#someone had to stop me about gendrya

[fromstormsend]

She remembered their travel on Riverlands. “What a time it was” she thought. It was Gendry who caught her after her attempt to escape from brotherhood without banners. All the way back she just kicked him and called him “stupid” several times. “They are saying lie to me, i’ve never see my family again!”she said. “Then i’ll be your family”. He was the one talked about being the bloody lowborn then. He was the one who wanted to left her behind.

She’d saw them again. Now she is in Winterfell, after eight years, she is safe again. The King legitimated him and made him Lord of Stormsend as he is the oldest male bastard of his brother, Robert. And now he is on the road for my hand. Does he still forge ? She wondered.

Gendry&Arya AU: Stannis won the war and and it’s time to keep promises between North and the Throne.

[pixiecactus]

If George had a big brain like me, he would let Arya marry 3 times throughout her life like Nymeria Ny Sar. First she marries Jon and will have the classic Stark-looking children that George loves so much, thus fulfilling his original OTP dream, then she marries Gendry (maybe she will have more children too!) and finally she goes to Dorne and marries Ned Dayne, after her children are older and ready to take over. She would live a long life full of love and adventures. Now, I need to kidnap their editors to make that happen

this is the first time i'm hearing about nymeria and her three husbands, and this is the first time i've seen someone bring them up as a headcanon for arya to follow, i'm honestly impressed nonnie!!

i like the idea; i really do, but i've the littlest problem with it, personally speaking. after jon comes back from being dead, i just can't see him being able to have children. like if i remember correctly, in game of thrones the only thing that jon got to show that he came back from the dead was a few more scars, and that's it; there weren't any consequences at all (the dude died, ffs; he stopped being alive and human, and surely that changes your physiological processes and responses, no shit!) that's why it is very hard for me to believe that it is going to be the same in the books, so in my opinion, jon should be arya's last husband. the one she doesn't have children with, but the one that she stays with until her time comes, and in that way we have the "soulmates" aspect of jonrya tackled.

continuing with my opinion about your headcanon, i think that arya first husband should be edric dayne, i've to admit that in my own mind (because i can't write fics at all) i've played with the idea that when arya reunites with the brotherhood without banners, she asks for him, with the proposition in mind of a betrothal between them.

it's just that i like gendry's irrational jealousy, and it's irrational in my opinion, because, yeah, from a societal standpoint, edric dayne is obviously the one that is better suited for arya in a romantic context, but the only thing we saw in the books during that time was sweet and shy little ned trying to make a new friend, nothing less and nothing more, and gendry is behaving like the biggest asshole all around to him, and edric dayne did nothing to deserve it.

so i played with that idea in my head because i wanted to recreate gendry's irrational jealousy, because it was really plotless now that i think about it. the obvious answer was that arya was looking for alliances and armed men that house dayne could provide. what for exactly? i don't remember, and i failed to consider that we have fake!arya married to ramsay bolton, and we have an elmar frey on the loose (?) crying for his princess and their broken betrothal... so maybe arya realized that she couldn't escape marriage since she wasn't even in westeros for the damned thing to happen to her, so arya decided to take things into her own hands and choose herself who is going to be her husband.

so with all of that said, yeah, i think that ned dayne should be the first husband of arya stark, and i don't think that his genes would overrule the stark look from taking place in their children. (i know that house dayne has something with their eyes, but let's ignore it for my sake, please)

anyway ned dayne dies (sorry to my nedryas!) leaving arya behind with some children, and now arya as a newly widowed lady that already has offspring, i can see that giving her the opportunity of getting married to a landless knight (gendry!) without a lot of fuss... and maybe arya and gendry have children; maybe they don't. i've a preference for gendrya taking orphans from the wars under their wing and giving them parental guidance (aka gendrya invents adoption in westeros) i forgot to say that i see this happening after the nedrya children are already grown, because when you have a lot of children, consecutively, i tend to believe that they fall in a scale of neglect; you absolutely can't care for and support all children equally if you have a lot of them, like what we have with rickon, the poor boy is even neglected by the author.

okay, so gendry has to die too; again, i see this happening after their children are grown up, so arya has a "coming back home" moment, and that home is jon's arms.

i hope you're okay with me bastardizing your headcanon, nonnie; also, i want to ask, did you make ned dayne the last husband, because nymeria's last husband was a dayne too?

also thank you for sending me this; it was a lot of fun! and sorry that it took me one month and one day to answer.

(this has nothing to do with asoiaf, but i remember reading a book series during my teen years about the typical love triangle, you know, one girl and two boys, and how she can't choose because she loves both and how they ended up doing something like girl will stay in a relationship with boy a until his death and then she will start a relationship with boy b, because both of them are inmortals and if i remember correctly boy a was bi too, i just say this because now looking back i think that they should have been a throuple, but boy b being straight really fucked that up, which is crazy because i think that was a lot of queerbaiting between the boys too)

[mysticnightmarewrites]

Gendrya Kinktober 2023 Day 14: Rough Sex

It started when they heard thumping on the wall Gendry shared with Pod.

“Is that Pod?” Arya asked sleepily, lifting her head off of Gendry’s chest.

“Looks like someone’s getting lucky at 2 a.m. Should we go over there and tell him we’re trying to prep for finals?”

“You’re so bad, Gendry Waters.”

“If you say so.” In one smooth motion, Gendry rolled over on top of her.

His naked skin pressing into hers sent a pulse of want through her, and suddenly going back to sleep seemed not as important anymore.

“Am I getting lucky now?” Arya asked, sliding her thigh up his side.

“You’re always lucky, Arry. You met me, didn’t you?”

There was something about the normally self-conscious man when he started getting cocky that really did it for Arya. She slid her hands over his muscled back, only for Gendry to push them back over her head, pinning them to the headboard.

“Shame I lost those handcuffs,” he said, starting to trail kisses down her neck. “You’ll just have to be a good girl for me, won’t you?”

“When have I ever been a good girl?”

Her words seemed to light a fire in him. He straddled her then and moved up her body, his cock hanging over her mouth, the tip just brushing her lips.

“If you’re so bad, suck it then.”

Arya wrapped her lips around the head, and Gendry slid it in faster than she expected, but he pulled it back just as quickly, giving her a chance to breathe.

Every thrust into her mouth seemed to match the unrelenting rhythm of the thumping coming from the other side of the wall.

It didn’t feel like he could get any deeper into her throat when he finally pulled away.

Knowing exactly what he wanted and eager to have his cock inside her, Arya turned over onto her hands and knees. Her throat was sore, and she couldn’t wait to be sore in other places.

The sound had stopped, and all Arya could hear was her own labored breathing.

Gendry brought his tip to her entrance, playing with her clit, getting her wetter and wetter for him. It wasn’t until the pounding returned that he slammed inside her.

“You like hearing Pod fuck, don’t you?” she asked, breathlessly.

“Yes.” It came out almost imperceptibly with a moan as he gripped her hips and pulled her back into him with all the force he knew she could take.

“Bet you’ve been thirsting for him since the day he came over to tell us to be quiet because we were fucking too loud. Bet you liked how worked up we got him.”

Every word seemed to drive Gendry wilder and wilder, and he fucked into her so hard, she had to grab onto the headboard for dear life.

“Looks like the cam guy.” Gendry slowed and held Arya’s hips tight, not allowing for the slight chance his cock could slip out. “The hair. His shoulders. I keep watching him and pretending it’s Pod. I can’t take it.”

Arya grabbed Gendry’s phone from his table and quickly brought up his OnlyBrans account and started playing the livestream that was currently running on his favorite account, and set it to silent so Gendry could still hear the sound of Pod either fucking someone into oblivion or being fucked into oblivion himself.

Gendry’s eyes were glued to the screen, but his hands were still glued to her as he started rocking into her once again. As much as she knew he was picturing Pod’s body and all the things he wanted to do to him, watching the cam guy getting absolutely wrecked by a man whose face was just out of the shot, he needed her. Arya had come to realize she liked being needed.

Every thrust, both on the screen and within herself, drove her higher alongside him, and she also started picturing Pod the way Gendry saw him. The pounding sound on the other side of the door seemed to match the thrusting on screen, driving her imagination wild. For a moment, she thought about what it’d be like if Pod was the one fucking her, what it would be like if the guy in the livestream, who was furiously rubbing his cock while being fucked from behind, was fucking her.

“Break me, Gendry,” she begged, pushing back harder and harder into him, and Gendry started pounding into her with more force than he ever had before, his fingers leaving bruises all along her ribs and hips.

Suddenly, the cam guy’s face came into camera for the very first time. “Fuck!” Gendry shouted, spilling his seed inside Arya, as he looked straight into the face of his neighbor.

Arya came, only realizing she hadn’t been imagining Pod’s face once the pleasure had finished wracking through her body.

“Is that Pod?”

[first-of-her-nxme]

It looks like one of my answers doesn’t show up in the tags so I’ll copy it here, just in case. It might be interesting for the asoiaf fans, Jaqen’s and Arya’s fans in particular;)

So, the question I received was:

Where is the coherent foreshadowing for Jaqen and Arya? It all seems taken out of fucking nowhere

And here we go:

It starts in the very first book when Arya names her direwolf after the queen who married a Dornishman, and it never stops because Arya and Jaqen are repeating Lyanna’s and Rhaegar’s story. Of course, in ASOIAF, the story is never exactly the same. Which by the way gives me hope that at least they will have their happy ending. Or the closest thing to a happy ending, which in George Martin’s world means less heartbreaking than the others’s endings;d

Trouble with Jaqarya foreshadowing is that George Martin started writing the story with a five year gap in mind between Arya’s arrival in Braavos and A Dance with Dragons. So, when he first envisioned the story he already had a 15 year old Arya in mind. It means that Arya and Jaqen would have reunited in A Dance with Dragons already and she would have been old enough for a romance. It also means that Jaqen’s identity would have been revealed in A Dance with Dragons.

But, since GRRM abandoned the idea, we have to wait for the reveal till The Winds of Winter. As a consequence the whole build-up is made of hints, symbols, clues, metaphors, parallels to R/L and so on. Nothing is said explicitly because it would ruin the big reveal of who Jaqen is and what’s ahead of them.

So, from the top:

1. Arya names her direwolf after Nymeria, a queen who found home far from her own country and who married a Dornishman. Jaqen is half Dornish, he is Elia’s and Rhaegar’s son, Aegon VI. I already pinned the answer about his true identity to my profile so please read it if you need further explanation.

Thanks to the Game of Thrones finale we know that Arya will sail across the sunset sea. I searched through the books after s8 and of course I found information that they both, J&A, will leave. I guess I need to thank D&D for Arya’s ending, otherwise I would have overlooked the clues completely.

So, either they will find home far away, somewhere in the sea, or in Braavos or in Dorne or they will return to Jaqen’s castle ( the Red Keep or Dragonstone ). Wherever they will stay, it’s going to be far from Arya’s birth place, Winterfell.

2. Nymeria has golden eyes, Arya thinks that they shine like golden coins - it’s another connection to Jaqen ( Aegon ) who switches his iron coin for a golden dragon in A Feast for Crows. The coin is poisoned and kills Pate but it’s also a symbol of courtship. Pate needed it to claim his beloved Rosey.

3. On the way to King’s Landing, Arya is picking up flowers in the Neck, perhaps in the same area where the flowers for Lyanna’s crown had been picked. Ned is deeply moved when he sees Arya with the flowers because she reminds him of Lya. The flowers are purple - purple is the symbol of royal birth, of the rightful heir to the throne whom Jaqen ( Aegon ) is. They are called poisoned kisses and burn Arya’s hands - Jaqen is using poisons and represents fire. He is a Targ, a future dragon rider. Arya will also burn her hands and lips in the House of Black and White while learning to make poisons.”Poisoned kisses” is a bad name, it implies doomed love which reminds us of R/L. For Arya it means a love for the murderer. Hopefully with a happier ending than Lya’s love.      

4. Ned tells Arya that she will marry a king and rule his castle and they will have sons. Like I said before, Jaqen is the rightful king. In A Clash of Kings, Arya even reveals his identity though it is very cleverly concealed in the scene when she gives him his own name. To be brief: it's a play on words; he asks her if the name of the king she wants dead is Joffrey and she answers the name ( of the king ) is Jaqen H’ghar. So Joffrey is not the king, he’s impostor, the true king is Jaqen.

5. In King’s Landing, Arya has dreams of Rhaenys though she doesn’t realize it. She also catches Rhaenys’s cat, her “little dragon”, and kisses its forehead. In Harrenhal, Jaqen kisses her forehead as if to return the kiss;)

6. Arya ruins Sansa’s silk dress and offers to make her a new one. Sansa tells her she could make a dress good enough only to clean the pigsty.

That pigsty is kind of a big deal.

In fairytales, princes disguise themselves as swineherds to hide their true identity, like in H.C Andersen’s story “The Swineherd”.

George Martin used this motif in his books too. In AFFC Jaqen wears the face of Pate “the Pig Boy”. Arya, on the other hand, lives in Braavos in his house, makes dresses and sweeps the floors. She lives in the Pig Boy’s house, in the pigsty, and cleans it -  just like Sansa has said. Only the pigsty is the prince’s house like Ned has foretold.

7. In Harrenhal, Jaqen wakes Arya from her wolf dream and kisses her. This motif comes from the Sleeping Beauty fairytale - only the prince can awake the sleeping beauty.

8. Also in Harrenhal, Jaqen and Arya make their “weasel soup”. They pour hot broth on the guards to free the Northmen. Jaqen gives Arya a pair of padded gloves and he is wearing the identical gloves himself, while they struggle the pot of soup between them - it’s a metaphor for sharing power. Gloves are symbol of power and noble birth.

The cooking pot is another motif borrowed from “The Swineherd” - the prince has a magic pot that plays a song. Jaqen ( Aegon ) has a song too, a song of Ice and Fire.

9. Jaqen gives Arya his coin ( we already know it’s a symbol of courtship ) and she pays with it for a passage across the narrow sea. She crosses the sea to get to the House of Black and White, the house of darkness.

In Greek mythology, the souls of dead people pay with a coin to cross the river and get to the Underworld. Arya, like Persephone, is first shown while picking up flowers and then she descends into the Underworld seduced by GRRM’s version of Hades. Hades has a three-headed dog, Jaqen has a prophecy ( and the coin ) of a three-headed dragon.

10. When Arya meets the Ghost of High Heart, the witch compares her to Jenny, a girl with flowers in her hair who fell in love with a Targaryen prince.

11. In ASOS, Arya listens to Tom Sevenstrings playing My Featherbed song. The song was written by Rhaegar for Lyanna. It tells the story of Jenny and Duncan Targaryen but Rhaegar concealed his own feelings for Lya in the text. The lyrics refer to Arya and Jaqen as well - they repeat J/D and R/L story of a Targaryen prince and a girl from the North.

Of course Rhaegar didn’t know about his son and Lya’s niece when he wrote the song:))

The song is not about Gendrya, like people think. I already mentioned it in one of my answers. It’s very important because it helps to understand what had happened in Harrenhal and what will happen to Arya and Jaqen.

Arya hears My Featherbed after Gendry invited her to the smithy. He knocked her over and they wrestled. Her dress was torn and she looked as if someone had tried to hurt her. Right after Tom plays Rhaegar’s song. Gendry obviously didn’t want to hurt Arya but that scene explains what Robert did in Harrenhal after Rhaegar left - he was furious that Rhaegar crowned Lya so he demanded “his rights”. That’s why Lyanna ran off. Rhaegar was her rescue.

12. In the House of Black and White Arya sleeps under the red blanket which reminds her of her favorite blanket from Winterfell. I’m sure it’s Jaqen’s blanket, and perhaps his bed too, because red is his color: red hair, red poison, red war, red god, red comet over Harrenhal, red dragon (?)  - red accompanies him throughout his journey. Of course black is his color too, it’s the color of the Stranger. Red and black are the colors of House...

13. In Arya’s Braavosi chapters GRRM concealed the story of the beginning of Rhaegar’s and Lyanna’s love in Harrenhal. But that’s a massive story to tell so I will write a separate post about it.

14. Finally, in Mercy chapter Arya hears the story of the first Black Pearl of Braavos, the pirate queen, and her affair with King Aegon IV. She sighs wistfully and says that she would love to see a dragon too. Dragon here means more than an animal, GRRM once again hints at her future romance with the Dragon.

15. “Mercy” chapter parallels the prologue to A Feast for Crows. Originally it was meant to be in AFFC but GRRM eventually moved it to TWOW.

Perhaps GRRM wanted Jaqen’s chapter to start AFFC and Arya’s chapter to end the book. The prologue is a chapter with two main motifs: dragons and love. “Mercy” is a chapter of revenge and love for a dragon. The prologue starts at night when Pate’s beloved is sleeping naked in her room. “Mercy” starts at dawn when Arya wakes up naked in her room and sees a dragon boat passing beneath her window.

But those two chapters are so rich in parallels that they deserve a separate post as well:)

16. While Jaqen and Arya are having their adventures in Oldtown and Braavos respectively, in the North Mance is infiltrating Winterfell. Mance is posing as a bard. He sings a song of a Dornishman’s wife in turn with the Northman’s daughter. It’s another delightful hint that the Northman’s daughter, Ned’s daughter is ( well, will be ) the Dornishman’s wife.

As you can see it’s a pretty massive foreshadowing. I probably still omitted something because there are really tons of those clues.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the read.

Thanks for the ask :)

[lightninginabottle0613]

I know is super late for more headcanons but since i really liked every one you posted I was thinking If you had your own hc for arya and gendry just being in a relationship (with each other ofc lol). I think there are very specific things that screams gendrya to me soo...,,yeah. I really don't know if I'm making sense, sorry 🥺🥺

you saying ‘i know it’s super late,’ as i sit here answering this ask literal weeks after you sent it ... is this thing still on, or what. also you are making perfect sense, and also ily

(it is never too late to send me stuff, for the record! anything/everything! i know i have been relatively quiet on here lately, but gendrya still owns my ass, and i am beginning to suspect that they always will! and what about it)

💘 gendrya in a relationship headcanons 💘

right off the bat, let me say that there’s a post on here (and i do not remember who wrote it, so my apologies) that says that gendrya are a ‘peeing with the bathroom door open’ kind of couple, and nothing has ever made more sense to me 

(i am not taking credit for that headcanon, but i hold it near and dear to my heart)

i don’t think they know when their anniversary is. or if they do celebrate an anniversary, they can never agree on when it should be, so they have multiple 

i think they both wake up around the same time, but gendry almost always falls asleep first. especially if they’re watching a movie on the couch. poor boy can’t stay awake during a movie to save his life

please, everyone, repeat after me - gendrya are not a pet name couple. any pet names (except probably ‘love’) are used ironically

arya’s main love language is words of affirmation, and gendry is not the greatest at that all the time, but he tries his best. luckily for him, arya’s other main love language is ‘gendry trying his best’

gendry’s main love language - as someone who grew up having to do a lot of things for himself - is acts of service

(both are v heavy on the physical touch as well, obviously)

for the absolute blessed life of him, gendry does not understand why his girlfriend likes flowers so much. why bring flowers inside, when they belong outside. but damnit if he doesn’t bring home a bouquet every saturday when he stops by the farmer’s market after brunch w his foster parents

semi on that subject, and this is barely a relationship headcanon, but gendry is definitely The Guy That Loves His Lawn. everyone knows that guy, right? he’s like, 1000% that guy that’s like ‘thank god it’s raining, we needed it’

don’t know why, but i feel like they have matching bathrobes, which arya thinks is hilarious, and gendry quietly enjoys 

they are definitely not ‘that couple’ in terms of overt/annoying PDA, but they do both still absentmindedly play with each other’s hair in public 

they own a step-stool so that arya can reach things on high shelves, but they rarely use it bc she prefers to precariously climb furniture

it often results in her being physically lifted by gendry, who cannot bear to watch her almost hurt herself on a daily basis

arya has thousands of pictures/videos on her phone, and a good number (but not all) of them are of gendry/the two of them goofing around/their home/their dates/etc.

gendry has like four pictures on his (very outdated) phone and they are only of arya

arya texts like this with barely any punctuation or capitalization

Gendry texts like this.

one of my favorite headcanons (both asoiaf-verse and modern) is that gendry can sing (something he gets from his biological mother), and he's self-conscious about it with everyone except arya. they have a vast catalogue of car duets 

all of the tall boy/short girl headcanons. gendry using arya’s head as an armrest, mostly. she is not partial to this 

generally not much ‘traditional’ relationship stuff, but i like thinking about gendry telling jon he wants to marry arya. not even that he plans to propose, just like ... ‘yeah, it’s gonna happen at some point, just so you know.’ and jon is like lol you silly goose. duh

growing up/as kids, gendry usually just read the books that arya liked, so he would know what the f she was talking about. but then he slowly starts to actually enjoy reading, as he gets older. so their home is filled to the brim with books :’)

“you’re on my list” “marriage or hit?” “yes”

and lastly (otherwise, i will go on and on and on), & perhaps the most cliché of all - 

if arya is home, she is wearing one of gendry’s shirts/hoodies, ten out of ten times

[lostinmirkwood]

Iambic Pentameter

A Gendrya AU. Read it on AO3 here.

“Meeting with Ms. Smallwood, Guidance Counselor, 7:30am.” the Welcome Letter had read. Podrick was used to meeting with Guidance Counselors by now. King’s Landing Prep was just one in a succession of schools he’d attended over the years as his father moved the family around for his job. He’d promised Podrick that this would be the last, not that it mattered as it was the start of spring semester of his senior year and he’d be done with school in May. At least he could stay in King’s Landing after he’d graduated if his father did move them all again.

The impressively tall secretary, Miss Tarth, had smiled at him when he arrived, directing him to the chair he currently occupied as he sat quietly in the front office waiting for Ms. Smallwood to see him. He could hear muffled voices before the door swung open. Being shooed out was a very large, very surly looking student who was saying, “It was a joke with Mrs. Heddle in the cafeteria,” followed by a small woman draped in a colorful shawl, who must be Ms. Smallwood, replying, “A bratwurst? Aren’t we the optimist. Don’t let it happen again Mr. Waters. Now, scoot!”

The teenager glanced at Pod as he made his way out of the office. Pod immediately looked away, not wanting to be noticed. Under the radar was the best place for him to be, Pod felt. Ms. Smallwood looked at Pod and gave him a vague wave into her office before returning to her desk. Pod scrambled to follow as she made a few clacks of her keyboard, “Your fourth school in three years, military brat?” she asked.

“Not quite, my father is,” but he never got to finish as Ms. Smallwood made a few more clicks.

“Uh-huh. Well you’ll find King’s Landing Prep to be the same as any other. High school is the same from Dorne to the Wall. Same little shits, different locations,” the printer clattered behind her and her chair rattled as she turned to take the pages. “Schedule, map, locker information, parking pass, we’ve assigned someone to guide you to your first class. First bell is at 8:15, don’t be late. I don’t want to see you in here again. Now, scoot!”

Pod managed to not drop the papers as Ms. Smallwood shuffled him out the door. It closed behind him with a snap and Pod found himself back in the main office wondering what had just happened. Miss Tarth gave him another smile and pointed to a young man sitting near the front door, clearly waiting for him.

“Howard Pie, but my friends call me Hot Pie, I’m supposed to show you around” the boy said, jumping up and shoving a hand out. Pod juggled the papers and his school bag enough to shake it, unsure if this meant he was to call the boy Hot Pie or Howard.

Hot Pie led him out into the main courtyard, talking as he went, “So the courtyard at KLP is the best place to get the lay of the land. You have the art preps,” he gestured at a group of people in dark clothes with thin scarves and little hats, not a paint splotch to be seen, “by the coffee cart are the coffee snobs, if they’re behind you in line just let them cut. Also the pastries are subpar but I can make you some recommendations if you’d like,” three boys began to shout at each other as one stumbled and splashed some of what was apparently Braavosi dark roast on the ground, “the stoners, the jocks, the band geeks, the theater kids” each group was distinct as Hot Pie kept talking, “and finally you have,”

Whatever Hot Pie was about to say next was lost on Pod as a tall redheaded girl stepped into their path, talking with a slightly smaller brunette next to her. She was wearing a sundress in the golden King’s Landing morning and her pale pink purse matched her backpack as the girls walked ahead of them.

“Who is that?” Pod whispered, awestruck.

“That is Sansa Stark, she’s also a senior but don’t even think about-” but again Hot Pie was interrupted.

“I burn, I pine, I perish!” Pod had never seen a girl so beautiful. The sunlight was shining on her hair as it swept down her back.

“Of course,” Hot Pie muttered, “You know she’s beautiful, and deep.”

The boys could just hear a snippet of the conversation between the two girls as Sansa said to her friend, “But you know, there’s a difference between like and love. Like, I like my Sketchers, but I love my Sand Snakes backpack.”

The other girl looked confused, “But I love my Sketchers?”

Sansa giggled and shook her head, her hair shimmering in the light, “Jeyne, that’s because you don’t have a Sand Snakes backpack!”

The other girl giggled too, “Oh, I see now!”

Hot Pie pulled Pod to a stop as the girls continued on, “Listen, let me fill you in on a little King’s Landing Prep info. Forget her, her father is the King’s Hand and it’s widely known that the Stark Sisters aren’t allowed to date.”

Pod nodded, still staring after Sansa, “Yeah. Got it.”

Hot Pie sighed. The new kids always learned soon enough.

[lostinfantasyworlds]

Thank you so much for the tag, @goshinote! 😄

I made this a separate post since it was getting kind of long, but here’s a link to the thread. I loved reading through these and getting to know everyone!!

What do you prefer to be called name-wise? Taryn (pronounced like Karen but with a T). I never had any nicknames or anything

When is your birthday? June 7th

Where do you live? Connecticut, USA

Three things you are doing right now? Attempting to finish this ridiculously hard project for work by tomorrow (Photoshopping out a bunch of stop lights from in front of a building - it’s a bitch), eating Dairy Queen, and watching Fruits Basket in the background

Four fandoms that have peaked your interest? The Mentalist (specifically Jisbon) was my OG fandom/ship and the reason I got into the fandom world on Tumblr. It was an amazing time getting to watch our slow burn ship finally become canon together! Then I also have a blog for Brooklyn 99 (specifically Peraltiago), and another blog for Game of Thrones (specifically Gendrya - although the last season of that show completely ruined it for me). And then of course the lovely Inuyasha fandom that I recently joined and has been amazing! :)

How has the pandemic been treating you? Not great. The beginning of quarantine definitely brought up my anxiety for a bit. I was super paranoid about my health, constantly taking my temperature and freaking out that I had Covid even though I wasn’t going anywhere or seeing anyone. Also couldn’t stop constantly refreshing the news and obsessing over the number of cases. Luckily that subsided after a while, but now I just feel really blah and depressed all the time. I’m sure pretty much everyone is feeling the same. 

A song you can’t stop listening to right now? Blinding Lights by The Weeknd

Recommend a movie: I love musicals, and one of my favorite movies of all time is Across The Universe. It’s a musical using all songs by The Beatles. I’m not a mega fan of The Beatles, I like them a normal amount, but I LOVE this movie. I saw it multiple times in theaters and watch it every so often.

How old are you? 28

School, university, occupation, etc: I have a BFA in Communication Design (basically Graphic Design but the program had other stuff like coding and video editing so they made it more general) from Parsons The New School for Design in NYC. I used to work as a Communication Designer for 4.5 years at a small ecommerce company. I loved the work I was doing but my boss was a manipulative narcissist (similar to Trump in certain ways). Now I work for an architectural photographer doing post production. Basically he takes photos of buildings (a series of them on a tripod) and I combine the different exposures into one final image. At this point I feel like I can do almost anything in Photoshop if I have enough time haha. I have had to remove the craziest shit from photos that I would have never thought possible. 

Do you prefer heat or cold? I very much prefer the season of Summer over Winter, but I guess I slightly prefer cold over heat as far as comfort level. I cannot sleep if it’s humid/hot, I always need the AC on. If I’m cold I can at least snuggle under tons of blankets.

Name one fact others may not know about you: I’ve been married for 4 years to my middle/high school sweetheart. We’ve been dating since I was 13, so we’ve been together for more than half my life! Although I just realized that’s not really a fact about me so also I’m an only child lol

Are you shy? Yes and no. I’m really shy when it comes to initiating conversation/starting friendships or knowing what to say at first. But if someone starts a conversation with me, or once I know you better, I can talk forever lol.

Preferred pronouns: She/her

Biggest pet peeves: Abuse of power/bad leadership

What is your favorite ‘dere’ type? I honestly didn’t know there were more than tsundere so I’m just going to go with that lol. I do love tsundere characters though!

Rate your life from 1-10: I could go with a 7 or 8. I can’t complain too much. I have a great life with my husband, our house, and our two dogs. And amazing family and friends. Just haven’t been taking care of myself because of pandemic-related depression, and I’m pretty over my job. But things could be much worse. I’m really grateful for my life!

What’s your main blog? taryn-artistic-optimism

List your side blogs and what they’re used for: 

goodluckteresta - The Mentalist/Jisbon peraltiagostyle99 - Brooklyn 99/Peraltiago gendrya-stark-baratheon - Game of Thrones/Gendrya

Is there something people need to know about you before becoming friends? I guess that I overthink and over explain everything? I also am not a super private person so I’ll tell you pretty much anything you want to know about me if you ask. Oh also I can be really bad at responding to messages sometimes, I suck

Tagging some people?

@born-for-eachother @redflamesofpassion @clementinesgulag @misteria247 @kaqura @juliatheanimelover7 @keichanz (I didn’t check who’s been tagged already - sorry - feel free to ignore if you’ve already done it/don’t want to do it!)

[you-would-be-my-lady]

Gendrya Pirates of the Caribbean AU

The sound of someone descending the stairs caused Gendry’s gaze to stray from Lord Eddard and his wife towards whoever was coming down. His breath caught in his throat as he saw Arya, wearing a grey-blue dress, embroidered with flowers. 

“Arya, you look beautiful!” Her mother exclaimed, which Gendry silently agreed with. Though, of course, Arya always did. 

Arya didn’t reply though as her own gaze caught his, smile breaking out onto her face. “Gendry!” She began to rush down the stairs. “It’s so good to see you,” she breathed, coming to a stop in front of him. “I had a dream about you last night.” 

His cheeks reddened at her words. “About me?” he croaked out.

Lady Catelyn’s gaze snapped to her daughter, mortified.  “I’m not sure that’s an entirely proper thing to-”

Arya cut her off, continuing. “About the day we met. Do you remember?” 

It was a day he’d always remember; waking up, thinking himself dead, his eyes meeting a grey-eyed angel, who soon proved to him that she wasn’t exactly an angel, but she was his savior. A smile pulled at his lips. “How could I forget, Miss Stark?” 

She rolled her eyes, smile fond. “Gendry, how many times must I ask you to call me Arya?”

“At least once more, Miss Stark. As always.”

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

                              OUR LOVE FULL OF STORMS

                            gendrya modern marriage/family au // ao3

She has never been a Sansa, but she had it all more-or-less under control. So surely, having a family was supposed to be something else? Surely, there’s someone else to blame, cause it’s impossible that it’s just her fucking up to such a spectacular degree? // After the birth of their second child, Arya's and Gendry's marriage hits a speed bump

And in  the sea of our shared life

I try to count the islands of sorrow

And velvet reefs

Of when we were so happy

I can see our trees

Bent by the winds of time

I know so well

Our love filled with storms

It sometimes cuts

Both ways like a sword

And leaves deep wounds on you and me

Living together is hard

Being apart kills me

I think we’ll always be

So tangled up in one another

Shared address, shared kids, our dreams

So help me go back to those days again

- Na Sen, Urszula

ARYA

Nan started teething.

Nan started teething and it was the straw the broke Arya’s back. Because her daughter could not, would not stop wailing every waking minute of the day and because Lucas has, once again, started biting other kids in the daycare, and because her husband seemed to be completely unaffected by the fact that neither he or she could recall when was the last time they had sex – all of that resulted in Arya sitting, fully-clothed, in an empty bathtub and pondering on how this mess is her life now.

She has never been a Sansa, but she had it all more-or-less under control. So surely, having a family was supposed to be something else? Surely, there’s someone else to blame, cause it’s impossible that it’s just her fucking up to such a spectacular degree?

Like, there must be some explanation. Chances are though, she will never find it because just as she’s about to bang her head against the tiles, small fists start banging on the closed door.

‘’Mommy? Mommy, Nan’s crying.’’

Of course she is. She hardly does anything else these days.

She can hear it, even though the nursery is on the opposite side of the flat. Thin, piercing shrills, not yet as desperate as to require Arya’s immediate attention… but getting there soon.

A single drop of water drips on Arya’s socked feet. The sink has been leaking for weeks now, but of course, to get Gendry to do anything lately requires at least a formal administrative letter, so it’s bound to continue leaking until she fixes it herself. She could do it, but she won’t, purely out of spite. Between her and her husband, only one of them sleeps more than four hours at night, so she reasons that this exact person should be the one to fix the goddamned sink-

‘’Mommy!’’

‘’I’m coming, I’m coming,’’ she grumbles, climbing out of the bathtub with a sigh. Her breasts hurt like a bitch, which probably means it’s nursing time anyway. One thing she has to give to Nan; her daughter has absolutely no problem with eating regularly.

When she opens the door, Lucas immediately wraps his arms around her leg like a little monkey, effectively immobilizing her for a second.

‘’Let go, Luke.’’

‘’No!’’

It’s his new favorite words, so she probably shouldn’t be surprised.

‘’You told me yourself that Nan’s crying.’’ She says, trying to keep her voice calm, but instead just ends up sounding dead tired. ‘’You need to let me go, so I could take care of her.’’

‘’You’re with Nan always, play with me.’’

‘’Luke, we’ve talked about this-‘’

‘’No!’’

‘’Nan’s little, she needs me-‘’

‘’I’m little too!’’

He’s not, not really; he’s already the tallest in his daycare group and continues to shot up, which makes buying him clothes a never-ending nightmare. But he still has those chubby cheeks and baby curls, and still loves monopolizing attention like nothing else in the world, underfoot at all times. And Arya hasn’t got nearly enough energy to fight him on that, so instead of carrying out with the battle of stamina with a four-year-old, she hoists Luke up and settles him on her hip.

‘’We’ll go to Nan together, okay?’’

‘’And then we play?’’ he sniffles, raising his blue eyes to her and she finds herself mindlessly nodding in confirmation.

She steps on several Legos on her way, but Nancy’s crying so hard now, that she barely registers it. The only things she can really focus on, are the aching pressure in her breasts and the fact that she has just ruined yet another nursing bra with milk stains. Also, Luke’s very heavy in her arms, especially when he stops holding on and just sags like a ragdoll against her with his head thrown back and limp limbs.

She practically drops him on the armchair in the nursery, rushing to the crib. Nan has turned on her belly and her little black head bobs as she’s throwing a fit, her face all red from anger. Arya loves her children more than life itself, but she finds herself, more often than not, lamenting at her choice of their father. Reproducing with someone mild-mannered would surely at least dull her own less-desired characteristics and result in sweet, easy kids, like Sansa’s. But no – she had to go and pick the only guy in the world more stubborn than her. And then allow him to get her pregnant. Twice, as if Luke was not hard enough to handle on his own. The fool-proof tactic, truly.

The wailing dies down considerably when Arya reaches inside the crib and picks Nan up, holding her with one hand and unbuttoning her blouse with another. When she was breastfeeding Luke, she had to stuff her boob inside his mouth as if it was a hamburger and she’s glad that at least she does not need to re-live this experience. Nan latches onto her nipple instantly, making her wince from pain, but at least she’s not crying anymore; her little body relaxes in Arya’s arms and her eyelids shut close. Nan’s an awfully pretty baby and it’s a pleasure to look at her when she’s not screaming; but unfortunately, Arya does not take Luke into account as she drops down on the armchair.

She closes her eyes for a second. Just one, tiny second of bliss. And then-

Nan stops eating and lets out the most horrific, high-pitched yell Arya has ever heard in her life.

‘’Lucas!’’

Oh, she’s angry now. Truly and really.

Her son’s blushing red when he scrambles to the floor in a desperate attempt to run away, but Arya was a fencing champion in college. Her hand shots out and grabs his collar, yanking him back.

‘’Why did you do that?’’ she asks, bouncing Nancy up and down in a desperate attempt to calm her down. ‘’Why did you pinch her?’’

‘’You promised we’ll play!’’

‘’She had to finish-‘’

‘’I don’t like her!’’ Luke stomps his feet down loudly, still struggling to get free of Arya’s grip. ‘’I want her gone! It was better without her!’’

Arya swallows hard, loosening her fingers around the material of Luke’s shirt.

‘’Go to your room.’’ She commands weakly. ‘’We’ll talk about it later.’’

As Lucas runs away, she pushes her nipple back into Nancy’s mouth to silence her and takes a few deep breaths. She could go and punish Lucas, or better, she could go and talk to Lucas. But what she was supposed to say to him? Hey kid, I know that it was easier when you were an only child. But you know what? It was even easier when you were not here at all and it was just me and your dad!

She doesn’t even notice that she’s crying until Nan falls back asleep on her breast.

---------------------------------------------read more on ao3-------------------------------------

[kelleesioverhere]

For the fanfic ask meme: A1, A8, A9, B5, B10, C3-C6, D8 and D10 😁💚 I have a lot I wanna know from! 😜🤷🏻‍♀️

A1. When did you start reading fanfiction?

Oh my gosh I can’t remember that far back! I honestly can’t remember how I even found out about it and got started? I’m going to guess 2005 ish but this could really be off. I remember I was fairly young though and setting my ratings on FF.net to ‘T’ only to avoid all the ‘lemons’ which are now my fave thing, HAHA

A8. What was your first fandom? Are you still in that fandom now?

Harry Potter! The only fandom I participate in these days is GoT and the only thing I care about is Gendrya, I have a one-track mind

A9. Who was your first ship?

Oh gosh again with my terrible memory... I remember reading James/Lily fics in the early days! I was also a huge fan of The O.C. and a diehard Seth/Summer supporter

B5. Which story have you read more than any other? How many times?

It has to go to love, war and a few things in between by @scrubclubwrites

I think I have read it 4 times since it’s been complete? But this doesn’t count when it was a WIP and I kept re-reading the posted chapters as I desperately awaited updates :)

It just makes me so so so happy

B10. What is the best plot twist you’ve ever seen?

For a couple reasons I would say this goes to The Beauty in the Deadly Things by @jenevajensen!

Hopefully this doesn’t count as spoiling the story, LOL but having Gendry’s ‘3′ result in illegitimate children is something that I didn’t ever consider and haven’t seen anyone else explore. It took me by surprise but also ended up being so much better than I ever would have expected and I’m so happy I read it!

C3. Is there anything that makes you nope out of a story? What is it?

I think I am a bit of a picky bitch when it comes to fics, oops! I could go on and on but I will try to refrain LOL

My number one problem is that I am all about the slow burn. I have the hardest time staying invested once the relationship becomes established. (Established relationship fics therefore are all pretty much a no for me, hahaha)

I struggle with poor grammar/spelling as well. I know all fic writers are doing it in their own time and for fun, but having lots of errors really distracts me and I can’t properly enjoy the story.

I also can’t deal when it’s all too soft? Does that make sense? If it reads like it would make a nice Hallmark movie I just can’t do it (I think I’m not very ‘romantic’ so these stories seem unrealistic even though it could very well be how other people are. It just doesn’t resonate with me) 

(Also if I feel the characterization is really off -

I’ll stop now because this list is getting way too long, I’m so sorry)

C4. What thing that fandom loves do you actually kind of hate? Why?

This is officially the hardest question, I’ve answered all of the others and I’ve been stuck on this one for so long hahaha! I don’t hate much, I am pretty easy going honestly

Okay I can only think of one thing, I have to go with having characters be sexually inexperienced but immediately perfect and amazing and completely confident? I think the idea of them not having many (or any) previous sexual encounters is very sweet and it CAN work but it has to be done a certain way (in my opinion of course ;) )

C5. What character that fandom loves are you just kinda “meh” about? Why?

Okay this is hard. I feel like I love all the characters other than the clearly deplorable ones. 

Maybe Robb? Lol

(I do love Robb. But sometimes I completely forget about him, so I’ll have to pick him for this. Poor guy.)

C6. Is there anything in canon that made you want to quit the show? What was it? Why did you hate it?

Well the whole ending of GoT but unfortunately it was the END so there wasn’t really an opportunity for me to quit the show, hahahahahahahahahaha.

I am all about the romance, so I was very disappointed in the lack of LOVE at the end of the show. I just felt like they spent seasons building up relationships (or bringing them back for the final season like they did with Gendrya) only to dash them all apart and I felt like it was a giant waste of my time and all of my emotional investment LOL 

I hate any ending that made me feel like I wasted my time or makes me go ‘what was the POINT of all of this then’? And that pretty much sums up 8.03-8.06

D8. Which fandoms do you read fic for?

GENDRYA I care about nothing else

D10. What is one story idea you really want to read but no one has written yet?

Oh gosh hmm. I love all ‘fairytale’ AUs, and I feel like we could use some more. 

Suggestion:

Sleeping Beauty AU where Gendry is our Sleeping Beauty. He grows up in the woods in secret as his family attempts to keep him safe, and by chance one day he meets fierce Princess Arya who is out adventuring. They fall in love (not in one day, let’s have them meet in secret who knows how many times), but unfortunately she is betrothed (to him - but she doesn’t know that). She tells her family she won’t marry any stupid prince, she loves the boy from the woods. Unfortunately Gendry is captured and put under a deep spell and Arya finds out his true identity and she has to go save him 

This whole premise just makes me laugh and puts a smile on my face

Someone indulge me and my need for ridiculous shenanigans

Thank you for the asks @always-aaack-for-everlark, I know this is stupidly long but I had lots of fun answering these!

[honestgrins]

Cross Me || Gendrya

"Just know, if you cross her, then you cross me." Cross Me, Ed Sheeran (feat. Chance the Rapper & PnB Rock)

It was supposed to be a fun night out with their friends, finally emerging from their new relationship bubble of happiness to fall back into their regular routine. Drinks with Hot Pie and Lommy at the pub while they watched the football game felt almost exactly the same as it always did, except for the arm Gendry had snugly wrapped around her waist. Arya couldn't stop smiling; they'd been having such a fun time.

Then, Joffrey had to ruin it. "Look at this," he jeered when she made her way to the bar for another round, precariously perched on his stool with how liquored up he was. "Little Arya Stark has got herself a boyfriend. Is he blind or just stupid?"

"Shut up, Joffrey." Flagging down the bartender, she was determined to ignore him, made difficult by the chorus of guffaws around him. Still, she waited as patiently as she could - until a pretzel landed in her hair. "Back off," she warned, throwing it back at him. The thwack against his forehead was almost worth the trouble of seeing him.

Almost.

Turning nearly purple with rage, Joffrey leapt down to his feet and took a menacing step toward her. His friends, however, moved away from them, already looking uncomfortable. Arya recognized a couple from some of Sansa's parties, and she made a mental note to get their names. Surely, she and Margaery would be up for some social payback. 

Joffrey, however, seemed to be looking for a more immediate confrontation. Considering how he treated her sister, Arya was more than ready to handle him. "What, Baratheon? You can dish it out, but you can't take it?"

"You little-"

She felt him before she heard him, strong and warm at her back. He must have been intimidating, too, from the way the color drained from Joffrey's face. "Need help with the drinks, Arya?" Gendry asked, his voice a tad stony. 

“Nope,” she answered with a pop of her lips. “Just got distracted by some local scum.”

Scoffing, Joffrey balled his fists at his side. “I’m the scum?” he asked, incredulous. His eyes dragged over Gendry “You’re the one with a habit of bringing home strays.”

Arya took a livid step toward him, only to feel Gendry’s arm drop over her shoulder. When she looked up at him, though, he was looking at the shrinking crowd of support behind Joffrey with a bored grin. “Sounds like you’re jealous to me, mate.”

“Please, I’ve had the hotter sister wrapped around my finger for years,” he spat, his whole face red with offense. 

“Don’t talk about Sansa,” Arya bit out, ready to throw a punch if he continued to test her temper. After the shit he pulled with her sister, like hell did he get to brag about it. 

Joffrey sneered and moved to close the gap between them. “Or what?”

Edging himself to stand more at Arya’s side, Gendry crossed his arms, making his biceps bulge with a threatening presence. “You tell us,” he replied coolly. “Personally, I think you should go find your friends and leave us be.”

Glancing behind him, Joffrey seemed to realize all of his buddies had melted into the crowd. He pursed his lips, finger raising to wag under her nose. “I won’t forget this, Stark.”

“Me, neither,” she promised, her tone level despite the undercurrent of rage. As Joffrey stomped off, Gendry relaxed beside her, but it only made her angrier. “Excuse you, I don’t need you to protect me. I had it handled.”

Pulling back from her, he crossed his arms again, a sight she decided would not distract her. Much. “I know you did,” he defended with a scowl. “Doesn’t mean I have to sit back and listen to him insult my girlfriend. If he crosses you, he crosses me.”

“Okay, caveman.”

Gendry shook his head. “It’s not a possessive thing,” he tried to explain, not that she seemed all that open to listening. Gods, he loved her anyway. “I just- If someone comes after you, I know you can more than take care of yourself. But I’ll still be there to make sure they hurt twice as much for even trying. I would do that anyway, even if we weren’t together.”

“I know,” she yelled, not quite ready to let go of her anger but conceding his point. It’s not like they hadn’t gotten in their fair share of scraps when they were just best friends. Looking up, his lower lip had pouted a bit in his annoyance, and she found herself stifling a bashful smile. “I know,” she repeated more softly, moving toward him until her hands landed comfortably on his waist and sliding them underneath his arms to rest on his chest. “It might take me some getting used to, though.”

Fighting a grin of his own, he loosened his arms to wrap them around her. He leaned down, too, to rest his forehead against hers. “I don’t mind you getting used to it,” he flirted. “Sort of counting on it, actually.”

“Yeah?” Arya tilted her chin up for a kiss, smiling when he tried to make it last. “Sounds like you’re planning on sticking around, then.”

His hand had lifted to her cheek, his hold so gentle for someone so big. Rather than answering her with words, however, he contented himself with breathing the same air for a long moment before slowly - so slowly - brushing her lips with his. Clutching his shirt, she was more than happy to fall into this kiss and looked forward to many similar occurrences in the future.

That is, until someone made a retching noise right beside them. “Ugh,” Lommy groaned with a look of grave disgust. “Is this how it’s going to be from now on? You left for drinks ages ago.”

Stubbornly, Arya wrapped Gendry’s arms around her as she leaned into him with a sickly sweet smile. “If you’ve got a problem with my boyfriend, Lom, then you’ve got a problem with me.”

“Pretty sure my problem is with both of you,” he muttered, moving past them to the bar - not that they noticed. They were too busy grinning at each other to care much about anything happening around them. So much for emerging from that bubble of theirs.

[huffletiika]

Happy Valentines Day Christina! @greeneyedwildthing​

This is my gift to you for the Gendrya Hill Discord Valentines Day event! A short snippet from a WIP I’m working at, and that I’m not very sure when I’m going to publish because I’m with DYWIWT at the moment. Hope you like it! 

And, for those who happen to read it and are not Christina, I hope you like it too.

———–

”Lommy? Really?!” he was laughing out loud, giving her a short glance before looking back at the road. “You have to be kidding me!” “I’m not! He really said that” Another laugh came out from his lips. “And what did you say to him?” he asked, not looking away from the road. “I told him that I don’t like him like that” she said, and she could see his grin grow bigger. “That he’s a good friend, but nothing else”. His grin transformed into a grimace. “Poor boy, went straight to the friendzone” he mocked, turning left on the road, taking the adjacent road that led to the Stark’s manor. “But, I guess there’s some boy you like. Isn’t there?” he gave her another glance. She blushed. “No, I don’t like any boy” she replied. “Liar!” he said, and then laughed. “You’re beautiful, I’m pretty sure you have many boys like Lommy crazy in love with you”. She felt her heart racing in her chest. He had called her beautiful, no one had called her beautiful, not even Lommy, when he had confessed that he liked her. And here he was, her crush, calling her beautiful like he was just talking about the weather. Growing up, she has been very insecure about her physical appearance, mostly because her sister and her best friend decided it was funny to call her Arya Horseface, and because many of the kids at school joked about the length of their hair (that she had had to cut after Jeyne had put a gum in it), saying she looked like a boy instead of a girl, making her feel like no one would ever like her like that. But, Gendry had called her beautiful.

“I don’t” she said, suddenly more interested in looking at her feet. “Then boys in your school are idiots” he shrugged, and she thought asking him if he was an idiot too, because he couldn’t see how crazy about him she was. “Here we are! You’re safe and sound at home, m’lady” he joked, and she rolled her eyes. “You know you can’t call me that!” she said, and he laughed. “As you wish, m’lady” she threw a napkin she had in her hands at him, and he laughed, saving it in his jeans pocket. Neither of them tried to leave the car, though, as it was a law that it wasn’t allowed to turn off the radio while the song hadn’t yet ended, and ‘Paint it, Black’ was still playing in the speakers. “The other day I saw you kissing a girl,” she started saying, not being able to look at him while saying those words. “Is she your girlfriend?” she asked, and he seemed to be paralyzed by her words. “I-” he stammered. “It was just a kiss” he stayed silent for a couple of seconds. “Theon was bothering me about being a normal boy and having dates and stuff, and I just wanted to shut him up”. she raised her eyebrow, and then took a deep breath. “I’ve never kissed a boy” she confessed, and his expression softened. “You’re still young, I’m sure soon you’ll find someone you can share that with… one of your classmates, mayhap” he said, turning off the radio when the song finished, not wanting to stay in the car for how much the next song lasted. “That’s the problem, I don’t want my first kiss to be with any of my classmates” she stared directly to his eyes. “I don’t trust them, and I want my first kiss to be with someone I really trust” she continued, and noticed how little by little the weight of her words began to make sense in his head. “Arya, I-” he started saying, but she had already pulled him by the nape of his neck, crashing her lips into his. She didn’t know what she was doing, so she moved her lips by instinct, feeling encouraged when a groan came out from his throat and he started to kiss her back, putting his hands on her waist and pulling her closer, until they literally had to pull away to catch some air into their lungs. For a couple of minutes, they stayed silent. “I’m four years older” he said, finally. His hands releasing her waist. “three… it isn’t your birthday yet” she looked down at his lips, wanting him to cut the bullshit and kiss her again. “Arya,” he scolded her. “You know what I mean… you only kissed me because you wanted to know how it was, right?” he asked, and she knew she couldn’t tell him the truth, that she had had a crush on him for more than two years. So, she nodded, putting a mask of innocence on her face. “Of course, why else would I do it?” she replied, releasing him and putting some space in between. He looked at her like he still couldn’t believe her, so she laughed, pushing his shoulder. “Come on, stupid! Relax, I just wanted to have my first kiss with someone decent, instead of someone like Lommy Greenhands” she smiled, trying not to think how that kiss had made her whole body long for another one. “You sure?” he frowned, and she rolled her eyes. “Stop worrying so much, Gen” she said, laughing it off, and then opened the car door. “You know, now I can tell everyone my first kiss was with a hot bloke” she winked at him, and then left the car, walking towards the house without waiting for him. That night, their kiss invaded her dreams. »

[amwalsh]

A little perspective on Arya and Gendry right now...

I ship these two hard, book and show. I have gobbled up every crumb, every tiny hint, so of course I really don't like this development, but I'm still a fan of Arya first and foremost.

I didn't expect Gendry to straight up propose. TBH, I'd rather they'd have interacted some other way. I’d rather he’d have found her without several drinks and a lordship in him. But now that he has, I can't see this as having gone any other way -- especially with Gendry coming to Arya hot off having killed what she saw as death itself and on her way to finish her quest. Did anyone expect her to accept an offer of marriage at this point? Obviously, the audience had more forewarning than Gendry did, but he might still catch on that this was not the offer to make. As for Arya, she’s in love with him, IMO...

She had big old hearteyes when he was professing his love and she kissed him and she lingered. 

She didn't say she didn't love him or that she didn't want to be with him. She just said that the life he's describing is not for her.

I don't think this is a step back in her character development and I don't think she is all about revenge. She even re-confirmed that she is a Stark in case we missed it the first time.

At this point, finishing off her list is about protecting her family. She will not see them as safe until those who threaten them are neautralized. And whether she does it herself or someone else does, she has to see it happen.

I don't see this as the end for them. The song that GRRM basically had sung while Tom literally winked at Gendry had a man offering a wild maiden a life she didn't want:

For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.

And the maiden rejects the offer, but makes her own counter-offer:

She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me. I'll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass, But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.

I mean, you could take this as a rejection, much like Lyanna rejecting Bobby B, but she had plenty of reasons to do so even before Rhaegar came into the picture. He was already whoring it up and producing bastards and he was not likely to stop after their marriage and Lyanna expressed concerns about that. Ned even said to Robert that he "saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath."

Gendry isn't Robert and though he's a bit love-addled right now and he was also probably drunk, I think he sees the iron in Arya and, from his reaction to her knife throwing display in the forge, he's super into it. 

(had to insert that gif. It was the first quote that came into my mind after that scene)

Once Gendry has time to think, he'll realize that she's right that lady's life is not for her. She wasn't rejecting him, but the life he was describing.

As mad as everyone gets at D&D  -- and yes, they've been sloppy as hell. Gendry Rivers? Last I heard, he was born in King’s Landing, so it would be Waters if he were an acknowledged bastard, but he wasn’t, so he actually has no last name. But that’s nothing to the Starbucks cup in front of Dany? Really? Proof...

(you can see it in the episode as well. It’s not photoshop) 

Ahem... As mad as everyone gets at D&D, George told them how things ended and, as per that latest Rolling Stone, he's still a part of the process and the discussion despite not actively writing episodes. I’ve read so many places that people have this headcanon where GRRM hates the show and refuses to talk to D&D because they are doing their own thing without him. To that - no. I mean, they are doing things their own way, but he gave them the plotpoints to hit.

And Gendrya was one of those plot points, despite the show taking a different path to get there, the book and show are heading to the same end.

GRRM doesn't put things in his text for no reason. From the fact that he built it up and the show continued it years later, I don't think Gendrya happened just to hammer in that Arya isn't about that ladylife. I think GRRM had a Gendry/Arya ending in mind and I don't think D&D are going to sink the ship just to be dicks.

I don't think it's going to end with them as a stereotypical Lord and Lady. Like in the song, I think they will make their own kind of relationship.

My personal hope is that he rejects his tenuous lordship (and it is tenuous. It's not like he has an army to help him take Storm's End from whoever the hell is squatting there, whether in Cersei's name or not) and decides to go with her on her travels West of Westeros. Hell, Davos (if he lives) can manage the place.He knows it well enough. I doubt Gendry cares much about having a castle except as it made him an eligible match for her. 

As he said, it means nothing without her. And I don't think that boy's a liar.

And if I’m wrong and this ship gets sunk to the bottom of the ocean, then I will write a massive fixit fic. I’ve given up fic for some time to concentrate on writing my original romance, but I will write fic again to right this ship

[theshipsfirstmate]

Game of Thrones Fic: Please Speak Well of Me (part 2/2)

Post-finale jonsa angst/feelings, with some gendrya in the background. (Honestly, I just want them all to be happy.)

“I've heard the speech,” Sansa tells him. “But you and I both know it’s different when there’s a crown on your head.”

“I never wore a crown,” Jon answers, needlessly.

“I know,” she nods, wringing her hands nervously, but unable to look away -- or stop herself from admitting, “That’s why there are two wolves on mine.”

A/N: I know this follow-up is like, a year late, but I’m trying to clear out my WIPs and this one was mostly done and I’m pretty pleased with it. Anybody still around?

Please Speak Well of Me (PART 1)

Part 2: You Recognize Love After the Fact (AO3 - wc: 10121)

Jon says her name, standing in front of her in his old chambers, and she thinks it might be the first thing she’s really heard in over a year.

“Sansa.” It’s like seeing in color after months of nothing but white and grey.

Part of her thought the world would be louder, ruling in the ashen aftermath of the Mad Queen. She thought the crown on her head would bring with it a diplomatic din, a ceaseless chorus of concerns calling to her to be handled.

And it's true, there are voices that reach out from all sides throughout her day, and a few from the past that come to her in her empty chambers at night. There are survivors whose lives she has been tasked with rebuilding, and lost generations to whom she is desperate to construct proper monuments. But the noise so far has been muted, and manageable, as if the veil she dropped over her countenance the moment she took her seat on the North’s wooden throne was also designed to muffle the sounds of the outside world.

It’s lonely, too. The silence has been her penance, she thinks, for growing spoiled once again by having her siblings close by. Their time at Winterfell before the war was fleeting and fraught with paranoia and planning, but it was enough to remind her what it was like to have a family once again. It was enough to know what she was missing when she returned home from King's Landing alone -- without Arya, without Bran, without Brienne or Podrick or Sandor. Without Jon.

Her people have accepted her, are grateful for her role in freeing the North and establishing independence, but it's never left her mind for a moment that she was the ruler they were left with, not the one they chose -- the last remaining Stark at Winterfell.

Perhaps fittingly, she has become something of a lone wolf. She keeps to herself as much as possible, taking her meals alone -- or, since their return, with Arya and Gendry -- and politely shunning any advisors who attempt to cross the line into something friendly or more familiar. And the quieter she becomes, the more she hears how they speak of her. Granite, they say. Stone and ice and steel. But at least those things are strong.

She is the only one now who can know the truth of how weak she is, Sansa knows that much for certain. A queen isn’t supposed to mourn her family, scattered across the map -- not when her kingdom has so recently been winnowed by the army of the dead. A queen isn’t supposed to pass through empty chambers in her keep, hoping to catch the scent of someone who used to sleep there.

A queen isn’t supposed to cry. So she’s learned to turn her tears to frost before they ever reach her cheeks.

“Sansa,” Jon says to her, and the ice within shifts, weakens. Brackish water begins to leak through the cracks.

She can barely remember how to speak, and it doesn’t come as much of a comfort that he seems to be fumbling as well.

Over the foolish moons, Sansa had imagined that, if the time came that Jon ever returned, the mere sight of him would unwind the tangles of conflict inside of her. There would be something in his eyes, something she had forgotten about his face, something that would remind her what was real and what was not between the two of them.

She understands now that this was all wishful thinking. The knot in her chest only twisted tighter when he stepped before her in the Great Hall, wrapping more inextricably around what's left of her heart, and she’s not sure it’s something she’ll ever be able to untangle.

“It’s just very good to see you,” he says finally, on a breath, and there’s a flash of something in his gaze that makes her wonder if he’s just as conflicted as she. His face is thinner now, and the shadows under his eyes are darker still than after his stay in the Red Keep. But there's something else about seeing him before her, something that tugs at the corners of her lips. It takes her far too long to recognize it as joy.

He keeps himself so still, hands balled into fists at his sides, waiting for her to reach for him. Mercifully, the second she moves, Jon does too, arms banding around her as she sucks in a breath that leaves her lightheaded.

“I'm so glad you're home,” Sansa whispers when she trusts her voice not to break, speaking the words into the worn furs at his collarbone. 

When she pulls back, reluctant to even let him slip a few inches away, his eyes are sad but sparkling still, and he brings a careful hand up to cup her face.

“Sansa.” Again, just her name. But it sounds like something more.

It’s why she had fumbled over their introduction in the Great Hall, why she recoiled when he addressed her as queen. This is the only thing she ever wants him to call her.

She spends so much time replaying it in her head, it takes her a long moment to notice that he doesn’t say anything more. He’s just looking at her. All of her at once, it seems. His eyes dart from her face to her cloak, around the room and back again. But his mouth seems to stick on anything but syllables of her name.

“What is it?”

“It’s just…” The sentence comes in fits and starts, and part of her wants to plead with him to simply say what he means. And then he does. “I’ve spent so much time wondering if I’d ever see anything good come of all that’s happened. But that crown on your head…”

She ducks her eyes to his boots, unwilling to let him see the tears or anything else that might spring to her eyes. Jon pulls his hand back to his side and she misses it instantly.

“Gendry made it for me,” she tells him. “I wanted something for Robb. And Father. And the rest...”

“It’s perfect,” he answers with a nod and a near-whisper. His eyes go soft and she imagines he must be thinking of their fallen family. “It’s beautiful. You’re-- You make a beautiful queen.”

His breath catches in the space between them, and Sansa goes a bit light-headed herself. It's so much, to have him here. It's been so long since she made a wish that had even the smallest chance of coming true.

“I should-- They'll be looking for me.” She nods to the door, and Jon responds with a tiny, terse flash of a smile. It’s just his lips, pressed together in a line, but she tries to memorize it. “I’ll send for you at supper?”

He doesn’t answer right away, so she assures, “Nothing formal. Arya and Gendry usually eat with me in my solar.”

Jon looks so relieved she can't help but smile at him again. Her cheeks, out of practice, are starting to ache.

“Just family,” she adds, and then the look is more than relief. Joy, she remembers again. That's what it's called.

__________________________________

“I've decided to take Gendry’s name after all.”

Sansa knows Arya will be annoyed at her sigh, but she can’t help the consolation she feels at checking one minor battle off of her ever-growing list. “Oh?” 

Wedding planning with her sister has been about as easy as she expected, which is to say, very near agony. Arya is a specific mix of practical and desperate to buck tradition that has called into question nearly every detail of a traditional Northern wedding celebration. And besides that, she’s marrying a Southern lord.

“The tradition is demeaning, but times are slow to change,” Arya tells them of her latest decision. “I'll take his name to protect our family, but I will always be a Stark.”

Sansa grins at the flash of her sister’s Tully blood, still running cool beneath a face that undeniably belongs to their father. Gendry smiles as well.

“No one who looks upon you would doubt that,” he assures his bride-to-be, even though it earns him a swat to the arm. “And if they did, you would be quick to set them straight, my lady.”

“I'm not your lady yet,” Arya warns.

“Aye, but soon enough,” her betrothed fires back. “You'll be my lady and my family.”

Sansa expects another blow to Gendry’s side, but instead her sister goes soft, eyes widening with the most sentimental look she's ever seen shape the practical angles of her face.

It's some happy moment, something from their past, she understands. Arya’s told her some of their stories and more than anything, Sansa finds herself grateful that they had each other for a time, grateful that her sister can hold her life's memories up to the light and catch the gleam of happiness off of some of them. 

She knows something of the depths of Arya's affection for Gendry, but this may be the first time she’s ever truly seen her sister as a woman in love. It pulls at Sansa’s heartstrings and something in a darker part of her as well, something that feels too much like jealousy to dwell on for very long.

She looks away, aiming to afford the couple a semi-private moment, but this leaves her eyes to find Jon’s, which soften at the corners, like they're sharing a secret too. She can’t linger there either, so she racks her brain for a distraction -- and settles on a weak one.

“You're sure about the godswood?” she asks, focusing on what's left of her stew.

“Seven hells, Sansa, yes.” Arya manages to project her annoyance while keeping her eyes fixed on Gendry for a moment. When she turns back, her whole face narrows suspiciously in her sister’s direction. “Why do you keep asking?”

“It's just--” Sansa chooses her words carefully. “It's very traditional.”

“I think it'll make it feel like father's there,” her sister explains, casually, like it doesn't rip the breath from her chest. “Mother, as well. It's what they would have wanted.”

Sansa can feel herself freezing over, despite the fire that roars in the hearth of her solar. And when did you decide to care what they wanted for Winterfell? She doesn't let the ugly voice in the back of her mind ask its question aloud, but she can't find anything else to say.

“Aye, it is,” Jon finally fills in, and Arya smiles gratefully at him.

“Besides,” she continues, either oblivious to Sansa’s reaction or pretending to be, “Bran will be more comfortable there.”

“Bran’s coming?” Jon's worry is what finally thaws Sansa enough to find her voice.

“Not to worry,” she says, clearing her throat. “I'll speak to him -- as a queen to a king, and as a sister to a brother. ” 

“I don't want to cause any trouble.” A quick flash of panic passes between them, and Sansa imagines an empty chair at the dining table tomorrow, like he was never here at all.

“You won't,” she says resolutely, and thankfully, Arya echoes the same. It seems to be enough to pacify Jon for the moment.

They finish their meal in peaceful silence, but all three of Sansa’s guests take note when she does her best to stifle a yawn.

“Would you two mind giving us the room?” Four eyes turn towards her with the same question. “I'd like a word with my sister.”

Gendry’s already standing to take his leave, ever courteous. “Goodnight, Your Grace,” he says with a smile. Arya rolls her eyes, but Sansa gives him her warmest blessing.

“Goodnight, my lord.” She’ll insist on first names after the wedding, she’s already decided. “I must thank you again for bringing more of my family back to me.”

He's a good man, her sister’s betrothed, solid and sure. He balances Arya in a way that Sansa counts as a blessing, even as she doesn’t fully understand it. And best of all, he’s kind.

“We two were never meant to head our houses, but we’ll do our best, won’t we?” It’s their private joke, however morbid, forged over the last year as they found themselves in similar chaos. Sansa does her best not to watch Jon from the corner of her eye as she nods.

“Our families have been friends and allies for generations,” she tells him. “It’s an honor to have you join us, officially.”

Gendry departs with a sheepish grin, and then she’s forced to turn her attention back to her remaining guests. Perhaps foolishly, she chooses Jon, who's watching her like he’s seeing something different as the embers in the hearth begin to dwindle. 

Sansa’s stomach twists, not with discomfort, she realizes, but worry. She fears letting him out of her sight for the evening will give him permission to disappear, to prove himself the hopeful apparition part of her still believes him to be.

He must sense her concern, or see it on her face, because he doesn't move to follow Gendry out the door. “All right, Sansa?”

Perhaps, she thinks. If you’re still here when the sun rises tomorrow, I might be.  “Yes, thank you,” she forces out instead, with a smile she hopes is stronger than it feels. “Goodnight, Jon.”

He doesn't say anything more, just nods and takes his leave. When Sansa turns back from the closing door, Arya’s already opening her mouth, ready to spar. She assumes it'll be more wedding details, but then her sister’s face changes and her eyes narrow slightly.

“You're already different.” 

“Different?”

“Now that he's back,” Arya says, like it’s simple. Like it’s an answer.

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

Sansa sighs, for what feels like the hundredth time today. Fine. “Perhaps I am,” she allows, though the forced innocence in her tone is heavy with a thousand possible implications. “Is it so wrong, that I should be happy to see my family returned to me?”

“Of course not.” Her sister gives her a knowing smile that makes her feel small, and seen, and she nearly dismisses her outright, but in a moment of weakness -- or strength, it’s hard to be certain -- remembers her initial intention.

“I don’t want to quarrel,” Sansa says softly, eyes drifting back to the door Jon walked though just moments ago. “I just wanted to thank you. I know he’s here for you -- for your wedding -- but once again, you did what I could not.”

She’s not sure what reaction she expected from her sister, but it’s not the one she delivers.

“Mine was the easy task, compared to yours,” Arya answers low, looking almost nervous.

“And what is it that I must do?”

“Convince him to stay.” 

Sansa imagines the look she gives her sister could be called skeptical at best. Incredulous is probably closer. “He will if you ask,” Arya insists.

“I have.” Sansa ducks her head from her sister’s gaze as she answers too quickly, remembering the hastily scribbled missive at the bottom of one of his pardons, a few moons back. “I have asked.”

Please come home.

She regretted it as soon as the raven took off. Were she a better archer, she would have tried to down the bird as it flew over the battlements. It was desperate, and unbecoming of a queen, but she found that she couldn’t help herself as she signed that month’s decree. Something deep in her gut had flushed her cheeks and moved her hand and still, it wasn’t enough. 

But her sister is the stubborn sort, always has been. “Ask him again.”

“I sent him a dozen pardons, Arya.” And then, childishly, because this particular spat feels like pressing a thumb down on an already-purpled bruise. “I’ve asked him a dozen times, more than. You ask him.”

“No, it can’t be me.” She remains cryptic as always, and Sansa is weary of so much of it. “It has to be you.”

Her regal composure has held for so long today, but the last of it snaps as she considers what feels like an impossible task. It’s not as if she hadn’t thought of it. It had been her first dreadful question amid the joy of realizing Jon had really returned: When will he leave again?

“What do you imagine I can do, Arya? The weakest of the wolves — what powers do you expect I have here?”

Her sister doesn’t answer right away, hanging on something Sansa hadn’t intended to say. “You don't really believe that.”

She does. Not only that, she knows it to be true. The weakest of the wolves. She’s heard it in murmurs, most of them in her own head. Every day, there are moments when she wishes she were her brother, with the ability to see through to the meaning of things, or her sister, with the power to glean motives as easily as faces. Or Jon, with his strong shoulders to carry the weight of the world, and a head made for a crown. 

He returned to Winterfell all those years ago with a bastard’s name, a broken oath and blood that had already once run cold, and still, they raised their swords to him. Sansa’s been queen for longer than he was king, yet there is not one day she hasn’t felt like an imposter.

“I'm just one person, Arya, with one life and one face and wits that I’m learning far too often are not enough.” Her voice sounds small to her own ears, muffled by thoughts of ledgers and lords and all the tedious things that seem to undermine the grand title she's had bestowed upon her.

“I couldn’t even make him come home,” she whispers, as an unspoken refrain echoes in her mind. It’s something she’s told her sister once before, as they stood atop the snowy battlements of their home. You did that. I couldn’t. You did.

“You're not just a person,” Arya says, in a tone Sansa is growing more resentful of by the second. “You're a queen.”

“And I have pardoned him, and I have asked him, and I have-” Sansa cuts herself off and takes a deep breath before going so far as to admit that she’s spent most of her nights bargaining with the old gods and the new, and restless hours dreaming of Jon's safe return. “Why is it that you suddenly think I'll be able to change his mind now?”

“Faces don't lie.”

Usually, Sansa feels out of her depth when Arya mentions her mysterious game. But tonight, she just scoffs at a truth she’s more certain of than anything.

“Faces lie all the time. You know that better than anyone.”

“Not yours,” her sister says knowingly, and Sansa can hear her own heart thud in her chest over the scrape of Arya’s chair as she stands to take her leave. “And not his.”

__________________________________

She’s left so unsettled that it takes her a moment to notice Arya has left the door ajar. When Sansa sighs, and moves to close it, however, a flash of red catches her eyes in the corridor.

“Ghost.” And behind him, to her immediate relief, “Jon.”

She wishes, in that moment, that she could read faces like her sister. There’s always been something in the way that Jon looked at her, ever since their time at Castle Black, but it feels different now. More, a voice in her head whispers, and she tries to stifle it.

Ultimately, though, it’s his words that stop her breath.

“The godswood,” he says, almost at a whisper. She steps back to let him reenter the room without another word.

They haven't laid eyes on each other in more than a year and still he can see right through her. She stays quiet long enough that it serves as an answer.

“Hells, Sansa, why not just tell her?” She nearly laughs, but the thought is too bitter. 

“Arya wants what she wants. She has so many good memories of this place, I won't give her any of my bad ones.” Her sister knows too much already about her years as a victim, and besides, it wouldn’t become a queen to talk of such horrors.

“She would understand,” he insists. “You know she would.”

But Sansa’s tired of this fight. She’s waged it silently within herself too many times. Seeing Jon’s pitying eyes doesn’t do anything to make it better.

“I will be fine, Jon. I have grown accustomed to ignoring unhappy thoughts. I will not stand in front of my lord father’s people and their gods and think of my own miserable wedding day, or Theon’s death, or a promise that I couldn’t keep.”

His eyes go wide at that -- she knows he had only been thinking of Ramsey. “Sansa...”

“I won't apologize for it. But I know you haven't forgiven me.” She had sworn to him, in front of what was left of her family, on their most sacred ground. And even as she said the words, she was preparing the plan in her head to betray them. It haunts her still, but it’s a ghost she can manage. It saved them all, as best it could.

“I--”

Nothing becomes of the sentence, and Jon’s silence confirms her suspicions. He might never forgive her, and that’s something else to live with. It only feels sharper now because he’s here. That’s what she tells herself.

“I'm grateful that you came for Arya, but I won't--”

“I didn’t come for her,” he interrupts, finding his words and seeming startled by their force. Now it’s Sansa’s turn to be speechless.

“Not only for her,” he fumbles over the correction as she takes in a sharp breath. “Though she does seem fairly determined these days about a person’s right to get what they want.” 

And what do you want? Sansa doesn't ask it, but she almost does -- and that's dangerous enough.

“I've heard the speech,” she says instead. “But you and I both know it’s different when there’s a crown on your head.”

“I never wore a crown.”

“I know,” she nods, wringing her hands nervously, but unable to look away -- or stop herself from admitting, “That’s why there are two wolves on mine.”

His eyes flash at the admission, something hot and mournful and dangerous.

She wonders if it’s wrong, to stand here with him like this. It feels like it might be, even more so than it did earlier. The keep is quieting around them, leaving a stillness she rarely gets to enjoy. And when Jon’s eyes reflect the fiery glints from the flickering hearth, it feels very much like something that could sweep her away, if she gave it permission. Perhaps even if she didn't.

It's not a question of whether or not she loves him, Sansa realizes then. It's a question of whether or not she always has -- and what it means.

Ice and stone, they say. Suddenly she doesn’t feel so solid.

__________________________________

Perhaps Sansa should be surprised at how easily Jon fits back into life at Winterfell, given everything that’s happened. But deep down, she knows that she's not.

She sees him sparring with Arya in the yard, as dozens of green boys and hopeful squires look on in awe. She notices the bond he forms with Gendry, the way the two men jest with each other -- lighthearted familiarity that can only come in peacetime. She watches him as he walks the battlements and dines in the Great Hall and sits in with her small council meeting, and sometimes she nearly cries with the relief of it all.

This is where he belongs. The longer he stays, the more the rightness sinks into her bones. It’s a dangerous feeling, but she loses the will to fight it when he catches her looking and flashes a crooked grin. It’s almost as if he always knows just where she’ll be.

Then one day, as they enjoy a quiet lunch together in her solar -- her head spinning with unspoken thoughts, but somehow also comfortable in the peace -- Jon asks to see the crypts.

Sansa swallows an empty bite, takes a deep breath and nods.

She cancels her afternoon and they descend the steps together, torches in hand. Despite her layers of fur, she still has to fight back the shiver.

The work is admirable, it’s impossible to say otherwise. She owes a great debt to the masons and laborers who put in countless hours of tiring work to erase the evidence of that horrific night and rebuild her family's historic monuments.

“I avoided it for a few moons, because I couldn't stop having nightmares,” she tells Jon, nearly at a whisper, when they reach the bottom of the staircase. “But the more it was rebuilt, the more I was able to sleep.”

He doesn’t speak until they reach her father’s statue, the starting point of a new family bloc. “They'd be so proud of you, Sansa. All of them.”

Are you? The list of questions she won’t let herself ask him only continues to grow.

They pass by her mother -- whom Sansa still has trouble looking at directly -- and come to a stop in front of two of the new busts, likenesses Jon hasn’t seen in years. The eldest Stark son and the youngest, resting too early under stone.

She hears a choked kind of sound next to her, and wonders if he's picturing a wolf pup next to Robb, as she often does.

But when she turns to look, his focus is on Rickon, and his eyes are filled with tears that spill over when he speaks. “I nearly had him, Sansa. I nearly--” 

It’s hard for her to pick that awful day out from the rest, but she knows it must be so vivid for him, who came so close. She grasps his hand in her own free one, and brings it down between them. He turns to her with a question in his eyes -- she wonders if he even realizes he was reaching out.

“There was a moment I thought I might have them build him older,” Sansa recalls. “But there were no sculptors who had seen him since he was so small, and I couldn't...It’s not--”

She loses the word “fair” in her tears and Jon squeezes her hand as they fall. She doesn’t let go to wipe them away.

It’s quiet for a long moment, and then he asks, “Do you think he would have looked like Robb?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I dream of him sometimes, but I can’t picture him as a man.” There’s something so much more profound in that loss.

“Nor Robb,” Jon adds. “I once thought of him as a man grown, when we all left, but he was younger than I am now.”

“Me as well,” she answers. 

There are four spaces left in the plot. Sansa wonders if Jon counts them off as they walk deeper into the tomb, setting their torches to rest in the wall sconces. The last of the Starks. This is where they too will lie one day.

She knows it’s foolish to have a plan. Arya’s likely to die on some remote corner of the map, her body consecrating a life lived on the point of a needle.

Bran may never return either. Is a king permitted to come home when he reigns no longer? Is a Three-Eyed Raven ever laid to rest?

Jon, as it turns out, is ready to answer for himself. He drops her hand when they reach the final marker and she closes it to a fist, digging her fingernails into her palm when his voice comes low and mournful.

“I don't belong down here, Sansa. Just like I never belonged up there.” He says it as if it's a fact. “I may deserve the grave, again, but I don’t deserve to rest among the Starks. Not as I am.”

“As you are?” She wills her voice to strengthen as she speaks. “You are a Stark. You are our family, just as much as any of the rest. You belong at Winterfell.”

“But I’m not.” Sansa feels her cheeks redden as his stubbornness draws from her more anger than sorrow. “I’m not a Stark, and I never was.”

Behind him, the statue of her father shows her the falsehood in Jon’s claim, in the slope of his nose, the set of his chin. But he can't see what she sees.

“I'm a Targaryen, and a kinslayer at that.” He sounds as if the words are sour on his tongue. “There is madness in my bones and blood on my hands, and I don't deserve--”

“I know you loved her,” Sansa tells him with a jaw she wills not to clench, “but you didn't have a choice, Jon.” 

“Loved her?” he scoffs. She takes a breath to steady herself. This is not how she had imagined this particular conversation, or where.

“I know you feel you should suffer for what you've done-”

“Look what becomes of the people that love me,” he interrupts, waving an outstretched hand, voice darker than the tomb around them. Sansa thinks it sounds like an accusation. “She trusted me with her heart and I put a dagger through it.”

“And my only regret -- as should be yours -- is that you didn't do it sooner.” She can’t find it in her to care if the words come out spiteful. She doesn't want to speak of Daenerys. Not ever, but certainly not here.

Jon’s eyes narrow in the dim firelight. For the first time since his return, he looks at her with something close to anger. “You’re so sure that it was right?” he asks, voice grating against the questions she knows he’s repeated in every quiet moment for the better part of the last year. “That there wasn’t something else that could have been done? That it wasn’t-”

“Yes.” It’s her turn to interrupt. “And I always have been.”

He shakes his head, looking anywhere but at her, and admitting, “I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Then I will be sure for the both of us.” She’s so certain she understands what he’s telling her, so ready to refute his best efforts at self-immolation. “Jon, you saved so many…”

“And what if I did it to save one?” he spits out, and then she’s not certain of anything anymore.

Jon takes a step back like the revelation comes with a physical blow. He’s not wrong, the way she feels it in her chest.

“It was the last arrow Tyrion had in his quiver -- and he knew it would hit its mark,” he recalls. “Arya too, she warned me where Daenerys would go next. All they had to do was tell me--”

“Am I to feel guilty for that?” Sansa breathes through her shock. “I don't think that I will.”

“Gods, Sansa.” He’s practically hissing now, sucking cold air through his teeth in frustration. It draws her eyes to his mouth and she realizes he's stepping closer again.

“Why are you so stubborn? What is it that you hope to see in the truth of this? What is it that you hope to prove?”

“I don't--” Just moments ago, she had known her footing in this conversation, but it's shifting beneath her now and leaving her stumbling. 

“Why won’t you see me for what I am? Why did you want me to come home?”

It won’t be until much later that she realizes he had called Winterfell “home.” At present, it’s the anger in his demands -- the way it assures the darkest parts of her mind that he’d rather be anywhere but here -- that finally pushes the tears onto her cheeks. 

“I know who you are,” she reminds him, with a watery waver. “I have shielded you from the Lords of the North and the King in the South. I have rallied troops in your name.”

They have killed for each other, several times over, and the aftermath has turned her to ice and left him full of fiery resentment. The horrifying possibility dawns on her that there may be nothing here left to salvage. Despite her best efforts, despite the deepest truths of her heart -- and whatever lies within his own -- this could all end in ruin. But still, she’s determined to try.

“I have sent a flock of humiliating ravens, and gods, Jon, if you don't know by now?” Sansa starts to tremble, and that’s when his countenance shifts. His eyes flash wide and then soften, and he reaches out for her hands, as if to steady her. It only throws her further off balance.

“I have defended you to any and all that raise their concerns, and I will continue to do so, but I do not have the strength to defend you to yourself. Please, I just--”

“Sansa,” Jon whispers, taking a step closer and letting their foreheads fall together when her voice catches on a swallowed sob. “I'm sorry.”

They stand there for a long moment, until her frantic heartbeat slows to sync up with his. She can feel his breath when he exhales, it brushes against her lips, and she wonders if it feels anything like it would to kiss him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and this time she's entirely not sure what he's apologizing for.

And she knows it’s impossible, but she tells him anyway. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to stay.”

With that, she gives his hands one final squeeze and gathers her torch to leave quickly, before she can hear him say he won’t.

__________________________________

Bran arrives a few days later, with a smaller contingent than she expected. She’s almost relieved to see he still wears the strange, distant countenance of the Three-Eyed Raven. In a way, it suits him even better as king.

Sansa asks to meet with him the very first night, after their welcoming feast, eager to clear the air as quickly as possible. 

“I suppose you know of our visitor.” Jon has kept himself scarce since their conversation in the crypts. It’s been easy enough to tell herself that it was because of the king’s impending arrival.

Bran nods solemnly, betraying nothing of his feelings about his exiled cousin’s return from beyond the Wall.

“I am the Queen in the North,” Sansa recites, though it sounds as if she’s reminding herself, “and I've issued a pardon in his name.”

“His name,” Bran echoes, with that far-away voice she’s still not entirely used to. “A name he longed to be rid of all his life. And now, under the weight of so many others, he longs for it back.”

Sansa realizes she had never considered writing any other on the desperate scraps of paper she sent north every moon. 

“I don’t pretend to have any idea of what he longs for,” she fires back, almost without meaning to. She might imagine it, but she swears Bran’s eyes sharpen in her direction for just a second. Steeling herself again, she speaks before he has a chance. 

“I don't want to fight to keep him here, but you should know that I will, if it comes to that.”

Her brother’s eyebrows knit together at the promise -- which, she realizes, wouldn’t take much to read as a threat -- and then the corners of his mouth quirk up slightly, like she's made a joke. She meets his eyes, not sure what to expect. A challenge? A reprimand? The milky white pupils that mean he’s seeing something else altogether?

But instead they just seem clear, in the strangest way. After a breath, Sansa realizes it’s the closest she’s seen to the little brother she remembers, the bold and brave Brandon Stark who dreamed of glory and titles and castles big enough for climbing. 

“Sansa,” he says, “you have marched an army towards your nightmares and stood as the lone defender of our home. You married a monster in the godswood, exposed our family's most dangerous traitor, and faced Winterfell’s risen dead in the crypts -- and you laid them all to rest. There isn't a soul alive, sister, who would question the fierceness of the red wolf.”

Sansa presses her lips together at the moniker, but a cowardly part of her worries her brother is not yet finished.

“But?” she asks. Bran just looks at her placidly. “Father always said--”

But her brother just shakes his head. There will be no more. “The pack survives.”

Could it possibly be that easy? She almost believes it, coming from the mouth of a man who can see through time.

“Thank you, Bran.” She reaches out to clasp his hand, and when he squeezes back, she loses her carefully held control over the tears in the corners of her eyes.

“It's been a long and terrible journey, Sansa. But you’ve made it back home.”

When she first left Winterfell -- a naive girl of just three and ten who still believed in fairy tales -- she had four brothers. Today, there is just Bran. And even he will leave her again soon. “Alone,” she adds absently.

Four spaces left.

“Not alone,” her brother counters. “Not forever.”

As usual, she’s left scrambling to piece together his meaning, but before she can ask anything more, he’s waving to the door.

“I’m going to retire for the evening,” he says as Podrick wheels him away. “If you have another moment, I believe Brienne would like a word.”

Sansa just nods. “Of course. Goodnight, Bran.”

__________________________________

Brienne bows as she enters, but Sansa is already on her feet, ready to wrap her old friend and protector in a warm embrace. How little it’s taken to warm her spirits over this last week. Or rather, how much.

“Your Grace.”

“Please,” she dismisses with a wave of her hand, “just Sansa is fine in private.”

“Of course,” the knight demurs, though she looks almost nervous. “It's good to see you.”

Sansa motions to one of the empty chairs, but Brienne makes no move to sit. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, very well, thank you.” Brienne looks towards the door, and then shakes her head, as if to clear her thoughts. “I just, uh… There's someone I'd very much like for you to meet.”

Sansa freezes for a moment, but when a maid enters, carrying a bundle wrapped in blankets, her heart swoops in an entirely different direction.

Brienne takes the baby with a familiarity that tells Sansa almost everything she needs to know, and moving closer to get a better look at the child answers the remaining questions, though it does little to ease the surprise.

There’s a shock of white-blond hair, so similar to his mother's, but when he opens his eyes, Sansa sees a green that, for just a moment, makes her blood run cold -- until she glances up to see Brienne gazing at the babe with a kind of maternal tenderness that the Lannister family hasn't known for generations now.

“Queen Sansa, it is my honor to present Lord Selmy of House Tarth.”

“Selmy,” Sansa echoes, unable to think of anything else to say at the moment. “For Ser Barristan?”

“A worthy namesake,” Brienne answers, “and a believable one, as well. But privately, I must confess, the name is a blending of my father’s and his own. Selwyn and...Jaime.”

The confession hangs in the air, though it's less of a revelation than little Selmy himself, who lets out a pleased coo, as if he knows he’s being talked about.

Sansa can’t help but smile. “A fitting name for a handsome young lord.”

Brienne beams. “Would you like to hold him?”

She nods and settles back into her chair to receive the babe, who grins up at her instantly as she takes him in her arms. 

“How…?” she begins, before stopping herself. “Forgive me, it’s none of my--”

“The night before we went to war,” Brienne answers. Sansa doesn’t need to ask which one. She remembers that night, remembers the way it felt like time stood still at Winterfell for just a few hours. She remembers the calm before the storm, and Theon’s smile in the firelight.

“I--” She pauses again, still gazing at the little lord in wonder, even as her heart aches a little. “If you don’t mind my asking, how do you find motherhood?”

A look of confusion passed over Brienne’s face, before it settles on a wary grin, and Sansa wonders if the question has been asked of her yet. Bran’s council is made up of many wise men, but they are just that, and she doubts if Brienne has much in the way of female companionship.

“I think it is the most frightened I have ever been,” she admits. “I am uncertain of what I'm doing, almost every moment of every day.”

“I'm sure that's not uncommon,” Sansa assures. “But Brienne, you have pledged so much of your life to protecting those who could not protect themselves. Isn't that the root of parenthood, after all?”

When the knight looks back at her, she notices the glint of tears in her eyes. “Well said, Your Grace. Sansa. And not untrue. I hope to serve my son as well as any other pledge. Better, even, if I allow myself to be selfish.”

“I only hope he hasn't caused you too much trouble,” Sansa notes, frowning briefly. The nobility of Kings Landing had been deeply shaken by the Dragon Queen’s vengeance, of course, but she knows all too well that they can always find the time to cast aspersions.

“Only while fitting my armor in the last few months,” Brienne says with a smile, though they both know that's not what she meant. “Your brother did me the honor of legitimizing him the day after he was born.”

The gesture doesn’t come as a surprise, but tugs at Sansa’s heart all the same.

“Bran’s a good man. A good king,” she notes, though admittedly, it's still strange to think of her little brother in either of those terms.

“I can't help but see it as a personal indulgence, and undeserved at that, but the king rationalized that he was already with me when I took my vow,” Brienne recalls. “Ser Podrick is fond of joking that makes Selmy a Kingsguard as well.”

“Well, and technically you haven't fathered any children,” Sansa observes, making an indulgent face as Selmy reaches out to grasp her finger in his tiny hand.

“King Bran said the same.” the knight admits with a chuckle. “Westeros is lucky indeed to have two wise rulers.”

“And what does Tyrion think of him?”

“I imagine he will have more interest once he's old enough for mischief and drinking,” Brienne jokes, though Sansa knows that young Selmy will undoubtedly be raised with his mother's honor. “Neither of us seems terribly unhappy to allow Tyrion to remain as the last of his Lannister line, and one day, when he’s old enough to understand, we’ll tell my son of his father.”

A blessing, Sansa thinks, even as she sees how it’s something Brienne is still coming to terms with. Young Selmy deserves a happier chapter in the new history books. 

They all do, don’t they? She thinks of Jon's return, of Arya's unconventional nuptials, of the young lord nestled in her arms and his mother, who rescued her from her darkest days and kept her safe until they could find a world where these lives might be possible.

“It seems we’re all finding ways to bend the old rules, aren't we?”

Brienne nods, with a faint smile, before narrowing to a slightly more serious look. “There's more than one way to break a wheel, Sansa.”

“Yes, I suppose there is,” Sansa answers, a bit in awe, until Selmy interrupts the moment with an insistent gurgle.

She's thought of this, she admits to herself. Of a babe in her arms. As a queen, and as a woman, there's more than one reason to have imagined it.

Mercifully, no one has dared broach the subject with her yet, save for Arya, and even her warrior sister had been as gentle as Sansa can remember when she had asked. It was perhaps more worrisome than if she’d been brusque.

“Are you sure you could?” she had asked one night, after too much wine. “Are you sure you want to?”

“It’s what’s expected.” It wasn’t an answer, and they both knew it.

“If we had-- Bran could legitimize one of ours…”

“I won't do that to Gendry,” Sansa had already thought of that, too. “He only just got his family name, and if he's to be a father, he’ll want to be a proper one.”

Arya’s eyes had gone soft and grateful, yet still she looked ready to argue. Ever prepared, Sansa had a less-sentimental point at the ready.

“And besides, I don't think the northern lords will look kindly on the appearance that the King in the South had a hand in choosing our successor.”

“Probably true.”

“It must be mine,” she said, resolute and unsurprised. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

“Sansa—” 

“I must,” she repeated, and it was enough for Arya to drop it. “So I will.”

“I should get him back to his maid,” Brienne says, breaking her from her reverie as she stands to attention. “I don't want to take up any more of your time.”

“Nonsense.” Sansa finds she’s almost reluctant to have the babe taken from her arms. “I hope to visit with you both as much as possible during your stay.”

The knight nods happily. “It's very good to see you, Sansa,” she adds, “and to see you so well.”

“I owe my life to you, Ser Brienne.” Sansa stands as well, brushing out her skirts as she struggles to keep a rein on her sudden sentimentality. “My family, and my kingdom, owe you a great debt. And my pledge to you will stand in the North as a promise to House Tarth for generations to come.”

“We shall remain as grateful as we are loyal,” Brienne says with another small bow, minding the child on her shoulder as she turns for the door.

But something makes Sansa call out again.

“Brienne--” The knight turns back, and her son lets out a tiny sound of protest.

“Forgive me,” Sansa’s had the question just behind her teeth since seeing the reminder in young Selmy’s eyes, but still she stumbles, “but do you find it difficult… When you look at him, do you remember--”

As she asks the question, or struggles to, Sansa’s mind conjures an image, unbidden -- a boy with a mop of auburn curls and Tully blue eyes and a girl with dark braids, her grey eyes flecked with violet.

Brienne cannot see the picture, but nods solemnly, understanding all the same.

When it comes, her answer sharpens the focus on something in the back of Sansa’s mind. “It's not as if I'd forget, otherwise.”

Sansa nods at that, true enough. “And what a beautiful reminder.”

Brienne smiles again like the sun, and it leaves Sansa with a variety of hope that feels almost entirely new. Both of them possess hearts that deserved better than they got. But in this remade world, perhaps things are possible that never were before.

Not alone, Bran's words return to her. Not forever.

There is so much joy in her heart, it's almost impossible to understand why it is that she cries herself to sleep that night. Almost.

__________________________________

It snows lightly for the next few days, and then, at dusk, it is time.

Sansa busies herself as best she can in the hours leading up to the ceremony, aiding in last-minute preparations and tending to Arya -- who, unsurprisingly, needs far less help than she’s prepared to offer.

So she spends the extra time pacing her own chambers and aimlessly readying her appearance -- brushing her hair and re-polishing her crown and feeling like a cowardly child as she repeats to herself that this is to be a happy day. 

Mercifully, only Jon calls on her and still, when he knocks, she nearly jumps out of her skin before remembering that it won’t be Theon, come to collect her.

“Come in.” She wonders if he can hear it in her voice, or if it’s written across her face. Or if he just knows, the way he knows to remind her of her always-forgotten gloves before they walk the battlements or knows to pass her an extra glass of mead when the cooks have over-salted the stew at supper.

“All right?” Jon asks the question carefully, and Sansa realizes that, despite her best efforts, she’s grown spoiled by his presence once again. He’s found his way back into her bones, or worse, revealed himself to have always been there, and she resents the implication that she’s weaker than she thought herself to be.

“I’ll be fine, Jon.” The ire worms into her words, and she snaps at him undeservedly. “I told you, I can hold myself together.”

“I don’t doubt that, Sansa,” he replies softly, ignoring the harsh tone. “You’re the strongest person I know. I only asked if you’ll be alright.”

She sighs, and lets the shame color her cheeks before the chilly night air can do the same. “Yes.” She is a fool, but it seems there’s nothing to be done about it. And there are more important matters at hand. “Thank you.” 

He smiles, and she tries not to notice the way it crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He looks handsome, in Stark colors, with his hair freshly washed and curling around his face. She notices that, too. “I would escort you down myself, but--” 

He can’t, and they both know it. She and Bran must be in position at the heart tree before the ceremony begins, and Jon will follow to present Arya, per the bride-to-be’s most ardent wishes.

“It’s fine,” Sansa assures him. “I’ll walk out with Pod and Brienne and Selmy.”

Jon grins again at the mention of the little lord, who has become a fast favorite with all of Winterfell, and the way it makes her stomach flip is enough to distract Sansa for a few good moments.

A happy day, she repeats to herself once more, willing it so.

The walk to the godswood feels like it takes ages, her feet treading heavy through the freshly fallen snow, but finally, Sansa takes her place beside her brother, setting her shoulders proudly at the crowns that top both of their heads. When her lungs start to feel like lead, and the lantern lights begin swimming in her periphery, she does her best to conjure the same icy visage she wore when she found herself alone at her own coronation.

It works well enough, until Bran -- the only person Arya had agreed to let perform the ceremony -- asks the question: “Who gives her?”

Sansa’s vision blurs, and she reaches her right hand out instinctively, mercifully finding Ghost at her side.

“Jon Snow, nephew of Ned Stark.” The conversation over Jon’s titles had been a short one. While there were no arguments about letting his Targaryen name go unmentioned, he had surprisingly balked at the notion of calling himself Arya’s brother.

“I won’t lie in front of the old gods,” he had said, not knowing how his words would send a burn of shame and something else entirely through Sansa’s veins.

It’s not jealousy she feels now, she’s sure of that. It’s more like agony. It’s the memory of hearing Ramsey declare himself the heir of her family home. The memory of having no one to stand beside her except for Theon, whom she couldn’t even look at without seeing Grey Wind’s head stitched to Robb’s lifeless body. 

It’s the memory of the stupid, small hope she had that night, the flickering warmth of coming home, snuffed out so quickly by a bloodthirsty beast -- and the realization that Winterfell without Starks was no home at all.

She fists her hand in Ghost’s fur, perhaps too tight, but the wolf simply shuffles his paws in the snow beside her. He leans against her leg, giving her some of his weight to balance herself against, and she presses her eyes shut with gratitude. He is Jon in every way he can be, keeping her on her feet, loyal and true.

She doesn’t hear the beginning of the vows, doesn’t see her sister’s lovestruck face when her groom smiles down at her, doesn’t realize that Jon himself has come to stand beside her until she feels his hand cover her own on his wolf’s back, fingers tangling in the spaces where tufts of white fur poke through her grip.

After a moment, she releases Ghost and turns her hand upward, letting Jon take it properly, threading their gloved fingers together. It’s snowing harder, but it’s the warmest she’s felt all day. It may not be proper, with the Northern elite looking on, but she can’t find it within herself to care. 

Things come back into focus as Gendry wraps his cloak around Arya, and Sansa allows a small, private smile at the gesture. It’s another compromise between the pair -- the luxurious fur appears black to an unknowing eye, but Arya had insisted that it actually be dark grey, a shade between both of their houses. And the clasp, handmade by the groom himself, is a Stark wolf’s head that fits neatly into the decorative antlers of the Baratheon stag. 

There’s more than one way to break a wheel, Sansa thinks, tightening her fingers around Jon’s almost unconsciously. He squeezes back as the happy couple kisses, and her heart thuds in her chest, so hard she knows it won’t take much to break itself.

Suddenly, the ceremony is over, and the Northerners file out towards the Great Hall with joyous whoops and raucous good cheer. It’s nothing like her wedding day after all, and Sansa allows a deep, icy breath to fill her relieved lungs. 

Arya and Gendry share a few words with Bran before making their way over to Sansa and Jon. It’s hard not to mirror their blissful, beaming faces, and the rest of Sansa’s dread blows away in the frosty air.

“Congratulations,” she says with a genuine smile, not missing the way Arya’s eyes flick down to her and Jon’s still-clasped hands.

“Thank you, Sansa,” her sister answers simply, and she understands it’s for more than her well wishes.

Podrick wheels Bran out behind the newlyweds, and then it’s just the two of them and the old gods, left with a glance back from her brother the king that she can’t even begin to decipher. 

“Thank you, for that,” she says to the empty godswood, to the path he walked her sister down. Still clutching at his hand, she knows Jon will be able to follow her. “For being here, for…”

For holding me together, she finishes silently.

“It looked like you were hoping maybe the snow would sweep you away,” he says just as softly. That's exactly what it was -- the rightness floods her vision as she ducks her head in a nod.

“I’ve grown familiar with the feeling,” Jon admits and only when Sansa allows herself to picture him back beyond the Wall, alone again, do her traitorous tears begin to fall. 

“Sansa...”

“It’s just been so lovely having everyone here,” she sobs, feeling childish in her misery, especially on such a happy day. “And soon you’re all going to leave again.”

Winterfell without Starks is no home at all.

Jon tugs at their entwined fingers, spinning her to face him, and lifts his free hand to brush away the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“I'll stay.” 

They’re the words she’s been longing to hear, but Sansa doesn’t trust them. Not now, not after everything that’s happened today. It’s sentimentality that’s shaping his offer, she worries, not true emotion.

“Don't do that,” she says, with a shake of her head that makes his hands drop away. “Don't do it just for me.”

“Why not?” he asks. “You're my queen. You're my family. What better reason could I ask for?”

“You know there’s a better one,” she says bitterly. “I won't order you. I just wish you… I wish you wanted to.”

“You think I don't…?” His brow furrows in disbelief. “Gods, Sansa, that's not any of it.”

She waits, because to guess would mean exposing the last piece of herself that’s left to break. She can’t risk it, not even for Jon. She needs to hear him say it. 

“You know I’d give you anything you wanted,” he tells her, low and sincere. “But the way I feel, here with you, with our family, it’s bliss and it’s agony at the same time. Because I know I don't deserve it.” 

“The world is a cruel place, Jon,” Sansa answers, crossing her arms as protection against the cold and her own insecurities. “So few actually get what they deserve. And I've seen too many smiles on the faces of evil men. I’m not sure I actually believe that the gods care if we suffer or revel in the time we've been given.”

He looks at her, for a long moment, and then he nods.

“Aye, maybe you’re right.” They’re so close. If he can let himself take one more step, perhaps they can move forward together. But still, Sansa is afraid to hope.

“I think Arya’s right about taking what we want,” she offers, channeling her brave little sister, who found the love she wanted, and fought to keep it. “We survived. We’re alive, for however long the seven allow.”

“You’re right about that, too.” Nobody knows that better than him. 

Jon raises his hands to her face again, but this time he’s removed his gloves. She nearly swoons at the warmth of his palms against her cheeks, the way the pads of his fingers trace at her earlobes and her neck. Their eyes meet, and it’s almost enough to make her believe. 

“So, what do you want, Jon?” Tell me, her heart whispers. Please just say it.

“I want you to be happy.” He presses his forehead to hers as the snow falls harder around them, and when her traitorous eyelids slip shut for just a blissful second, she feels him lean up to drop a kiss on each one, then her nose and cheeks in succession. “You deserve it, Sansa, all the joy the world has to offer.”

“You can give it to me, Jon,” she pleads, opening her eyes once more to show him everything she has left to offer, everything she has to lose. “Please. We can have it together.”

The moment that follows feels agonizingly slow, but finally, he nods, eyes brimming with the emotion she’d been too afraid to hope for. Sansa gasps when she sees it, and he catches the sound as he presses his lips to her own. 

She’s never known a kiss like this one. It’s ice and fire together where they touch, bliss and heat and home and...

Joy. Days ago, she hadn't even been able to remember what the feeling was called, but it finds her now, wrapped in his arms. It finds them as he whispers that he loves her, before taking her lips once again.

It finds them in Great Hall, as they join the feast to celebrate her sister and her new brother-in-law. It finds them in front of the heart tree again, not many moons later. It finds them in her chambers and then in her birthing bed; it finds them as the rooms of the Great Keep are filled once again with the sounds of family. 

It finds them in the glass gardens, when Queen Sansa is dragged away by her husband for a much-needed respite from the day’s duties, and in the library, as a new generation of maesters do their best to school a new generation of unruly Starks, and in the sparring yard, as Jon proudly leads young swordsmen (and women) in their first practice parries.

It finds them in smiles and sighs, in snow and storms and spring and summer. Joy finds Winterfell once again, and mercifully, it stays.

[first-of-her-nxme]

Where is the coherent foreshadowing for Jaqen and Arya? It all seems taken out of fucking nowhere

It starts in the very first book when Arya names her direwolf after the queen who married a Dornishman, and it never stops because Arya and Jaqen are repeating Lyanna’s and Rhaegar’s story. Of course, in ASOIAF, the story is never exactly the same. Which by the way gives me hope that at least they will have their happy ending. Or the closest thing to a happy ending, which in George Martin’s world means less heartbreaking than the others’;d

Trouble with Jaqarya foreshadowing is that George Martin started writing the story with a five year gap in mind between Arya’s arrival in Braavos and A Dance with Dragons. So, when he first envisioned the story he already had a 15 year old Arya in mind. It means that Arya and Jaqen would have reunited in A Dance with Dragons already and she would have been old enough for a romance. It also means that Jaqen’s identity would have been revealed in A Dance with Dragons.

But, since GRRM abandoned the idea, we have to wait for the reveal till The Winds of Winter. As a consequence the whole build-up is made of hints, symbols, clues, metaphors, parallels to R/L and so on. Nothing is said explicitly because it would ruin the big reveal of who Jaqen is and what’s ahead of them. 

So, from the top:

1. Arya names her direwolf after Nymeria, a queen who found home far from her own country and who married a Dornishman. Jaqen is half Dornish, he is Elia’s and Rhaegar’s son, Aegon VI. I already pinned the answer about his true identity to my profile so please read it if you need further explanation.

Thanks to the Game of Thrones finale we know that Arya will sail across the sunset sea. I searched through the books after s8 and of course I found information that they bothe, J&A, will leave. I guess I need to thank D&D for Arya’s ending, otherwise I would have overlooked the clues completely. 

So, either they will find home far away, somewhere in the sea, or in Braavos or in Dorne or they will return to Jaqen’s castle ( the Red Keep or Dragonstone ). Wherever they will stay, it’s going to be far from Arya’s birth place, Winterfell. 

2. Nymeria has golden eyes, Arya thinks that they shine like golden coins - it’s another connection to Jaqen ( Aegon ) who switches his iron coin for a golden dragon in A Feast for Crows. The coin is poisoned and kills Pate but it’s also a symbol of courtship. Pate needed it to claim his beloved Rosey.

3. On the way to King’s Landing, Arya is picking up flowers in the Neck, perhaps in the same area where the flowers for Lyanna’s crown had been picked. Ned is deeply moved when he sees Arya with the flowers because she reminds him of Lya. The flowers are purple - purple is the symbol of royal birth, of the rightful heir to the throne whom Jaqen ( Aegon ) is. They are called poisoned kisses and burn Arya’s hands - Jaqen is using poisons and represents fire. He is a Targ, a future dragon rider. Arya will also burn her hands and lips in the House of Black and White while learning to make poisons.”Poisoned kisses” is a bad name, it implies doomed love which reminds us of R/L. For Arya it means a love for the murderer. Hopefully with a happier ending than Lya’s love.      

4. Ned tells Arya that she will marry a king and rule his castle and they will have sons. Like I said before, Jaqen is the rightful king. In A Clash of Kings, Arya even reveals his identity though it is very cleverly concealed in the scene when she gives him his own name. To be brief: it's a play on words; he asks her if the name of the king she wants dead is Joffrey and she answers the name ( of the king ) is Jaqen H’ghar. So Joffrey is not the king, he’s impostor, the true king is Jaqen.

5. In King’s Landing, Arya has dreams of Rhaenys though she doesn’t realize it. She also catches Rhaenys’s cat, her “little dragon”, and kisses its forehead. In Harrenhal, Jaqen kisses her forehead as if to return the kiss;)

6. Arya ruins Sansa’s silk dress and offers to make her a new one. Sansa tells her she could make a dress good enough only to clean the pigsty.

That pigsty is kind of a big deal.

In fairytales, princes disguise themselves as swineherds to hide their true identity, like in H.C Andersen’s story “The Swineherd”.

George Martin used this motif in his books too. In AFFC Jaqen wears the face of Pate “the Pig Boy”. Arya, on the other hand, lives in Braavos in his house, makes dresses and sweeps the floors. She lives in the Pig Boy’s house, in the pigsty, and cleans it -  just like Sansa has said. Only the pigsty is the prince’s house like Ned has foretold. 

7. In Harrenhal, Jaqen wakes Arya from her wolf dream and kisses her. This motif comes from the Sleeping Beauty fairytale - only the prince can awake the sleeping beauty. 

8. Also in Harrenhal, Jaqen and Arya make their “weasel soup”. They pour hot broth on the guards to free the Northmen. Jaqen gives Arya a pair of padded gloves and he is wearing the identical gloves himself, while they struggle the pot of soup between them - it’s a metaphor for sharing power. Gloves are symbol of power and noble birth. 

The cooking pot is another motif borrowed from “The Swineherd” - the prince has a magic pot that plays a song. Jaqen ( Aegon ) has a song too, a song of Ice and Fire. 

9. Jaqen gives Arya his coin ( we already know it’s a symbol of courtship ) and she pays with it for a passage across the narrow sea. She crosses the sea to get to the House of Black and White, the house of darkness.

In Greek mythology, the souls of dead people pay with a coin to cross the river and get to the Underworld. Arya, like Persephone, is first shown while picking up flowers and then she descends into the Underworld seduced by GRRM’s version of Hades. Hades has a three-headed dog, Jaqen has a prophecy ( and the coin ) of a three-headed dragon.

10. When Arya meets the Ghost of High Heart, the witch compares her to Jenny, a girl with flowers in her hair who fell in love with a Targaryen prince.

11. In ASOS, Arya listens to Tom Sevenstrings playing My Featherbed song. The song was written by Rhaegar for Lyanna. It tells the story of Jenny and Duncan Targaryen but Rhaegar concealed his own feelings for Lya in the text. The lyrics refer to Arya and Jaqen as well - they repeat J/D and R/L story of a Targaryen prince and a girl from the North.

Of course Rhaegar didn’t know about his son and Lya’s niece when he wrote the song:)) 

The song is not about Gendrya, like people think. I already mentioned it in one of my answers. It’s very important because it helps to understand what had happened in Harrenhal and what will happen to Arya and Jaqen. 

Arya hears My Featherbed after Gendry invited her to the smithy. He knocked her over and they wrestled. Her dress was torn and she looked as if someone had tried to hurt her. Right after Tom plays Rhaegar’s song. Gendry obviously didn’t want to hurt Arya but that scene explains what Robert did in Harrenhal after Rhaegar left - he was furious that Rhaegar crowned Lya so he demanded “his rights”. That’s why Lyanna ran off. Rhaegar was her rescue.

 12. In the House of Black and White Arya sleeps under the red blanket which reminds her of her favorite blanket from Winterfell. I’m sure it’s Jaqen’s blanket, and perhaps his bed too, because red is his color: red hair, red poison, red war, red god, red comet over Harrenhal, red dragon (?)  - red accompanies him throughout his journey. Of course black is his color too, it’s the color of the Stranger. Red and black are the colors of House...

13. In Arya’s Braavosi chapters GRRM concealed the story of the beginning of Rhaegar’s and Lyanna’s love in Harrenhal. But that’s a massive story to tell so I will write a separate post about it.

14. Finally, in Mercy chapter Arya hears the story of the first Black Pearl of Braavos, the pirate queen, and her affair with King Aegon IV. She sighs wistfully and says that she would love to see a dragon too. Dragon here means more than an animal, GRRM once again hints at her future romance with the Dragon.

15. “Mercy” chapter parallels the prologue to A Feast for Crows. Originally it was meant to be in AFFC but GRRM eventually moved it to TWOW.

Perhaps GRRM wanted Jaqen’s chapter to start AFFC and Arya’s chapter to end the book. The prologue is a chapter with two main motifs: dragons and love. “Mercy” is a chapter of revenge and love for a dragon. The prologue starts at night when Pate’s beloved is sleeping naked in her room. “Mercy” starts at dawn when Arya wakes up naked in her room and sees a dragon boat passing beneath her window.

But those two chapters are so rich in parallels that they deserve a separate post as well:)

16. While Jaqen and Arya are having their adventures in Oldtown and Braavos respectively, in the North Mance is infiltrating Winterfell. Mance is posing as a bard. He sings a song of a Dornishman’s wife in turn with the Northman’s daughter. It’s another delightful hint that the Northman’s daughter, Ned’s daughter is ( well, will be ) the Dornishman’s wife.

As you can see it’s a pretty massive foreshadowing. I probably still omitted something because there are really tons of those clues. 

I hope you’ve enjoyed the read. 

Thanks for the ask :)

[lostinmirkwood]

Gendrya Kinktober Day 19- Formalwear

Find it on AO3 here.

The first time Arya sees Gendry in a suit is as he’s opening the door to his flat when she arrives to pick him up for Robb and Talisa’s wedding. They haven’t been dating for long but Gendry’s familiar enough with the Starks that Arya feels comfortable enough to bring him as her plus-one to such a formal event. He’s wearing well fitted navy trousers and jacket, under which is a crisp white shirt. His cognac loafers sit near the door while he fiddles with his tie as he opens the door to let her in. They both pause and stare at each other for a moment.

Arya’s hair is swept up into a formal knot for the occasion with a few loose tendrils curling near her neck and Sansa had done her makeup just before she’d left to get Gendry. They’re unintentionally matching Arya realizes as she drops the hem of her dark blue gown she’d been holding so she didn’t trip on her way up the stairs in her heels. Eventually she snaps out of it enough to step forward into his flat. “I just need to tie this and we can go,” he says, gesturing to the silk around his neck, hands making no move to return to their task as his eyes continue to drink her in.

Arya rolls her eyes at him and steps in close, batting his hands out of her way as she takes hold of the ends of his tie. Gendry’s breath stutters for a moment as her nimble fingers make short work of the knot before smoothing down his chest. They settle at his hips for a moment as she looks up at him, still small next to him even in her heels. She gently tugs him even closer before pecking him on the lips and stepping back towards the door with a smile. “Hurry up you silly bull, I can’t be late for my brother’s wedding!”

Gendry shakes his head, trying to clear the light smell of her perfume that had further muddled his thoughts at the sight of her done up. Checking his pockets he gives her a quick pat on the bum as he guides her out the door down to the waiting car. She’s going to be the death of him one day, he swears.

---

Arya gets called away by her mother moments after they arrive and when she returns she finds him surrounded by a few of Talisa’s cousins. She leaves him to fend for himself when she’s called away for pictures before finding him again, her ancient Great Aunt Branda clinging to his arm as she nattered on about gods knew what. Appearing by his side with a plate of canapés snagged from a passing waiter she traded him the food for her aunt, gently guiding the old woman to her table. Branda pats her hand as Arya sits her down, commenting that Arya had found herself “quite the strapping young lad, were I 70 years younger young lady…”. She steps away to get them drinks and returns to find a law school friend of Robb’s with her hand on his arm as he subtly tries to lean away. Handing him his glass of whiskey she coolly smiles at the woman before taking his arm and dragging him to their table.

“It’s the suit,” she says, with mock condemnation, “they can’t help themselves.”

Gendry looks adorably confused as they weave through the tables, unaware of the appreciative glances from both male and female guests alike in his wake. “What do you mean?” He asks as they find their seats.

“Have you seen yourself today? I knew I’d need to keep a close eye on you or one of these slags might think you’re available to take home!”

Gendry smiles down at her, pulling her chair out and whispering in her ear, “No way, m’lady. You’re the only one I’m taking home tonight.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek as he sits next to her, Bran and Rickon groaning as they see and Gendry’s ears turn a bit pink.

Dinner is delicious. The Starks had clearly spared no expense for the wedding of their eldest child. Everything looked as though it came out of a magazine spread, including the beautiful woman seated next to him, laughing with her younger siblings through the multiple courses. Rickon joked that if all Stark weddings were to be like this he’d run off and live in the woods to escape their mother and a six course dinner menu. Bran declared that he’d just live in sin. Arya snorted into her glass of wine at her brothers’ antics, saying, “If I get married I’m doing it on a beach in Dorne. You all can find out afterwards and help stop Mum from going ballistic.”

---

After another extraction, this time from a particularly enthusiastic bridesmaid who had cornered him near the dance floor, Arya takes Gendry’s hand and pulls him down a hallway. Opening a door seemingly at random she shoves him into an empty lavatory. He sputters an apology as she locks the door behind her. She’s not sure why, she knows he’s not trying for the attention, he’s done nothing but look damn good in that suit. She grabs him by the lapels and pulls him down to her, slamming her mouth into his for an aggressive kiss that shuts him up. Gendry immediately stops talking, kissing her back with enthusiasm.

Arya breaks away enough to say, “I know you aren’t trying, but like I said, you look fucking hot. I’m just claiming what’s mine. Now.”

Gendry grins and pulls her to him again, walking her back until she bumps into the counter. With a small jump he has her set on the edge of the marble so he doesn’t have to bend as much to reach her lips. His tongue slides into her mouth and his hands traverse her back to settle on her thighs as he begins to ruck the fabric of her dress up to her hips so he can step between her legs. Arya lets out a soft moan when he grinds himself against her. Her head tips back against the mirror and Gendry’s lips leave hers to move down her exposed throat.

“Can’t… can’t leave any marks,” Arya gasps out when he nips softly at her neck.

Gendry growls slightly and his hands dip under her skirts to feather up the smooth skin of her thighs. He lifts his head slightly, making eye contact with her as his fingers catch the lace edge of her thong. With a frantic nod Arya lifts her hips enough for him to slide the scrap of fabric off, raising an eyebrow as he tucks it into his jacket pocket.

“You can’t keep that. I’m not walking out of here without my underwear, my entire family is out there.”

Gendry merely smirks before dropping to his knees in front of her. He kisses his way up her thighs before licking her wide open. Arya’s head thuds against the mirror again and she tucks a leg over his broad shoulder, still in his navy jacket. She can’t see what he’s doing with the fabric piled in her lap but Gendry makes short work of her, licking and sucking her clit until she’s gasping and muffling her noises with her hand. Her hand grips his hair as she comes, needing to ground herself. He rises from below her skirts with a satisfied smile on his face. Arya grabs his tie and yanks him down to her, desperately kissing him, tasting herself on his tongue. His hands return to her hips as they make out on the vanity, Arya’s hands now running over his chest and shoulders.

“Look at you,” she coos when they part for breath, “Still all done up and looking like a gentleman.”

A quick glance towards the mirror shows his hair is a disaster from her hands and his pupils are blown but his suit is hardly rumpled despite her wandering hands. At his momentary distraction one of Arya’s hands drops to palm his erection through his slacks and he tears his eyes from the mirror to see her wicked smirk.

“Oh? What do we have here? Maybe not such a gentleman after all. Have you been thinking naughty thoughts, Mr. Baratheon? How long have you been wanting to get under my skirts today?”

Gendry groans quietly, “Since you walked in my door smelling like heaven and looking like this. Gods, Arry. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Arya’s hand continues to squeeze him through his trousers. His cock is straining towards her, begging for more attention. She happily gives it, undoing his belt and pulling him free of his boxers. She gives him a few full strokes before reaching for her clutch he didn’t even realize she’d brought with her. With a grin she pulls out a condom, opens it, and rolls it on. Just as he’s about to thrust into her she stops him with a hand on his chest. Gendry freezes, looking up at her in askance. She moves him a step back and slides off the counter, skirts falling back to the floor as she stands. With a wink she turns to face the mirror and leans over, hauling her skirts back up and baring her pretty pale arse to him before bending over and grabbing the marble edge.

“Well? Come on then, I just wanted to watch.”

Death. Of. Him. Meeting her eyes in the mirror Gendry grabs her hips and slides into her with a smooth thrust. A few gentle rocks and he bottoms out. Arya gasps as he does, eyes glued to them both in the mirror. They’re both fully dressed, clothes pulled aside just enough for access and that makes the image even hotter. Gendry pulls back and thrusts again, Arya rocking on her toes with his motion, her grip tightening on the edge of the counter. They maintain eye contact as Gendry begins to thrust into her faster. He’s already close after getting under her skirts to eat her out and he’s not going to last long with the warm clutch of her around him. He takes one of his hands from her waist to find her clit. Brushing the swollen bud makes her cry out before she claps a hand over her mouth. He begins to circle it in time with his thrusts, driving her higher and higher until she tightens around him and shouts into her palm. The feel of her coming undone beneath him sends him over the edge and he drops his forehead to her bare shoulder as he tries to calm his breathing.

After a moment Arya begins to wriggle under him, “You’re squishing me you big bull. We need to get back out there before someone notices we’re gone and I have to answer awkward questions.”

Gendry smacks a kiss to her shoulder before standing to dispose of the condom. He tucks himself back into his pants and washes his hands as Arya straightens her dress and reapplies her lipstick in the mirror. When she holds her hand out to him he grabs it and begins to move towards the door.

Arya digs her heels in, “I need my underwear, Gendry. I’m not going out there bare-arsed.”

Gendry smirks and drops a kiss on her lips, “Your arse is plenty covered by that lovely dress of yours. These are mine for now.”

He unlocks the door and steps into the hall before she can respond and nearly runs smack dab into Sansa. He pulls the door shut behind him and leans on the frame. “Oh, hey Sansa,” he says, aiming for casual and praying Arya hears him and stays quiet for just a moment.

“Gendry!” Sansa grins at him and he can’t tell if she knows what he and her sister were just up to or she’s a little drunk and actually happy to see him, “have you seen Arya? I needed her help with something and I can’t find her anywhere!”

“Uh… Nope! Haven’t seen her for a minute. Stepped out to, uh, get some air and was about to head back to the ballroom…” he trails off, Sansa’s smile growing wider. “Well, when you see my sister, let her know I’m looking for her and in the meantime you might want to fix your hair before you return. You look like you got attacked by a… wolf,” with that Sansa turns and heads back the way she’d come.

Gendry sighs and steps out of the way as the lavatory door swings open. Arya looks like she was trying to hold in her laughter and was failing. “So Sansa knows,” he mutters, leaning his head on the wall.

“Yeah, I’ll say. Nice try though. That’s okay, I saw her and Theon necking behind the restaurant during the rehearsal dinner so she won’t say anything.”

He holds out his hand to her and Arya laces her fingers with his as they make their way back towards the ballroom. Gendry can’t refuse her when she pulls him onto the floor, spinning her around and swaying with her as the music changes. The lights are low and a slow song begins playing as they dance together, his arms wrapped around her waist as hers curled around his neck. His forehead rests against hers as they stare into each other's eyes other lost in their own world. Dorne, he thinks, I could do a beach in Dorne with her one day.