#the battle of the kingsroad

[horizon-verizon]

When the ravens brought word of the battle back to the Red Keep, the green council hurriedly convened. All of the Sea Snake’s warnings had proved true. Casterly Rock, Highgarden, and Oldtown had been slow to reply to the king’s demand for more armies. When they did, they offered excuses and prevarications in the place of promises. The Lannisters were embroiled in their war against the Red Kraken, the Hightowers had lost too many men and had no capable commanders, little Lord Tyrell’s mother wrote to say that she had reason to doubt the loyalty of her son’s bannermen, and “being a mere woman, am not myself fit to lead a host to war.” Ser Tyland Lannister, Ser Marston Waters, and Ser Julian Wormwood had been dispatched across the narrow sea to seek after sellswords in Pentos, Tyrosh, and Myr, but none had yet returned. King Aegon II would soon stand naked before his enemies, all of the king’s men knew. Bloody Ben Blackwood, Kermit Tully, Sabitha Frey, and their brothers-in-victory were preparing to resume their advance upon the city, and only a few days behind them came Lord Cregan Stark and his northmen. The Braavosi fleet carrying the Arryn host had departed Gulltown and was sailing toward the Gullet, where only young Alyn Velaryon stood in its way...and the loyalty of Driftmark could not be relied upon. “Your Grace,” the Sea Snake said, when the rump of the once proud green council had assembled, “you must surrender. The city cannot endure another sack. Save your people and save yourself. If you abdicate in favor of Prince Aegon, he will allow you to take the black and live out your life with honor on the Wall.” “Will he?” King Aegon said. Munkun tells us he sounded hopeful. His mother entertained no such hope. “You fed his mother to your dragon,” she reminded her son. “The boy saw it all.” The king turned to her desperately. “What would you have me do?” “You have hostages,” the Queen Dowager replied. “Cut off one of the boy’s ears and send it to Lord Tully. Warn them he will lose another part for every mile they advance.” “Yes,” Aegon II said. “Good. It shall be done.” He summoned Ser Alfred Broome, who had served him so well on Dragonstone. “Go and see to it, ser.” As the knight took his leave, the king turned to Corlys Velaryon. “Tell your bastard to fight bravely, my lord. If he fails me, if any of these Braavosi pass the Gullet, your precious Lady Baela shall lose some parts as well.” The Sea Snake did not plead, or curse, or threaten. He nodded stiffly, rose, and took his leave. Mushroom says he exchanged a look with the Clubfoot as he went, but Mushroom was not present, and it seems most unlikely that a man as seasoned as Corlys Velaryon would act so clumsily at such a moment. For Aegon’s day was done, though he had yet to grasp it. The turncloaks in his midst had put their plans in motion the moment they learned of Lord Baratheon’s defeat upon the kingsroad.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pg 563-565 [Aegon II’s Death PT.1]

[stromuprisahat]

Lord Borros was confident of victory, for his scouts had told him that the rivermen were led by boys and women.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Fuck you, Borros!

- with hate, boys and women.

Borros Baratheon perished fighting. Unhorsed when his destrier was felled by arrows from Black Aly and her bowmen ... By the time Kermit Tully came upon him, Lord Borros was dead upon his feet ... Lord Baratheon answered with a curse, saying, “I’d sooner dance in hell than wear your chains.” Then he charged… straight into the spiked iron ball at the end of Lord Kermit’s morningstar, which took him full in the face ... As the gods would have it, seven days later at Storm’s End his lady wife gave birth to the son and heir that Lord Borros had so long desired. His lordship had left instructions that the babe was to be named Aegon if a boy, in honor of the king. But upon learning of her lord’s death in battle, Lady Baratheon named the child Royce, after her own father. 

[lola-writes]

Duty Is Sacrifice

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Velaryon/Strong!reader

Word Count: 2,6k

Themes & Warnings: Winterfell, pov. first person, feelings realization, fluff and smut, fingering, orgasm

Summary: Queen Rhaenyra sends you to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. In him you find not only an ally, but something deeper as well…

Song: Skin and Bones (Cinematic) - David Kushner

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The wilderness beyond the Wall sprawled before me atop the outlook, an uncharted immensity dripping with anathema. A frozen wasteland, it held a cold that seemed to seep into your very soul, promising to turn your bones to ice with a single, lingering glance.

The stories from the seasoned rangers down below had painted a vivid picture, but this, this was a masterpiece beyond mere words. The frigid air, a living entity, tore at my dark hair and the borrowed furs – those very furs my stubborn pride had initially dismissed. Now, the only thing missing from mirroring those same hardened rangers was a permanent furrow etched between my brows, a testament to countless nights spent battling the elements. 

Their Lord was a wall of warmth which prevented the gnawing chill from consuming me. His massive form broadened at my side, his very presence thawing me. Turning to him, I observed the furrow deepening between his brows as he regarded me, though it wasn’t a testament to the cold, but rather something concerned. 

“Winterfell beckons, Princess,” he said, his timber thick with northern accent, “Let us return to warm you.” 

His gloved hand, rough yet surprisingly gentle, reached out for me. Relief washed over me as I grasped it, the worn leather a welcome anchor against the treacherous turret steps.

“Blazing fires. Hot stew. How’s that sound?” His stoic expression nearly cracked to the rumble in my stomach. I noticed I was still supported in his grasp well beyond danger, when I felt his thumb tracing reassuring circles on the back of my hand, sending a delicious shiver snaking down my spine.

Gently, I returned it to my side. “That would be most pleasant, thank you my Lord.”

Days had bled into one another at his side, treating, feasting, drinking, strategizing, and though I had no doubt I had fixed him as an ally to my mother’s claim, some other heat beneath the veneer of alliance had begun to simmer in his gaze, a spark that mirrored the disquiet blooming in my own chest.

The iron cage groaned its descent down to Castle Black, echoing through the black shaft like cries of the damned. From the moment I stepped foot in Winterfell, he’d woven a tapestry of comfort. He recalled every detail I mentioned in passing, and behind his every effort to make me feel at home was a gesture conforming to something I’d previously told him I enjoyed – a steaming mug of my favorite herbal tea, a book on a subject I’d once expressed interest in. He was unlike any man I’d encountered. Each word he uttered was a silken caress, so gentle it felt like he feared his own timber could bruise me. But a heavy weight had settled in my chest. My replies had now become clipped, mere whispers that barely escaped my lips. There was so much more at stake now beyond my desires. Duty loomed heavy on my shoulders. I feared any careless words or lingering glances could brittle the alliance with the Starks to pieces.

We mounted our horses and begun our nigh-on two days ride back to Winterfell. Though not as biting as the Wall’s teeth, the wind on the Kingsroad still carried a relentless edge. The only warmth to be found radiated shyly from the small fires Cregan’s bannermen had built, and the thick fur I wove tightly around myself at night.

As the colossal granite form of Winterfell finally clawed its way up from the horizon, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me, settling heavy in my bones. Dismounting was an ordeal. Every muscle in my body throbbed in protest from the days’ ride. My legs, leaden weights, buckled before I could even consider lowering myself. 

But before I could hit the ground, strong arms, surprisingly gentle, encircled my waist, and lifted me from the saddle before I could even think to react. 

We stood there, my body swaying slightly in his arms, our eyes lingering on each other for a second beyond my comfort. His eyes, normally the clear blue of a summer sky, were now a stormy gray, swirling with unspoken concern. A tremor of something akin to fear danced in my chest, battling the unexpected flutter at his touch. 

“Apologies, my Lord,” I stammered, cheeks flushing with a heat that had naught to do with exertion. “Dragon saddle is one thing, but I fear horseback is another entirely.” I smiled apologetically. 

Cregan’s fingers lingered on my waist, a gentle caress that singed through my leathers and into my very skin, sending a jolt through me. He withdrew them slowly, and my side ached from their absence. 

“Fret not, Princess,” he rumbled, his voice a warm current, “Two days on horseback have felled men twice your size.”

I giggled to his obvious attempt at comforting me. “I wouldn’t bet on that,” I replied, taking trembling steps toward the castle.

Once in my chambers, I collapsed onto the bed; sleep, thick and heavy, stealing the day. When I finally opened my eyes, the only light in the room spilled from the dying embers in the hearth. 

A gnawing hunger, cold and insistent, hollowed my gut. With a deep breath, I rose, and dressed in my house colors, the fabric thick with responsibility. Then, I descended the steps in my hunt for scraps.

The massive oak doors of the Great Hall ground open, revealing a cavernous space bathed in the flickering, golden glow of a roaring fire. Laughter and the murmur of rough voices hung in the air. Fur cloaked figures huddled around the immense hearth at the far end, casting dancing shadows on the towering walls. Lord Stark sat amidst his bannermen; tankards raised in boisterous revelry. 

The merriment dipped as I entered. Heads swiveled my way, some splitting into knowing grins. The bannermen rose in unison, scattering like startled crows, their boisterousness replaced by a respectful chorus of greetings and a flurry of curt bows. 

“My regrets for missing supper,” I said, drawing Cregan’s heavy gaze. His shadowed form, a giant even in the flickering firelight, rose with a quiet grace that belied his imposing physique. 

“You need not worry,” he said, ladling steaming stew from a small pot over the fire and offered me the bowl with one hand. A grateful smile lit my face as I accepted it. 

“You grow quite comely as a serving girl,” I jested, a flicker of triumph igniting in my chest when his mouth quirked up into a faint smirk, a flicker of warmth dancing in his eyes, a rare concession on his normally stoic face. 

I settled onto the bench beside his chair and began devouring the stew, its meat and vegetables soothing the ache in my belly. As I ate, I stole glances at Cregan, his face bathed in the rich firelight, a mask of unreadable emotions. 

Regret, sharp and unwelcome, tightened in my chest as I observed him. I had a duty fulfilled, but a heart unsatiated. I had come to Winterfell to remind him of the oath his house swore to my mother, and he had not left me wanton. Yet, the journey back to Dragonstone loomed large in my mind. The prospect of leaving him, perhaps for a very long time, cast a long shadow. Unless he too agreed to join us.

“The Queen’s sworn allies are too few to win a war for the throne,” I declared, my voice tight with the weight of responsibility, “She needs your men.”

His jaw clenched, his stoicism returning like a steel mask. “Cursed be the Hightowers,” he growled, venom lacing his voice. “But winter is coming. War of dragons is never a small ordeal. If the Queen is in need of my men to defeat the usurper, you must allow me to wait out the winter.”

Despair clawed at my throat. Memories and tales of past winters surfaced, stretching on for months, even years. Without the full support of the North, we could be crushed before winter even loosened its icy grip. Perhaps reduced to cinders beneath the wrath of the dragons. 

“It will be too late,” I pleaded, the urgency in my voice cracking the carefully constructed façade I had built.

Cregan met my gaze, his eyes a stormy gray. “It’s the best I can do, Princess. I hope you will forgive me.”

A spark of anger ignited within me, battling the tendrils of despair. “You swore an oath, Lord Stark.”

He held my stare, unwavering. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, “You will have two thousand greybeards that can be ready to march at once.”

“What of you?” My voice trembled, tears welling up before I had the strength to stop them. “What if this is goodbye?” 

Understanding suddenly dawned in his eyes, and his brows furrowed in what I thought was despair. He came to sit beside me, the wood groaning under his weight. His large, calloused thumbs painted the tears across my cheeks. 

“I assure you, Princess,” he said softly, “This is not goodbye.” His hand came up to grasp my chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting it up to meet his intense gaze. “I swear it,” he vowed, steel threading through his words. Hope surged through me; a lifeline cast into the churning sea of anguish. 

Starks do not forget an oath. 

“The Hightowers were doomed the second they put the imposter on that throne,” Cregan rumbled, his voice a low caress. 

The space between us seemed to have dissolved, his calloused hands engulfing mine in a firm, reassuring grasp. Silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions, tension dripping like honey. I waited for him to say something else, but he remained still, quiet, his fingers slowly and gently exploring mine, each touch sending sparks of lightning up my arms. I met his gaze, my breathing shallowing as I realized his lips were but a whisper away, his dark eyes shimmering with heat, flickering with an unspoken hunger that seethed beneath my skin with each second. 

“Their betrayal…” His voice was barely a whisper, his fingers ceased their dance with mine, and began their path up my arms, “…will not go unpunished,” he said thickly, his hands now grazing my upper arms, up my shoulders, ceasing at the curve of my neck, the movement sending a sizzling sensation through my blood. 

With the cold that had plagued me so these last few days, I began to fever. My lips parted as if I was suddenly short of breath, and I felt a curious pulse that drifted between my thighs. My whole body, like to an unseen force, drew closer to him, and he tensed beneath his leathers. His frame vibrated with desperate restraint, the fire in his eyes warring between duty and sacrifice. 

“I am a man of honor,” he groaned. My stomach tightened as his hands inched up my neck and traced the line of my jaw, his coarse thumb brushing across my lips. 

Something tugged on my stomach from the inside as the fiery heat of his fingers burned through my skin. My breaths came out ragged and shallow while he remained silent, as though he was immersed in concentration. 

Without knowing the full implication of my words, I whispered, “Dishonor me.”

For the storm, only just contained, raged wild in his eyes, a low growl sounded from deep in his chest before he crashed his lips to mine. 

I received them with a low, beckoning gasp. My palms came up to his neck, my nails running the length of it as he explored my lips, the roof of my mouth, my teeth, and under my tongue. Then his lips traced my jaw, finding my ear, breathed his warm air into it, nibbled my lobe, then covered my throat in wet kisses. I tilted my head to grant him access, as low, sensual mewlings poured from my lips, something carnal infiltrating my veins.

His hands came down to my waist, and I gasped in surprise when he lifted me and placed me in his lap, my legs latching around his back. 

He was so big and warm and hard. His eyes were lazy and dark as his fingers began to lightly trace down the side of my neck, then hooking into my dress to bare my shoulder. He kissed it with an open mouth and moving tongue, and I quivered beneath his touch. Then, with a sharp sound of a tear, he had pulled my dress all the way down my abdomen. 

He groaned at the sight of me, his lips slightly parted, his hands delicately cupping my breasts as if he’d found treasure. When the cold made me shiver, he leaned into me to lend me his warmth, while his lips tantalized me, drawing close to my hardened nipple, blowing it with hot air, then backing off, kissing across my breastbone to the other, until I forced his mouth to it.

He hummed with throaty satisfaction, latching onto it and giving it one slow suck, grazing the skin with his teeth. I threw my head back with a gasp. White heat shot like lightning between my thighs, before pulsing into an empty ache. I swayed into him, bucking my hips into his groin, feeling him harden beneath me. He suckled my other breast in warm, slow pulses, circling the areola, drawing panting moans out of me, before he found my lips again. 

Gathering my skirts, he moved his hands underneath them, gripping the fullness of my thighs, kneading them, squeezing them, to the point it pinched me, and I bit his bottom lip in protest. 

Cregan Stark was a gentle giant in all matters but things salacious. 

A throaty sigh escaped his lips as his hands found my buttocks, kneading the flesh between his fingers. Hot, slick tingles pooled between my thighs, and my fingers curled in his hair. My body hummed in anticipation as his finger slid downward, a groan pouring out of me as he grazed over my wet opening. 

“Oh, Princess.” The words were like magic on his lips, shooting through my core in throbbing pulses. 

His other arm snaked around my waist, locking me to his body as he explored and moistened my folds, leaving me a bucking, moaning mess in his lap. 

I felt empty and sickly. A fog had infiltrated my vision, my skin, my mind, my inhibitions. I coveted him. I needed him, more than I needed anything else. His eyes alone could touch inside of me, but I could not explain the pulsing, throbbing, delirious effects of his hands, his mouth, his tongue, and I ached for more. I felt unfinished, incomplete. 

Until he slid a finger deep inside me, and I gasped. Hot, sweet pressure filled me, and once I adjusted, he introduced another, threatening to overfill as he fingered me. 

Fast and then lazy. 

Over and over. 

The room filled with wet squelching noises and my moaning squeals. His deeper, throatier moans vibrated through his chest and lit me on fire, burning in my lower stomach, blazing, desperate for feed, or I would disintegrate. 

My nails dug desperately into his shoulders, as any attempts of filling myself up to completion were in vain by the power of his grip around my waist. He trailed every inch of my neck, kissing it as it if were my mouth, with lips, tongue, and teeth. His fingers penetrated deep and curled inside of me, rubbing something within that sent pressure bursting into tingles and flames, my veins burning up like dragon fire, and stars sparkling behind my eyelids. I cried out with the purest ecstasy as my body shuddered and clenched around his fingers, and he groaned against my skin with dark satisfaction as I clung to him desperately.

Once my trembles ceased and I managed to catch my breath, he took my cheeks in his hand and kissed me fiercely, passionately, his fires still boiling for release.

“I am coming with you,” he declared.

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[lcerys]

currently making mental gymnastics about what lucerys was doing during the war because i need him out of king's landing before it falls for it to make sense he survives

[synchodai]

Hello I am here to ask you about……….

The hour of the wolf.

🐺🐺

Okay, so! The Hour of the Wolf....hahahaha, you asked for this.

war has no meaning, but how we come to peace does

So war is meaningless, right? At least, that's what Fire and Blood depicts The Dance as — a cycle of violence that destroys everything and everyone that gets trapped in its vortex. We, as a society, have moved on (hopefully) from the concept of the dictator whose unchecked, absolute power is fine for them to have because they are just inherently more righteous and better than any human being. Narratives about powerful heros waging just and righteous wars are looked at with reasonable suspicion and are often decried as propaganda.

"We were king’s men, knights, and heroes . . . but some knights are dark and full of terror, my lady. War makes monsters of us all. " - Thoros of Myr, AFFC

We have all agreed that in war, everyone ultimately ends up the loser and the biggest losers are those who had no hand in starting this in this first place. At least, that's very clearly the narrative of the Dance, right?

Alright, so if war is meaningless, then where do we find meaning? Well, whenever I read any story or book about war, the most important and constructive part is always in how the author or historian chooses to resolve it. Because the natural inertia of a wheel demands that it keep spinning forever — it takes an active choice and will to power to break a cycle, come to a resolution, and stop it. Yes, the war is meaningless, but how it ends isn't.

With that premise in mind, this is why the Hour of the Wolf and Aegon III's Regency is my most read, analyzed, and beloved parts of Fire and Blood. Only the Hour of the Wolf takes place during the civil war of the Dance, so let's focus on that.

the hour of the wolf

A (not so) quick summary for those who haven't read or don't remember this part:

After the Battle of the Kingsroad, the Tully black-aligned forces overcome the Baratheon green-aligned forces when the Baratheon army underestimates their foe (for being made of women and young boys) and gets betrayed by the Crownlanders who were part of their van. When the Tully army arrives in King's Landing, they find that do not need to retake it because Aegon II is dead. Aegon III has been betrothed to Jaehaera and declared the presumptive monarch. This ushers in a period known as The False Dawn, where the city and the black-aligned armies celebrate, believing they have won and that the war is over.

That is until Cregan Stark arrives with his army of northmen and ushers in The Hour of the Wolf (the darkest hour of the night in Westerosi time-telling). He easily seizes control of the city because he has the biggest army and he's the most senior commander at 23. That should tell you something about the state of this war when literal children are leading armies. Without Cregan, this is the person who would be your highest ranking officer:

(In the books, Kermit Tully is 19 and Oscar Tully is 13. Kermit leads the Riverland armies in F&B.)

Cregan is like, "Children, this isn't over."

Who told you the war was done? The Clubfoot? The Snake? Why, because they wish it done? Because you won your little victory in the mud? Wars end when the defeated bend the knee and not before. Has Oldtown yielded? Has Casterly Rock returned the Crown’s gold? You say you mean to marry the prince to the king’s daughter, yet she remains at Storm’s End, beyond your reach. So long as she remains free and unwed, what is to stop Baratheon’s widow from crowning the girl queen, as Aegon’s heir? - Cregan Stark, F&B

He's aggressive and being a bully about it, but...it's a logical course of action given what kind of person he is and the world he exists in. Yes, Westeros was dangerously close to having more people die in a pointless war because of Cregan Stark, but that's a feature, not a bug of his character and what he represents (which I WILL go into great detail later). It is very important to the themes of this story that someone like Cregan Stark exists and that war isn't wrapped up with a victorious battle and a neat little bow.

For now, King's Landing starts to fall into despair and turmoil once again when people find out that war might not be over after all.

With the infallibility of hindsight, we now look back through the centuries and say the Dance was done, but this seemed less certain to those who lived through its dark and dangerous aftermath. - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

Luckily, the peace efforts made during The False Dawn are actually well-received not by the lords, their armies, or their commanders — but by their widowed wives. One by one, green-aligned Houses begin to come to King's Landing to negotiate and accept terms peace, and this was only possible because the lords fighting the war are dead and their widows are godsdamned tired and just want to put their own lands to rights. The final nail in Cregan Stark's plan to restart the war effort comes when Jeyne Arryn arrives with Rhaena Targaryen and her newly-hatched dragon, Morning.

The smallfolk of King’s Landing, who not a year before had slaughtered every dragon in the city, now became rapturous at the sight of one. Lady Rhaena and her twin sister, Baela, became the darlings of the city overnight. Lord Stark could not confine them to the castle, as he had Prince Aegon, and he soon learned that he could not control them either. - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

The Three Widows, the Maiden of the Vale, and the Dragon Twins absolutely wreck Cregan's control of the city. Big strong northman suddenly finds that being the biggest man with the biggest stick isn't enough to control the city — and it is delicious. For all Cregan's characterization that he is this harsh, unforgiving, and unyielding warrior, the women cow him not by playing his game of swords or aggression, but by their willingness to lay down arms. Rhaena doesn't arrive with a dragon to assert her power and threaten people with it, but instead uses it as a symbol of hope. After the darkest hour, the hour of the wolf, comes Morning.

This is when I fell in love with Fire and Blood.

judgement of the wolf: no truce with the fur(r)ies

Okay, fine, so our foes have decided to willingly lay down their arms. What are we supposed to do with all these weapons, the men we specifically brainwashed and traumatized to die in war, and the many many crimes left unanswered? SUCH A GOOD QUESTION. A quandary that we still struggle with in our 21st century. Reparations, whomst?

Here are the answers F&B gives. The weapons? Well, they're mostly decommissioned or in the process of being decommissioned. Dragons will no longer be a problem. The men? Marry them to widows that need a strong arm and have them rebuilding homes and fields. The crimes? Well...

We have to tackle the question of what justice looks like in a world where people are forced to commit violence on one another. Killing your fellow man during times of peace is treated very differently from killing your fellow man on the battlefield. When everyone's hands are stained with blood, who is left to mete righteous judgment and punishment to those who have sinned?

This fucking idiot, that's who.

Okay, that was a joke — I don't think Cregan Stark is a complete idiot or that it should be an idiot who does the judging, else GRRM would have made Mushroom do the sentencing.

But what he is, however, is somewhat of an outsider. He is a Westerosi lord paramount who has grown up with their feudal system and common laws, but he is also severely out of place in the King's Landing court because he is from the North. And the North has a very different way of dispensing justice than the south. It's no coincidence that it's the Warden of the North who takes on this task, not only presiding over the trials, but also being the executioner himself.

The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. … A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is. - Eddard Stark, AGOT

All the lord paramounts agree with the need to enact justice. It's their primary job as feudal lords, but understandably, none of the lords who have been embroiled in the many, many years of civil war want more blood on their hands.

On one point Lord Cregan remained adamant, however; the king’s killers must not go unpunished. Unworthy as King Aegon II might have been, his murder was high treason, and those responsible must answer for it. So fierce was his demeanor, so unyielding, that the others gave way before him. “Let it be on your head, Stark,” Kermit Tully said. “I want no part of this, but I will not have it said that Riverrun stood in the way of justice.” - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

Everyone in Westeros has a feudal conception of justice — very Code of Hammurabi, eye for an eye, "the higher you are on the social totem pole the less harsh your penalties," "it is the order of things" kind of thing. But the North has a less romanticized and more utilitarian view of justice. Ned speaks of it as a duty to sentence a man to death. They remember and keep to oaths, even when circumstances have drastically changed. So things like compassion, leniency, and mercy? Why, those get in the way of duty, don't they?

The north is hard and cold, and has no mercy, Ned had told her when she first came to Winterfell a thousand years ago. - Catelyn Stark, AGOT

To get classical, biblical even, an ideal Northern Lord is depicted to be this impartial, cold, and relentless hand of justice, unable to be swayed by love, pity, or glory, like Zeus calling down lightning on sinners as punishment. Except Cregan Stark is not Zeus. He's more like the furies — a powerful, single-minded force of nature who cannot be stopped from exacting righteous vengeance to those who have done indiscriminate evil. And to this day, some do still idealize that form of justice where every thief must be given the same punishment regardless of circumstance of context.

Again, this is why I love Cregan Stark and why I think he is such an important character on a thematic level. Because he represents the "old way" and a male power fantasy of how to win a war where all the evil-doers are either slain indiscriminately or forced to submit by the unquestionably honorable strong man who stayed true to his word to the very end.

And he's shown to be EXTREMELY out of his depth. You cannot plead with a force of nature; there can be no truce with the furies — but the furies do answer to gods. And who are the gods that move and stay Cregan Stark's hand?

the trial of corlys is the trial of westeros

Before we answer that questions, let's set up the trial and examine what's at stake.

These three are the big players who are accused of the most grievous crime of high treason, and they all represent an aspect of Westeros. Orwyle is a stand-in for the smallfolk. He did what he had to, mostly on the orders of others. Larys represents the low/upstart nobility who have been kept under the boot of the royals and who have rebelled against their wishes to assert their autonomy. Corlys represents the high/established nobility, also pushing for his own advancement but through a reinforcement of the status quo.

Orwyle is banished, sent to the Wall, but ultimately treated with leniency (by Tyland Lannister, not Cregan Stark). Larys refuses the offer of being sent to the Wall and chooses to be executed instead, extinguishing House Strong (the true upstart usurper house imho, not the Hightowers). Corlys is pardoned.

(Judgement of the Wolf by Ertaç Altınöz)

Let's focus on Corlys's verdict, because that's the one that baffles the historians and characters in the book.

Corlys is a key character throughout the Dance because he is arguably the only character that serves as the running thread all the way to the Council of Harrenhal to 101 AC to Aegon III's regency. He is the only character who has served as witness to everything, and he is arguably the guy who planted the seed of the civil war.

As far as Westerosi nobility goes, Corlys is nouveau riche. He didn't inherit his wealth like most lords; he made it through his Nine Voyages, going so far to surpassed House "We Have Literal Gold Mines" Lannister in terms of sheer wealth. Corlys was this close to becoming a king. If common law were followed and Jaehaerys didn't pass over Rhaenys, Corlys would have achieved social mobility the likes Westeros has never seen without using bigger army diplomacy. It's the closest this extremely rigid hierarchy can get to a rags to riches story, honestly. In other words, Corlys represented a new order where any bloodline could theoretically sit on the throne.

And so, in order to prevent that, we come to the original sin of the Dance. Jaehaerys passes over Rhaenys for Baelon. That leads to the nobles passing Laenor over for Viserys. Which leads to Aegon II being passed over for Rhaenyra. And this all snowballs into the Dance. All of that arguably because Rhaenys married Corlys instead of one of her Targaryen cousins or brothers.

Whether green or black, Corlys represents the nobility asserting their growing influence over the ruling dynasty and the decisions they made to further undermine their monarch's power to advance the prestige of their own House. This is not to say Corlys is evil, but that he is simply what all highborn strive towards — power, wealth, and influence. Corlys is Westeros moving forward, past the need to rely on the Targaryens for power and security.

Viewed in the most charitable way, Corlys and nobility like him werw a check and balance to the power of the monarchy, a promise of social mobility — something indeed necessary for the good of the realm. Viewed in the least charitable way, Corlys is an opportunistic traitor who allowed their liege to fall to ruin.

Lord Velaryon did not attempt to deny his guilt. “What I did, I did for the good of the realm,” the old man said. “I would do the same again. The madness had to end.” - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

Cregan Stark, snow-addled and hailing from an ancient heritage who values pacts and order, does not view him charitably. Using cold laws of the world they themselves built and live in, Corlys admitted to treason and treason is to be punished with death.

But to execute Corlys is to punish a person who built himself from the ground up, who is a repository of knowledge and foreign experiences, was the reason Rhaenyra and her claim ever stood a chance, was the person who sued and arranged for this peace, and acted primarily for the good of his House and family. There's also the very real danger that executing such a powerful man would start a whole new war, causing Alyn Velaryon to rebel against the Starks and the crown.

And so, a lot of people argue against the decision. But the cold furies were once again stayed by the wisdom and restraint of women.

jace, baela, & black aly: pretty words that can topple mighty oaks

The justice and fury Cregan Stark rains down is ultimately because he has been summoned by a greater authority in this war — otherwise, my man would have stayed in the North. And who moves mountains, who summons this force of nature, who calls upon this winter storm?

Two years past, Cregan Stark had made a promise to Prince Jacaerys. Now he had come to make good his pledge [...] - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

IF YOU THOUGHT I WOULDN'T MAKE THIS ABOUT JACEGAN, YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN. STRAP IN, FOLKS, WE'RE GOING DEEP.

“What is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?” “Everything.” - Stannis & Davos, ASOS

Jace's bastardy is the driving force of this war — he is the fruit of Rhaenyra being named heir (necessitating her marriage to Laenor) and he is the reason why it begins (Aegon II only being convinced to challenge his sister because of her heir's bastardy).

Only when Ser Criston convinced him that the princess must surely execute him and his brothers should she don the crown did Aegon waver. “Whilst any trueborn Targaryen yet lives, no Strong can ever hope to sit the Iron Throne,” Cole said. “Rhaenyra has no choice but to take your heads if she wishes her bastards to rule after her.” It was this, and only this, that persuaded Aegon to accept the crown [...] - Septon Eustace, F&B

Jace is disruption of the established order writ small. He is both born a crime and a prince. So we know where most characters stand whether they have an agenda of supporting bastards and other slightly "outsider" nobles (see: women, second sons, etc.) to hold power or they have the opposite agenda of wanting it to be strictly traditional.

But for some reason, Jace being a bastard or disruption of the social order doesn't play a part in Cregan's decision to ally with him at all. The Lord of Winterfell is offered three things: friendship, a pact sealed in blood, and a betrothal to a daughter who does not exist. He does what he does based solely on a promise of a person long dead. This boy must be god for he commanded a force of nature solely by the strength of his word.

“Words are wind,” says The Testimony of Mushroom, “but a strong wind can topple mighty oaks, and the whispering of pretty girls can change the destiny of kingdoms.” - Maester Gyldayn, F&B

What exact words Cregan and Jace, we'll never know.

But we do know what other characters do say to Cregan to get him to stay his hand. There are only two people that manage to do this. The first is Baela Targaryen who was Jace's cousin, step-sister, childhood friend, and betrothed.

Lady Baela brandished a sword and declared that she would cut off the hand of any man who sought to harm the men who had saved her, the Wolf of Winterfell smiled for all to see, and allowed that if her ladyship was so fond of these dogs, he would permit her to keep them. - Mushroom, F&B

Baela along with her sister Rhaena plays a huge part in pushing Cregan to pardon Corlys, but the person who closed the deal, saving Westeros from its own destruction, is Black Aly by offering her hand in marriage in exchange for Corlys's life.

“A lean tall creature was this wench,” says the dwarf, “thin as a whip and flat-chested as a boy, but long of leg and strong of arm, with a mane of thick black curls that tumbled down past her waist when loosed.” [...] “She smells of woodsmoke, not of flowers,” Stark told Lord Cerwyn, said to be his closest friend. - Mushroom & Maester Gyldayn, F&B

(A promise of marriage stays Cregan's hand, so the theory is that it was also a promise of marriage that moved him in the first place. Whose marriage? Well, my stance on that is pretty obvious but you all are free to speculate otherwise. Also, Aly being flat-chested like a boy, being Jace's age, having dark curls, and smelling like woodsmoke 👀)

Regardless of my jacegan truther shipping, let's talk themes. Jace is what got Cregan moving, and it is two aspects of Jace that stay his hand. Baela reflects Jace's Valyrian side, his boldness and dragonfire. Black Aly is Jace's First Men side, his dutifulness towards his family and capacity for sacrifice.

love doomed us, love saved us

Reading Fire and Blood, you understand the cycle of violence continues because of grief and the need to avenge loved ones. It only fully spirals into an all-out war once Luke and Jaehaerys are killed. Characters are so motivated to protect and save their families first and foremost that they end up destroying them. Each loss demands more blood.

The grief and rage of losing a child could burn down the world. - Catelyn Stark, Game of Thrones - Histories & Lore: The Dance of Dragons

So...how did this war end? Not with force, not with another victorious battle, and not even with bent knees. The unstoppable force of retribution that we summoned from the white primordial plane that would have prolonged this war and left nothing but scorched earth... stopped because a girl who smelled like woodsmoke offered her hand in marriage? What?

Let's go back to what Thoros said: war makes monsters of us all. Even when motivated by very human emotions like love and grief, ceaseless pain, cruelty, and brutality turn people into animals.

There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. - Jorah Mormont, ASOS

To me, this is the whole point of the Starks and the North. Fans think Starks are "honorable," which sure, they can be...but not in the same way knights are. The North doesn't have a code of chivalry — that's an Andal thing. First Men are honorable in the same way a winter storm is honorable. Winter doesn't discrimimate and it comes for us all, but there's no humanity in its retribution. The world northerners live in is incredibly cold and harsh, so they must harden themselves in order to survive. Their magic literally involves them turning into animals, and every Stark has the capacity to be a savage beast.

But even beasts need warmth and companionship.

Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. - Eddard Stark, AGOT

There's something insanely compelling about having to be both tough and communal to survive the winter. Starks must be stoic and fierce but also carry this deep capacity for love and family.

Going back to The Dance, the cycle of violence ends because a girl offered herself to a wolf, and she allegedly reminded him of his lost friend who allegedly reminded him of his lost brother. And suddenly he wasn't a beast anymore, sent out to die while spilling the blood of his master's enemies. Maybe he was thinking with his cock, but at least he was thinking like a man.

Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms ... or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy. - Maester Aemon, AGOT

personal notes on cregan stark

I love Cregan Stark because he is me in my darkest hour with my self-destructive coping mechanisms, my desperation to prove myself, my anxiety that I will never be safe from those who wish to hurt me unless I hurt them first.

He is the hyper masculine reaction we have towards any kind of trauma, and he seems so strong and stoic and something we should aspire to be. But he's really not — it was a good thing that for all the talk about how "unyielding" he was, there were actually people he deferred to in the end. When you have been raised to be the best fighter in the world and know nothing but fighting, making peace is the challenge. If you have been taught glorify death in battle, choosing to life suddenly becomes radical.

Whenever I talk about this character, I feel like I'm Theon crying in the corner and clutching onto my portrait of Robb, saying, "You don't know him like I do!" Because fans valorize Robb as a king the same way they hype up Cregan as a badass. The man was so out of his depth that he left after 6 days on the job.

He's credited for dispensing justice during the Hour of the Wolf, but out of about 22 people that were arrested, do you know how many he actually executed?

Two. Larys Strong and Ser Gyles Belgrave of the Kingsguard. The rest took the black and Corlys was pardoned. So for all the talk that he's this big, tough guy who cleaned up everyone's mess, he actually did very little in terms of what people consider cleaning up.

That being said, I still very strongly believe that his role made this book worth it for me. Because if Cregan did not show up and the False Dawn continued onto peace without the Hour of the Wolf, it would not have changed the outcome of the Dance but it would have a drastic downgrade to its themes and message.

Instead of the women and widows willingly laying down their arms to dissuade a powerful man from going scorched earth, it would be a bunch of them following Corlys's lead and re-establishing Corlys's version of the status quo. Corlys would never have been tried as a criminal, which was very important because without that, he would have been the arguable "winner" of the Dance. Him being forgiven by Aegon III shows the child exercising power over his life and actively choosing to forgive his crimes instead of being a puppet who is ignorant of said crimes.

The northmen marrying Riverland widows instead of dying in battle is so near and dear to me, because it show that even in ruinous and the harshest of circumstances when you've left everything and death seems like the only choice, there is more value to your life than to whatever glorious death you might imagine for yourself. There is someone out there who will love you and build a home and family with you, no matter how old and how much of a burden you otherwise think you are.

You're mine. Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first we'll live. - Ygritte, ASOS

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

1 - Wolves of the Lone Stag

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (slow burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 16.1k

Warnings: Slow Burn, Strained parent-child issues, mentions of minor character death, secret relationship, arranged marriage, injured/sick child mention, smut, p in v, slight dom/sub dynamics, loss of virginity

Notes: Reader is firstborn daughter of Stannis Baratheon, based off the show but will include direct book elements, slight canon divergence. First Chapter is really long due to set up, subsequent future chapters won't be quite such a massive read. Chapter Two Here.

Travelling along the Kingsroad was far longer and more tedious with this company. Normally you would spend only so much time on here from White Harbour, most of the journey done on sea. Yet now, there were far too many people and it’s leader insisting on treating the journey as it’s own adventure. By the time you reached Winterfell it would be a month on horseback and no one to entertain your morose demeanour. Though perhaps you had to consider that it wasn’t just the company of the others that was less then ideal.

You had the supposed misfortune of being the daughter to the less favoured of the three Baratheon brothers. Robert, King Robert to those in public company, was a more complicated man. A mix of a man who successfully kept the peace for over twenty years but also was as unhappy on the throne and was unafraid to show it. He did however, have enjoyment in wine, hunting, and did hold a jovial laughter that kept people around him.

Your other uncle, was much more agreeable. Renly was the youngest of them and was charismatic and well liked. He was naive, not really a man suited for leadership but he did the best with what he knew to do. Closer to your age, you often found yourself spending time with him and it was right now that you were annoyed he chose to stay back in Kings Landing. A month with the King, his own family and the entire royal brigade and not one of them knew how to get a smile from you.

That was a trait from your father no doubt. Stannis Baratheon was the middle child, and he was easily the most disliked. He was cold, distant, unemotional and seldom allowed laughter at his table. He took his job seriously, more seriously then the King did his sometimes. In his prime, he was a proven battle commander and he never lost that. Robert was a warrior and he was happiest as such, but Stannis had never stopped being a commander and whether it made him liked or not, it taught you to be who you were now.

A Lady of the House Baratheon, firstborn daughter to Stannis and heir of Dragonstone was your current position and you were taught to uphold that name. Often found with a flat expression, close to a scowl as you walked the capitol you found nothing to enjoy there. Not that Dragonstone was where you’d find happiness either. The only place that had never been your home was the one you felt it in.

You had turned eight when your father had begun sending you out. Brought up, he ensured you had a Lord’s education as well as what all girls were taught. If you were to take up the mantle after him, he wanted you to learn from those that would teach you to be like him. That was when he sent you to Winterfell for the first time. Not a friend of Lord Eddard of House Stark, but your father did respect him the most. Two men both stern with upholding honour and justice, always doing what is right and what is honourable rather then what they wanted.

You spent seven months in Winterfell, and it was the first time your mother and father hadn’t been there for your name day. At the time, it made you sad but you had long since gotten over it. Over more then a decade had passed since your first stay in the north and many name days had been spent there with no word from your family. Well, at least your parents. The only family member you spoke too and more fondly with then Renly, was your baby sister. Shireen Baratheon was not just the light of your life but your fathers too. Some used to say that you were the only one who could make Stannis smile but you were nothing compared to how he smiled at that little baby.

You were fine with her being the favourite, she was your favourite family member as well.

Not long after baby Shireen had beaten a bout of horrific illness, your father had been summoned to Kings Landing. The King telling him that he was of no use to the realm shut away on Dragonstone, and he was to come to the capitol and sit on the small council as Master of Ships. He had taken you with him, and thus your new home was the wretched city full of backstabbers and manipulators.

Back and forth you went from Kings Landing to Winterfell, each stay growing longer and each stay you grew closer to the Starks then you did anyone in the Red Keep. Lord Stark was the perfect example of a good leader, warden of the North and inspired nothing but loyalty amongst the northerners and made you as welcome as anyone in his home. You followed him around most days, learning from him, watching how he handled diplomacy and made his lessons your own.

It was that how you got to know his ward, Theon Greyjoy. A rambunctious lad who listened diligently in formality and was crass and brash outside of that. You knew he would hate Kings Landing but often found yourself at your fathers side wishing the smart ass was next to you, nudging you with his elbow every time you were too closed off for your own good. It was easy to forget that he was technically the Starks prisoner, he fit into their family, the north as well as you did.

Not quite a leader as you were being taught to be, but you were confident once he had the chance to prove himself, you’d expect great things from him. You’d gotten a raven from him while on the road, and in his usual style he spent some time making fun of you for having to be “shacked up with the lamest of the three”.

Right. The reasons your company headed to Winterfell. The King had one, you were being forced into another though. The news shocking you as Stannis told you of your new duty the night before you left was double. That he was leaving for Dragonstone and you were to return to Kings Landing with Lord Stark and serve as acting Master of Ships in his absence.

He wasn’t just dumping his responsibilities onto you with no explanation of his distant behaviour and secrecy, your father had also dumped a marriage onto you and told you that you were to marry and come back. As if he didn’t just dictate your entire life to be like his. “You will marry the Stark boy, and with or without him you are to return in my place.”

Trying to reason with him, “You’re expecting me to have, what? A night maybe two with my new husband and then leave for however long you decide?”

Not even the slightest change of expression, but there was a twinge of regret in his eyes that was soon covered up. “I didn’t decide this alone. My brother, our king, has decided it with no room for question. I’m sorry, but you’re a Baratheon. You’re my daughter. And sometimes our duty requires us to marry not for love, but for the good of the realm.”

You had spoken to your betrothed since the announcement, but had yet to see him in person. A major reason as to why you wished Renly had come with you. Have someone to ease your nerves on the months ride, instead you were entirely on your own lost in what you were losing.

After all, you received a raven from not just Robb after the announcement. And it was that second one, and the finality of it’s contents that shattered the still remaining rosy dreams you once felt as if you had a lifetime to indulge in. Who your betrothed was, wasn’t the upset in any way. It was the unavoidable conclusion of the love in your heart that simply wasn’t allowed to be.

As the party approached Winterfell, your heart begun to race.

The crisp cool air on your face that once relaxed you, only stoned it further into a solid expressionless pose. Reminding yourself that you weren’t just here as yourself, you were to represent your father and you wouldn’t do so by falling apart. You rode into the walls right up near the very front alongside your craven of a cousin. He represented the luxurious royal side of the family, and you the steadfast duty and justice.

The House guard stood all around the courtyard as well as many people who simply worked close by or wanted to just see the King. Riding into the main area, you refused to look. The Starks all stood with their closest men behind them but you looked nowhere but above the heads of everyone with a straight back atop of your horse.

The carriage which carried the Queen and the other two of her royal children filed in and revealed the King following suit. Your eyes forcing to stay nowhere but him, and it struck part of you that his deep scowl seemed to just be a trait that was shared amongst much of this family. As your party stayed atop their horses, you watched everyone near kneel down as Robert was assisted off his horse.

Watching him make a straight line towards the Starks, he stood in front of the kneeling Lord Stark beckoning him with his hand to stand. Everyone around them rising in toe as you watched the two old friends look stoically at one another. The quiet in the courtyard as everyone waited.

King Robert, it seemed, left posing the stoic formality of the Baratheons to you. Looking down at his friend’s frame and casually commenting, “You got fat.”

Two magnets, designed by the gods to be brought together your eyes met without any thought. His grey ones widened with a playful glint and a raise of the sides of his mouth as if to say, “He got fat?” You, broke just as easily. Quirking your eyebrows up slightly, trying and failing to cover a smirk as you flickered your eyes in gesture to the King, agreeing with his silence as you both instantly looked away from the other. Knowing neither would smother such a begging grin if you kept glancing at each other.

Robert greeting each member of the family, making polite chat with the Stark parents you climbed off your horse. Your head angled enough to see your cousin, Joffery, staring at the direction you just had with a smirk you would describe in private as slimy.

You weren’t the only one with a betrothal in mind for your King, but it was the other Stark which would suffer. Somehow whatever genes made the Baratheons so respected, had skipped Joffery in every single capacity. He was more Lannister then he was his father, and not even with the decency to be like the one lion which you could speak to without agitation.

You couldn’t say Sansa was the one you got along with the most, but watching the way the prince looked at her, you pitied what she couldn’t possibly know she was in store for.

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

Cersei Lannister, the Queen, barley made an effort to toss any level of genuinity in her voice. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

Her term of endearment sounding as fake to your Uncle as it did you, he ignored her and summoned Lord Stark anyways. The Queen glaring as they walked away, and directed it towards the youngest Stark daughter, Arya as she without any care of properness, asks where the “Imp” was. The Imp being the Queens younger brother, Tyrion.

Were you to be honest, as you unpacked some of your things from your horse you could only think of one place he would go. And he certainly would not find such a place inside the castle walls. Seeing the Queens twin brother, Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard to “go and find the little beast.” Holding another smirk back, you heard footsteps approaching.

Not the ones you normally would expect, he wouldn’t come to you here. Not now, not in front of the royal family, all these people, and certainly not after learning you’ve come here to marry. Instead, the voice that spoke behind you was the only other person you’d care to see, calling your name.

Robb Stark, Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest true born son stood tall behind you. His northern accent deep and thick, and drenched in a soothing warmth that always felt comforting yet unfitting of the cold he lived around. Turning to face him, you could still see the trailing remnants of the Queen and her children in the distance.

Play your part, your fathers voice told you. With a slight nod of your head and a smile you clearly amused Robb with such a proper curtsy. “My lord.”

A raise of his eyebrows, he had less care of hiding such a smirk. “Is that how we are playing it, my lady?”

You had to bite your tongue to keep from smiling, but still failed somewhat. Robbs smirk growing more playfully smug as he watched you lose your static composure. “I don’t know what you mean, my Lord. I am here with the royal company, we are nothing if not with our courtesies at all times.”

Dropping the act, Robb rolled his eyes and stepped closer. “Well if you’re people have a problem with it, they will just have to get over it.” Pulling you into a hug, you felt part of your racing heart and screaming nerves settle a bit.

You’ve known Robb since that first visit when you were eight. No matter what you were both being shoved into, he wasn’t anything near a stranger. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest as your face was snuggle tugged into the deep browns of his cloaks fur. Soft as anything, they helped sooth your heart more and he seemed to hold you for as long as it did his as well. His voice low in your ear this time, “We’ll talk in private.”

Pulling away with a deep inhale, you nodded. Face falling back into a stoic composure. It sometimes took you a little bit to drop the harsh demeanour you lived with once you got to Winterfell, but with this company in toe you felt bad that the Starks weren’t going to really get you in any relaxed form. Nodding at Robb you fell quiet, but he was happy to take up the mantle with enough volume for those around to be satisfied with. “Let me help bring your things up, my lady.”

In the corner of your eye as Robb slung the heavier of your bags over his shoulder and you insisting on carrying at least the lighter one, you caught sight of his mother. Lady Catelyn Stark, originally born to House Tully, was something of a complicated relationship for you. You admired her in countless ways, and you saw her more as a mother then you did your own for many years growing up. But there was no mistaking the slight rift that was caused by the only other member of the family you were closer too then her eldest son.

That one though, was nowhere to be seen. You both knew full well that such a meeting was going to have to happen in private, and you hoped you would find time to sneak away from the feast tonight to get it. You two had to talk, you needed to talk to him before you marry or your resolve might crumble.

She watched you and Robb politely walk through the court towards the main doors. Describing their home as a castle felt odd after living in both Dragonstone and Kings Landing. The Starks castle in Winterfell was home in your heart, not a fancy collection of stonework designed to impress. Robb had written that the news came as surprise to all of them, that Lady Catelyn had tried to protest saying that the King shouldn’t just force this on you.

Her husband had to remind her, that they married of duty and look where they are now. You hoped that your companionship with Robb’s brother had not soured her opinion of you being capable of being a good wife. Robb didn’t have your heart the way he did, but he would be the one to keep it from now on and you hoped Lady Catelyn wouldn’t hold it against you.

Falling in love with Robb was not the impossible, in fact he could make that quite easy.

Making small talk of the trip here as you and Robb passed a numerous amount of servers and maids scurrying about the halls, you were thankful for how well you knew him. That the tensity in his stature would only relax the second the door would shut and you both would drop this growing painful act.

Your room was in a corridor away from the main family, closer to where Theon stayed. Many times the main four of you would stay in either his or your room to drink, laugh and get into trouble all without the keen ears of the Stark parents. Your room in Winterfell was a place that you could stop being the daughter and first born heir of Lord Stannis Baratheon, and just be you.

The room had been freshly cleaned, new sheets draped on the bed frame as well as a cozy fur begging you to plop down onto it with a sigh and a nap to boot. Robb dropped your bag down by the window, holding his hand to take the one in your hands to join it. Turning to you, he watched as you let out a shaking sigh.

Your face dropping, finally free to shine in a tinge of shame and exhaustion as you sat down on the edge of the bed, your palms flat on your thighs. Opening your mouth to speak, he cut you off with a sharp edge. “Don’t apologize.” Your brows narrowed in question, but Robb paced over to lean against the wall across from you. His arms crossed casually in front of his chest as he looked into your eyes. “You were about to say sorry for all of this, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Head dropping, you bit your tongue more and nodded. Hands clasping together in a fidget before returning to rest flat on your thighs. His eyes shined blue, and out of the sunlight his hair looked far closer to a Stark brown then it did a Tully Red, if your heart didn’t weigh a thousand pounds you might have spent more time admiring him. “I just,” Sighing again you looked away, unable to cope with the unblinking seriousness in his eyes. “I only found out before you did. I don’t want you thinking I asked for this, or am trying to force you into this.”

Robbs sigh wasn’t defeated, but annoyed. You hadn’t the courage to look again yet. Your name slipping from his tongue with a seriousness. “No one here thinks that.” Glancing up at him, you felt your resolve slip even more. “No one.”

Not that Robb would have any reason to suspect it, but you were desperately hoping that one person in particular didn’t think that out of everyone. Robb took a few steps forward, hoping to beckon you to look up at him, but instead chose to sit down next to you. Enough space between you to not be intrusive. Your voice was small, quiet like a whisper and you knew this was not the words of a proud lady, but just a girl. “He hadn’t even brought up marriage in years. Not since..”

You faded off, both of you know what you were going to say but luckily Robb knew that reliving it would not make you feel any better. He leaned closer to you without breaking your personal space. “Your father has talked to you about marriage more then he has me, at least. In some ways you’re more prepared for this then I am.”

Laughing out, you didn’t turn to see the soft smile on his lips at the sound. “Oh I doubt that. You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my parents. Between them, and being around the King and Queen’s marriage? It it weren’t for yours I’d assume every married couple is bitter and unloving to the point of near contempt.”

A breathy laugh leaving him, you were thankful once more that at least your husband to be was someone whom you didn’t have to hold you thoughts around. Robb leaned back on the bed, his palms outstretched to rest against the furs and look at you partially from the back and side. “We could get separate beds if it makes you feel better.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully at the mocking in his tone. Quick to turn around with the intention of snarking back he took you by surprise. Lurching forward to wrap his hands around your waist and drag you back with him, both of you laying now back against the bed as he respectfully moved his hands from you. His eyes shined with laughter however, and it loosened yours enough to laugh out loud.

Playful words sat at the tip of your tongue, but what came out was far from it. “It feels like he’s planning something,” turning to look at Robb’s profile against the light coming from the window. “My father. He and Lord Arryn have been doing something in secret, and he kept me away from it on purpose. Both of them seemed to be worried about something, and then...”

“Then he died.” Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and a long time friend of both the King Robert and Lord Stark had passed from a fever that took him in one night.

You nodded. Glancing up to the ceiling as your hands rested along your stomach. “He was fine one day, and then he just...not even a day later was when my father called me to his office. Told me everything, about coming here, about your father, then just..ended the conversation with this.” Your eyes narrowed as you recalled the sternness of his rasp.

“You’re to marry the Stark boy then return here in my place. I won’t have any more questions on the matter.”

Robb was lost in thoughts of his own, tone light yet distant when he spoke up. “He wants my father to be Hand of the King. He hasn’t even been in Kings Landing since the war.”

You understood why. Not just the horrors inflicted on Lord Starks father and brother, but it was a den of vipers all wanting you to play a game that a man like him would want no part in. None of the Starks belonged there, too good for a disgusting place the capitol was. Sighing yourself, you shrugged. “He’ll hate being there as much as my father does, as much as I do. At least I’m the Kings niece I’m supposed to belong there.”

Robb turned onto his side and you followed suit. Your dress hardly made for proper warmth like his attire was, but the Queen insisted that you dress properly to impress your to be husband. As if the man in question hadn’t seen you covered in dirt, mud, bruises and knocked you into the dirt countless times over the years. You didn’t feel like yourself anywhere but here, and yet with the royals all here you still didn’t feel like yourself.

Just a plaything meant to look pretty and play the part. For once, you felt like a normal highborn lady you supposed. Born and bred to be a wife that's born to breed. You were looking at Robb, and yet you reminded yourself with a lurch of your heart to push back the other face in your mind.

Later you told yourself.

Robb’s voice was low, soft, and with an affection that at the very least, wasn’t unusual for him. “You haven’t belonged there in a long time.”

Your tone dropped quieter then his. “Where do I belong then?”

To his credit, it wasn’t with himself that he said. “Here. You belong here.”

By nightfall you still hadn’t seen him. You’d seen many of the others. Arya being the first, practically running past Robb into your room and leaping into a hug with zero sense of formality. You knelt down somewhat to meet her with a loud laugh. With a zillion questions about if you’re staying, did you know, does this make you her sister, you were blissfully reminded of the only other girl who held your heart like that.

Shireen wasn’t a trouble maker like Arya had a tendency to be, but they had a similar spirit. She felt as much like your sister as the one back on Dragonstone was by birth. Sansa had to call her away, annoyed as ever and with a fluster as she addressed you. The paintings of a crush all over her face from the blonde haired fowl faced cousin, and you wished it was any other boy Sansa was to be promised too.

Well, as Robin Arryn briefly popped into your mind you laughed to yourself. Maybe not any of other boy. Starling the handmaiden attending to your dress as you shook your head in apology. You could dress yourself easily for a normal night in the North, but alas the Queen insisted that you impress your husband to be. As if he wasn’t someone you had known for over a decade as one of your very closest friends.

You did however, stop them fervently as they reached for your hair. The Queen could dress and paint you up like a doll and you wouldn’t really fuss at the treatment, but you would rather cross the wall and throw yourself into a frozen lake before you’d let any of those southern up-dos go anywhere near your hair. If judging by the look you got from the Queen during the feast, she wasn’t pleased in any way, but then again she rarely was ever pleased by anything.

Sat next to Robb during the feast, you were thankful that he and the other guys at the table treated you like they always did. To a degree, it was a bit off putting by your much more distant attitude but judging by the glances you made to the Queen they gathered enough that you were more on guard. The hall was filled to the brim with people, ale, music and laughter.

Off in the distance you could see King Robert laughing with a group of men, and his hands happily exploring a woman who was most certainly not his wife. Most didn’t care, and the ones who did never would say anything. He was King he could do what he wanted. Lady Catelyn much to your sympathy was stuck up at the main table sat next to the Queen herself and struggling to find any conversation that didn’t make the woman utterly miserable.

“Out of all the Northerns, you get stuck with this one?” Theons voice rang out, a lightness in his eyes and ale in his veins. You leaned your elbow on the table and pointed at him with a playful raise of your eyebrows.

“At least this one’s pretty, Greyjoy.”

Laughter from all around the table, and even finally sneaking one from yourself. Theon would sometimes flirt with you, but never in a serious manner. It almost was a game. He would start with a flirtatious comment and it quickly spun into who could jokingly insult the other more after you deny him with a snarky remark first. “Aye, but you’d get some nice experience with me.”

Robb tossing a ripped piece of bread at him with a half hearted protest of his own experience, but you leaned back in your seat bringing your mug to your lips. “What experience is that, exactly? Paying women to pretend to moan for you isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my wedding night.”

Pushing it back down, if you joked about it you didn’t have to think about the reality. With no experience of your own, you weren’t immune to the whispers of girls and women of their nights with pain and blood. At least you would get one single thing right come time for that part of the wedding. You almost didn’t though, and the longer you kept trying to not think about it, the more you felt yourself looking for someone you knew wasn’t there.

You had to talk to him, but the first day in Winterfell was just far too busy for it thus far.

Opportunity luckily, arrived in the form of Arya being unable to behave. You and Robb had been joking and laughing about something when the sight of food flinging from another side of the room caught your eyes. The food in question splatting directly onto Sansa’s face as she yelled out indigently.

The quickness of Arya smiling and going back to pretend as if she didn’t do anything got a laugh out of you, but also drew the attention of Lady Catelyn. Gesturing to Robb over, his face fell more serious as he brushed a hand over your lower back as he stood up. Grabbing Arya around the sides and hoisting her up. “Time for bed.”

Glancing around the room, Lady Catelyns eyes elsewhere, as was the Queens. Lord Stark talking to who you recognized as his brother Benjen and now Robb gone you took the opportunity you really shouldn’t have. Standing up, you made your way slowly to the entrance, downing the last of the ale before slinking out unseen.

Or rather, unseen by all but the watchful eyes of a golden Lion.

Alone for once, you allowed yourself to be annoyed. The chill of the air hit you with a sting as you were entirely undressed for the cold of the night. Not even graced with a seat at a lower table, no he was put out here as if his existence was so offensive to anyone but her. His birth wasn’t his fault, and as much as you admired and liked her?

It never failed to chip away at something angering in you, how Lady Catelyn treated Jon Snow.

You heard his voice before you saw him, but it the second voice that took you by surprise. “Did I offend you? Sorry. You are the bastard, though.”

Lord Tyrion Lannister in your sights slowly walked up to Jon, who was faced away from you. There was a bluntness in his words but also a sympathy in his eyes. Leaning back against a stone wall, you watched in quiet.

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father.”

And yet, just as so many liked to remind him, Lord Tyrions words were those that many have said in response. “And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you, a bastard.”

Watching him with narrowed eyes, you held back any defence in your blood. Likely he was the only Lannister which you didn’t entirely distrust towards him. Jon Snow had more then enough people ensuring him he would never be like his brothers and sisters.

Your arms crossed over your chest, and breathe visible in the cold you listened to the man tell him wear what he is like armour. Jon, however, did not seem to be in such a mood. His voice was low, a thick northern accent that came out more like an entrancing rasp then Robb’s warm soothing one. It also, was lined with that of a temper you knew the older Jon got, the more he struggled with. “What the hell do you know about being a bastard?”

Fingertips itching to reach out, but you stayed put. Listening to Lord Tyrion’s final comments before departing to whatever plans he had for the night. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes.”

Jon wasn’t heartless, nor stupid. Somewhere inside him, you knew he sympathized with the Lannister but being shut out of a feast in the cold, on top of what you knew was looming? Jon had little room left to care about simmering that temper.

Lord Tyrion caught your eye as he passed, a tilt of his head and question in his eye you simply looked flat and unblinking. He wouldn’t say anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t store his curiosity about your sudden watchful appearance for later.

Slowly approaching, you called out only once the sound of doors closing behind you left the courtyard in silence from the muffled party behind you. “Think he’s dead yet?”

Spinning to face you at the sound of your voice, you hated how unable you were to quell your heart looking at him. Walking towards him, you saw Jon put the sword away entirely before circling around to meet you halfway. It took less then second for both of you to glance around, watch for the no eyes any could see before he closed the rest of the gap.

Scooping you up into his arms, almost spinning you in place as you both held the other tightly. “I missed you.” Your voice muffled in this luscious dark curls, he put you down gently on your feet. His hands on your upper arms still before glancing up. Changing his mind, he turned. Pulling you along with him with a hand on your lower back.

Jon was the only man who could silently drag you away into a dark corner in the dead of night and you wouldn’t question him in any way, shape or form. Neither of you said anything, but out of everyone Jon was the one person who you didn’t need it with. Both of you were always on the air of more quiet, and it was never more appreciated then alone with the other, never worried about having to fill the air with talking to be comfortable.

Once you had reached far enough away, Jon led you into a small building, mostly empty save for some storage and one lit lantern. Door closed, he turned to face you once more with silence. His eyes begging to say too much, but neither of you could handle it in that second. Once more you found the others arms. This time, the desperation was felt both ways.

Both of you letting your eyes shut, and your hands rest freely and yet far to intimate to be platonic as you stood together. It was minutes before he pulled back. One hand resting on your waist and the other back on your upper arm. He watched as your hands wrung together, afraid to touch him. You hated how gently he always said your name, forcing you to look up and meet his eyes.

One of you had to say something, and you ripped the bandage off first. “You’re really joining them?”

His nod was confident, and it broke your heart that much more. “The St-”

Shaking your head you felt your eyes sting, you hated feeling this way. “Don’t give me that.” Your fingers twitched wanting to reach out, and he caught the movement. “Don’t tell me what you think everyone else wants to hear.”

Was his response a diversion from the truth, or an answer you didn’t know for sure. “You’re marrying Robb.” Like no other, Jon could tell right away that you bit your tongue in anxiety. The hand on your arm moving up to gently trace over the side of your jaw until he felt you relax under the touch. “I’m not mad at you. Neither of you really had a say in it.”

Ever so slowly, you hesitantly left your hands drift forward until the very tips of your fingers rested against his stomach. Much like earlier with Robb, were you not wracked with too much in your head, you might have paused to enjoy the feeling of how sturdy and firm his muscles had grown. Instead you let your head hang, knowing he wanted you to look at him. “And you feel like The Night’s Watch is the only place you belong?”

Were you anyone else, Jon would have pulled away in frustration. But his time with you was limited, and his hands always ached to touch you when you were near. “It is now.” Head rising up to look at him, your brows narrowed. “You’ll marry him, go back to Kings Landing with my father and sisters, and leave me what? Here with the brother who gets the one thing that used to be mine, and his mother who hates me?”

Something rushed up, and an anger almost yelled out instead of reason. “Jon, I’m not trying to leave you behind.”

He sighed, jaw clenching as his hand on your waist held you a slight tighter. “No. You’re doing your duty, and I’m doing mine.”

For a while you both just stood there, looking at the other. In your heart, you felt stolen from, but your mind reasoned for the best. Just as the silence between you was too much, Jon slowly leaned in.

Your back pressed against the wall and he having moved to crowd you against it, his head dipping down enough as you exhaled shakily. The nerves in you, always managing to make him smirk. But just as you felt the others breath on your faces, a door in the distance opened. Music and laughter and the sounds of a group making drunken rackets paused Jons movement.

If it were any normal day, you’d just say not here.

But you and Jon knew better, in a few days, he would stand in the godswood and watch you marry his brother. And soon after that he would join a group that cut your love off from him for life. You couldn’t kiss now, and not ever again.

It didn’t stop either of you from seeing the other after the night was over. But with the royal company here, with you and Robb spending more time together, you only had time to see each other in the secrets of the dark. What made that much harder though, was how little suddenly anyone looked forward to a wedding.

Bran had climbed the walls and towers thousands of times with a firm grip. And yet, while climbing the one tower which no one use in decades, Bran somehow fell so far to the ground, no one yet knew if he would wake up.

And amongst all that, the Queen insisted, “We still have a wedding to put on.”

The entire family was on edge. Maester Luwin has monitored him closely, and Lady Catelyn even closer having not left his side. You didn’t blame her one bit. It was before anyone else was really awake when you went to go see her.

Slowly peeking in, asking if it was alright you come in for a moment and you were thrown back over ten years ago. Looking at your own mother, Selyse, and how broken and lost she was as Maester Cressen warned her to prepare herself for Shireen to be sent away for good.

Walking by her side, you sat gently on the bed beside Bran. It was cruel. Only a boy of ten, and with the softest, most adorable little face you’d ever seen and yet he lay in bed broken in too many ways. If he woke, he’d never walk again. You thought to yourself, maybe if you were to be a proper northern, you should start praying to the Old Gods. Because it certainly seemed like praying to the Seven had done nothing. It left your baby sister disfigured for life, and so far they seem to have left Bran a cripple should they even allow him to wake.

Laying on the other side was his yet unnamed Direwolf. Hardly more then puppies when you first arrived, you had been shocked to see how they had grown. Sitting asleep by his masters side though, you hoped he would bring little Bran any comfort.

Lady Catelyn was silent beside you, working away on something you hadn’t quite understood. You didn’t ask, you weren’t a mother and you didn’t want her to have to explain her grief to you. Your hand gently ran over Brans wrist, your thumb feeling his pulse weak but still beating if you pressed firm enough. “My sister had greyscale as a baby.”

You felt her look up at you, but your eyes were trained on the adorable boy soon to be your brother. “My father bought her a doll from a merchant, and next thing we knew it was spreading fast over the side of her face. She was just a baby she didn’t even understand what was happening to her, but we all did.”

You felt your eyes sting, but forced them back with a harsh swallow. “I’ve never heard my mother cry like that. She lost four boys in the womb, and yet that was the most I’ve ever seen her cry. And my father?” You stumbled. Voice coming out harsh, and cracked slightly from the pressure to appear steady. “People used to say the only thing that he would ever smile for is me, but they don’t understand. They didn’t see the desperation in his eyes, how far and hard he searched to bring people to Dragonstone just for a chance to save her life. And none of them saw the tears in his eyes when he was finally allowed to hold her again.”

Reaching up with your other hand you ran your hand over the side of Brans face, brushing some hair to the side. “I’m sorry. Me and Robb both tried telling them to put it off, but the Queen insisted that a wedding might do everyone some good.” She tried saying your name, but you interrupted her. “It’s okay if you don’t come. If I were a mother, I don’t think I’d leave him either.”

Looking back at her, there were tears in her eyes and a soft smile that broke your heart. Your relationship with her was always complicated, but in this moment, all you saw was what no one had given to your mother when it was Shireen.

Leaning over to her, you hugged her tightly. The pain in her heart evident in how both weak yet tightly she hugged back. Pressing a kiss to her forehead you spoke quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Passing by the busy servants and suspiciously watchful Queen you paid no mind to the preparations that were to be for you tomorrow. At first it had felt like you and Robb were to be wed for some unknown plot of your fathers, but now it felt like a distraction.

Don’t look at the broken boy in bed, look at the happy couple. For their own pain, you had to hand it to the three of them. Lord Stark, Robb, and Jon truly what Starks were made of. Strong willed, and keeping calm acting as a pillar for the much younger and more worried siblings. Arya clearly a big influence on her direwolf Nymeria, as the wolf was agitated and struggled to sit still the past days. On multiple occasions, you found the wolf almost trying to rile up her own siblings to varying success.

Her and little Rickons direwolf Shaggydog had the most energy. As if getting out their tension by chasing and play fighting. Sansa’s Lady was truly an apt name. Stuck by her side and was poise and put together, only getting in the way to provide any comfort to the redhead in what Sansa thought were moments no one was looking.

Grey Wind was as strong headed as Robb. Their mother gone, he had taken up the mantle of leader of the pack and seemed to be a calming presence for the others. Much like how Robb’s confidence in ensuring his siblings Bran would be alright, provided such comfort to them. The more time you spend with Robb during the day, the more used to Grey Wind you got.

He grew larger then the others, a gorgeous mix of greys and browns in his colour and the more comfortable with a new closeness which Robb grew with you over the past few days, the easier it was for Grey Wind to come to your side when not with his own master. Lord Stark had joked that they seemed to sense you were about to become a wolf yourself.

It was the final direwolf however that you enjoyed the most. Pure white with striking red eyes, Ghost was smaller then the rest but quick and silent. He made very little noise if ever, but was always aware of his surroundings. Keeping out of the way without sacrificing his watchful canine eyes from their view, and listened to his master better then any of them.

Jon and Ghost it seemed, were one in the same. From the same family, but not truly one of the pack as the others were. While the others followed their master like an animal companion, Ghost and Jon were almost like friends instead. Certainly he took Jons feelings around people seriously, considering that as you sat out in the godswood while the moon set itself up in the night sky, you were suddenly almost thrown off balance.

Looking down, the small white direwolf had leaped into your lap. Leaning up to give your cheek a lick before settling in. You scratched at his back, “I don’t know what you’re asking for, but I’m getting up in about ten seconds.”

“Maybe he just likes how soft you are.” Looking up, you utterly failed to fight back both the fluster in your eyes and the embarrassed smile that you tried to hide, turning away from him.

Jon’s curls looked more wild and free again, growing out quickly from the clean cut given before your arrival. The wilder look suited him better. His cloak around his shoulders had a bright closer to white fur around him that you knew first hand was warm and comforting. Coming to sit next to you, he reached over and ran his fingers over Ghosts ear, making him shake his head with a barley audible huff at being disturbed. You both laughed gently, were it not a wolf in your lap, a commoner would mistaken you both for that of a couple with their newborn.

You were to be married tomorrow, and in two days you and Jon would part ways for what could be life for all you knew. Two days, but tonight was your last. Tomorrow you would be Lady Stark, wife of Lord Robb Stark, and there was no room in that duty for another or fairness in your heart.

Leaning against his shoulder, you knew in the eyes of the old gods there was no judgment as you rested your head there. His arm coming to pull you into his side as he looked down to you, your own trained on Ghost.

More then once you and Jon had almost kissed, it would be too easy. To fall into it again. You didn’t fall into it the first time, it was just a bond that always existed. The last time you had ever kissed, was when you came close to giving him something else.

The opportunity was right there, and no one would have been there to stop you, but neither of you were people who could so easily push past the honour you were raised with. Deep down in his mind, Jon knew you could never just marry someone like him, not for who you were. He just didn’t expect to come to the finality of it all, only months after almost having you.

Not that he told it to you, but there was a smugness in Jon that said that at least if he had one thing over Robb, or two, was that he was your first kiss. Knew what your lips tasted like, and knew what a cruelly addicted sight your bare body looked like. Though, not if he asked you, you’d say that wasn’t a perk.

Reminding Jon that he was muscle and you weren’t. Only receiving a dark, undoubtedly lustful look as he muttered that your softness is exactly what he dreams about before kissing you, having pushed you back into the furs of his own bed.

A far off moment, sitting together now, cuddled with his cloak around you against the Weirwood tree for the last time. “We never had a chance did we?” Pulling back, Jon tried looking at you with a slight question in his narrowed brows, but you just continued to run your fingers gently over the slumbering Ghost. “I mean, being with you is easy. It’s always been easy, but being together?”

Resting his chin on the top of your head, he breathed in deeply. “No. No we never had a chance.”

The truth didn’t make it hurt any less. But you weren’t children anymore. You would marry Robb, return to Kings Landing and serve on the small council at the Hand of the Kings Side, in place of your own lord father and Jon would become a man of the Night’s Watch.

In what world did those two things have a chance at crossing over?

Turning your head, you rested further into his neck and his warmth was unyieldingly comforting. “You know right? Even if I don’t say it?”

Jon had enough, moving to pull your face up to look at him by your chin. “I know. And you do too.”

Your heart skipping a beat you smiled partially, “You know it’d be a whole lot easier not to kiss you if you weren’t so handsome.”

Smirking, Jon pulled you closer. Your back more pressed against his chest as he wrapped the edges of his cloak around your front, hiding the blissfully unaware Ghost from the cold air. “Oh I’m handsome, am I?”

Rolling your eyes, you relaxed in his touch. “I’m not blind, Snow. It’s an unfair thing about you Stark men, you, Robb and your father, all way too handsome for your own good.” You had always done that. Included Jon when referring to the Starks without question. It was something that only his youngest siblings would still do, and that's just because they weren’t yet mature enough to truly understand why he was treated different.

You were though. You knew why, but you and him were always the closest even before the messy feelings of early teenage hood started to take place, and since then you were only more steady in that belief. He was a Snow, but his blood a Stark. And no matter what he called himself, he would always have the blood and integrity of his father. “Should I be worried? Marrying my brother, and running off to Kings Landing with my apparently handsome father?”

Pinching your sides, you tried elbowing him but Jon was far stronger and held you still with a laugh, your voice high and defensive. “I didn’t mean- sorry next time I’ll call your family ugly, alright?” With a pause, it slipped out before you could stop it. “Jealousy another Stark trait I should be worried about?”

You could feel the smirk still plastered across Jons face in his voice at your ear, “When the girl looks like you, any man with half a brain would be jealous of letting you go.”

It was far later then you should’ve been awake, but peeling yourselves apart for the last time was too difficult. It was quiet for a while, nothing but the quiet hums of the woods to pass the silence. His voice rasped in your ear, a small shiver down your spine at its closeness. “Where’d we meet?” He chuckled at your blatant confused face. “If we had a chance, in another life where’d we meet?”

“Are we not still us?”

You enjoyed hearing him so light and casual, it felt like I’d been months long amount of days since you’d seen such casualness. “No, well I mean I’m still me and you’re still you. But we’re not highborns, no titles or duties. Just two people somewhere in the kingdom, where’d we meet?”

Eyes squinting in thought, you considered something that was the opposite of the horrible paranoia of Kings Landing, and far from the darkness of Dragonstone. “I hear Highgarden is beautiful in the summer.”

Jon nodded against your head, “Alright. So you’re a bar maid in Highgarden, and I-”

Laughing loudly you tried pulling away, “Excuse me, why am I a barmaid? Isn’t this a fantasy?”

With such a tone of seriousness you felt light at how easily it came to him, as if it was something he’s thought of before. “Yes, and if you’re a bar maid it means I have an excuse to pull this pretty little bar maid in Highgarden down onto my lap as she passes by.”

“That’s aggressive of you.”

“Maybe this particular bar maid makes me aggressive.”

Back and forth you went, what is job was, how you’d fall in love, if you stayed in Highgarden or travelled the realm elsewhere. How many kids you’d have to which you certainly had protests as to how easily Jon kept raising the number each time he mentioned it. By the time you had planned out a new life, it was late enough that you needed to go back.

You needed some sleep, and Jon wasn’t the only brother who you wanted to talk to before this was all over.

Ghost lept out of your lap and shook his fur out on the ground as you both watched him with a fond smile. Looking back at him, you held onto his wrists and he your waist. This time, neither moved in or even tempted the idea of a kiss.

Raising a hand to cup the side of your cheek, he ran a thumb over the soft skin. “Don’t look for me in the ceremony.” Before you had a chance to spiral, he leaned down to meet your eyes more level. “I’ll be there, but don’t look for me. You’re going to be Robb’s now, and I want you to be okay with accepting that.”

Nodding, he made you promise out loud. “I promise.”

He nodded once. “You’ll be each others tomorrow, and I’ll be at the wall. I want you two to be there for each other, no matter what. Besides, it’ll be easy.” You tilted your head. “Robb’s easy to fall in love with, and I think it’s impossible not to fall at least a little in love with you.”

The hug you shared wasn’t the last before you departed, but it was the last one just for you.

He sent you off first, not wanting you to linger with him on your mind. Jon needed you to be okay with being Robb’s, and he himself, needed to just get through these next few days. He had an entire life at the wall to grieve about you.

The handmaiden was quite mad at how you ignored her. Something about the Seven, not seeing the bride but you went towards Robbs anyways. You were to be married at the Weirwood under the eyes of the old gods, it didn’t matter what the Seven wanted anymore.

Not quite dressed up, Theon looked you up and down as he opened the door. “Didn’t think you were that much of a bore.” You pushed him out the way with a roll of your eyes, he laughed as he closed the door behind him. You were glad that the northerners weren’t so dramatic.

With his mother tucked away with Bran, he escaped what would’ve been her insistence of shaving and another trim. His facial hair growing thick and his curls much more Tully Red in the daylight. “I want to ask you a favour.”

Nodding once, he said anything. Taking a step to you as you sighed out shakily, hands ringing together, he said your name as he came into your space. Looking up at him, you sighed out again. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Taken back, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. “That’s not a favour.”

Somewhat flustered, you pulled away. Sitting down on his bed, unable suddenly to send away the thoughts of the very next time you’ll be in this room. “I- I don’t want you thinking I don’t want this, or you, but we didn’t plan this, or talk about it before it happened, and now we’re here and,”

Robb knelt down to your level, not yet touching you in your panic, but speaking slow and in a low, comforting tone until the edge fell from your lips. His steady energy slightly bringing you down a little bit as you tried again. “My parents are miserable together.” Your hands started to wring together in front of you, “They barley tolerate each other, I’ve never seen any love between them. And same with my Uncle. He and the Queen basically hate each other I’m shocked they could stand each other long enough to have three kids together.”

His brows narrowed as you put it all together. “Everyone I know whose married for duty, married because they had to...I think your parents are the only ones I know who ended up happy, who actually love each other.”

Robb leaned in slightly, “Are you worried you’ll never love-”

Shaking your head you felt the anxiety in your chest boil up like never before. “Robb, look at me. I’m Stannis Baratheons child, daughter of the supposed most miserable man in Westeros in the most loveless marriage, are you sure you’re okay with marrying me?”

There it was. The first true hint of insecurity that you’ve allowed yourself to be honest with since you had been told of this arrangement. Two out of three Baratheon Lords were in miserable marriages, and when you looked at Robb, you hated the idea that you were forcing him into just another of that cycle.

The girl in you wanted to cry at losing one love, and the woman in you hated yourself for possibly dragging another into something he’d come to hate. You’ve known Robb for as long as you’ve known Jon, and you watched him grow into the man he is now. Both of you could do great things together according to Lord Stark, but what if you were too much like your father to ever inspire love?

Robb stood up, sitting down next to you as he turned his body close. Your name falling easily from his lips. “You’re not your father. No- look at me. You are not him, you’re not any of them. I’ve known you since you were eight. You’re stubborn, and strong willed and always willing to do what duty asks but that isn’t all of you. I’ve also seen you laugh, get into trouble with me more times then I can count, you care about my little sisters and my brothers like their yours too. My father already sees you like your his own, and despite everything, I know my mother does too.”

Running a hand over your hair, he watched tension in your shoulders deflate ever so slightly. “I’m not worried about marrying you, because I know what I’m getting myself into. And no one can tell me to be happy about it, but I am anyways.”

Gently you raised your hand, enough to slightly lay over the arm Robb had flat on the bed, your thumb finding this pulse, unlike little Brans, his was steady and strong. “You shouldn’t be. You get told your marrying me, and then the day after I get dragged back to Kings Landing with half your family for who knows how long.”

Your heart raced, as Robb twisted his arm, holding your wrist the same way you were his. An easy, charming, boyish smile on his lips. “And we’ll have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

Deep in your mind, you wished Robb would make this harder. You wished he wasn’t so easy to be charmed by, but you knew him too well to trick yourself into thinking he wasn’t being genuine or honest. “So about that favour...”

Narrowing his eyes, there was a flush in your cheeks that you hated was making him smirk. “What about it?”

You sheepishly tried pulling away, but he yanked you closed by is hold on your wrist. Looking down anywhere but his face you felt like a little girl again, only that time you didn’t have to be the one to ask for it, Jon kissed you before you knew what was happening.

Robb though? Oh Robb knew exactly what you were trying to ask, but was almost sadistically enjoying the process of making you say it out loud to him. You flushed more at what other implications this potential side of him would bring. “I, okay I’m not some innocent flower.”

He raised his eyebrows and you smiled indigently, “I mean, I’m still- I haven’t- shut up.” Robb was flat out laughing at that point but let you fail at getting this out with composure. “I know you’ve been with women before, physically..”

“Does that bother you?”

Shaking your head no, it was no lie. You may have to get used to the idea of being married to him, but again, you weren’t blind. You had eyes, you knew exactly what women saw in Robb Stark. “What I’m trying to say, I’ve kissed someone before but not you.”

Much more serious, Robb clearly did know what you were asking, but watched with his gorgeous comforting blue eyes intensely as you whispered. “I don’t want our first kiss to be in front of all of them.” His family, the royals, all those you didn’t know, the old gods, and even Jon. A first kiss in front of him felt too personal, to intimate.

Moving close, you felt his breathe on your skin. “Do you want me to kiss you? Here?”

The room slipped away though, Robb’s voice was so warm and so was he. The hand on your wrist moved to rest at your waist while the other hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you firmly. His lips would brush against yours if either spoke, but he waited for a single nod before kissing you.

His kiss was different. Soft, but coaxing. Like he knew what was holding you back, and just let you fall into it on your own. It was simple and gentle at first, but as soon as you let out a tiny sigh, something in Robb slipped for a moment. Kissing you again, harder this time. His hands tighter and his kiss a little deeper.

Leaning into his front, your hand found the back of his neck and into his curls, and your other against his chest as if they always knew what to do. It wasn’t until you let out what might just have been a small moan, Robb close to pulling you into his lap did he pull away. Pressing a kiss to your forehead and running his hand once more over your hair.

“Can you live with that? For the rest of your life?”

Robb smiled softly at the very new venerability in you. Pressing one more kiss to your cheek, he knew you didn’t mean only having a kiss. But was he happy with such a kiss was your question. “Wait until tonight, I’ll tell what about you I’ve been fantasizing about living with.”

The grin on Robbs face as he pulled away wasn’t the charming boyish one earlier. No, this one was far more that of who he was really, a wolf. A wolf who looked you up and down and made you realize that Robb Stark just might not be as dashing and honourable as he’s led you to believe.

A thought that should’ve made you nervous, but as you walked back to your room, ready to let the girls doll you up and argue about not touching your hair, you started to think that maybe that wolfish grin, actually excited you.

Just when you thought you were going to die of a heart attack, your to be lord father gave you a reason to have a whole new panic. The ceremony was more fancy then any of you involved wanted, not the Starks nor you, but your own father insisted on marrying you off with the royals in toe.

He wasn’t here. Your mother neither. Both of them, Lady Catelyn and Selyse were either sickly or caring for the sick and weren’t here, but Ned Stark was. He was here, and your own father wasn’t. Stannis was not a consistently comforting father, but part of you felt hurt that he wasn’t here to see his oldest daughter, his own heir, marry for the first time.

Instead, the man who had seen you raised half your life here, the one who would be your father by marriage once this was done was the one who approached you. Looking out into the distant woods as you clearly struggled to hold your nerves back. “I didn’t think this was the thing that’d worry you so much.”

Spinning around, Lord Stark reached out to steady you with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I just...this is a lot..was it this nerve wracking when you married Catelyn?”

Not pushing you towards the woods, he stood beside you an arm around your shoulder as he rubbed your upper arm gently. “Terrifying. I’d rather face a thousand armed men then get married in front of all those people. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted someone as delightful as the Queen at mine either.” You huffed a single laugh out and swallowed the rest. “And I know I certainly wouldn’t want the person I love watch me marry someone else.”

Blood in your veins froze, your heart stopped and nothing but nausea flowed up your lungs. “I-”

He wasn’t even angry, or disappointed. He chuckled with a fondness. “I’ve seen you spend half your life here, sweet girl. Watched you grow up alongside my own sons, and I’ve watched Jon be in love with you since the first day you ever arrived.” If you cried, you’d mess up the annoying amount of makeup they insisted on, but you felt a sob in your chest. “You made him happy, and he made you happy. For a time, a long time I thought that was enough. But I also know for a fact that Jon never saw marrying you as an option. He always was painfully aware of who you were.”

You felt the stinging, and you stood still in his hold. Forcing deep breaths to push away the panic.

“There’s a good number of things I regret about how I raised him. It doesn’t feel good knowing that he’s always felt inferior to Robb and now the woman he loves is marrying him too. If I could do it again, would I even be better. Force Roberts hand harder, be more honest with Cat, let him just be a Stark and there’d be nothing in his way for you. But I didn’t do that, nor do I know if I ever should’ve.”

Looking down, your arms crossed over your chest. “I don’t want you to assume I’m just thinking of Jon while I’m with Robb, it’s not that. I’ve known Robb for just as long, and we’ve always been just as close, save for, you know.” His hand was soothing like a true fathers comfort running up and down what he could reach of your arm.

“Here’s whats going to happen. I’m going to walk you out there to my son, you’ll kneel together before the Weirwood and pray and when you rise you’ll be a Stark. Part of you will always be a Baratheon, but you’ll also be our family now. And no matter what, wolves always protect those in their pack. I’m not going to assume the worst of you, because I know you better then that. You and Robb will be good for each other, and just because losing Jon hurts doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re not willing to love Robb.”

Looking up at him you frustratingly wipe at the tears, and he pulled you into a hug. One that you hadn’t felt in a very long time. It had been too long since you felt the hug, the love of a real father. Muttering into your hair, you could feel the same smirk that you could always sense on both brothers. “Besides, I can tell you for certain, having one night with your spouse before being dragged halfway across the country will do wonders for your heart.”

You laughed a lot at that one. Pulling away he looked you over, gently wiping away the rest of the tears on your cheeks. “Come on, sweet girl. You have a wolf waiting for you.”

If you were being honest, it was a blur. There were so many people, and most of them you’d never want present at your wedding in any lifetime. The golden hair of the Lannisters mocked you, the bored and judgmental sneer of your cousin annoyed you, and the silent watching of an Uncle who you barley knew anymore, but you were thankful that this wasn’t in a sept.

The crowd silent, no words spoken by anyone except you and Robb. He looked tall and fierce, curls shining more red in the peeking sun through the leaves, eyes bright and blue like the sea as he looked at nothing and no one but you. The fur around his shoulders making him look large like the wolf he was said to be, and soon it too would be yours.

Whatever small words you exchanged, you heard none of it but the blood in your veins. Thankful when Robb took your hand and knelt down with you, facing away from the crowd. The Seven was what you were raised to pray too, but you were a wolf now. And the wolves answered to the Old Gods.

A fate you were perhaps always meant to have, feeling much more heard in your silence of the Weirwood then you ever did in a sept. Eyes open, looking up the carved face at the same time, the crowd was silent, Robb grabbing both your hands to stand as he kept your eyes.

Draping the very fur he wore over your shoulders, he gently pulled you in with two fingers under your chin. This kiss was far softer and fairer then the one you shared in private, but this was also all your anxiety could handle. And Robb knew it.

Were it a more jovial occasion, it was tradition for a northern groom to carry the bride to the feast but Lord Stark had the sense to give you two a moment alone and King Robert was more then happy to direct the crowd to where the wine and food sat.

Your heart racing, Robb gently held your waist with his forehead pressed to yours. Eyes both shut as your hands rested on his chest. You left tomorrow, so all you had was now and tonight.

It’s what he demanded of you, and what he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that it hurt Jon Snow a great deal to watch you marry his brother, and not once did he ever see the transfixing beauty in your eyes.

You didn’t look at him once, and Jon couldn’t get to the wall fast enough.

Truth be told, the first big laugh you had was at the sheer idea of your father here. Meals with him, there was no laughter or rambunctious behaviour. Just silence, diplomacy, and the mind numbing dings and clogs of Patchface. No joy in a meal under Stannis’s watch, except for the fool himself. Patchface there who was only lucky enough to be in a job, because gods help her, for whatever reason the fool made Shireen laugh.

You couldn’t imagine your father here. The drinking, the laughter, the never ending line of food, talk, and fun. Truth be told, you and Robb spent little time there. You glanced nervously at him more then once, and in your bubble of privacy he would rest a hand on your thigh firmly and a whisper in your ear to at least eat something.

Arya tried many times to come and talk to you, but Sansa yelled at her each time. Telling her to leave the two of you alone, the three of you girls would be in Kings Landing together anyways.

King Robert, on now one too many drinks made an innocuous comment about beds, or sex, or something vaguely incoherent and you and Robb looked to the other. You wide eyed and nervous, but there was something in his that settled it. Leaning to your ear, his voice felt like a rumble. “Normally I’m for tradition, but I’ll be damned if I let this lot see any of you like that.”

One of the men in the crowd had seen you like that, but with the way Robb looked at you, for once, Jon hadn’t crossed your mind. Too much nerves, too much wine, and a fat load of worry about being in a mans bed proper for the first time.

By the time the crowd noticed, Ned just chuckled at Roberts comments about the bride and groom slipping away before a gods honest tradition. “I told Cat I wasn’t going to let their be a bedding ceremony because I didn’t want to hurt someone on our wedding night.” Shrugging one shoulder, he grinned almost proud. “Glad to know my son’s the same.”

The worries of what was to come, ended up being broken slightly by the fact that as soon as Robb opened his door, Grey wind was sat in the middle of the bed. Large body splayed out like it was already bed time. Rising his head up at the sound of the door, you ended up bursting into laughter at Robb having to tell him twice to go.

Shutting it behind the growing direwolf, Robb shook his head something snarky on his tongue that died as he looked to you. Draped in his furs, furs that made you look far smaller and the gentle almost innocent look as you stepped around his room. You’d been in here countless times, slept in here countless times, but never like this.

Trying desperately to hold back your nerves, you looked out the open window focusing on steadying your heart. But the warmth of Robb enveloped your back as he reached over you, closing the windows and sealing you both alone. The crackling of a fire almost enough to hide the shaky breathe as Robb gently ran his hands down your arms.

Resting both on your waist, Robb wrapped one around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. He didn’t let you ruminate on the worry, dipping his head to level his mouth with your ear. “If you don’t want this, I need you to tell me.” Freezing in his arms, he spoke almost quieter but it raged so close to your ear. “We don’t have to do anything, but you need to be honest with me about it.”

You felt light on your feet. You’ve never heard this tone from Robb before, never so intimate in your ear and the deep rumblings of his voice felt as if something strong inside was being held back. The act itself scared you, it always had. But another part of you wondered if you should be fearful of the young wolf behind you, or if that fear excited you.

The arm around your stomach rose up, tilting your head to turn slightly to the side, enough that part of him was within your sight as he murmured your name. “I know you’ve never done this before, is it just that, that scares you or is it me?”

Shaking your head fervently, you startled him. “No, no it’s not you. It’s just- I should know what to expect by now but,” Taking a deep breathe you shut your eyes. “The girls in Kings Landing all talk about men and their first time like it’s painful, violent.”

Robb chuckled deeply, vibrating through his chest into your back and down between your legs. It was a dark laugh, and you felt overwhelmed at how little you really considered what he might be like. “It’s only painful if the man is a worthless, brute who thinks getting off is better then getting their lady off.”

Was your chest heaving with you hard you felt yourself breathing, your eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted you felt more waves between your legs and having it all be because of Robb was more then enough to leave you speechless. Reading your body like a book, Robb leaned down more, brushing his lips against your neck. Grinning at the sigh you unknowingly let out.

Turning slightly more you could see him a bit better. “Will it hurt?”

Smiling like a predator, he pulled you closer to him. “Only if you want it to.” Laughing at your breathless expression, asking why some women would want it to hurt. He moved a hand to your hip and pressed his lips closer to your jaw. “Don’t worry. If you want it, we’ll get there. Tonight’s not about that though.”

Suddenly pulling away he yanked his cloak enough that it slipped from your shoulders and pooled onto the ground. Turning you in his arms, Robb gripped the sides of your dress tightly in his fists before pulling it up and off you. The fact that you let him do that, not telling him how little you had on underneath might have been a dangerous idea.

Usually such a dress was worn with layers underneath, and yet, all that remained on you was that which covered your most lower regions. Your softness, plush skin, and tits all on display. Holding your hips, Robb closed his eyes breathing deep for a moment. “For a girl whose never done this before, this is awfully naughty of you.”

Indeed was the charming boy no longer here, but a man, a wolf looking at his mate like prey.

Swallowing the pounding in your heart, you reached up to Robb, slowly pulling layers up and off of him for yourself. His hands were much more confident then yours were currently, but he stood still watching and letting you undress him at your own pace.

Staring was impolite, and yet Robb didn’t mind as you looked at his chest now totally free. Just as your fingers reached for his pants he snatched your hands. Raising them in the air as you gasped in surprise.

“This is about you. Lay down for me.”

Watching you with dark eyes, you couldn’t ignore how intensely he looked you up and down as you lay back on the top of his bed. Your palms bracing you up before being tossed back down as Robb suddenly climbed up the bed and over top of you. A hand on each side of your head as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Do you trust me?”

Without even considering it, you answered the raw truth. “Always.”

One hand reached up, grabbing your jaw roughly as he pulled your lips back to his. This time he kissed you nothing like before. His kiss was rough, demanding and deep. Guiding your every move and commanding that you obey. He tugged your hip with his other hand up to press into his own and as you gasped, he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

Lightheaded, you surrendered to his touch. As if all will of your own bled out onto the bed leaving nothing but Robb to command you as he pleases, and yet the idea didn’t scare you the way it was described by others. Your hands reached up and grasped his waist, a small sound leaving your mouth into his.

Switching between tasting you with his tongue and biting at your lips it, Robb let go of your jaw and ran it behind your head and grasped your hair tightly. Pressing his body down firmly, his hips naturally rutted into yours. He smirked as you gasped.

The rougher he kissed you, the more your hands moved on their own. Reaching behind his neck and wrapping around it to sink into his hair he ground his hips into you harder. A gentle moan leaving you, Robb left your lips, running the same ferocity down your neck. His lips and teeth no doubt leaving marks that a proper lady should be ashamed of.

He didn’t quite stop, kissing down your neck more until he reached your breasts. Grinning at how hard you were breathing, he stopped that right in it’s tracks as his hands cupped your chest. A needy cry left your lips, turning to a longer moan as Robb ran this thumbs over your nipples. Just as one hand grasped one, did he lower his mouth to bite at the other.

Pleasure shooting through you, your back arched into his body and limbs felt like they seized from the pleasure. His teeth switching between a gentle nibble and a harsher bite just to pull a gasp from you, he played you like an instrument. Getting every sound from your pretty lips that made his cock that much harder.

Pulling away, he hovered over you looking down at the almost in awe expression. You weren’t used to such a side to this man, and he seemed to reveal in your innocence over it. Leaning back more, you followed the sight of his dark eyes, parted lips and down his chest to where he hands slowly pulled at his pants.

Swallowing hard, he tilted your head up his a hand firmly at your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me.” Not letting you look down as he stripped himself bare. “Good girl, keep them on me and only me.” Slowly moving down the bed he pulled your hips to, grabbing your underwear and pulling them down.

The coolness of outside did nothing to take away how warm and wet you were between your legs, and Robb forced you to stay on his face. Making you look at his eyes, greedily pushing your knees apart and expression turning dark as he stared at you. A slightly whimper leaving you, he leaned back over you, one hand running over your thigh, first on the outside, then inside, and slowly upwards.

Just as he reached you, Robb bit at your bottom lip. Using the chance to slip his tongue inside you just as he ran his hand over you. Cupping you entirely and already he smirked into the kiss at how soaked you were. Lips brushing yours as he pulled back enough to speak, his fingers gently running back and forth across your soaked slit. “Good girls don’t get this wet, do they?”

Shaking your head no, all you could do was hear his voice. Eye slipping closed as your legs shook and a coil within you twisted at such an easy touch. Robb continued. “No, good girls are sweet and innocent. This doesn’t feel very innocent to me.” Two fingers now soaked danced up and ran across your clit.

Jumping at the shock of pleasure, you grasped him by the shoulders with a whine. “It’s all for you-”

Stammering the words out as Robb now rubbed tight circles against your clit. Your muscles tensing and his own hips refusing to let you close them you had to just take it. His other fingers still soaking up whatever you drenched him with. “I know it is. You ready for me to open you up? Make you cum before you take me?”

You’d say yes to pretty much anything Robb asked of you right now. Nodding, you leaned up to kiss him, making him smile into your lips as he slipped two soaked fingers deep inside to his knuckles. You gasped so loudly, were the windows not closed no doubt the outside world would’ve heard you. Sinking them deep in one go, you writhed in his touch.

Robb slowly slid them out and back, the wetness between you making the sound obscene, but it was the only music Robb could stand to hear. He never picked up the pace, but he did, right as you tensed in his touch? Stopped rubbing at your clit, and slit a third finger down to sink inside you with the others.

You cried his name and he kissed down your neck as he slowly pumped them inside of you. Clenching around his fingers he bit your skin harder trying to force his cock to shut up. Screaming at him like a howling wolf to just take you already.

Pulling back from your lips he looked you in the eye, feeling you clench around him as your sounds grew higher. Something burned hot inside of you as the other twisted and turned so tightly. One free hand, Robb ran over your lips, and something sweet inside you, pressed a gentle kiss to his fingers as he did so.

In return? He ran his thumb roughly over your clit as pumped his fingers slow and deep into you as you came around them. You moaned his name, but muffled it as Robb gently sunk two fingers into your mouth at the same time. One hand grasped his wrist, and yet even as you came something inside you obeyed like you were a submitting prey.

Robb almost snarled at how well you sucked on his fingers, and how he wished you two had more time then tonight. He couldn’t stop the thought of how beautiful you would look on your knees before him, obediently sucking on his cock with his hand guiding you up and down his length tight in your hair.

Pulling out of you Robb pulled your body up to press against his bare one and kissed you full of tongue and a greedy desperation. A desperation you yearned for back. It was a strained rasp of your own in his ear that had him shudder. “Please, Robb. Please fuck me.”

It didn’t even occur to you to try and be sweet or innocent about it. You could feel his cock pressing against you between your still shaking legs and you felt lightheaded at how thick it felt against you. Kissing your ear, he murmured much more gentle, “Are you sure?” As you nodded he bit your earlobe and hissed into it. “Out loud.”

Nodding again, your hands wrapped around his neck as you kissed him. “I’m sure, I want you.”

Kneeling up on the bed, Robb ran his hand gently down the side of your body. His dark eyes soft for just a little while longer, as you felt something in your chest at him. Pulling your hips more up into his lap you think you understood why he kept his eyes on you.

His chest led down to coarse, rough hair surrounding a long, thick cock that you wondered if it would even fully fit in your hand. Your chest heaved as you stared, and he slipped into a deeper tone. “It’s not polite to stare.”

Slipping a hand behind your head, Robb kept you looking down, watching as he ran the tip of his cock over your entrance, up brushing against your clit and back down. Barley sliding in each time until you begged his name once more. This time Robb watched your eyes, as he kept your head looking down to watch him slide his cock inside you.

He was thick, and the stretch itself stung in a way that made you gasp but not a pain that you had feared from it. No, the deeper he sunk the more you soaked his cock. Only halfway in, Robb tugged your hair to look up at him before he in a much more punishing thrust, bottomed out.

His face snarled at how tight, how warm and soaking wet you cunt was and he pulled you right back into an equally as rough kiss. He didn’t go fast, but part of him reasoned to go more gentle, and yet?

Your cries, your begs of his name as each slow, rough fuck had your arching your back into his body all the more. Each pound of his cock inside of you slapped loudly in a way that had him grip your hips so tight, you could already feel the bruises.

Sweat built up on both your bodies and you ran your hand through his own increasingly damp curls, scratching his scalp with your nails that had him fuck into you harder each time. For all his talk, little thoughts came to his mind as Robb fucked you.

Like something of an animal took over and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck you more, harder, faster, fill you until his cum spilled out of you and then fill you more. You cried out, nails scratching down his back without even realizing you were doing so, but muffling each sound as you bit into the meat of his shoulder. Robb, fucked you harder and struggled to stay slow.

You clenched tightly, enough that he had to pound into your cunt roughly just to sink as deep as he could inside and pulling away enough he could see tears at the side of your eyes but you rather then begging for mercy, begged for more as you kissed him.

His hands held your knees, pushing as wide as possible as Robb lost composure. Fucking you faster and just as one hand moved to rub at your clit you came around him. Robb leaving your other knee to press his hand against your mouth at how little you could contain your cries.

Fucking into you once, twice, five more times he pushed inside as deep as he could sink and filled you with him. His cum warm and thick, it felt like there was so much more of it then a normal man would have but you let Robb pull you into another kiss, this one rough and sloppy as he filled you with his cum as his tongue did your mouth.

Never leaving, his hands eventually turned soothing, his kiss softer and his voice not commanding but assuring. Telling you how good you did, how perfect you were. Holding you in his arms and him yours, it was just the two of you in that moment and nothing more.

It was only when you started to laugh, did Robb laugh. Yanking you into his chest as he flopped onto his back with you on top of him. Kissing you gently as he ran a hand over your hair. “Aye, a man could get used to this.”

He should’ve let you rest, but he took you once more that night. This time, far less able to hold back how fast and greedy he wanted to be about fucking you. The only downside, was how exhausted the night made you.

Slipping into a deep sleep, that only meant morning would come quicker. And too quick it did.

That morning, you both stayed in bed as long as you could. Robbs back against the wall and you against his chest, far less worried about the lack of clothes either of you still had. “You were born for this, Robb. It’s not in you to fail.”

Kissing the side of your head, things were feeling a bit easier, a bit more normal between you even in such an intimate manner. “Everyone says that right up until they fail.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned. Leaving his grasp to gently face him, your body in his lap. Hands on his chest, your eyes often trailed over him. He didn’t question your gaze, you had to get used to him as much as he was getting used to you. It was still new, no matter how much a decade and a half of friendship had formed the foundation.

No joke was in your face though. “I’m serious, Robb. Even if you don’t believe in yourself?” Shrugging one shoulder you smiled softly, “I’m your wife now, so I’ll just do all the believing for you.”

Squeezing your hip, he rolled his own eyes. “And let you do all the work? We’re a team, remember?”

Saying goodbye to Robb however, was easier then what waited for you outside.

Packing up your hose, you heard the two of them in the distance. “My mother?”

“She was very kind.” You tensed slightly, hoping no one noticed but you very much doubted kind was the genuine word Jon should be using. He didn’t deserve her ire, not now, not ever.

“Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

“It was always my colour.”

Your eyes closed, trying to tune their goodbye out. You had no right to invade their privacy.

Part of you hoped he would ignore you. You wouldn’t have to handle this and you could ignore it, but Jon knew you way better then that. You’d hate yourself if you left it at this. Reaching over you, Jon pulled part of your things up and secured it without even saying a word. Looking up, he was closer then you thought.

Looking at each other, the responsible thing would be to nod, shake hands, say a cordial goodbye. But Jon stood with his bright eyes, a grey so deep they looked black at times and you wanted to cry. You felt pathetic for being hardly able to hold back such a display of emotions, but the love that Jon had looked at you with for so many years was as strong as it always was.

You had no doubt that you looked just the same.

Jon pulled you into a hug, one too tight and too emotional for the company around and yet neither of you cared. Neither of you knew if this would be the last time, and both of you resented the world for forcing that as a possibility. His hand held you to him from the back of your head as you sunk your face partway into his neck and the other into the fur around him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.”

Already, even in the others arms, the grieving already begun. Pulling back, you held at his shoulders and he shamelessly cupped the side of your cheeks. “Think I could get to the wall before they catch me, if I kiss you now?”

You burst into a laugh, one bordering too close on a cry. But you tilted your head. “Now or never, Snow.”

The kiss was pressed to your cheek, slow and unrushed before hugging you once more. For too many years you and Jon ignored the inevitability of having to separate like this, and it sat deep and uncomfortable in your stomach to do so. Like leaving the other behind would be a mistake in the long run, but you couldn’t understand why your soul screamed at you to not make it. You knelt down, kissing Ghost on the forehead as he licked at your cheek, whispering to him. “Protect him, no matter what you hear me? Next time I see him, you better make sure he’s as healthy as you are now.”

Seeing the other Starks approaching, you two looked at the other one last time so close you could feel the other. You took off with the company as they all headed out to the Kingsroad, giving enough space for Lord Stark to speak to his son alone before they too parted ways.

You couldn’t hear what they talked about, but you knew Jon Snow better then anyone to guess. As his father turned to leave, you and Jon looked from the distance at the other once more. You said nothing and neither did he. His life was up north now, and yours is both by Lord Stark’s side and your future with your husband. A future you wanted, and one Jon didn’t want to get in the way of. But as you both rode off in opposite directions, that sinking feeling in your gut just screamed louder, the further away you both got.

Neither of you having any idea, what horrors would bring you two back to one another.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

Rhaenyra was rejected by her own throne. Her own dragron abandons her. The smallfolk loathed her, even the Lords that once supported her claim rescinded their own alliance to her cause. She may have had a rightful claim, but was never a deserving or worthy one.

1. It’s a throne made out of sword blades. Spare me the theatrics. Her getting cut is pure gossip, nevertheless, and the way it was written in the book leads to much speculation (She wears armor and gets cut?? Huh??) The maesters would say anything against her.

2. Her dragon abandoned her? And that happened when…in your dreams, maybe? Syrax never abandoned her. She was fighting for her life because fanatics thought that the answer to all their problems was the murder of innocent creatures held in chains.

3. The smallfolk loathed the Greens (particularly Aegon and Aemond) and they cheered when Rhaenyra took King’s Landing. What they grew to loathe was their situation. The Greens impoverished the Realm and Rhaenyra was left to clean up the mess and suffer the consequences. The smallfolk’s anger should have been directed at the people who started the war (the Greens). But they didn’t care about that. Whoever was sitting the throne at the time had to pay the price, and unfortunately, it was Rhaenyra.

4. The lords rescinded their alliance…what? Have you actually read the book or are you only skipping to the parts that interest you?

She never lost support. Her lords fought for her cause even after her death, and won. Reread the Battle of the Kingsroad, the final battle of the Dance which cost Aegon the throne, and granted the Blacks victory.

5. At least you admit that she is the rightful ruler. As for being “worthy”, that is a strange choice of word to use for a woman who had to fight for her rightful claim, and was put in very unfortunate and undeserving positions. Rhaenyra was never given a clear shot at being a ruler, so you cannot judge her capabilities. When she took the Iron Throne, the coffers were empty and she still had a war to deal with, not to mention tired and hungry smallfolk.

What is clear is that she had far more experience in governing than her half-brother.

By comparison, the Greens had a disabled and incapable ruler who drank and spent time harassing women, a mad woman for a queen and a psychopath on the biggest dragon threatening to burn everything in his path. Not to mention a greedy queen mother who only cared about advancing her own House.

Seriously. Read the book.

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

This part in Jon III AGoT when he’s realizing that he means to swear his life to a celibate institution at only the age of 14, before he could explore all the options the world has to offer him.

“I don’t care,” Jon said. “I don’t care about them and I don’t care about you or Thorne or Benjen Stark or any of it. I hate it here. It’s too… it’s cold.” “Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.” “Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one. He’d only taken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother. He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They said it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He’d done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.

This part in Jon V, only two chapters later, when he’s finally about to become a man of the Watch but he can’t get too excited because he’s realizing that there’s a great big world down there, yet he’s all the way up here at the Wall - a cold, unwelcoming home; a prison with no escape unless he wishes to die.

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King’s Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isle of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road… and he was here. Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. “I have not sworn yet,” he muttered. He was no outlaw, bound to take the black or pay the penalty for his crimes. He had come here freely, and he might leave freely… until he said the words. He need only ride on, and he could leave it all behind. By the time the moon was full again, he would be back in Winterfell with his brothers. Your half brothers, a voice inside reminded him. And Lady Stark, who will not welcome you. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King’s Landing either. Even his own mother had not had a place for him. The thought of her made him sad. He wondered who she had been, what she had looked like, why his father had left her. Because she was a whore or an adulteress, fool. Something dark and dishonorable, or else why was Lord Eddard too ashamed to speak of her? Jon Snow turned away from the kingsroad to look behind him. The fires of Castle Black were hidden behind a hill, but the Wall was there, pale beneath the moon, vast and cold, running from horizon to horizon. He wheeled his horse around and started for home.

Yes Jon could leave the Watch, but he has no place! Because where would he go, bastard that he is?

That’s why the most underrated endgame theory is ‘Traveling Diplomat Jon’. Yes he’s a talented politician and he would do very well as a ruling lord, but there’s so much he’s yet to discover because he struggled to see where his illegitimate status could take him. But even in his bastardy, Jon is connected to so many important locations all around Westeros. Forget Winterfell. He could visit Harrenhall where his parents met. He could go look for rubies in the Trident and see where his father died. He could visit the Vale, the place that raised his adoptive father and the man he’s named after. He could take a trip to Starfall and visit his milkbrother, then visit the Tower of Joy’s ruins. He could got to Dragonstone and Summerhall, his father’s birthplace and home. If he wishes, he can cross the Narrow Sea and visit his friend (and personal banker) Tycho Nestoris in Braavos. And if his suicidal tendencies get stronger, why not visit the smoky ruins of Valyria where sleeping dragons were once brought to life, just like himself?

Jon has spent five books earning his ‘Lord Snow’ title. And though it’s an oxymoron everyone, from baseborn bastards to mighty kings, calls him that and not all of them do it as a sign of mockery. He’s put in a lot of work towards coming to terms with his bastardy. So it’s finally time for him to take that in consideration and realize that there’s a great big world out there that’s ready to welcome him, bastard as he is.

[melrosing]

MBO Robert’s Rebellion: Season 2 Episode 3

what the fuck is this: it's me drafting a fake robert's rebellion tv show through a series of bullet points. there will be two seasons of ten episodes each when done

notes on this one: I’ve changed a couple (minor imo…) details just for my own purposes. first is that I’ve only sent two KG after Rhaegar, second is that I’ve had Aerys use wildfire on the Starks whereas I think in canon it’s just regular ole fire. whatever. humour me

also these are getting much longer lol

prev: 2.02

next: 2.04

title for this one: aerys’ bbq

Brandon and Rickard Stark march down the Kingsroad, arrive at the gates of KL with their men, and demand entry. The gates are opened readily for them, rousing some suspicion in the Stark men - but they continue on nonetheless

Aerys receiving word of this in the throne room that the Starks have arrived - Varys whispers the news in his ear. A slow zoom on. Aerys chewing on his fingernails, his eyes racing back and forth - fear battling it out with fury

~ Opening creds ~

Meanwhile!! Rhaegar and Lyanna have made camp in the woods. Rhaegar compliments Lyanna, saying she makes a fierce fire. Lyanna says she often used to hunt with her brothers - they were all hopeless at it. Lyanna asks where they are headed, anyway - feels like they’ve been wandering aimlessly. Rhaegar says there’s a place not far from here that his great uncle used to visit sometimes, with his wife Jenny. Lyanna like: Jenny of Oldstones? She likes that song. But why are they going there??? Rhaegar asks why Lyanna is following. Lyanna frowns, initially annoyed by the question, then tells him she didn’t want what waited for her at home. Rhaegar asks what does she want? Lyanna doesn’t know. Rhaegar asks what she sees in her dreams. Lyanna wants to know why he keeps asking about her damn dreams. But after a moment, she confesses that she saw him. Rhaegar at her, resolute

Back in KL. Brandon & Rickard are shown to the Red Keep, where they are greeted by the Hand of the King, Owen Merryweather. Rickard demands Rhaegar; Merryweather offers his apologies, however, Rhaegar is not here. The King will see them, however, and listen to their complaints. The Starks look suspicious, but follow Merryweather inside the Keep

Rickard murmurs to Brandon that he has heard the King has no great love for his son. Whatever the Prince may have done, they must make their case before the King, for Lyanna lies at the heart of it. Rickard’s voice breaks. She is his girl, his only girl. Brandon assures his father that they will find Lyanna, and she and Rickard will make amends for their quarrels together. And for whatever he has done to her, Brandon declares quietly that though Robert may never forgive him, he will kill Rhaegar himself

The Starks reach the throne room, where Aerys awaits them. Brandon and Rickard sense the tone shift as they approach the throne, the size of the thing becoming more apparent. Aerys speaks from atop it, he hears the Starks of Winterfell have been demanding words with him. Rickard states that they have received word that his son has taken Lyanna. Aerys asks if Lyanna is the horsey girl he saw in the stands? He’s sure he never knew what it was that Rhaegar saw in such a child, but it may well be that he has taken her. Princes do what they will. Rickard begins to object. Aerys interjects - but you northmen, mere servants, demanding words…… ‘you demand anything of your king?’ (Some dialogue for u) Just as B&R realise how far south this has sailed, all their men are killed around them. Brandon and Rickard are seized, and dragged in different directions

Catelyn stands at her father’s side in his solar, as he harshly dismisses Petyr Baelish from his service. Petyr is still harshly bruised, his arm in a sling. With poison in his eyes, he turns and leaves wordlessly. Hoster tells Cat that Lysa is childish to be so heartbroken over a feeble thing such as Petyr, and more foolish still to - he cuts himself off. Cat tells Hoster that Lysa is still only a girl, and she will grow and mature. Hoster tells Cat she has always been mature far beyond her years. Even now, when by all rights she should be the sister weeping in her room for fear, she stands here strong at his side. Cat tells Hoster she knows that Brandon will return, for doubtless he’d fear her lord father’s wrath if he did not. Hoster manages a small smile, but remains deeply uncertain. Whatever comes to pass, he says, ‘I will see to it that you are well matched’. Cat begins to realise the gravity of the situation. ‘And your sister, too, gods help her.’

In Jon Arryn’s solar with Ned and Bob. It’s obvious they’re spending most of their time here, awaiting news. Robert is unusually silent, whilst Ned tells Jon he needs to find his sister. Jon says Ned should wait here, and see what word comes from King’s Landing. Ned says Lyanna won’t be there: they’ve gone to the wrong place. Robert asks if Ned knows where she is then, because if he does then why doesn’t he damn well say? Ned says he doesn’t know. Robert says then they should leave it to his brother and his father. Ned is taken aback, but Robert doesn’t care just now. Lyanna is his

Arthur on the road with Oswell Whent. Oswell asks if Arthur does truly know where on earth they’re going. Arthur doesn’t answer. Whent asks Arthur if he thinks Rhaegar has done something to the Stark girl. Arthur says nothing. Whent says he wouldn’t have thought the man capable if he hadn’t two kids to show for it, and Elia’s beautiful enough so what’s he chasing after this northerner for, anyway. Arthur says they must be found. Whent like sure ok but it’s a needle in a haystack..… Arthur looks to the stars, then leads them in a new direction. Whent asks what the hell he thinks he’s seen, why are they heading this way. Arthur doesn’t reply

Elia in Maegor’s with Rhaella, the children around them; they’re being kept here during the Stark fracas. She tells the Queen she should like to return to Dorne, to keep the children safe during this time of tension. She would be happy to take Viserys, and Rhaella too if she’d like. They’ve not gotten to know each other much, yet she knows her mother loved Rhaella well, and her son would never let any harm come to she or her young son. Rhaella tells Elia they cannot leave - Aerys won’t allow it. Elia says that if she speaks with the King, he might change his mind. Rhaella implores her, you shouldn’t ask him. Do not ask him

Brandon in a black cell alone: he’s obviously been there many days. Suddenly, light; a gaoler has arrived with a pyromancer, but Brandon doesn’t recognise him as such. Brandon is told that his father has done the King great insult, but Aerys is merciful. He will allow a trial. Brandon says a trial for what - it’s their bloody Prince who ought to be on trial. They want to know where Lyanna is. The pyromancer continues regardless that Rickard has demanded trial by combat, and Aerys, in his magnanimity, has granted him this. He invites Brandon to watch

Jaime Lannister watches as wood is piled before him in the throne room. Utterly confused, he looks to Gerold Hightower, who won’t look back at him. Aerys watches the wood pile up with something stirring behind his eyes

Rickard is led in first, wearing fine armour. He demands to know who he is to fight. Next he is seized, and suspended above the wood, and Aerys informs him that fire is the champion of House Targaryen. Jaime whips round to look at Aerys, then Gerold, but no-one looks back, and no-one intervenes. Suddenly the doors open again, and Jaime watches as a strange contraption is wheeled in and placed before the fire

Brandon is led through the halls, all deadly silent. He senses something is terribly wrong, and has it confirmed when the doors open on the throne room. Rickard is suspended above a pyre, and Aerys looks on from on high. Rickard tells his son to leave him, to go find Lyanna and save her. Aerys says he could save his father instead - all he has to do is reach him. Brandon sees the contraption for the first time only as he is manhandled into it. Brandon, frantic, demands to know if this is all House Targaryen has left - a pile of logs in place of dragons? For a second Aerys looks perturbed by this comment, till he answers ‘a dragon sits before you, and his fire burns as hot’

A fire is lit beneath Rickard, and Brandon immediately strains forward to reach him. Feeling the noose tightening around his neck as he does so, he looks to Aerys, aghast. Aerys looks back, a small smile on his lips

The rest is a slow zoom on Jaime as he strains to mask his horror, the sounds of the Starks’ suffering fading into silence as he blocks it out. The room is bathed in an ever-growing green

Maegor’s holdfast: Princess Rhaenys wanders to the window, and is awed to see the windows of the throne room glowing green in the distance. Elia goes to see what her daughter is looking at, and is filled with disquiet - she leads Rhaenys away

Cut twenty mins later to the bodies of the Starks upon the floor of the throne room. The king strides past them to leave, Jonothor Darry and Gerold Hightower follow in his wake. Jaime stops beside the bodies and stares. Suddenly, a hand on his shoulder. It seems a gesture of comfort at first, until we see the look on Gerold Hightower’s face. It is stern and accusatory: “You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.”

In the Riverlands with Rhaegar and Lyanna. It’s the middle of the night as they reach High Heart. Lyanna is alarmed to see a figure amongst the weirwood stumps, but Rhaegar awaits the Ghost as she slowly makes for them. The Ghost becomes more perturbed the closer she gets, looking at Lyanna with a kind of horror in her eyes. She tells Lyanna she brings death: countless deaths, Rhaegar’s and her own. what a fucking greeting. The Ghost says they cannot stay here; she will not have them. Lyanna looks to Rhaegar to see if he has any take on this. Rhaegar does not. They ride onwards

[drakoneve]

The Wolf Amongst Dragons

request: Can you pretty please do a daemon X reader where it's his niece who teases him about being super smitten with the reader BC she is a headstrong stark and makes a fool out of the court because she can. Perhaps she gets quite hurt in a battle that the king sends her and others out to fix. Basically it just ends up being fluffy where the reader knows his feelings and just soaks up the complete love he has. Like this boy has been knocked off his feet and he hates to admit it hehe 

pairing: daemon targaryen x y/n stark 

word count: 1k

warnings: canon typical violence, injured reader, blood

a/n: i tweaked this a little, hope you don’t mind!

You made a promise to yourself the day your older brother, Cregan, loaded you and your belongings into a carriage headed for the capital. Until this point you’d never stepped foot out of Winterfell, let alone were you prepared to move to the other side of the continent. Yet you had no choice. When the King of the Seven Kingdoms requests a Northern representative for the royal court, the Lord of Winterfell had no choice but to send his little sister.

When you finally arrived at the Red Keep you were meet with by King Viserys, his wife Queen Aemma, their daughter Princess Rhaenyra, and the king’s brother Prince Daemon. The Kingsguard stood tall in gleaming armor in full force surrounding the royal family, who was also accompanied by their personal staff.

“Lady Stark!” King Viserys cheers as he opens his arms in greeting. “We are honored to welcome you to the Red Keep! I hope your travels went smoothly?”

“Thank you, your Grace,” you answered as you bowed respectively. “The Kingsroad is fine, your Grace. It’s more the climate that’s concerning me. i’m not yet used to such... conditions, to say the least.”

Queen Aemma steps forward, “I’m sure you’ll adjust before you know it. Please, allow me to show you to your chambers.”

The queen was gracious enough to accompany you not only to your chambers, but she then took you on a tour of the palace. She began with the throne room, then took you out to the royal gardens where she took you to the Godswood. Having a weirwood tree right here in the Red Keep made you breath easier. At least this place had some trace of the North. Being so far from home unnerved you deeply, but in this place you could feel a connection to home.

Over the next few days you attended Small Council meetings where you watched from the sidelines. King Viserys assured you would have a seat on the council soon enough, but others suggested you have an ‘adjustment period’ of sorts. You scoffed at the idea but still took your seat outside the council table.

Being separated from the council, however, was not enough to restrain you from calling Otto Hightower a ‘spoiled southern cunt’ for suggesting Daemon send members of the City Watch into Flea Bottom to reprimand those who are already fighting to survive. During these meetings you happened to catch the violet eyes of the rogue prince, who had yet to make your acquaintance. 

Not long after your arrival in Winterfell, King Viserys announced that Queen Aemma is with child once more, and the palace went into a mode of celebrations. A feast had been prepared and the throne room transformed into a dining hall with room for dancing. 

Most everyone had finished their meals and began mingling and dancing their way around the room, but your attention focused mainly on the many molten swords of the Iron Throne. You had to admit the sight of the royal seat of Westeros was quite an intimidating sight.

Something inside told you to take a step towards the throne, and so you did. You stopped when you approached the first line of molten swords and reached out to trail your fingers lightly across the hilt. 

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Daemon advised teasingly as he came up on your right side. “My brother does not take kindly to those who yearn for his precious throne.”

“I merely grazed the hilt of one measly sword,” you refuted. “I did not sit my arse upon it and call myself the queen. Nor do I want to.”

“Truthfully?” he inquires, a look of curiosity upon his face. You take the moment to take in the sight of him, and you cannot deny he’s an incredibly handsome  man. Like the rest of his Targaryen ancestors, Daemon is beautifully crafted by the Gods of Old Valyria— blessed with silver blond hair and lilac eyes. 

You nod and look back up to the throne. “I could think of nothing worse,” you admit. “To live my life upon this ghastly thing and have to sit through endless bore-me-to-death Small Council meetings? Sounds miserable to me.”

With that you excuse yourself respectively to retire for the evening. You make quick rounds to the other members of the royal family to excuse yourself for the night totally unaware of how Daemon’s eyes are following you the whole time. He watches as you begin with his brother and sister in law, before finding Rhaenyra (who’s in the middle of the dancefloor with Alicent) and saying goodnight to her, too.

He laughs to himself when Rhaenyra and Alicent each take one of your hands and pulls you around in circles with them, as if trying to convince you to stay with them just a bit longer. He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but his heart beats harder at the sight of your dark gray satin skirts flow around you while you twirl, at the smile on your face as you laugh with his niece and her friend.

Eventually you pull away from the girls before officially making your way out of the throne room and away from the chaos. 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 

Several months had passed since the death of Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon, and war had begun in the Stepstones just as Corlys Velaryon warned King Viserys and the eternity of the Small Council. Still Viserys refused to step in as king and help the Lord of Driftmark defeat the Triarchy once and for all. After the king rejected Corlys’ offer of Laena’s hand in marriage and instead married Alicent Hightower, the seasnake took off to fight in the Stepstones. It wasn’t long after that that Daemon joined Corlys in his war efforts.

You stayed in the Keep for awhile, trying to convince Viserys to aid Corlys and Daemon in their efforts of holding the Stepstones to no avail. Viserys had allowed you to take a seat on the council while Corlys and Daemon were gone, and each time you tried to plead with the king to see reason Otto Hightower would weasel his way in the king’s ear against you. 

So you decided to go to the Stepstones yourself, naturally. You recruited Ser Harwin Strong to accompany you once he swore on his honor he would not say a word of your plan to anyone until his safe return to King’s Landing. 

You and Harwin arrived on the shores of the Stepstones in time to rush to Daemon’s side as he was overrun by members of the Triarchy. You wore the armor your father had gifted you after many years of insisting on joining your brother Cregan on the battlefield with the Stark bannermen. 

Vaemond Velaryon scoffed at your arrival and insisted Corlys send you away. Daemon stepped forward, piercing Vaemond with his furious lilac gaze. 

“Put your cocks away, boys,” you tease, unimpressed. “We’ve a war to win, do we not?”

You joined the war torn men around the large table set up with the maps of the battlefields. Conversation continued back and forth as the lot of you tried to come up with a plan to take down the Crab Feeder and Triarchy. Laenor’s plan of sending Daemon to the Crab Feeder as a scapegoat of false hope only for both Caraxes and Seasmoke to burn the Triarchy men alive. 

For the most part everything went as planned, until you jained Daemon’s side as he was ambushed, unarmed, by a circle of the enemy. You’d jumped into the fight, effectively taking out several Triarchy soldiers before tossing a sword Daemon’s way. He showed his thanks by slaying the rest of the men with you, but not before one of them slashed you in the side, leaving a bloody gash on the side of your thigh.

“Fuck!” you yell as you clutch your leg, losing your balance and hitting the ground. Blood streamed down your leg in a slow, but steady, flow. Daemon joined your side in a flash, ripping the white flag he’d had to feign surrenderance to tie the cloth as tight as he could above the gash in your thigh.

The battle continued around you though for the most part Caraxes’ and Seasmoke’s flame had discouraged most of what was left of the Triarchy. With Daemon’s aid you were able to safely make it back to the shore where you’d first arrived to be treated by the healers available.

Daemon stayed by your side through the stitching and even went as far as to hold your hand and offer sweet words as comfort. You were grateful for him, this way you had something else to focus on other than the pain. And if you needed an alternative to keep your mind busy, there was no better pick than Daemon.

His silvery white hair fell around his face perfectly despite being slightly matted with sweat and blood. He’d always been handsome, that you couldn’t deny, but seeing this softer side to him made him even more so in your eyes. It’s no secret Daemon is a troublemaker, and you should probably keep your distance, but after this how could you?

Long after the battle was over Daemon was crowned King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. He’d cut his infamous long hair short, and it suited him. Sometimes little wisps of silver hair would fall down into his face and you had to remind yourself to breathe at the sight.

Your relationship with Daemon changed after the war in the Stepstones. Whereas before the war you would avoid Daemon in court, you now sought him out. Not that you had too, because he often would join your side in Small Council meetings or invite you out to the training yards.

Tonight however, you opted to stay in your chambers.

You’d already stripped down to your nightclothes when a knock came from the other side of your chamber doors.

“Come in.” you called.

The doors open and Daemon entered, dismissing your guards. They looked to you before leaving once they had your reassurance.

Daemon didn’t hesitate to step right up to you. “Forgive me for the hour, my lady, but I’ve found myself in a situation I am quite unfamiliar with and it seems you are the only one who can help me.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, trying to ignore the fluttering of your heart. “How am I supposed to be of aid?”

“Be mine,” he responds quickly with confidence. “I must confess from the day you arrived here in the Keep I’ve been quite taken with you. And the day you rode onto the shores of the Stepstones, I knew I could not live without you by my side—”

You reached your hands out to cup either side of his face. “Daemon, do not jest. I’m afraid my heart could not take it.”

A genuine smile breaks out across his lips. “I would never,” Daemon insists. “I’ve felt this way for a long time, my little wolf.”

Daemon’s hands fall to your waist as he pulls you into his body, leaning down to kiss you firmly. You pulled away and kissed his forehead before resting your own against his. 

“Come to bed, Daemon,” you purr and pull away towards the bed.

He laughs and smiles down at you. “As you wish, little wolf.”

[jedimaesteryoda]

The Green Fork ran swift and deep here, but the Freys had spanned it many centuries past and grown rich off the coin men paid them to cross . . . when they were done they'd thrown up stout timber keeps on either bank, so no one might cross without their leave. -AGOT, Catelyn IX

The Freys have so far proven to be one of the most faithless houses in the series. They use their position as Lords of the Crossing to secure themselves the best offer, always demanding a toll.

It brings to mind the tale of "The Three Billy Goats Gruff," a troll under the bridge, always greedy, was willing to forgo one goat for the next if the next one was bigger, meaning he offered a larger meal. Lord Walder himself is a grumpy and greedy figure like the troll, always hungry for the best deal for himself. With things coming in threes, the Freys join their cause to royal candidates and are quick to throw them aside and turn their cloaks if the next candidate is stronger and brings potentially more rewards.

The Freys first allied with Robb Stark, King in the North. He offered them a marriage and fostering two Freys. They then cast him aside after his broken betrothal, and Lord Walder had been wanting to switch sides after the Battle of the Blackwater. They are now allied with the Lannisters the wealthiest house, with the alliance with House Tyrell, the two strongest kingdoms, making them the strongest players on the field. They made the Freys de facto lords of the riverlands and offered marriages like the Boltons making Walder's grandaughters' the Ladies of the North and Darry and prizes like Riverrun. However, we know like with Robb Stark, the Lannisters' success won't last due to Cersei's mismanagement, the desire for vengeance over their past actions and another player coming onto the field from across the Narrow Sea.

"And what if I do not choose to pay this toll?" "Then you had best retreat back to Moat Cailin, deploy to meet Lord Tywin in battle … or grow wings. I see no other choices."

The fairy tale ends when the third goat arrives, the biggest and strongest of the three. The hungry troll sees him as his best meal, but he misses that his size took away the troll's leverage in threatening him as the goat knew it was capable of challenging the troll and rams him into the river to drown. The last candidate that will make them turn their cloaks and offer an alliance to will of course be Daenerys, the strongest of the three candidates.

Knowing she will need to face King Stannis, they'll demand large rewards from her. Like possibly amongst other things, to be made liege lords of the riverlands or even Riverrun and Winterfell given Walda was supposed to be Lady of the North. I also wouldn't put it past Black Walder to offer Daenerys marriage. Of course, in doing so, they overplay their hand.

They missed as each royal house they made their offer to got stronger that meant they could demand more rewards it also meant their leverage was weaker. They had the most leverage with Robb who absolutely needed them to get from the North to Riverrun and vice versa. Their leverage lessened with the Lannisters as they knew the Freys had nowhere else to go if they pulled the Red Wedding, and did not need the Crossing as much, being able to send men from King's Landing to the North or riverlands via the kingsroad. With Daenerys, she will have learned of their history of treachery, having proven themselves to be untrustworthy allies who had made themselves pariahs and lost much of their military strength in the North and reprisals over the Red Wedding. They will demand much while offering her little, or overcharging for their services. Along with having a large army, she will have dragons, something none of the other candidates ever possessed, that will allow her to fly over the Twins without paying their toll.

Looking at the opportunity costs, she may also find that they made themselves so universally hated, that it would do more for her cause to crush them.

Daenerys's reply to their offers of alliance will likely be met with "Dracarys." The Twins will likely be burned in dragonflame, and the ones who survive the flames will jump into the river to drown.

The Freys always demanded a toll, but failed to see that if they didn't live up to their side of the bargain of providing assistance, there would be a price to pay for their faithlessness and treachery.

[stromuprisahat]

When Lord Baratheon’s foot came crashing into the fray, the shield wall swayed and staggered back, and seemed as if it might break…until the wood to the left of the road erupted with shouts and screams, and hundreds more rivermen burst from the trees, led by that mad boy Benjicot Blackwood, who would this day earn the name Bloody Ben, by which he would be known for the rest of his long life.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

[kuro-anko]

biblically accurate: battle of the kingsroad

[marytunno]

-read below-

DEEPER THAN SWORDS

It was easy to be scared on the road, it was easy being scared when having to be just an orphan boy, it was easy being scared when hot tears burned Arya’s face each night at the thought of her father. She had fought her fear when the other orphan boys had tried to take her sword, Needle was hers, it wasn’t fair the way they said it was stolen, Jon wasn’t a thief and Needle was all she had left of him. Arya did want to hurt badly the baker boy but it had been easy to lash all her anger at him, even when Yoren had punished her for it, even when she had to walk on foot it had been easier than parting from her Needle.

At night the red light of the comet was shining bright among the other stars, Gendry polished his elm and looked at it as if it held the answers to the thousand thoughts haunting his mind. It looked like a sword, like the swords he had seen at his master’s shop, like the one he could have made one day… now he wasn’t going to make swords anymore he thought, he was going to fight with the sword Yoren had given him, he was going to fight at the wall and protect the people from whatever was waiting for him up there.

They were the only party walking north, crossing paths with all kinds of people, people going south running from war. Yoren had told Arya and the other recruits they had nothing to fear, they had no banner but the black cloak he wore, they were no lions nor wolves, the law protected their journey but Arya didn't feel safe, she was a wolf and she could hear them howl loud at night, a warning or maybe a battle cry.

They had been together when the guards arrived, the Bull had made Arya promise not to cry if he hurt her while practising, he had told her he was strong but she knew she was faster so she had made him promise too. It felt weird when Yoren and the other men took a stance in front of the white cloaks, they were protecting her, they were going to die for her. Arya bit her lip and tightened her grip on her sword, she could not let that happen. If Arya had been a real water dancer like Syrio, she would have fought all the guards, if Arya had been a wolf she wouldn't have been scared.

When Arry, sword in hand, went against the white cloaks Gendry cursed him in his mind, even if for some reason the guards had been after the young boy he owed nothing to the other recruits, Arry should have been more careful, Gendry should have been more careful too but instead, he followed the small boy and then the guards called his name. 

It had been different after Yoren had threatened the guards, they kept marching north, this time avoiding the Kingsroad, feeling like prey running from starved hounds, Yoren had told Arya to fear not the animals but only the men wearing beasts on their banners so they kept marching but with the whole world burning around them it was only a matter of time before it crumbled on them.

Gendry hated how everyone had felt like asking him questions as if he had any idea about why the queen of all people wanted him dead, he had done nothing wrong, he had nothing to hide. It felt odd, surrounded by thieves and killers and all sorts of criminals, being the one the guards had been looking for. Arry had thought they had been after him. Gendry's mind was full of thoughts as they searched for some sort of supplies in an abandoned village, the sunlight reflecting on the surface of the biggest lake he had ever seen. He didn’t really trust the other recruits, Yoren had said they were to be brothers but they had made no oath yet and the Wall was so far away, he had heard some of them, Kurz and CutJack and others, talking about leaving, about the others being dead weight, he agreed but he wasn’t sure he would have been able to survive on his own. He looked at Arry splashing some water on his head, he was useful enough and better than him at hunting, he seemed brave and smart even if he was small, maybe they could have made it together, protected each other on the road, he could learn to trust someone like Arry, even if he was sure he was hiding a secret.

Arya hated herself, if only she had been a real fighter she could have protected the other recruits, the little crying girl, Gendry, even Hot Pie and Lommy… She wished to be like Yoren, like Syrio had been, like her father but, instead, she was nothing, non even Arya anymore… She hadn’t been able to protect Mycah and Nymeria and her father… now she screamed “Winterfell”! as everything burned… the air in her lungs tasting of smoke and copper… her tears boiling on her cheeks as she kept fighting. Yoren told them to run, for a moment she had been scared Gendry would have stayed there like the stubborn bull he was, she did not want to leave him behind, she wasn’t going to leave anyone behind. 

After what had felt like a war, hell itself, death and then hunger while dragging around all the dead weights left, he had caught up pretty easily on Arry’s secret.  It didn’t change much for him, Arry, or whatever was her girl name, was still the only useful one, the only one that wasn’t crying about wolves or eating dirt, he wanted to tell her he knew, that her secret was safe with him, that he wasn’t going to hurt her or let anyone hurt her. Being the oldest he should have felt some kind of weight on him, an unspoken duty to protect Hot Pie, Lommy and his useless leg and little Weasel, a real man would have wanted to defend them... well, most men he had met up until that moment had tried to kill them or abandoned them… he should have cared about his companions but, honestly, he only cared about his own skin, his helm and maybe Arry.

The only thing Arya could feel more than fear was her hate, her anger… looking at Polliver with Needle at his hip, it almost hurt not having her blade at her side, its familiar weight, another part of her ripped away. She hated herself as she watched the people around her be tortured and killed, she wasn’t a wolf, she felt more like a sheep, a scared sheep marching toward the slaughterhouse. She hated having to look at Dunsen wearing Gendry’s helm, it had been his as Needle had been hers, what else could they take from them? Their lives didn’t seem enough. "Fear cuts deeper than swords" had said once Syrio and now Arya knew fear better than ever in her life, fear keeping her from talking back to the guards, fear to help the older girls, save them from the soldiers, fear to just die and never see her home again… and as they approached Harrenal a new fear: wondering if in those halls stained with blood and burned by fire something far worse was waiting for them.

Again my deepest fear is to wander astray from the prompts haahah, I tried to focus on Arya and Gendry's possessions as they were on the road up until when they lost them to the mountain's men...

Not my best work but I wanted to post this anyway, hope you liked it <3<3

[maybeiwasjustjade]

Alright y’all, place your bets on the timeline for the rest of the show.

This season has been a mess and a half, and if the new leaks are through then this season has been basically a boring filler for over half of it. Rumor had it that the Fall of King’s Landing happens in the finale. New leaks have come out that nothing of the sort seems to be happening until S3.

Assuming the show lasts five seasons, how do you think each season will pan out?

* 5 seasons because I think there’s too many battles and events for it to end in 2 more seasons, and HBO does not have the budget for a dragon battle almost every episode after 3x01. Also half the cast would be dead by s3 ending alongside almost all the dragons. Even if the show ended with Rhaenyra’s death, a lot of fan favorites will die in quick succession to make up for the shit storytelling. And knowing how pro TB the writers are, I doubt it’ll end before Aegon III is crowned.

What I think:

Season 3:

King’s Landing falls within the first 2 episodes. Aegon is snuck out by Larys alongside Jaehaera. There’s a minor timeskip during the season to prolong Rhaenyra’s reign because the writers seem to be obsessed with her. And because it gives the child characters time to grow up enough for certain events

Maelor is born in captivity, and then snuck out during the chaos of the aftermath of the Gullet.

Honeywine is mid-season episode, and the true introduction to Daeron and Tessarion

Butcher’s Ball will probably happen this season too

The Gullet happens at the penultimate episode. With Joffrey being so young still, he’s sent away with bby! Aegon and Viserys to Pentos. The battle happens; Aegon barely escapes, Viserys is lost, and Jace is more than likely going to be killed by trying to get to Joffrey on time (who probably also dies). Rhaena-as-Nettles feels insurmountable levels of guilt; Rhaenyra blames her for Jace (which leads to the Nettles-Daemon part of the arc).

Finale is Aegon conquering Dragonstone and killing Moondancer. Baela’s fate is left up to interpretation (for now)

Season 4:

Maelor is killed in the premiere as a shock value. Doubt the writers are brave enough to go the Mushroom route of the Brothel Queens arc, but who knows if Rhaenyra goes insane after all but one son is killed. His head is delivered to Rhaenyra. Helaena goes insane. First Tumbleton happens.

Considering the show seems to be trying a little too hard to redeem Daemon at the moment, and if Rhaenyra does go insane after the Gullet, then Daemon might actually go the Nettle arc for Rhaena. Gods Eye happens as the mid-season arc; Aemond and Daemon are both killed.

Second Tumbleton will probably happen before the Dragonpit, making that event the damning end of the dragons. Daeron, Addam, Hugh, and Ulf are all killed, and their dragons too.

Driven to insanity over what happened to Maelor (because it was too similar to Jaehaerys) and the deaths of nearly all her brothers and her daughter and Aegon still ‘missing’, Helaena jumps to her death in the penultimate episode.

The Storming of the Dragonpit takes up most of the finale. Depending on whether Joffrey and Tyraxes do die at the Gullet (or just Joffrey) then Joffrey is lost in the chaos, and all King’s Landing dragons killed. Rhaenyra and bby! Aegon escape.

Season 5:

The premiere episode will probably end with Rhaenyra and Aegon arriving on Dragonstone.

Episode 2 is Rhaenyra’s death. Knowing the show they’ll probably make it that she tries to tell Aegon bout the damned Prophecy while she’s dying. Followed by Sunfyre’s. Chaos reigns in King’s Landing. If the show follows through with the existence of Trystane Truefyre, then he and Gaemon will make an appearance.

Aegon returns to the capital by the end of episode 3. Episode 4 will probably be about Aegon trying to hatch another dragon + agreeing to marry Cassandra Baratheon. The Battle of the Kingsroad begin.

Aegon is poisoned and killed in episode 5. Aegon III is crowned. Cregan Stark and his army arrive at King’s Landing.

The Hour of the Wolf would take up over an episode so maybe 6-7

Series finale will be the marriage between Aegon III and Jaehaera, and the regency of Aegon III. Morning hatches to signify that it isn’t the end of House Targaryen (it is). Alicent dies, representing the death of the Greens.

Alternatively, Rhaenyra dies in the premiere, speeding up the events. Aegon dying and bby! Aegon is crowned as part of the mid-season episode. Aegon III and Jaehaera are married by episode 6, and Jaehaera is killed by episode 7 when Daenaera Velaryon is introduced. The series ends with Viserys’ miraculous return (because Condal and Hess just loves TB that much)

*Hilariously, before the season began I was so sure it wouldn’t last more than four seasons. Rook’s Rest would be 2x04, the Dragonseeds by 2x06, and the Gullet in 2x07. Honeywine and The Fall of King’s Landing by the finale. But for that to happen Maelor and Daeron would have to exist…2 years ago in the writers room.

Then Butcher’s Ball, Tumbleton, Gods Eye, and Dragonstone falling by the end of s3. The ending shot of s3 (or even rhe beginning of s4) would be Aegon claiming Dragonstone after being missing for over a season. Then s4 would just have to deal with Tumbleton redux, and Helaena dying by episode 3. 4x04 would be the Storming of the Dragonpits. 4x05 is Rhaenyra and Aegon III’s mad dash to Dragonstone only to discover that it has been taken. Rhaenyra dies, then Sunfyre. 4x06 deals with Trystane Truefyre and the Kingsroad Battle, Aegon’s agreement to marry Cassandra Baratheon, and then Aegon’s poisoning. 4x07-08 is the Hour of the Wolf, and the series ends with Aegon III and Jaehaera being forced to marry.

[spider-stark]

any speculations on when they’ll end up showing ben(if at all? hope he’s not a ghost of a character we only hear about through ravens and strategy planning) i remember hearing “when he comes of age” so unfortunately im starting to doubt they’ll recast Kieran

personally, like you said, I'm not gonna be surprised if Benji ends up becoming a total ghost or throwaway character that just gets mentioned a few times but never shown. I know I've also mentioned a few times on here that I'm also of the belief that Kieran won't be recasted due to that "when he comes of age" comment from Willem

though I'd happily pretend I never heard that if HBO wants to change some stuff around

but, with that being said, if we are going to see Benji at all then I imagine they might wait until they get to the Battle by the Lakeshore (aka the fishfeed) because as far as F&B goes, that's the first battle Benji actually participates in (someone correct me if I'm wrong on this)

the only thing making me think we might have a good chance of actually seeing Benji is that Oscar Tully exists and has been shown--even if HBO wimped out on the Muppets--and the two of them lead the army for the Kingsroad battle in F&B.

so, with that being said--definitely not this season, possibly next, potentially not at all lmao