#the ned affair

[type40thiefoflight]

I forgot all of Wilford’s interviews and Markiplier TV last time so here’s the updated timeline:

[ladystoneboobs]

ya ever think about how the lannister sibs all have big secrets kept from each other, like huge life-altering experiences? jaime's is the most obvious, the most talked-about, with the full story of his kingslaying and everything he endured from aerys leading up to it. it's clear enough to me that brienne was the first he opened up to about that, including either sibling. they never asked, but unlike ned stark and the rest deriding him as kingslayer, their lack of curiosity is no offense in itself bc as tywin's other children they would never judge him for turning his cloak purely out of family loyalty. ned's assumption of jaime's motives is directly tied to his judgment of jaime, but it's the judgment that rankles jaime so. choosing your father's life over a king's is hardly the worst crime in itself. how can he explain all the other reasons without prompting when its not just about his crime but all his trauma too? is there any basis for that in his relationship with cersei, who always relied on him for comfort and consolation but seems less adept at providing the same to him? or even with tyrion, his only real male friend for years, but also his baby brother, the one he was meant to protect and take care of, who was only 10 at the time of the kingslaying? even to fully share all with tyrion years later, both adults, could be something of a role reversal, forever shattering tyrion's image of him as the strong invulnerable golden big brother by revealing his own broken inner child. jaime can't break out from those sibling roles and patterns, so neither can ever understand that part of him, never knowing the early life he had at court without either of them with him.

and tyrion, who trusted jaime more than anyone in the world before learning the truth about tysha, still could not confide in him freely even when all that trust was still intact. jaime must have heard some story of what tywin did to tysha to feel the need to confess his lie, but he def didn't hear it straight from tyrion bc imo there's no way he could still think confessing would help anything if he understood how scarred tyrion was by what he witnessed and esp not knowing that tywin ordered him to participate at the end. tyrion could reveal all that to bronn when they barely knew each other but not to his beloved brother, his first and best friend. how can the most abused child explain all his unknown abuse to the golden child, the big brother meant to protect him who couldn't always do so? how does he even begin to reveal the deepest trauma that happened to him when jaime wasn't in the room, esp when the story does start with jaime apparently trying to help him by fixing him up with tysha?

and then there's cersei and all her secrets. she always turned to jaime for consolation, or at least when he knew she needed it, but how many times did he not know? how personally could she confide in him as they grew older and their paths diverged? we know the first big secret was maggy the frog's prophecy, her first big scare, which came on the cusp of puberty, an experience she couldn't share with her twin bc he would prob just laugh and make a joke of it. in their first real scene together, in bran's pov, he mocks lysa's motherly fears and likens her to cersei. ("I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." He laughed.) then he makes light of her marital discord, ("And whose fault is that, sweet sister?"), having no idea of the depth of pain she'd suffered from robert, beyond his infidelities. he later blames her for being robert's queen, not his, only thinking of how she managed to arrange his kg post, that power to forever tie him to her in secret, never grasping her lack of control in marriage, that "a queen is only a woman after all". in her pride it was hard to reveal all she'd suffered as a woman, but she also couldn't rely on jaime's response if he knew of her abuse, knowing he would kill robert and get himself killed too, only making her and their children's lives more precarious. she couldn't trust him to listen about securing the throne before dealing with robert or that as robert's victim it was her right to decide such matters, to choose his fate, not jaime's place to avenge her without her say-so first. all bc they were both too stuck in their idea of jaime as her sword, nothing more, with jaime determined to protect her and tyrion, always a bodyguard before he ever donned a white cloak.

something something tywin did his best to play his children off each other and the most effective thing he did to divide them was by setting jaime up as the golden child and family protector. the designated lannister sword only pointing at threats outside their house. a knight serving his family whose protection was always limited, who could never protect them from the person who first hurt cersei and tyrion and made them who they were at a distance from him, bc ofc he couldn't fight his own father, much less slay him with a sword.

something something maybe the reason that joff+marg+loras was a surer recipe for kingslayer stew than robert+cersei+jaime is all down to that tyrell lack of abusive structure. not that loras cared more about marg, was more willing to kill for her than jaime was to kill robert, but that there wasn't a chance of marg hiding her misery from him if/when her husband abused her in their shared household. it's not like he understood her to the point of mind-reading but when their previous royal marital household involved her bearding for his boyfriend then they prob had a pretty good basis of open communication. in that sense, the lannicest twins with all their sexual and physical intimacy still had less emotional intimacy than the tyrell queen and her kg brother.

[solittles]

one of the reasons why i like solittle so much, is because sol and ned are the mirror images of each other in so many ways, which i find very fascinating. both of them:

get knocked unconscious with the butt of a rifle in the back of the head

the historical people were from families with many kids

still followed the captain/a leader, but had a high hierarchical position, basically being in command in some way from time to time

got betrayed by someone they trusted (sol by hickey, ned by the men and dundy)

last man standing from each group, except for croizer (i don't count hickey as a last man, since he's a lost cause, even if he had survived the tuunbaq encounter)

it's especially the last thing that gets me going. because it would mean that in an alternative universe, croizer and sol could've both survived. and maybe, just maybe, they and silna could've saved ned as well. mirror images, man......

[hell-heron]

Level of pain number 1: Thats not true, thats not true, he never betrayed Cat but he did betray Robert and thats what Jon is, not the betrayal towards Cat, he never was but neither will find out to mend that wound

Level of pain number 2: Actually this is true and on a spiritual level he did make with Robert a bastard that would grow up with his trueborn children and grow with treasonous aims and supplant them. Sorry Cat the king to whom I'm almost bonded by marriage but not quite took me away from wife and children to relive his glory days and now there's a child in the picture. Sorry lady wife the king made me do something that was against my morality but I couldn't say no to because he's the king (but mostly because I love him) and uuuuh yeah. Now I have a black of hair but short and slender little boy named a shortening of "Baratheon". It happens

[widowshill]

they made ned calder into a real person btw

[atopvisenyashill]

“the white hart scene was showing us rhaenyra is divinely chosen to sit on the iron throne for a shitty girlboss moment”

idk how people come to this conclusion beyond the fact that a lot of people wanted the show to flesh out and empathize with the characters the way f&b doesn’t, but are mad the show decided to flesh out rhaenyra even though she’s one of the main characters, bc they’re too dedicated to her as The Born Evil Queen bc that’s how she’s been treated by fandom since the princess and the queen came out.

it’s not just “she sees the white hart and it means she’s divinely chosen” that’s such a basic, surface level reading. for her part, the point is not just that she sees the white hart, but that she recognizes it’s personhood, it’s beauty, and it’s uniqueness, and spares it’s life in empathy. the point is that she slaughters the boar in self defense and brings it home to her people but is scorned for the messy way she did it. it’s not just that she’s “divinely chosen” it is that she can recognize the fear and humanity (so to speak) in another being and can empathize with it enough to let it live even though killing it may make her look really good in front of the lords. she does the moral thing because she is capable of empathy despite what the lords may say, a clear hint to the last episode where she attempts to do the right thing by avoiding war despite pushback from the black council.

on the other hand, she kills the boar - she is just as capable as any man of great violence when she feels threatened, and equally capable of a vindictive sort of violence that all the men of her house (and many of the other houses) are capable of. she brings them an animal she killed by her own hand and they are disgusted; the greens will strike first at every opportunity never realizing that she is capable of much greater violence bc a woman being capable of being violent is not something that would ever occur to them. they gladly named her princess of dragonstone to stop daemon from being heir but they are disgusted by her independent mind despite it being the exact reason they named her heir.

but just as important is viserys’ killing of the red hart. the white hart ran from his woods while the red hart is held down by his advisors for him to kill without viserys doing any of the work; still, he has to try twice to kill it, and only with the hand rotting from contact with the throne is he capable of taking its life. like robb’s messy execution of lord karstark being the definitive sign that he’s utterly lost control of the war, viserys having to be coached step by step and handed this “win” on a silver platter only to bungle it anyway is a definitive sign that he’s lost control of his court and of the politics in westeros. and as robb’s dark, shadowy parallel, viserys too will not live to see the bloody climax of a war he helped kick off.

[deithe]

jon snow grocery store manager au where jon, who got made manager bc previous manager joer mormonts weird parrot liked jon the best and runs the place like it's life or death. jon is making extreme decisions about completely menial stuff and muttering about honour and morality while looking at the prices of oranges. he decides they need more beets and alliser thorne, guy who was passed over for manager and spends his off days flinging darts at a picture of jon from his school yearbook, physically attacks him in the frozen food isle. other disgruntled employees start pelting jon with produce. jon calls it a mutiny and tries to blind thorne with a axe body spray. people call the cops and the 'Nite Watch 24-Hour Store Mutiny (gone wrong!)' video goes viral.

[spectrum-color]

Note that this can be in the sense of foils who compare and contrast with each other, characters who play a similar role in the narrative, or in the sense that their arcs go on roughly the same path

[klaviergavinwiki]

i'm not gonna lie chief... i just thought the mcelroys hayday kind of ended because everything has to like i remember travis doing Something that pissed people off at some point and there were lots of posts like dog it was one mistake chill and other posts like this is why travis is the worst mcelroy heehehhooohoohoo but i didn't think anything came of that. i've seen the words 'the downfall of the mcelroys' like twice and had no idea what op was talking about either time i love not knowing dick about internet shit

[ladycatofwinterfell]

the night before her wedding to Brandon Canon unless you want it to be modern

Okay so once again I don’t know if this is the type of situation that was meant, but here are Ned and Cat in the godswood the night before her wedding to Brandon. Enjoy!

For years she had known she would be wed in front of a weirwood. Ever since Father told her of her betrothal to Brandon Stark she had known. That did not make it easier to see the twisted face that would watch over her as she became a woman wed.

The eyes were carvings in wood, still if felt like something watched her through them. The shadows shifting over the face made it seem alive. A being that was sad and hurting.

That was the face of the gods her betrothed believed in. Those were the gods that would watch over her for the rest of her days. Though they were not her gods.

Catelyn knew the mistake in coming there when it was dark. When the wind whispered in the trees and she heard things move without being able to see them. The light from her lantern created shadows all around her, every time she moved it felt like they reached for her.

It was a place of unease, not a place of solace. Frightening, unsettling. There she would give herself to her new husband.

When she heard a creaking she immediately looked towards the weirwood tree. Bleeding eyes looked back at her, pierced into her very being. Had they changed? Did the tree have a new expression? Was it watching her, judging her?

“Lady Catelyn?”

She whipped around and the light fell upon a person. With her heart in her throat she saw it was Eddard.

“You frightened me!”

She tried to sound strong, though her voice was shaking. She heard it herself, heard that she sounded weak. Not at all what she had to be, not at all the woman who would give the North heirs.

“I didn’t mean to” Eddard said. “Forgive me.”

When she said nothing he stepped further into the glade. Brandon’s younger brother, she had never met him before her arrival a few days earlier. Just heard what Brandon had to say.

“I wasn’t expecting to find you here, my lady, I would have announced myself” he continued.

“I wasn’t expecting to find me here, either” she said, trying to smile.

She believed she did fairly well. With that her face felt stiff and frozen.

Eddard did not return her smile. He simply looked at her before putting his own lantern down and coming to stand in front of the weirwood at her side. At a respectable distance, she would not have been able to touch him if she reached out towards him.

“No, there are no southron gods in this godswood” he said.

“I know. I just wished to see the place where I would be wed.”

He had the Stark look. Same brown hair and grey eyes, same long face. He certainly was a Stark. Though from what she had learned both from Brandon and during her very brief time in Winterfell he was a little different to his brothers and sister. Quieter, more somber. She was most likely wrong, she had yet to know him.

“There will be more light tomorrow, I believe” he told her. “Lanterns and torches. It will look less frightening then.”

The darkness was not what frightened her. No light would chase away the presence of unnamed and faceless gods. No light would make the tree change its face.

“I am not frightened of this place” she still said, defiant.

“I never said you were, my lady.”

His presence made it a little easier. He was so calm. Of course he was, he was standing in a part of his home, though that eased her worries.

“Though it is very different from the godswood in my home.”

Riverrun’s godswood was a garden. A place of comfort, where one could rest among flowers and birds. Winterfell’s godswood was no such thing, it was wild.

“Godswoods are not the same in the south. The one in the Eyrie does not even have a heart tree.”

He sounded a little sad when he said it. Catelyn shared that sadness, she was to live in a place with no sept. A northerner in the south and a southerner in the north. For the sake of alliances and peacekeeping.

“And Winterfell has no sept” she said.

For a moment their eyes met and she knew they were the same. It was strange. Very strange. She did not at all know him, he was almost a stranger. Only Brandon’s brother.

“That is true.”

Catelyn searched for more words, something more to say to him. Just to keep the silence away, keep it from taking hold of the glade once more. Though she found nothing and so heard only the rustling of leaves moving in the wind.

Eddard suddenly pointed up towards the trees.

“If you listen carefully you can hear the gods whispering in the trees” he said softly. “Perhaps you can hear your gods, too.”

Not even as she tried could she hear words or voices. It was simply leaves. Though she decided against telling him that. He wished to help, he showed her kindness even though she was as much a stranger to him as he was to her.

A shiver ran down her spine as a particularly strong wind swept through the godswood. It was late, dark and cold. It was time for her to return to the castle.

“It’s very cold” she said, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself.

The gloves she wore were not warm enough, her fingers had began to hurt.

Eddard hesitated for a moment before opening his mouth.

“You could borrow my gloves.”

Had her cheeks not already been flushed from the cold she believed they would have turned rather red then. For what reason she could not quite say.

“I am wearing gloves” she let him know.

“They do not look warm enough. Mine are.”

His tone was formal, it was obviously naught but a matter of practicality to him. And she so wanted to warm up her hands.

“But then you’ll be left without” she protested.

His hands were much larger than hers, he would not be able to take hers in return.

“Us Starks have hot blood, you need not worry” he insisted.

Hot blood, made for winter. Like the hot pools that ran below and through the castle. Made it habitable even during terrible cold.

Before she could say anything more he had already removed one of his gloves and then it would have felt stupid do stop him from doing the same with the second one.

Sheepishly she put down her lantern and began peeling off her own. She should have known better, she should have dressed for the cold night before she stepped outside.

“You are very kind” she said as she accepted his gloves.

“It is nothing. We are to be family, are we not?”

They were too large for her, but lined with fur and already warm from that he had worn them. She sighed in relief as flexed her hands, feeling the warmth returning to her fingers.

What he said was true, they were to be family. She wondered if he would return to Winterfell sometime soon or take up permanent residency down in the south.

“I should leave you to your prayers” she said, once again picking up her lantern. “I will have your gloves returned to you.”

Eddard’s grey eyes were somewhat different in that light. Softer than when she had seen them during the day.

“Would you like me to keep you company on the way back, my lady?” he asked.

Immediately she wanted to accept, though stopped herself. She had already taken his gloves and kept him from praying when that was what he had come to the godswood for. And she was no child, she knew the way and could walk back herself. The darkness was frightening, though nothing dangerous was hiding there.

“That is not needed. Though thank you.”

For the first time he smiled. A very brief little smile.

“Then I bid you good night, my lady.”

“I bid you the same.”

When she looked over her shoulder as she left he had already knelt in the snow before the heart tree. How strange they were, the northerners. Still she had a feeling of that she could come to like Eddard Stark.

[katharined]

[dirt-str1der]

Still fucked up over the fact that markiplier lovesss his marksonas and is still using them in his content to this day

[a-dotrivenitupontop]

the afterparty is the kind of show where i don’t necessarily “ship” anyone* but i do believe they’ve all pined for each other

*except zoe and aniq they’re slay

[coffee-counts-as-a-meal]

not to be a GoT/ASoIaF meta writer but I'm re-watching the first season and re-reading A Clash of Kings and its occurring to me something something patriarchy something something society but anyway its just really interesting to me how Catelyn (and also Sansa at the beginning) are very good at working within the rules and social mores of their society

of course, we see examples of women who struggle to fit within the rigid definition of "womanhood" that Westeros demands (Arya, Brienne, even Cersei to an extent) whereas Catelyn and Sansa, while clearly finding the limits within their roles (thinking about Catelyn's "I did my duty all my life" monologue), still manage to perform and excel in it. And idk where I'm going with this but I think it's really interesting how Catelyn and Sansa get a lot of hate thrown at them, when in reality it's less about them as people and more about the society that is pointing at them and saying "performing womanhood like Catelyn and Sansa is the only acceptable way"

Arya and Brienne actively rebel against a world that is telling them to be one thing when internally they'd rather be something else. Sansa and Catelyn don't feel the same discomfort, it's easier for them to "fit in", and they do benefit but it's not a character fault.

[arachnidiots]

general + peter tag drop

[plus-size-reader]

Gentle

Sandor Clegane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2737 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Ned Stark’s eldest daughter finding herself interested by the King’s loyal protector, and even more disenchanted by how he’s treated

—————————————————————————————————

The King’s arrival in Winterfell wasn’t of much interest to you, if you were being honest.

Of course you understood that it was a great honor and that his Grace was very important to your father, but outside of that, you had no real reason to pay the caravan much mind as it moved through the streets of Winterfell.

Had it not been for the pretense of duty and honor, and more severely, the pressure of your mother’s wrath, you truly believed you would have skipped the entire affair.

You weren’t the object of their visit, after all.

As the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you were much too old to be of much interest to the young Prince compared to your sisters, and the King only came to Winterfell with your Aunt Lyanna on the mind.

Really, you weren’t sure why you needed to attend.

Until, you found yourself staring down the traveling party of the King’s guard, and the striking presence of the man they called “the Hound”

You had heard stories of the man over the years, and you knew where the title had come from, but never could you have imagined the man before you now and that man were one in the same. He hardly struck you as some ravenous monster, even then.

…and as the days went by, you found your opinion unchanged.

You existed in Winterfell simply, a privilege afforded you by your father’s title and the love the families of the North had for the Starks.

For the most part, you did what you wanted and didn’t call too much attention to yourself, content to read on the sidelines and follow after your siblings as they grew into their own. That meant that you escaped a lot of the formalities of nobility, as no one really needed too much of your attention.

If they were looking for a Stark to talk to, you were always fairly low on the list and you liked it that way, especially given all the excitement in Winterfall over the past few days.

With Sansa entertaining the Prince, your father entertaining the King and Queen, and the charms of the North keeping the guard away, you finally had a moment to yourself which only meant one thing. You could finally finish your book.

It was all set, just as you wanted it.

The weather had yet to get so bitter cold that you couldn’t stand to be out, so you grabbed a blanket and set it in the clearing near the market, under a big tree. The septa’s rarely bothered you these days, so you should be able to get some peace and quiet.

Not that you got too far before something else caught your eye.

You had only been reading your book for a short time when you heard the familiar sing-songy tone of your sister’s voice, followed unsurprisingly by the nasally pitch of Prince Joffrey.

They were to be married following this trip, and you knew she was excited. You could tell by the way she skipped lightly as she walked, and how she hung on his every word.

You had never been in love yourself, but you had to imagine that was what it looked like. Perhaps that was why you found yourself watching them as they walked, or maybe it had more to do with the Hound, loyal as always, who was trailing behind them steadily.

He was an interesting man, you’d decided.

Even as he walked, he studied the world around him as if he wasn’t a part of it, rather that he was peering in at it from the outside. You felt that you could relate, in some way, as you had always been that way.

They’d chastised you for being a dreamer as a girl. The Septa would take your books and keep them from you, your mother would beg you to engage in your duties as a lady and even Robb and Theon teased you.

Your head was always far away and even now, you had managed to keep it that way. While other women your age married and had heirs for unimpressive Lords, you remained in your father’s homeland.

A place where you could keep your books and your dreams, without having to endure the ugliness.

Not that ugliness was really the problem in the first place.

You were certain that some found the Hound ugly in all his violence and impropriety, but you couldn’t dare count yourself among them. Even now, as you stared at him over your bound paper novel, you saw nothing short of a dream like all the others.

It wasn’t even something you could truly understand, if you had any desire to try. There was just a softness to him, a quiet contemplation that made you feel as if no harm would ever come to you.

That wasn’t a feeling you’d known before now, as that was one of the things the North had never really had. Your father and brothers would rather die than let something or someone hurt you, you knew that, but it wasn’t so simple.

The comfort his presence held went beyond any physical threat or danger, it was almost warm.

Not that you would have ever ventured to admit it.

After all, you had never even spoken to the man and if you tried to explain the way you were feeling to anyone, they would surely have you committed. The hound was a lot of things, but none would have called him warm.

None outside of you that was.

You continued your staring for quite some time, only occasionally looking away from the sight before you to mindlessly turn the page in your book. You imagined you may have sat there all evening if you remained uninterrupted.

However, when your attention returned to the imposing form of the King’s dog across the way to find him already looking at you, the illusion fell away entirely.

Surely he thought you were demented.

In the entire time he and the King’s guard had been in Winterfell, you had yet to speak a word to a one of them but that didn’t mean he was unfamiliar with you. Every time he turned around, he found you sitting somewhere over his shoulder, that same book perched in your lap.

Anyone else may have just brushed you off, assuming you were a bit out there as your family always had, but Sandor couldn’t quite do that.

After all, he had grown used to the weary glances and fearful whispers between people as he passed, but no one had ever paid him so much mind as you seemed to be.

Naturally he was curious.

No one had voluntarily spent that much time looking at him in all his life, and he needed to know what it was about you that was different.

You tensed the moment you noticed his attention, not daring to look away from the weathered pages beneath your fingers, not when you heard him nearing where you sat and certainly not when he stopped at your side.

Neither of you spoke, and you weren’t even sure if you drew a single breath, but he certainly did as he waited. Waited for what he wasn’t sure, but it just seemed to be the thing to do.

As if you would somehow explain yourself if he stood in your presence long enough.

Though, after a long moment passed between you without so much as a glance from you, he decided to just end the torment for you both.

There would be no sense in just standing here all evening.

“Why do you stare so much?” he wondered aloud, his voice just as gruff as it always was, though you caught something else hidden there too. Just beneath the surface, hiding beneath the walls he’d built hugh within himself.

It almost sounded like a sort of nervousness, though you would have imagined him incapable of something so common.

You didn’t answer at first.

Whether it was due to the humiliation of being caught that held your tongue or the nerves of facing down such an imposing man on your own, he wasn’t sure. All Sandor knew for sure was that this was one of the strangest interactions he’d ever had.

If only he knew.

The real reason for your silence wasn’t some twisted interest or shame but because there was no real answer at all. At least not one you’d confidently admit while those brown eyes had you locked in a stare.

You hadn’t meant it to be disrespectful, of course, because the nature of your admiration couldn’t be farther from distaste. However, to a man like Sandor, that was exactly what it looked like.

…What it felt like.

Naturally, after a life of rejection, Sandor assumed that your staring was like that of every else when they looked at him. He assumed you were disgusted by him, and his grotesque face, or perhaps that you were afraid.

He hoped you weren’t afraid.

In any case, he never could have imagined that you would answer him in the way you did, even if it took you a moment to summon the courage to string any words together at all.

“I suppose I’m interested in you” you decided finally, twisting your face up slightly at the way that must have sounded.

It wasn’t quite right, of course, though it wasn’t entirely wrong either.

You were interested in him, but that seemed too simply a phrasing, like all the gravity and sentiment was missing even still.

Sandor only grunted in reply after a brief pause, his gaze drifting across the market, watching as the surrounding northerners studied your interaction, only to drop their eyes when they met his.

They all feared him, and they were right too, because they understood what he was and what he was capable of. Though, maybe that was another thing that you had done since he arrived that was unique to you.

Never once had you looked away from him.

You had never shrunk away or grimaced as they did, even at a time like this when anyone else would have run for the hills. It was certainly new, even he couldn’t be so stubborn as to ignore that.

“What’s so interesting about me?” he wondered, not daring to move closer or join you as you sat, but not moving further away either. Even though it felt wrong to speak freely with an unmarried noble woman like you, it really wasn’t.

You certainly didn’t think so, and you believed that anyone else would agree.

If anything, you were simply making conversation while he did his duty, watching over the Prince and his future bride.

Now, it was your turn to pause, regarding the words on the page only a moment more before you closed it, and discarded it in the snowy grass.

“We don’t have men like you here,” you allowed, considering his imposing frame as he stood above you.

Though you had only seen him from afar until now, at his impressive height and with your current low position, Sandor seemed even larger than he had before. Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be frightened by him, which had to have been because he wasn’t frightening in the first place.

The rest of the realm may have treated him like a monster but you hardly believed that made him one.

You could tell in the way he glanced down at you, surprise painting his features, that he wanted to argue with you but he faltered, because he didn’t understand. He wanted to tell you that there were violent men everywhere, and that most were just better at hiding it, but somehow, he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

No matter how diluted that may have made you seem in the moment.

“Gentle,” you clarified, watching as his mind tried to pin down exactly what you were trying to say, because the most obvious answer just wasn’t possible. “Men here are all the same. They’re either ruthless fighters or cowards and fools. On rare occasions, they may be both but neither are gentle as you are”

That was it.

There were the words you had been trying to find before, but it still didn’t feel as if he understood, or perhaps he just didn’t feel as if you had any right to be the one saying them.

After all, you had only ever been in the North and you hardly knew anything about him, or many other men for that matter. What real ground did you have to stand on when it came to this?

“Trust me little girl, there’s nothing gentle about a man like me” he scoffed, washing away any tenderness you’d been feeling in a moment.

Perhaps he was right, but you didn’t think so.

While it was true that there were no other men like him in the North, you had seen your fair share of guarded men hiding from the truth about themselves. Normally they were trying to convince themself that they were braver than they were, or stronger, but it looked the same.

It made them look small.

“It’s in your eyes. You think I can’t see it because you don’t, but it’s there. It’s the same reason you’re still having this conversation with me, even though the Prince snuck off with Sansa” you countered, gesturing to the missing space they’d previously occupied through the pass.

If he’d truly been keeping an eye on them, and nothing more, he wouldn’t have let them out of his sight.

“Maybe I just want to know what’s wrong with you? After all, I thought the future Lady of Winterfell would be a bit more sociable” he argued, almost poking fun at you in a way you hadn’t seen coming.

Which was a welcome break in that untouchable armor of his.

“I am hardly the future Lady of Winterfell. That title will belong to the wife of my brother Robb,” you informed, gathering your skirts to rise to your feet, only to find his hand outstretched to you, a further invitation behind the curtain.

You took it as gracefully as you could and rose to your full height, though you remained entirely dwarfed by the large man at your side.

“And I have never really taken to being sociable, that’s true. It’s my mother’s greatest upset” you teased, straightening out your gown and taking in the full sight of the Hound in all his glory.

He looked small, if that was even physically possible, as you admired him with those eyes of yours. If you thought his gaze was pointed, you had no idea how he felt beneath the heavy weight of your own.

“You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you?” he grumbled, his question hanging in the air untouched for a moment as you studied him, no longer caring how strange it may have looked to anyone else.

You had been right.

He was anything but ugly up close, and it was a tragedy that so few got to gaze upon him in this manner.

“I suppose. Perhaps that’s why I remain unmarried” you suggested, subconsciously hinting at what you knew to be your own greatest flaw, at least in the eyes of your people and your house.

At the very least, the Hound had been able to make something of himself outside of being a husband or son. He could be a warrior, and he was, one of the most fearsome warriors you’d ever seen.

As a woman, you had never been afforded that kind of privilege and you never would. As far as your mother was concerned, you would live and die a spinster, and there was little you could do to change that.

“Perhaps. Or maybe this place really is full of cowards and fools, as you said” he muttered, sparing you one more heady glance before turning his back to you, his attention fully on the clearing ahead.

That was it.

In all the days you’d been admiring him and making a desperate attempt to understand exactly what lay beneath that shell of his, that was all he had for you.

…and you couldn’t have been happier, because for the first time in a long time, you found yourself looking forward to what the days ahead would hold.