend into the soft summer snow as they did in the North, nor did the crimson leaves provide the striking contrast she was accustomed to. The weirwood tree here stood tall but felt small compared to the ancient giant she was used to praying by, though the somber face carved into its trunk remained much the same, a silent witness to their presence.

The two girls came to a stop before the mighty tree, its roots sprawling out like the veins of the land itself. They sat down by its base, settling into a comfortable silence. Helaena’s eyes roamed the ground as if searching for something hidden in the soil, while Lyria found her small dagger fastened at her hip. Unsheathing the blade, she brought it to her thumb and sliced the skin just deep enough to draw blood. The small drop of crimson, resembling a ruby, gleamed before it met the bark of the weirwood, which seemed to absorb the offering from the northern lady.

The two sat in silence, a sense of peace enveloping them. Though strangers, their brief introduction had unfolded an unspoken understanding between them. The sacred space, with its ancient trees and whispering leaves, provided a sanctuary where words were unnecessary. They were connected by something deeper, something primal and ancient.

Eventually, Helaena broke the pleasant silence. A spider crawled in the palm of her hand as she turned to face Lyria, whose thumb still rested against the tree. “I must ask… How does a wolf fly? Such creatures have no wings, yet your eyes have seen the world from above. How so?”

Lyria looked at the princess, her gaze thoughtful, not sure how the princess knew this information. She took a deep breath, feeling the connection between her and the weirwood tree, the life force that seemed to pulse through its roots and into her soul.

“Wolves may not have wings, but there are other ways to soar,” Lyria began softly. “In the North, some are gifted with the ability to skinchange—to enter the minds of animals and see the world through their eyes. I am one of those few. Through the eyes of a raven, I have soared above the trees, felt the wind beneath my wings, and seen the world from the sky. In the body of a wolf, I roamed the woods and lived freely and in the skin of a bear I experienced the mind of a beast and the power that comes with it. ” She paused briefly, but continued as if knowing that she could trust the princess with such a heavy secret. “I know the South views our ways as wrong, some going so far as to call it black magic, but it is far from truth. I swear it by my Old Gods, for they granted me this gift.”

Helaena’s eyes widened slightly, her fascination evident as she listened. The spider in her hand crawled leisurely, oblivious to the weight of the conversation. “A raven,” she mused, her voice almost a whisper. “How extraordinary. To see the world from such a vantage point… it must be freeing.”

“It is, though I believe you have felt that freedom too.” Lyria agreed, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s a gift, one I cherish deeply. It allows me to escape, to see beyond the confines of my own body and experience the world in a way few others can.”

The princess smiled, a serene expression settling on her face. “Perhaps we are more alike than I thought, Lady Stark. We both see the world differently, in ways others might not understand.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world around them faded, leaving only the two of them and the ancient tree that bore witness to their bond. The silence returned, but it was no longer empty; it was filled with mutual respect and the promise of a deepening friendship.

Now it was Lyria who continued their conversation. She removed her thumb from the weirwood and moved closer to the princess, her eyes captivated by the massive red spider in Helaena’s hands.

"That is one big spider. We only have small ones in the North, and it’s rare to be graced with their presence."

Helaena nodded, turning her hands over and over as the spider crawled along her skin. There was no fear in her eyes, only a fondness for the small, eight-legged creature. "I can't imagine the North having many insects... Word says it’s terribly cold in those lands, that snow never leaves the ground." She paused, letting the spider go and watching as it crawled its way up the massive tree they sat under. "Though that is just a word of tongue. I'm sure a true Northerner like yourself would be the right person to ask about such things."

Lyria found her dagger again, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she twirled the blade between her fingers with ease. "Aye, while winter is everlasting, we are blessed with bare ground for a while, albeit very short. Summer snow is not as heavy, nor the winds as harsh. My home might not be as colorful as yours, princess, but the North is beautiful in its own way."

Helaena reached forward, grabbing Lyria's unoccupied hand in hers. Normally, the princess was quite reserved, tensing at physical contact—even from her own mother. But seated under the weirwood tree, observed by the gods, the two girls had quickly come to understand each other. In all earnestness, Lyria had been the first person not to judge her, not to question her odd sayings, nor look at her as if she had said something that should never be spoken. Their friendship, though new, was profound. The Targaryen princess had never been around anyone like the girl wolf seated with her.

Lyria looked at Helaena, her expression softening. "The North may be harsh and unforgiving, but it has its own kind of beauty. The silence of the snow, the strength of the trees, the resilience of its people. It’s a land that teaches you to be strong, to endure. And in that, there is a beauty unlike any other."

Helaena’s eyes shimmered with understanding. "I would like to see it someday. To feel the cold you speak of, to witness the stark beauty of your home."

Lyria smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across her face. "And I would love to show it to you. The godswood at Winterfell is ancient, the heart tree standing tall and proud. It’s a place of reverence and peace, much like this one, but with a unique northern charm."

The princess squeezed Lyria’s hand gently. "You are different, Lyria. In a good way. You see things others don’t, like me, and you don’t shy away from what you find."

"And you, Helaena," Lyria replied, her voice soft, "are one of the most genuine souls I’ve ever met. Your insight, your way of seeing the world—it’s a gift."

The two girls shared a moment of silence, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing second. The godswood around them seemed to embrace their newfound friendship, the ancient trees bearing silent witness to the connection forming beneath their branches.

Before the two girls could continue their genuine conversation, footsteps approached, stopping a few feet away from them. The girls looked up to meet the stoic gaze of the one-eyed prince, Aemond Targaryen. His right hand firmly gripped the sword at his hip, while his left hand rested behind his back. He studied the scene before him: his sister’s hands playing with the Northerner’s fingers, both of them looking utterly peaceful in each other’s company. A small hum emitted from his throat, his eyes darting between the young ladies before settling on his sister, though she didn’t meet his gaze.

"The King is requesting your presence. You will have time to show the Lady Wolf our home in due course, sister. As of now, though, the day is growing late, and I’m sure our guest would be pleased to clean up before the welcome feast."

Though Aemond had finished speaking, he remained standing in front of them, waiting to be their escort into the castle. Lyria was the first to stand, dusting herself off before lending a hand to the princess and helping her to her feet. As the two of them closed in on Aemond, he offered his arms to the girls—like a proper prince ought to do.

Lyria placed her hand on his elbow, accepting his escort. However, Helaena chose to intertwine her arm with Lyria's instead of her brother’s. Aemond wouldn’t go so far as to say he was offended, but the fact that Helaena preferred to link arms with someone who was initially a stranger instead of her own brother did something to weaken his ego.

As they walked towards the castle, the air between them was filled with an unspoken tension. The courtyard was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, casting long shadows that danced on the cobblestone path. Aemond’s tall, imposing figure contrasted sharply with the delicate forms of Lyria and Helaena. The serene atmosphere of the godswood was left behind as they moved closer to the grandeur of the Red Keep.

Lyria couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy for Aemond. She sensed the hurt behind his stoic demeanor, the subtle wound inflicted by his sister’s preference for her company over his. But she also understood Helaena’s choice. There was a unique bond forming between the two girls, one that transcended the formalities and expectations of court life.

As they approached the grand entrance of the castle, Aemond spoke again, his voice a touch softer than before. "Lady Stark, I hope you find your accommodations to your liking. Should you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask."

Lyria nodded, offering him a gentle smile. "Thank you, Prince Aemond. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated."

Helaena, still holding Lyria’s arm, glanced at her brother with a look that held a mixture of apology and defiance. "We shall make haste, brother. But know that Lyria’s company is a welcomed change for me. She understands things others do not."

Aemond’s gaze softened slightly, a flicker of understanding passing through his eye, despite not fully gripping what his sister meant.. "Very well, sister. But do remember, the feast awaits."

Helaena and Lyria walked slowly through the grand corridors of the Red Keep, the warm glow of torches casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. As they reached Lyria’s chamber, Helaena paused and gave her new friend a gentle smile.

"This is your room, Lady Stark. I hope you find it comfortable. I’ll see you at the feast."

Lyria returned the smile, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Princess. I’ll be there shortly."

Helaena nodded, her hand lingering on Lyria’s arm for a moment before she turned and walked away, her footsteps soft and echoing down the corridor.

Lyria entered her room, taking in the opulent surroundings. A large bathtub had been brought in, steam rising from the hot water. She sighed in relief, eager to wash away the dust and weariness of their journey. She carefully removed her travel-stained clothes, folding them neatly before stepping into the tub. The hot water enveloped her, soothing her sore muscles. She took her time, scrubbing her skin clean and letting the warmth relax her.

Once she felt sufficiently refreshed, she stepped out of the tub and dried herself with a soft towel. She found a small bottle of cinnamon-scented oil on the vanity and applied a few drops behind her ears, enjoying the comforting aroma. She then began to work on her hair, her fingers deftly weaving it into an intricate triple braid that joined into one at the back. Satisfied with her appearance, she slipped into a stunning white gown. The shimmering silver thread and stormy gray accents complemented her eyes perfectly, and the white fox fur that draped over her shoulders added a touch of northern elegance.

Ready to join the feast, Lyria left her room and met her brother, Cregan, in the hallway. The two of them walked in silence, the bond between them unspoken but strong. Cregan, in his dark shades of gray and black, with a mighty fur cloak hanging over his broad shoulders, looked every bit the formidable Lord of Winterfell. In contrast, Lyria shone in her white gown, a vision of northern grace and beauty.

As they entered the grand hall, they were met with the sight of lords and ladies already taking their seats. The room was filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of goblets. Helaena spotted the siblings and waved in their direction before returning to her conversation.

The Starks made their way to their seats, their contrasting attires drawing the eyes of many. Once seated, goblets were filled with wine—a more fruity and refined beverage than what they were used to in the North. Lyria took a sip, savoring the unfamiliar taste, while Cregan merely nodded his approval, his gaze sweeping over the assembled guests with a warrior’s vigilance.

As they settled in, the feast began in earnest, the tables laden with an array of sumptuous dishes. Lyria and Cregan exchanged a glance, both feeling the weight of their northern heritage amidst the southern opulence. They were wolves in a dragon’s den, but they held their heads high, ready to face whatever the evening—and the days to come—might bring.

The feast in the grand hall of the Red Keep was a dazzling affair. Lords and ladies engaged in lively conversation, the clinking of goblets and laughter filling the air. Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell, was frequently engaged in conversation with various nobles, discussing matters of the realm, the North, and their mutual interests. Despite the attention, his gaze frequently darted to his sister, Lyria, to ensure her well-being.

Lyria, however, sat mostly in silence. She was a stark contrast to the animated conversations around her. Her quiet demeanor was alarming to Cregan. He knew his sister to be a wild spirit, full of life and opinions. Her silence in such a setting was unusual and disconcerting.

As the feast progressed, and dessert was served, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Most men were deep in their cups of wine, their tongues loosened by the drink. It was then that Lyria, with a determined glint in her eye, rose from her seat. The creaking of her chair drew attention, and soon all eyes were upon her. 

Ignoring the stares, Lyria focused on the royal family. Helaena, sensing Lyria's intent, gave a subtle nod of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, Lyria addressed the king. "My King!" Her voice rang out, silencing the hall. Cregan watched her, confused and worried.

"If I may be so bold and ask," Lyria continued, "it is said that Old Valyria was a place of great things, such as magic. Is that something you believe in, Your Grace?"

At this, Otto and Alicent Hightower, seated beside the king, shot her sharp looks of disapproval. Cregan’s grip on his sister’s wrist tightened, a silent plea for her to reconsider. But Viserys, intrigued by the boldness of the young lady, smiled warmly. He seemed oblivious to the discomfort of his wife and the Hand.

"Well, yes, Lady Lyria," Viserys responded, taking a sip of his wine. "The Targaryens are from a place of old magic. If there are such creatures as dragons, it would be foolish not to believe that things akin exist, no? Any particular reason for these questions?"

Cregan's grip grew more intense, but Lyria met his gaze with a soft yet determined look. In a whisper meant only for her brother, she said, "The South paints us as heathens, brother. We should not be shamed for sharing blood with the First Men. Our home was built atop creations made by the Children of the Forest. Our faith is no laughing matter, and we should not be a jest for our beliefs—no matter how old."

Returning her attention to the king, a mischievous grin played on Lyria’s lips. "It would do me great honor, Your Grace, to show you the gift I’ve been granted by the Old Gods... though I’d much prefer less of an audience for such a matter. Only if it pleases you, my king."

Viserys leaned back in his chair, clearly fascinated by the young Stark's boldness. "Such confidence and conviction in your beliefs, Lady Lyria. Very well, I shall see this gift of yours. Ser Otto, Alicent, and my sons will accompany us. Let us adjourn to a more private setting."

As the king rose, the hall buzzed with whispers and curious glances. Cregan released his grip on Lyria, his expression a mix of concern and pride. He followed the royal family, along with his sister, to a more secluded part of the castle where Lyria would reveal her extraordinary gift.

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A/N: This story will be cross-published here and on AO3, eventually Wattpad, if you see it anywhere else, please report it. On another note- I'd love to hear thoughts on this chapter, as well as feedback, but be kind! I don't normally write and usually my ideas remain that of stories told to my friend @thee-horny-thicky

[orboros]

Blood on Snow part 2

Warnings: Gutting a animal

I don't know how long this series will be, but this isn't the last chapter. Also, if anyone has any tips for getting better at typing, please share it :) I write it down physically, and then I type it on my phone. This is a pretty slow process, so I would appreciate any tips. Thank you, and I hope you find some enjoyment in it.

The all-encompassing blackness of night covered your body as the howling winds drowned your grunts and pants for air. The climb down the wall was far easier than the climb up, but that didn't mean it was easy. The woven rope dug into your waist as the icyness of the frozen wall soaked your gloves. You've neared the end now. With both Ygla and Vigyn safely on the ground. Your hand reached for your knife. The rusted blade cut the rope that tied you to Gurnard. You sheathed the blade before letting go of the rope. Pain shot up your feet and settled in your knees as you landed on the frost-covered grass. You ripped the worn gloves from your hand; thick Calluses were spilt angrily, and large Bullous blisters formed on the tips of your fingers. It hurt, but the cold air soothed your sweaty hands. Your hood came down soon after that, and strands of sweat-covered hair stuck out of the tight plaits you had put in your hair.

Ygla and Vigyn played with their axes and swords, respectively. They hit each other with comically loud whines and cries of pain. Anger flooded you; this wasn't some joke. Several members of your group had died, and now they screamed and Hollered like dogs. Anyone could hear you; on the ground, sound travels quickly, especially at night. You quickly marched over to them. Your Calloused hands soon clattered each of them in the back of the head.

"Be quiet," You whispered with a hiss.

"But Grunard said there were no crows here!" Vigyn said it in the whiny tone of a pubescent boy.

"Grunard said that so you wouldn't shit yourselves; we don't know for sure where the crows are." You looked at both of their fear-sticky faces with fury.

"Don't look at me like that; you wanted to come here; you wanted to raid. Don't shirk in fear just because the consequences of your actions have arrived." Your nose flared as your harsh words left your chapped lips. The guilty looks of scolded children came on each of their dates. It did not quell your anger, but they Had been told off enough for one day. More men and women rumped from the grass-woven ropes, Grunard being one of them. With everyone who had survived the wall now on southern ground, you all gathered together.

Grunard spoke with wide hand gestures and a hushed voice. The darkness of night made it hard to see him, but you understood the gist of the plan nonetheless. You would journey to Queenscrown and completely bypass Mole's Town. The crows often visited the women there to break their oh-so-sacred vows. The town was crawling with the black-hearted basterds. As you had a number of young ones, it was better to go straight to Queenscown.

The people were weak and easy to kill. Spending their days tilling the fruitful soil. As a result, the reward was low. There would be no fine silks or exotic spices, but there would be enough swords, axes, and armour to make the journey worth it.

Under the cover of night, everyone moved as one, searching for shelter to hide from the exposed nature of daylight. Luckily, the gods granted you all that mercy in the form of a cave. The other raiders poured into the dark and damp cave. Some slept alone, while others gathered in large piles to sleep. You decided on neither; you were too hungry to sleep. The pain of hunger crawled up your ribcage, sending the familiar growls into the quiet night. With a rake of arrows across your back and a bow in hand, you left the cave. The dark sky began to lighten as the first light came.

The squelch of lush, dew-covered grass and the melodic chirps of risen birds drove home how full of life the south was. Every inch of land is themed with life; back home on the frozen shore, most life existed in the turbulent sea. Here, it was everywhere. The grassy meadows soon turned to thick oak forests, and gentle rays of dawn gently touched the apples of your cheeks as they swept through the woodland. Birds flew through the canopy of leaves as rabbits swiftly leaped into underground burrows. But you were searching for something more filling. A crack of a twig altered your eager ears. Before your eyes found him, you knew what he was. The snap of the twig was heavy—too heavy to be a wolf and too light to be a boar. Your eyes whipped around to the large stag.You lowered your body as a creeping hand gripped one of your arrows. The great white stag didn't notice your soundless breathing and hungry eyes as it chewed on fresh grass. Nor did it notice the flying arrow until it pierced its chest. But by the time he realised it, it was too late. The beast fell to the ground with a thud. In your younger years, you would wait for the blood to drain from the beast, but now that you were more skilled, deer would die on impact. This one is included.

You sauntered over to the now-dead creature; killing had always been easy for you. The North was filled with it. Death surrounded anything that had the fight to survive and took anything that didn't. But here, where life came easy, the fight for survival was nonexistent.

Your Calloused hand ripped the arrow from its punctured heart. Blood gushed from the wound. Flickers of life still brimmed in his eyes, and your rusted blade that was once on your hip sliced the stag's throat in thick jagad cuts. It was a painful way to die, but you still needed to eat, and it was a better way to go than dying slowly with an arrow in your heart. With his life gone with his blood, you began to cut open the stag. Your rusted serrated knife first cut around the anus of the creature and freed its colon, so all its guts would come out in one piece. Your knife ran up along its abdomen, just cutting through its hide, lest you accidentally cut into its bladder and spill piss all over the good meat. You cut off the balls and cock of the stage and discarded it. Then you cut it into the meat of the stag. Down to the bone. Making a gateway for all the guts to come pouring out. With the ridge of the pelvis now exposed, you began to cut through the hide of the sternum to join your work lower down.

As you reached the end of its ribs, you cut slowly so as not to puncture the stomach. The white lining that encased the organ was next. Your blade popped open the next lay, and you dug your fingers into the still-warm stag. You cut the lining in between your fingers, revealing the assortment of grey and brown organs. You took your knife and began to saw through the pelvic bone. Thick clumps of white dust gathered at the sides of your knife. You ripped out the chuck of bone and tossed it into the thick forest. Your knife was set aside in favour of your hands, and with one hand set on each side, you cracked open the pelvis. The weight of your body made the bones crack and splinter beneath you. With your serrated knife in hand, you began cutting through the ribcage of the creature. No longer be careful with your hands, and cut away at anything attaching the guts to the meat. You cut out the heart and set it aside along with the liver and kidneys before you pulled them cleanly from the once great stag. With your gutted stag and your hands bloody, it was time to head back to your fellow raiders.

You packed up the edible organs into your bag before you dragged the creature out of the forest by the antler. Picking up mushrooms, herbs, and anything worth eating along the way. The sun had only risen slightly in the time you were away from camp. Still, the others seemed to wake up at the smell of blood. Several crowded around you as you neared the cave, and soon the stag was taken from you to be cooked. Grunard threw you a water-soaked rag to clean your hands; the semi-dried blood wiped away easily. Though some still cringe under your fingernails.

Soon the stag was cut further down and cooked on an open fire. The smell of seared venison battled the stench of sweat all of you carried. A large wooden bowl of stew was set in front of you, filled to the brim with meat, mushrooms, and barley. All of which you had gathered, and as a result, you got the largest portion. The meat was tender; it fell apart in strings against your teeth. With your belly now filled and furs placed down for you, you laid down and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The unnoticed blackness of sleep was eventually painted with streaks of colour. The pigments merged and separated; shades of green, white, purple, and brown swirled until the colours were pulled into an image. It was the cave you had settled in—the same damp stone walls, the same sprouts of vegetation in every corner. But the fire was out, with only smoke rising from the ashes as a marker of its existence. Your heart began to pump faster as the image became clearer; gone were the other raiders, not even furs or weapons to remember them by. Your eyes turned to look out at the entrance of the cave. The meadows and thick forests of the southern landscape were gone. Instead, the stone walls drifted like smoke into a large candlelit room. High stone ceilings and dark wood floors. Every part of the room was filled with more luxuries and crafted with more expertise than you had ever seen. Even the fanciful homes of Mole's Town didn't compare to this. An obnoxiously large bed sat against the back wall, pillows and blankets practically oozing from the bed. A woman lay on the bed, her white hair reflecting a sliver of light. She sat up slightly, her snow-like hair rising with her, and her purple eyes settled on you. In your skin and in your bones, you knew this was a dream. The hazeness of Everything proved it. Yet she was so clear, so real; this was something else, something strange. The white-haired woman sat fully up amongst her luxuries; more gold adorned her than you had seen in all of the men of the frozen shore combined. To your fellow raiders, you spoke the common tongue, but this was not your native tongue; words in your own ancient language slipped from your tongue like oil. The deep, guttural words brought fear to the hearts of southerners, but that did not hold true for her. Curious, unblinking eyes stayed in a heavy lock with your own.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice light, airy, and in the strangest accent you had ever heard.

"The hog," You replied as your tongue slithered back into the position for common touch.

"Hog?" She questioned, her erie lavender eyes still locked with your own.

"There is not a name for it in the common tongue. It is like a You paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"Outside name. One you tell to strangers, ones outside kin," you said with hesitation, knowing your discomfort was clear. She was the strangest-looking and-sounding person you had ever met. Snow white hair and almost translucent lavender eyes. She was pretty, but her ghostly features and voice did nothing to sooth you. Before she could ask another question, you asked one of your own.

"What are you?" You said slowly that you didn't know if she was some vengeful spirit or a trickster here to trap you.

She seemed to think for a moment, pondering your question, unbridled with the fear you felt.

"A Targaryen, I suppose." Your face scrunched up in confusion at her answer, and words slipped from your lips freely.

"What the fuck is a Targaryen?" You said it in bewilderment. Finally, there was some emotion on her wide-eyed face. Her features scrunched up like yours had done as she thought of an answer.

"My mother says that we are the Royal House; Aemond says we are dragons; and Daeron would say we are conquerors. My father doesn't speak to me much, and when My elder brother Aegon speaks of our house, it is nothing but insults. I don't really know what makes a Targaryen—is it dragon riding, the white hair, or the violet eyes? Aemond always says Targaryens are the blood of Old Valeriya, so I would assume that's what we are."

The words dragon riding sung in your head again and again; you knew what she was. Disgust filled your heart like bile and spilled out onto your face. You had heard tales of the dragon-riding inbreeders that ruled the South. Sisters marrying brothers, uncles marrying nieces—it made you sick. Anger soon mixed with and amplified your disgust.

"I know who you are! Inbreeder!" You shouted as you ripped yourself from your furs and marched towards her. As you got to the edge of your world and the beginning of hers, you went to reach for her, but a force so potent ripped you back.

Your eyelids jumped open as you lunged yourself off the sweat-soaked furs you once slept on. Your eyes darted around the cave; the fire was still lit but had now dimmed, and your fellow raiders were still there. Just pack up to continue your journey. Your breath raged as your eyes bound from one spot to another.

"Bad dream?" Grunard said in a mocking tone.

"No, but it was a fucking strange one." You said you were too busy trying to catch your breath and calm your racing heart to joke with him.

His curiosity seemed to be Peaked as you moved out of the furs and began packing up.

Well, aren't you going to tell me what it was, Hog?" He said it with a wrinkled brow.

You looked at him, and with an unwilling frown, you spoke.

"A Targaryen, you know the inbreeders that rule the south." You said this while stuffing the furs into the woven bag. He paused for a moment as his face became more serious.

"We're in the south now, Hog; the dark magic of Old Valeriya runs rampant here. A skinchanger like you should be careful; it could swallow you whole."

  Helaena

 

Helaena awoke with a jump; sweat poured from her brow, yet goosebumps ran along her skin. Her heart beated out of her chest as her breathing was like that of a panting dog. The setting sun stung her eyes; she had only meant to sleep a little while, but the constant visions that plagued her had drained Helaena. They were getting stronger and more clear. The light of the fire was out from the cold of the woman she saw. Tall, intimidating, and calculating, she is covered in thick fur and has clammy skin tattooed with foreign symbols on her hands and up her arms. She didn't set fear into Helaena's heart at first, but when the woman came for her, well, she couldn't help but shut her eyes and cover her ears at the memory. Yet something in Helaena knew the woman had a right to be so angry; something in her told her she too should be angry. Helaena never really thought much of her family's traditions; they had infected every aspect of her life since birth, so how could she judge the only way of life she knew? But in that moment, lying in bed with the setting sun illuminating the room with streaks of pink and orange, She, too, felt disgusted.

An uneasy feeling settled in Helaena as the sun set and the night began. She never really spoke to her husband or her brother. He had only visited her a few times in the night. He was always drunk beyond belief, and he cried. He always cried when they were forced to lay together. Thankfully for both of them, the visits have now ceased. Aegon rarely spoke to her, instead running off to the streets of silk and drinking anything that would dull his mind. She never understood why he did that, but now she does. It was to drown out the shivers of disgust that ran along his skin. She pulled the duvet from her and walked along the wooden floors towards Aegon's rooms. He would most likely be gone, already trying to escape reality.

As her fingers pushed open Aegon's door with a creak, her eyes Peaked in. He sat hunched over at the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes and groaning. Helaena pushed open the door fully and stepped through. Aegon's tired eyes looked up at her with a grimace.

"What is it?" He said it with annoyance.

"What they did to us was bad, wasn't it?"

Her words caught Aegon off guard, and he looked at her fully and with interest. Helaena paused, her lip twitching.

"It was cruel," She said with a crack in her voice.

Aegon took a moment to speak, and when he did, tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

"It was"

[dragonslayer-5fanfiction]

PLEASE PLEASE be aware there is talks of torture and graphic depictions of death. But it is overall so beautifully written. Dead dove do not eat. Tw: torture, graphic depictions of death

The Walkers pt 1

Kind of the prequel for “The Bear’s Lady”

word count: 3443

“Ullrae!” The scream is the last time you hear your mother’s voice, your name the last thing to pass her lips before the Orc’s jagged blade steals her life. The roar of anger as your father throws himself into the fight, shifting into a massive lynx in mid-air and slashing any and all throats he can, before he too is cut down. You can do nothing but watch, bound by some sort of evil that stops you from shifting, stops you from helping, keeps you still and only able to watch in horror as your family is slaughtered.

Keep reading

[divinesolas]

the she-bear

summary: requested; during his time in winterfell the lady of house mormont arrives to pledge her loyalty to queen rhaenyra and jacaerys grows a little too close to the so called she-bear

jacaerys targaryen x mormont!fem!reader

w.c: 1.4k

c.w: widowed reader, reader has a child, older reader, virginity loss (jace), oral (fem), a little plot but a lot more smut, p in v, breeding kink?, not proofread

a.n: freaky anons had me thinking and i saw this request sitting with dust in my box so here you go!!

perm jace taglist ! (open) @tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @earth4angels @itsemohours

During his time in Winterfell he did not expect to run into the lady of house mormont who pledged her loyalty to the queen rhaenyra and swore her forces would join cregans greybeards on the journey to kings landing. he was more than happy to accept her allegiance of course when asked why you had come and pledged you had said yourself that you were interested in seeing a women on the throne but nothing more.

The she-bear they called you. He grew to understand that title more and more he knew you you were stubborn, fierce and he had even heard rumors that you were a skinchanger and could become a bear but he disregarded these rumors even though it had been your younger sister spreading them. The more and more time he spent with you the more he grew to enjoy your presence. maybe a bit too much. He had heard about your previous marriage and then death of your late husband leaving you alone with a babe only a year old but you seemed to not mind and stated you had moved on past his death.

He began to crave your presence more and more when he was around you, he even had begun actively seeking you out instead of cregan as he was intended to do. He knew he was walking a fine line with you, the stolen glances, the lingering touches, he had been debating with himself to ask you for your hand knowing it was wrong, he would need his mother approval but it grew to the point he could not hold himself back.

He had been out flying, he had not known it would begin to ran a couple hours into his flight and he ended up landing at bear island where you had just returned and was offered a place to stay for the night until he was to fly back to Winterfell in the morning. He had been in the room you had provided him with, attempted to rid himself of his soaked riding clothes leaving him in just his tunic and his under pants a knock on the door startled him. He almost wanted to ignore it in his half dressed state until he heard your voice.

“I have an extra pair of clothes for you to rest in my prince.” he does not know what posses him to open the door fully but he enjoys the way your eyes leave his face and trail down his body with a light hum. He takes the clothes from your hands and sets them down on the table right next to the door, the two of you simply staring at each other for a few moments. You take the first willing step forward and he takes a step back, you take another one forward and lightly shut the door behind you.

The back and forth you two have been playing finally reaching its breaking point when you place your hands on the exposed skin of his neck and chest and he lets out a shaken breath. “We should not, i could never defile you like this.” as much as the words feel like venom on his tongue he finds himself speaking them anyway. He watches a small teasing pout form on your lips while you don't bother to remove your hands. “So you’re not interested in me?”

“You know very well i am my lady but we are not married,” despite his talking you look as though your not interested simply untying the strings on his tunic slowly as he breath quickened. he made no move to stop you. “Do you want to marry me my prince?” You pause right before the tunic falls all the way open. You finally look up at him and he finds his resolve crumble as he looks into your eyes. “Yes i do my lady.”

He expects you to kiss him or run your hands down along his now exposed chest but you simply walk past him and towards the fireplace where you throw another log in to keep it alit. “My lady?” You keep your back to him while you tug at a couple ties on your gown and he watches as it falls lightly to the ground and you kick it softly off the bear rug on the ground turning to face him he is unable to take his eyes off your bare body. “i am no longer a maiden but i hope i please you my prince.”

He moves like he is in a trance ridding himself of his tunic as he stands in front of you grabbing your sides gently with a shaky breath. “You more than please me my lady there is no one more beautiful than you.” You smile gently at him and lead him to sit down on the rug with you, the heat if the fire hits on his wet skin nicely as the two of you are pulled into a heated kiss. you fall on your back as the kiss grows more and more heated and his hands fondle your breasts as he leaves a wet trails down your neck.

“my prince.” “call me Jace please.”

He kisses down your stomach paying special attention to leaving loving kisses over your stretch marks on your stomach and thighs before he wraps your legs around his head as he begins to lick at your core. Your hands tug at his curls while your throw your head back and toes curl. The feeling of him prodding around inside of you has your hips grinding into his face while your press his head closer to you as if that was possible. He made no complaint while he listened to you moan. you soon enough release while a couple tugs of your clit and you calling out his name without a care in the world and he kisses back up your body while removing his bottoms leaving him bare above you.

You lightly tug at his plump lips with your own while you smile at him. “when did you learn how do to that?” “I read a couple books about it.” You laugh while he pauses and a flash of nerves crosses his face. When you grab his face gently he gulps, “I've never done this i um i don't,” he gasps when you sudden flip him over and you smile down at him. “Then let me lead, are you okay with it?” He face is flushed and the light of the fire hits him perfectly and he nods eagerly.

He lets out a shuddering moan when you begin to lower yourself onto him and he watches himself disappear into you. He sits up and the two of you hiss at the added friction, you give him a couple minutes to relax knowing this is his first time doing this sort of thing and he shouldn't be rushed. His head falls into your neck and sucks at the skin there while his hands grip your hips to try and get you to move. You understand him and while a light laugh you begin to softly move onto of him.

His whines grow louder and louder the faster you begin to move and your bodies rock together in sync while the room fills with your moans and skins hitting against each other. He knows why men murder to get to do this, why they throw themselves into dirty old brothels just to get a taste of this. Hes sure no other women can compare the way you do however, he wants to do this everyday he does not know how he had survived so long without doing this.

“want you to release in me Jace, want your babes Jace.” he whimpers and moves his hips up to meet yours and you gasp. He wants that, he wants to see you swell with his babe, his babe, a babe he knows is his, he will make sure its his when he watches as his seed drips out of you, keeping you locked in here until he's sure its taken root reputation be dammed. You tug at his bruised lips while you release and he follows quickly after keeping himself tightly presses inside you to make sure not even a drop spills out.

You brush his wet hair away from his face and press a light kiss against his lips. “You really want me to have your kids huh?” You expect him to argue or roll his eyes and but he contently nods and you can feel him swelling again inside you at your words which causes you to laugh.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Brother Mine (Winchester!Reader x Sam and Dean Winchester PLATONIC)

@xweirdo101x Hello, hope you are having a good day/nightI was wondering if I could request a Sam and Dean having an older brother (maybe by one or 2 years)  maybe they haven't seen reader in a couple years. The brother's finally get to see reader when he pulls them out of trouble?

(okay, author's note in that Sam is 22 at the start of the show and Dean is 26. The show spans the same amount of time as in the real world, technically, so Sam ends the show at 37 while Dean ends it at 41. Meaning this elder brother is probably 28 at the start and ends it 43. Good lord, that show went on for a while lol)

"So, explain to me why the two of you chuckleheads are in jail in freaking Kentucky? Because last I heard, Sam was going to college in California and you were still hunting boogeymen with Dad."

The two young men in front of you share a glance as you bail them out of some podunk town's drunk tank.

"Dad's... in trouble." Sam sighs, finally, to a harsh glare from Dean.

"Good riddance to bad assholes." you growl, and Dean clenches his fist

You and your little brothers don't exactly have a great relationship.

With the better part of seventeen years of your lives dedicated to hunting what lies in the darkness, spurred on by your domineering and obsessive father, Dean always has blamed you for "abandoning the family" and "breaking Dad's heart" because you left the life at nineteen and left seventeen year old Dean and thirteen year old Sam behind.

You did the amateur boxing circuit for a while before you were hired on to an indie security company and ended up catching the eye of the owner who trained you until you took over, eventually buying the company and running it.

You know a lot of your money was sent to help pay off any expenses Sam had, but you don't know if it was used for that or blown for motel stays or alcohol or sawed-off-shotguns or salt slugs for Dean and John.

You tried to stay in touch with Sam, but it was awkward. And he wanted space away from "family."

So you know neither of them would ever contact you unless something real bad happened (and apparently Dean's grudge was so strong that he wouldn't even inform you that John went missing)

Though to be perfectly honest, it wouldn't really matter to you anyway, and that's a matter to discuss with your therapist.

"I can't believe you called him." Dean grumbles, like a child.

"Sam apparently knew you'd need a responsible adult." you snark, and he grimaces. "Now, care to tell me why you're road-tripping?"

Sam looks at you. "My girlfriend. Jess. Whatever got Mom... it got her too."

"And you think that Dad is close to tracking it down and that's why he vanished." you sigh.

"Lemme guess, you're gonna tell us that there's nothing that goes bump in the night?" Dean sneers, looking at Sam.

"No, I'm not. I'm gonna tell you that it's not your job to chase it. It's not your duty."

"We save people. We hunt things. It's the family business." Dean growls.

"Jesus, Dean, do you hear how you sound?" you groan. "It's this kind of obsession that I tried to get away from! A terrible thing happened to Mom, and there was nothing any of us could do to stop it. It's not our fault, and it's not our responsibility to chase whatever did it down!"

"It's just gonna keep hurting people. We've seen it happening. It's gathering other people like Sam."

"Fuck." you growl.

Dean senses an in. "You were even better than me, back in the day. Remember when you ganked that skinchanger?"

He says "you were only 14" with as much reverence and awe as you do disgust and shame.

"I can't convince either of you to... let the chips fall where they may?"

"Nope." Dean pops the "p" sound.

"Sorry, no." Sam adds.

"I don't wanna kill things anymore, Dean. Not even bad things. But I do care about you both. So here. I'm going to help you, on one condition. We're going to all come back to my place in California, and Sam is going to apply to fucking law school, and you're gonna think about what you really want with your life, Dean."

They think.

They look at each other.

They nod.

"Welcome back." Dean grins.

"You better not still drive that shitty Impala and listen to crappy 80s rock."

Sam winces.

[scyllas-revenge]

Masterlist of my favorite Boromir fanfics

Note: none of these are mine, they’re just fics from across the internet that I really enjoyed and recommend to anyone (like me) who can’t get enough of Boromir.

Absolute favorites I reread all the time: 💕

Multi-chapter

💕The Traveller by @roqueamadi​​ (rated M, 30k words, complete) - Boromir/tenth walker OC, adventure/romance

The Long Way Home by Glasschmetterling (rated E, 91k words, complete) - Boromir/OC, adventure/romance

 Strangeness and Charm by aybeexinfinity (rated E, 32k words, complete) - Boromir/skinchanger OC, adventure/romance

💕Prince of Gold, Prince of Stone by daphnerunning (rated E, 25k words, ongoing) - Boromir/Theodred, smut, romance, drama

One-shots

Boromir/reader romance:

Into the Light by @heilith​​ and @averil-of-fairlea​​ - fluff

💕Now by @heilith​​  (rated M) - angst, fluff, implied smut

💕Three of Hearts by @heilith​​ - drama, fluff

💕Touchy Feely by @heilith​​ - fluff

Good Intentions by @heilith​​ - fluff

Touch Me Not by @heilith​​ - drama, fluff

Night by Night by @heilith​​  - fluff (honestly just read anything by heilith lol)

An Honest Mistake by Isabel_Kirstein - drama, fluff

The Streets of Gondor by Isabel_Kirstein - fluff, angst

Small Smiles by @legolaslovely​​ - fluff, angst

💕Anything But This by @minaturefics​​ - yearning, fluff

Death(less) Dreams by @minaturefics​​ - angst, fluff

A Stranger by @mismaeve​​ - fluff

So Close by @beautifultypewriter - fluff, yearning

💕Breathe by @sotwk​ - yearning, fluff

Boromir/OC romance:

The Right Question by alexi_ohs - fluff

In Good Hands by brigantine - fluff, adventure

Béma's ass by @i-did-not-mean-to​​ - modern fluff 

Yearning by @i-did-not-mean-to - yearning (duh)

In the Still of the Night by Aria34 - fluff

💕Dandelions by @sotwk - fluff 

Boromir/Theodred romance:

felled by you (held by you) by theMightyPen - fluff

Gen fics:

💕Black Shroud, White Feathers by Icarus_is_flying - Boromir & the hobbits, adventure/angst

💕Heart by starlightwalking - Boromir & Eowyn friendship

The Horn of Gondor by @saentorine​​​ - fluff, Boromir is five years old

A Shadow and a Thought by starryeyedknight - asexual Boromir & Eowyn, Eowyn/Faramir

Smut (please don’t judge me):

Kinkmas 2022 (breeding and against a wall) by @darthglitterfanfiction​​ - Boromir/reader and Boromir/OC, respectively

Kinktober 2022 (sex pollen) by @darthglitterfanfiction​​ - Boromir/reader

Those Eyes by LordMonday - Boromir/Aragorn

And finally:

my own fanfic list with even more Boromir content, just in case :D

If y’all read and enjoy any of these fics, be sure to let the authors know! I’ve tried to include some lesser known stuff here, since it’s so easy for fics to get lost in the crowd, especially older ones. If you have any other recommendations, reblog with your additions!

Updated June 2023! (although I’m pretty sure I forgot a ton of other great fics so I’ll probably update again soon)

[theladymeera]

I am having thoughts about Bran, Hodor, and skinchanging that I must write down now, while they're still fresh.

There's a whole line of fandom that theorizes that in TWOW Bran is going to step up his violation of skinchanging no-nos by doing sex stuff (rape) via Summer. Aside from Bran not having been taught skinchanging in any traditional way, (so he wouldn't know the rules,) and being 10, it's always coming from that part of fandom that hates Bran (and the other main characters).

So here's the thing. Skinchanging into another person is established as taboo in the prologue of ADWD specifically so the reader can know exactly how horrible it is for Bran to do this to Hodor. Skinchanging in this story opens the door for there to be a whole new and particularly horrifying breach of agency and consent that has nothing to do with sex.

It's touched on in other stories, and rape happens a lot in asoiaf, but skinchanging into another person, especially without their consent or being able to consent, is asking the audience a lot more than rape does.

Bran's use of Hodor is horrifying. Based on what's in the books, warging with Summer is totally different from skinchanging with Hodor. Humans and wolves or dogs can bond and the experience seems to be consenting or exhilarating for the pair. Hodor is unable to express himself, being cut off from language, and so it makes it very easy for Bran to dehumanize Hodor in the earlier books. - Here I am going to note that Bran is far from the only character to dehumanize Hodor. The only character I can think of who makes a point of Hodor's personhood is Maester Luwin.

And again, Bran is ten years old, depressed, and without any parental figures to guide him anymore. Meera and Bloodraven are the closest he has to authority figures. Bloodraven doesn't seem to care about how Bran treats Hodor, not that there was much opportunity for that kind of interaction in the one chapter we have where he's training Bran. And Meera is technically subordinate to Bran due to their society (class and gender). Not to mention that she's distracted by Jojen's condition and that Bran hasn't been broadcasting what he's doing to Hodor.

The question of mind control more often comes up in sci-fi, which is where GRRM comes from as a writer. And learning that controling someone like this, taking away their agency and using them because he's upset and jealous about his disability, is so so horrible, is Bran's dark night of the soul. It's his villain arc. Learning that breaching someone's consent and autonomy, refusing them dignity or humanity, and perceiving them as lesser because of a disability, is evil, is so important. (And connects to the main enemy of the story, using the bodies of the unconsenting dead to do their bidding to destroy all life.)

It's also particularly poignant because Bran himself is diminished and dehumanized because of his disability, and he can talk and express himself and unlike Hodor, he can't be used like a mule.

[bookloover35]

Legolas Greenleaf X Fem reader- Skinchanger.

Legolas Pov:

War, with a very unhappy ending.

That's the only thing that will happen if we don't get more help.

But who?

Gandalf: I know one person who can help us win this war once and for all.

King Theoden: Who.

Gandalf began to tell us that seven years ago he met a young girl and a skinchanger and that they are still best friends to this day and apparently she saved his life and a very famous dwarf king Thorin Okenshield and his company.

He also told us that she managed to wrestle away 10 goblins who tried to chain her.

Legolas: I remember her.

King Theoden: But I thought all skinchangers were dead.

Gandalf: Not all there are some left out there but very few and she is one of them.

Aragon: Is she strong?

Gandalf: In her wolf form she is stronger than an entire army and in her normal human form she is stronger than a thousand men.

Also more he talked about her also more I remembered her, I never got the chance to talk to her but I definitely remember her strength.

I remember when she fought the white orc by herself.

Gandalf: And believe me when I say this she is also very good at hand on hand comebat, it also includes swords, archery and throwing knives.

Gimli: Gandalf, can you get her here?

Gandalf: of course i can.

TS.

Yns pov:

Run faster I have to save Gandalf that was all I could think of while in my wolf form, how lucky I am so much faster like this.

I'm not going to lose my oldest friend and someone who is a very dear family member.

I have known Gandalf ever since I was little he knew both my parents my mother was a very beautiful wood elf and my father was a Skinchanger.

Legolas Pov:

Yn: Gandalf in your message you said it was easy to find here luck that when I'm a Wolf my sense of smell becomes a thousand times stronger than normal.

We all turned towards the young woman's voice and as soon as I saw her all the memories came back her long red hair and her eyes which were two different colors.

(If the hair doesn't match you, you can think that she has the same hair color and length as you).

Her left eye was Silver and her right eye was purple wow she is beautiful.

The wizard and the wolf girl hugged each other and then Gandalf said.

Gandalf: Yn, thank you for being able to come and help us, I had actually planned to come and see you but this happened instead.

Yn: You are family, of course I would come and help.

They both then turned around and we all got a good look at her and she was dressed like she was ready to go into battle, she had black and blue armor.

Gandalf: King Theoden, let me introduce my dearest friend Yn Stormheart.

And Yn this is King Theoden, and the others are Aragon, Gimli and Legolas.

She waved slightly at us and said hello.

Then the questions started to be asked and then I mean there were a lot of questions and then we asked if she could show what she looks like as a Wolf.

She smiled at us and asked us to back off and before you could even blink she had transformed from being a young woman to a wolf the size of a full grown horse.

I have to admit that I am very impressed but one thing is for sure that I did not want to make her angry in this form, she looked at me and I could hear her voice in my head.

Yn: Are you impressed?

Legolas: Very, and I have a very good feeling that we will win this with your help.

The end.

[moseslikellamas]

♱𖣂 Redfork Menace ♱𖣂 pt.25

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!OC

Summary - The women of the Riverlands start to weave stories around their betrothed to mixed results. The tapestry is almost complete and finally, the first couple is called to marry in the sept.

Warnings - fem!reader, suspense, adult language, period typical misogyny, condescension, adult language, feelings of shame, feelings of guilt, manipulation, benjicot brainrot, Kieran Burton fancast.

Word count - 2.2k

Yes, this is a full Martyn pov but it had to be done. The women all know too much right now but that's okay. Bewildered man is like in my top three favorite categories of guys. As always any of the lore is informed from https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Main_Page with some of my own creative liberties worked in.

“Every Eye but One”

“Surely you’ve heard the tale, Martyn? The way an unkindness flew down to chase a herd of horses from the shallows. Ten and hundred they flew, blotting out the sun with their wings.”

She was speaking just loud enough for everyone else in the hall to hear her words. Martyn wanted to roll his eyes at her, so much for subtly. But the atmosphere in the room started to perk up at her words so he indulged in what was sure to be a disaster orchestrated by the women of the riverlands.

“A lie, the herd was ten thousand strong. The very wind inside their veins, they held firm.”

He yawned, pretending to be tired of old news. And it was an old story, one he’d heard a million times growing up. The Brackens and Blackwoods had been feuding for so long they had several mythical stories, each wilder than the last, about their rivalry.

“But this group was full of skinchangers, Blackwoods behind those eyes. Blood thirst was their first and foremost desire.”

Martyn’s eye bulged out of his head at her words and he nearly choked on the sip of water he’d taken. He cut his gaze towards his betrothed, giving her a critical look. It was one thing to speculate about a house engaging in magic practices, it was another to admit it in front of the public. Sure, it was a myth story but he knew the riverlanders would be reading into every word she said. Was that her plan?

“The ravens rained down upon the chestnut herd, clawing and pecking. They ripped and tore, a tangle of feathers and hide.”

He interrupted her to finish the story as he’d heard it a thousand and ten times before. “On the horizon the sun cracked open and the ravens burned into nothing.”

She smiled at him and said, “The heavens opened and a flood swept the horses away.”

In both versions there was only one end, everyone perished save one lone survivor. It was meant to be discouraging; it was told to children who were overeager to die for a feud.

In unison they said, “I’ll hold you close tonight, cause soon they’ll come and close every eye but one.”

It made him feel melancholy to say the words. It reminded him of a golden childhood that was lost to him now. A special few years he couldn’t really appreciate until they were over and gone from him. It colored his words with a tinge of sadness.

“The Eagles over Seaguard”

Martyn’s cousin Marcelle Grey spoke up after Alysanne’s story. But she did not speak about her own house like he’d expected. Instead she began to tell a rather queer tale about her soon to be husband's house.

“Oh Martyn, what an interesting story.” Her tone did not indicate it was interesting at all but that this was simply a way to transition into her own story. He watched in a sort of detached amusement as she went on. Elmo Tully could not get any angrier with him than he already was. Martyn was interested in the show for once, having already done his part in it he could sit back and wait for it to unfold.

“It reminds me of a story I’ve heard whispers about. About a flock of eagles who flew down from a mountaintop nest, where they lived together, and began plucking the sealife up. This went on for a while, you see the sea is always hungry.”

Martyn could see the man beside her, Colmer Mallister growing more taut the longer she spoke. Marcelle paid him no mind though and continued speaking as if he weren’t there.

“Because the sea is always hungry, it is always plucking up little birds who wander too close to the waves. Eagles never learn though, too proud of having wings. Soaring above is a wonderous thing, until overconfidence makes them swoop too low.”

Even Martyn knew this was a direct attack about the Mallisters continual battle with the Ironborn. Marcelle was laying it on thick and he wondered when Colmer would snap.

“It wasn’t until a fierce eagle, scarred and agile, brought back a creature of the deep that things grew chaotic. The mountaintop nest infected with the smell of the sea and a pervasive need to look down on others began to permeate through the aerie.”

The Mallister lad was on his feet at that, looming over his cousin, breathing heavily. Martyn quickly made to stand himself, clumsily reaching for his sword. Alysanne grabbed his arm though and hissed at him, “Don’t be stupid! Watch.”

So while holding his breath he did. Marcelle was obviously alluding to some family drama concerning the Mallisters. He was trying to recall which Mallister was the scarred eagle but nothing came to mind as he watch the two argue.

“Little mice only think they’re being looked down upon because they’re so close to the ground. Something so tiny should be glad to have a warrior in the sky.” He spat at Marcelle who looked unconcerned. House Grey’s sigil was of a tiny gray little mouse on a field of green.

“Who said anything about mice?” His cousin had replied ruefully looking at her husband to be as if he were embarrassing her.

Colmer had glanced around the room as if just now remembering where he was before he cleared his throat and stepped away from Marcelle before he sat back down.

“Redfork Maid”

Bellena Mooten spoke next and Martyn was a bit afraid to hear what she had to say. He was briefly relieved that he wasn’t the one to marry her before he then felt bad for Ser Joth Piper who did have to. The man had seemed decent enough to him. Bellena was beautiful but she was a handful. She was slippery about it too, just like her house sigil. She was a fish flipping and swimming away, slimy and fast. She knew when to play her hand and was excellent at reading other people.

“Oh enough of this animal talk. Who cares about birds? Let’s talk about a story worth hearing.”

Bellena knew how to shift the atmosphere of the room in just a few words. Immediately all of the tension that had gathered around them was banished.

“Now, how about a story of something fun and magical. Oh! I know. Let’s talk about the story of the Redfork Maid! Everyone loves to hear that one don’t they?”

Bellena did not wait for anyone to confirm or deny whether they wanted to hear the story. Martyn had personally never heard the tale. Despite their close proximity, he had never been to Pinkmaiden castle. There’d simply never been a reason to but from what he could see the Piper’s were alright folks.

“In the beginning of everything and everyone, the gods formed the RedFork, we all know this.”

Nods went up around the room. It was then Martyn realized how successful this campaign was, all of the men were tuned in listening intently to the story. He couldn’t help but to spare a curious glance at his soon to be wife. What was her angle? She had said last night whatever they were planning would cause Lord Elmo to be upset with the women. So far he didn’t see how that could be.

“The water was alive and happy. Flowing and moving, people splashing about it. It was alive with fish and plants. But the river was not alive as itself. A sad thought in a world full of physical beings. How the river longed to touch and to hold. Not to only be touched and held, to take on a less passive role.”

Martyn found himself just as spellbound by her words as the others.

“One night the mother heard the river crying out to her and took pity on the Redfork. Gathering some water and star light, together came out a beautiful maiden. Her skin was soft and pink, her hair dark as shadows and a gown of silver and blue draped around her.”

Martyn could see the lady in his head because he’d already seen her before on the banners of house Piper. Though Bellena’s story was more modest and beautiful than the Piper’s sigil, it was still discernible.

“That’s why I think the Piper’s must be perverted to have stripped her naked on the flag.”

There was the bite Martyn had been expecting and it was not wrapped in flowery language like the others.

“Oh yeah right Bellena like your fish headed ancestors didn’t root in the Redfork half naked beside mine, looking for the same riches.”

The snort Alysanne let out at Ser Joth’s words caused Martyn to laugh and soon they were all laughing.

“From these Beginnings”

Lady Violet Smallwood winked at Martyn before she began her story. He had done a double take, confused as to her motives. But she’d only grinned wickedly at him before moving her attention away. Her betrothed, Ser Harry Fisher, looked at her warily. The mood wasn’t as tense as it had been before Bellena’s story but it wasn’t as light either.

House Fisher was also a mystery to Martyn, he wasn’t even entirely sure where they were located. He would never admit that but it did grow tedious remembering every house in the riverlands. He was worse when it came to neighboring lands. Ser Harry was a tall and powerful man, he was much taller than any other man in the hall. Lady Violet was a stark opposite to him, small and petite. The only thing they shared in common was their mahogany hair.

“I know you're all dying to know what I’ll say.” Violet paused, staring wistfully out the window. “I just want to take a dip in that water.” She sighed.

Martyn nearly threw his hands up as if to say, yes let's go! The room was stifling as the sun beat down on them. Slowly and with deliberate determination Violet got up and began opening the windows one by one. The only sound being the clack of wood against itself as she opened them. When the first bit of breeze hit Martyn he couldn’t have been any more relieved.

She did not immediately return to her table but stared outside for a moment. Then she whirled around quickly and dashed back over to her partner. She leaned over to whisper to ser Harry, her hands cupped around his ear to ensure the words remained private. Martyn waited in anticipation, watching as various expressions made their way across the man’s face. When he glanced at Alysanne it was apparent by her gleeful expression that she knew what was being whispered. Curiosity burned in him but he held himself back from asking.

At last Ser Harry stood abruptly, just as the Mallister man had. But he did not stand threateningly over Lady Violet. He’d simply turned away and walked over to the now open windows. But not before Martyn saw the splash of color in his cheeks. He was either embarrassed, angry or aroused. Given the current atmosphere and the weird plan taking place beneath it all he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t all three.

Martyn was rather bitter that the Smallwood lady had declined to share the story. The house was notoriously tightlipped about the history of their house and castle much to his annoyance. Shanda was always working to unravel the house when she had a chance. He wished his sister were here now to tell him. Surely she’d been privy to all of these details.

Wendell Wayn spoke up next, sounding equal parts scared and angry. “I don’t want to hear any stupid story from the likes of you.”

Lady Darla Keath looked at him, disgust written across her features. “And who would want to write a myth about a family as unremarkable as yours?”

“Why you stupid little bi-“

Martyn’s cousin Rebecken was up and on Wendell before he could finish his sentence. He’d grabbed the man by the scruff of his suit vest and wrenched him up.

“Come on Wendell. Before ser Joth gets up to toss you again, let’s take a breather.”

Any complaint he might’ve levied against Rebecken for bringing up his earlier humiliation were cut off by him being dragged from the room.

That left Lady Elyana Derry alone without her partner to tell the myth to. It was just as well, as the mood to share was gone. The room fell back into silence but it was less anxious now. Martyn wanted to stand by the window but knew he couldn’t turn his back on this room full of unpredictable and ravenously angry couples.

It was almost a relief when Lord Elmo entered and called the first couple to the sept. He watched as Lady Smallwood skipped over to stand by Elmo. Ser Harry moved in a slow and measured manner. He wondered again sincerely where his sister was and why she hadn’t come to see him. Whatever game they were playing be damned, it was his wedding day for the gods sake. Now that the room was quiet again his anxiety ramped back up double fold. Something was definitely a miss.

[bringerofplagues]

Some underrated ASOIAF characters who deserve more attention

As the title says, this post will be about some of my favourite ASOIAF characters who i think deserve more attention.

Aurane Waters:

The first character on this list is Aurane Waters. Now Auranes story isn’t very deep but he is fun, entertaining and cool as hell. So he starts out fighting with Stannis at the battle of blackwater bay, then he ends up joining Cersei on the small council and manages to charm her by looking like Rhaegar, and then he runs off with her newly build navy. Now i do not like Cersei so people who can play her and beat her at her own game instantly have a place in my heart. I should also mention that i love pirates and there is strong evidence that Aurane will become the pirate king known as the Lord of The Waters using the ships he stole from Cersei. This also puts him in an interesting position going forward as he could realistically join any faction in the current conflict and be a big player which is really cool. My last point is this, just look at him, the dude absolutely fucks:

Rodrik Harlaw, aka The Reader: Rodrik is Asha and Theons maternal uncle and he is my favourite ironborn character. In many ways he reminds me of Doran Martell, an fatherly figure to a female pov character who is noted to be more cautious than the people around him and who is looked down upon by many within his culture. I also like his quirk of loving books, even having had septons at his home to help him care for his collection. I also love his relationship with Asha, being a better father figure to her than Balon was ,as well as her biggest supporter (that title might be challenged by Qarl and Tristifer). He also seems to be scheming to protect Asha from her forced marriage by overturning the kingsmoot, as he sends her a book that specifically mentions that a kingsmoot can be nullified if a claimant was not present, in this case that would be Theon. And then there was the time he owned Euron the Incel with just 2 words. Euron was bragging about having sailed to Valyria when Rodrik says: “Have you?” which clearly pisses Euron off. Fucking legend

Brynden Rivers, Aka Bloodraven: Ok so, Bloodraven does get a lot of attention especially from the theorist community who have the saying “when in doubt blame Bloodraven”. But i don’t think enough people give attention to him as a character. The cool thing about Bloodravens character is that he seems to be a product of his enviroment. Bloodraven grew up in kings landing as one of the great bastards of king Aegon The Unworthy. He famously suffered albinism which resulted in him having to wear heavy black clothes all of his life. This would have gone on since his childhood, and we know that this trade made people not trust him. So people have apparently distrusted him since he could walk outside. Imagine what that does to a kid. And then at some point he figures out he is a skinchanger. And that is when he becomes the master of the game of thrones and worlds best spymaster.I love this because a lot of characters justify their distrust of him because of how good of a spy he is, but he became that way because no one trusted him. And lets not forget that he was apparently a really nice military leader. At least enough to where most of his private army, The Ravens Teeth, decided to join him on the wall despite being under no obligation to do so. That show some major respect from his men. And at last he has some really cool Odin symbolism going on with the one eye and the ravens and all that.

[weirwoodsugar]

22, 12

22.your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

ok this is pretty niche but i think the riverlands (esp brotherhood without banners) have so much fun medieval fairy ballad shit going on. ok so are we just not going to talk about how the hound is false knight on the road coded :\ i see how it is :\\\\ the ghost of high heart and beric dondarrion are such ballad characters. tom o sevens the rhymer. you feel me? i dont think people are ignoring it so much as it doesnt really register to readers who are not already balladpilled and frankly i may be completely making it up. a more broad answer i do find it actually kind of charming in a baffling way how disinterested the fandom of a fantasy series is in the sword-and-sorcery shit. i love these wizards can we PLEASE talk about what the wizards are up to.

12.the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

well i think my followers have borne witness already to my grievances about the canon-importance-to-fandom-interest ratio with bran. i love bitter angry lonely children with limited concept of other people i love dream sequences and confusing visions i love miserable road trips i love skinchanging. though i understand why people tend to examine arya side by side with sansa primarily in character analysis i think arya and bran make a terrific narrative pair and i think we should all get into it.

[kellyvela]

You are getting a lot of winter rose related anons because rhaelyas have decided to gatekeep winter roses from characters unrelated to Rhaegar/Lyanna and Jon Snow. Someone tell them winter roses grow in the glass gardens of winterfell so people are not 'stealing' when they headcanon Sansa, Arya, Catelyn and all the other Starks with those flowers

The question is, is Sansa really unrelated to Rhaegar/Lyanna, and hence to Jon??? Obviously certain shippers will scream that Sansa has nothing to do with Rhaegar/Lyanna and the blue winter roses, but they are wrong, big time!

I already said that the blue winter roses grow in Winterfell's Glass Gardens, so any woman of House Stark has probably been given at least one of those blue roses in her lifetime. I also said that the first Stark girl associated with a blue winter rose was the one from the legend of Bael the Bard and The Rose of Winterfell. See here.

Bael the Bard and The Rose of Winterfell are obviously a proto version of Rhaegar/Lyanna.

The tale of Rhaegar/Lyanna has their own features that differ from Bael the Bard and The Rose of Winterfell. For example, it happened during a tourney, the Great Tourney at Harrenhal. And who is the ASOIAF character most associated with tourneys??? The obvious answer is Sansa Stark.

Sansa was the unofficial Queen of Love and Beauty of the Hand's tourney in honor of her father at King's Landing, where Loras Tyrell, wearing an armor of blue sapphires forget me nots, gave Sansa a red rose. Fact that is a clear allusion to Rhaegar Targaryen, wearing an armor of red rubies and crowning Lyanna with blue winter roses during the Great Tourney at Harrenhal. And what did Sansa's younger sister say about attending this tourney??? She called the event stupid . . . .

Sansa also saved Dontos Hollard's life during the Tourney in honor of King's Joffrey 13th name day. Fact that is a clear allusion to Lyanna saving Howland Reed from the abuse of three squires during the Great Tourney at Harrenhal.

And right now Sansa/Alayne is forever organizing a tourney at The Gates of the Moon in the Vale of Arryn. Alayne Stone is the daughter of the Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale, who is also the Lord of Harrenhal. Fact that is a clear allusion to the Lord of Harrenhal organizing the Great Tourney at Harrenhal in honor of his daughter.

And last but no least, Sansa is profoundly associated with the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, event that take place during the first tale of Dunk and Egg: The Hedge Knight. The five champions's surnames at the end of the first day of competition are: Lannister, Baratheon, Tyrell, Hardyng and Targaryen. Four out of five of those surnames match with the surnames of every Sansa's suitors so far: Joffrey Baratheon, Tyrion Lannister, Willas Tyrell and Harrold Hardyng . . . . Other tourney contestants and melee fighters mentioned in this tale, also match with men in Sansa's arc, there's a Ser Donnel of Duskendale and the Lords Arryn and Royce . . . .  

The Tourney at Ashford Meadow was organized by Lord Ashford in honor of his daughter's 13th name day. Among other allusions to Sansa's arc.

Anywas, back to the blue winter rose, the rose motif is strongly related to Sansa Stark. As every girl of House Stark she is obviously associated to the blue winter roses that grow in Winterfell's Glass Gardens. She was befriended by the Tyrells, whose sigil is a golden rose, Loras Tyrell gave her a red rose during the Hand's Tourney, Marillion told her that he was composing a song for her called the Roadside Rose.

But we also have the so many times mentioned beauty and the beast motif in Sansa's arc. The ancient tale, in its many versions, usually starts with a especial rose.

Obviously most readers want for Sansa to be the beauty for their fave beast, like cujo, Tyrion and Baelish. But none of those men are cursed princes, that have skinchanging abilities, live in a magical castle with magical companions and with a strong relation with a special rose . . . . You know who has all those requirements checked??? Yeah, Lyannas's baby boy.

Thanks for your message :)

[windriverdelta]

How did Euron survive his trip to Valyria?

One aspect of Euron Greyjoy that is often argued about is whether he has really been to Valyria. Crow's Eye claims so in the Reaver and Drowned Man AFFC chapters, while Lord Rodrik "The Reader" Harlaw voices doubt. According to TWOIAF and others, no one who went to Valyria after the Doom came back - except maybe Aerea Targaryen and her dragon Balerion, and the former died soon after return while the latter was noticeably injured despite being literally the biggest and scariest dragon known in ASOIAF. However, my understanding is that Martin himself confirmed that Euron did indeed visit Valyria, or at least this is the common interpretation of his statements.

One thing that doesn't come up often is that "Euron visited Valyria" does not have to mean "Euron set physically foot there himself". He could have flown over it, or used someone else's body.

In The Reaver AFFC, Euron makes the following claim:

"When I was a boy, I dreamt that I could fly," he announced. "When I woke, I couldn't . . . or so the maester said. But what if he lied?"

As a number of people have noted, this is eerily reminiscent of Bran's dreams of falling and flying in AGOT, while he was comatose. During these dreams - which probably are not actual dreams in the normal sense, but rather extracorporeal experiences - Bran was among other things flying over Westeros, and seeing as far as the Heart of Winter and deep into it (Bran III AGOT). If Euron had a similar experience but looked southeast, he could have seen Valyria - and into Valyria.

What's more, Bloodraven tells us that you need to be a skinchanger to become a greenseer. Jojen Reed says that he (Jojen) is only a greendreamer (Bran III ADWD) and doesn't mention any flying "dreams", indicating that they are specific to greenseers So if the flight "dreams" are a sign that Euron has the greensight, then he's also a skinchanger.

We know from Bran III ASOS, Bran I and III ADWD that he can skinchange into Hodor, and Varamyr in the ADWD prologue elaborates on the concept of skinchanging into people. There are indications in the Aeron TWOW chapter that Euron skinchanged into his brother Robin - calling his head "soft" as if Euron had been inside. Moreover Bran thinks that "No one must ever know" about the skinchanging into Hodor, Varamyr thinks "No one will ever know" about entering the spearwife Thistle; in a parallel, Euron cuts the tongues out of his ship's crew and has no moral qualms in general - a necessary condition to do something as immoral as skinchanging people. So it's possible that Euron skinchanged into some poor sod that he then sent into Valyria, while his (Euron's) own body remained at a safe distance on his Silence.

[alannybunnue]

I check the wiki and the Mormont women are alleged skin changers. Meaning mama bear reader could be a literal mama bear. Like imagine and group assassins attempt to kill her son and she turns into a literal bear and kills them all. Maybe theon discovers the attempt and goes to stop and all he sees is a literal mama bear wrapped around their son comforting him surrounded by carnage. Double points if she didn't even know she could do this and it was brought on by sheer protective instinct.

"Alysane Mormont tells Asha Greyjoy, perhaps jokingly, that House Mormont women are skinchangers who turn into bears and find mates in the woods."

It doesn't really confirm this affirmation or not, considering that Alyssane was apparently joking, but it is not a bad idea, would confirm how she survived for so long.

But still not sure if i will keep it in the story, sorry ;-;

[cyrojelly]

The Hobbit x magical girl! Reader

- Alrighty then you kawaii lovelies this is yet again another modern person meets middle earth because I live for that!

-You were out fighting crime with your cute self, your outfit swaying dramatically in the wind, you can practically hear your theme song playing in your mind, your basically golden!

-Until your enemy pulls some frankly disrespectful tactics out of nowhere and next thing you know your careening to a portal and everything goes black!

-You wake up in your normal clothes with whatever you used to transform laying on the ground next to you that and about a few dozen eyes looking at you, the scream you scrumed practically couldve woke up the dead.

-You then learned you were in the presence of the company of thorin oakenshield you then had a mild freakout as the villain you were after was most likely still wrecking havoc in your world unfortunately your powers didnt come with teleportation.

-"Well I'll be damned" "Language!"

- Yeah this sucked royally but atleast you didnt get stuck in the shadow realm!

-Moving on you basically have to explain to them your a magical girl and of course it's like pulling horse teeth.

- "So I use this tool and it helps me transform" "So your a skinchanger!" "No."

-The groups a bit wary of you since A. They don't know who you are B. You claim to not even be of this world and C. Just what in mahals name is a "magical girl!"

-Dori thinks your a witch and some are convinced your lying about your kawaii origins that is until you all are cornered by orcs and they witness your transformation and the absolute destruction of the orcs who DARED to corner you in the first place!

-They are now convinced you are a magical princess of some kind and were absolutely enchanted by your powers and heroic convictions to protect others.

-Overall, it's a fun time since you get to be yourself, and the dwarves won’t judge you at least too harshly! (they think your outfit is a bit too short for their tastes)

-The elves are a bit similar and believe you are a descendant of a ✨️goddess ✨️ and welcome you (atleast the Rivendell ones mirkwood elves are more cautious and suspicious of you)

-Thranduil will most likely attempt to win you over to his side since he views you as an advantage (sneaky sneaky)

-"A human with magical abilities? How peculiar. " "Uh yeah, can I go now?"

- I can see your powers being very helpful to the group, especially for fighting. I mean, who else is gonna vaporize the orcs in a second? Fili? Yeah I thought so.

-Anyways stay beautiful, you adorable thing you!

(Thank you for Reading!) -Neo⭐️

[sherlokiness]

Hello! It has been awhile. I recently started reading Mad Queen theories and most people I have seen said what Dany did was pure show invention and she won't kill innocent people. Like at all. But I have also seen some good points that she is going down the villain route mainly because

She is obsessed with prophecies given to her by people she doesn't really know and doesn't doubt the truth in them.

All her enemies so far have been mustache twirling villains and that won't be the case in Westeros where even the evil Lannisters are beloved.

She's delusional about the "blood of the dragon" and how she's immune to diseases.

She once said Viserys was a fool about his welcome in Westeros yet she's also the same now and when people try to lecture her, she shuts them down.

Given all these points, I think there is a high chance that GRRM is going down this route as well. It's a slippery slope.

Hi, anon! Thanks for the ask!

D&D made sure Dany had no excuse for what she did to KL because if they gave those Dany stans an inch, they'll take a mile and run a marathon with it. Let's let them cope. Do they really think D&D will do that to their cash cow if they had no choice? As for not killing innocents, she had 13 year olds and above killed for being part of slave society totally oblivious that not long ago she was part of it too. WHy Didn'T theY DenOUNce SlavEry??? Dany didn't denounce slavery until she was 15? in Astapor yet before that she owned slaves, used slaves and was married to a slave owner too. It's not like those 13 yr olds had a choice where they were born. Dany also ordered the torture of the wineseller's daughters when one of her favorite slaves servants died. Imagine what she will do in her grief when her most beloved servant Missandei dies along with her child dragon?

Let's discuss all points below.

She's gonna abandon Meereen and she''ll justify it by being the savior of Westeros once she meets the Red Priests. Then her dragon will get stolen by Aegon and with the other two she'll learn dragons don't do well in the North. There will also be powerful skinchangers that can compete and even kill dragons? She's not that special after all.

Yep. They're all comic villains and her armies are either gotten by deceit(Unsullied) and betrayal(Second Sons bc of Daario). She's gonna have a wake up call when she gets to Westeros with its war hardened generals.

3. Her delusion about her specialness will only get worse what with her getting saved again from death and will get the Khalasars of the other Khals.

4, I think her final test as a "hero" is her reaction to Aegon or Jon. If Aegon is real(I doubt he is) and Jon is legitimate(no doubts) then she's not the "rightful heir" to the Iron Throne. Let's remember that her chasing of the IT has always been justified as being the last scion of her House and her right. Is she gonna submit to Jon/Aegon or will she go " I have dragons so I win" which makes her a hypocrite and a usurper. Her hatred for Robert all these years would have been unfounded. As we've seen in the show, she did not give up the throne to Jon. Jon who is her lover and rightful King so she did not give up the crown for duty nor love despite earlier musings that she totally will. Words are wind.

Villain Dany's only saving grace would be PolJon and Jonsa imo. Because with those two points, she becomes somewhat of a victim. Poor Dany who was used for her dragons and armies(even tho they had no choice but to pacify her) and even killed by her lover/nephew who turns out has been in love with another the whole time. Dany coincidentally happens to be the woman in the way of their marriage. Now why would Jon kill her? Jon's motivations will be tainted in the eyes of the readers.