#they have the marriage oaths they swore to each other which he could also use to compel her

[arcxnumvitae]

🎥 for Eilidh

@soulsxng || A scene from my muse's life

She waited until his breathing beside her evened out with the deep peacefulness of slumber. Waited some more. After several long moments had passed, Eilidh pushed herself up in the bed, ready to push her sheets away. She needed to move, before some small sound or movement woke her husband, but the woman found herself unable to keep from glancing down at him.

The flame-like flickering of his hair shone gently in the darkened room and its usual brilliance was quieted with his slumber. Her Aodh. Her heart hurt for what she was about to do, what it would mean to him, but as time passed she had begun to realize that she would not be able to give him the one thing he ever hoped to gain from her-- her love.

He would never demand it of her, no, but just the knowledge, the startling realization she had of her husband's feelings for her had been enough to feel an iron grip of panic over the woman's heart. The scariest part of it all was that Aodh himself seemed to notice at least to some extent as well. His actions had grown more grand, more overbearing as the days passed.

Was it cruel to stay knowing that she may never be able to return what he felt for her? Or was it crueler to leave as she was? Could she even be so certain that time wouldn't turn Aodh's heart, and that he also wouldn't feel the weight of his unreturned affections clouding his heart. What if...he turned cruel?

Her mind had long since been made up and Eilidh took what may be some of her final breaths of home. She would have to go somewhere he could not, or would not, retrieve her from. Somewhere that would be protected from the reach of a gentry of Seelie.

With her mind made up, Eilidh quietly slipped from their bed and disappeared into the night, leaving her husband behind slumbering peacefully.

[wutheringmights]

happy CTBirthday!! could you tell us more about Lincoln and Marigold's relationship?

I most certainly can!

Lincoln and Marigold's relationship started a few years after Lincoln prevented a civil war between the Hylians and the Gerudo from starting

As you may recall, Lincoln is the young Master Knight with a terrible reputation exacerbated by him pissing off all of the nobles and his terrible relationship with his late father

He is also madly in love with Ganondorf, who is not only a very well-kept secret but is also married

So now that things have settled down, it's time for Lincoln to think about settling down himself

He doesn't really want to get married or have kids with anyone who isn't the love of his life, but he really needs to solidify the Harkinian line sooner rather than later

Meanwhile, Marigold Walton is a daughter of a rich merchant family

As wealthy as her family is, they don't have a title, but her parents have the perfect plan to fix that-- marry into nobility

Marigold is a young lady with two conflicting virtues:

First, she is pragmatic and ambitious, and if someone tells her that her job is to score a good marriage, then by god this is what she is going to do

Second, she hates being ordered around and treated like something to be sold off

This makes Marigold, fresh to Hyrule's social scene, a bit of an odd figure: both the picture of a demure lady and one rebelling against that ideal

So as Lincoln said in story, they met at a party where Marigold was going off about everything she hates about society

Lincoln immediately clicked with everything she said, and wanted to get to know her better. he didn't expect her to tell him that he was a part of the problem

But Lincoln was intrigued so he continued trying to befriend her

And Marigold hadn't found anyone else who was interested in what she had to say before, so she stopped trying to pick fights and got to know him

They steadily became friends and after a few months, they agreed they should get married

Both of them were aware that they didn't love each other, but they really weren't looking for love. They both just wanted companionship to have their mutually advantageous marriages

But there was one big problem-- Lincoln was very obviously in love with someone else

Marigold didn't mind if Lincoln had an affair, but she wanted to know who it was with

To Marigold, this was about not only making sure she was prepared for any potential scandal, but also about respect for her

However, Lincoln refused

He swore an oath to never tell another soul about Ganondorf's existence, and he would not risk Ganondorf's life even now

Sometimes he would insist he wasn't having an affair (which was true) and other times he would insist that it didn't matter who it was with because no one would ever find out

They couldn't move past this and, to everyone's disappointment, they mutually agreed to call off the engagement but still be friends

Having to call off the engagement was a harrowing process because it had to be very public, which meant that once it was done, the two decided to celebrate with drinks

Which was a bad idea since Marigold had never been allowed to drink heavily before and Lincoln had a heavy pour

And they woke up the next day in the same bed. Oops!

They both thought it was okay and tried to part ways amicably, but oops! Marigold's pregnant

Marigold's parents became pretty awful after that revelation, especially since they now wanted her to use her pregnancy as a means to convince Lincoln to take her back

At this point, Marigold had enough and broke ties with them

Lincoln did not find out she was pregnant until a few months later

He panicked and immediately tried to make things right by proposing again

But Marigold would not take him back, in part due to how she refused to be with someone who she thought didn't respect her

And the reason why Marigold kept Warriors from Lincoln? You're just going to have to find out in-story

[junqkook]

— THE YOUNG WOLF (m.)

pairing; jungkook/reader genre; game of thrones au, angst, smut words; 23,003 rating; explicit

— synopsis; he was promised to another, meant for another to hold and to love and to kiss. but when his hand lingered on yours for a moment too long to be proper, and when his eyes held yours for a beat too long to be a passing glance, you allowed desire to creep into your veins, to take root inside your heart. perhaps before you might have been permitted to love him freely. perhaps he might have even been promised to you instead. but war was no place for the wants and desires of two people, no matter how much they yearned for it to be.

contents; stark jungkook, arranged marriage, (kind of) forced wedding, war, graphic depictions of violence, blood, murder (massacre, really), betrayal, manipulation, character deaths (minor and major), lovers to enemies to lovers, mutual pining (lots of pining), grief, loss, depression, trauma, reader’s dad slaps her once, infertility, slight dubcon if you squint (sort of but not really), alternating pov, virgin reader, jungkook’s got a big dick, very slight virgin kink, rough sex, creampie, unprotected sex (stay safe!), breath play, masochism, some sadism, dom jungkook, manhandling, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting/marking, fingering, dirty talk, possessiveness, riding.

— notes; this is based on a song of ice and fire by george r.r. martin (aka game of thrones). includes major spoilers for the series, however previous knowledge of game of thrones is not needed to understand the fic. please read the contents carefully before proceeding. also i’m so sorry this is so long, i couldn’t shut up.

the young wolf. the dragonrider. vipers in the sand. every rose has thorns. as good as gold. blood of the dragon. the king who knelt.        ↳ series masterlist.

JUNGKOOK

His eyes scanned the parchment, the dried ink settling his heart into his throat. He looked up at his mother and the maester, their worried eyes trained on him as he took only seconds to make a decision.

“Call the banners,” he said, voice gruff.

“All of them?” his mother asked quietly while the maester watched on.

“All of them.” Jungkook’s tone left no room for argument, his eyes cold as ice. “They all swore oaths to defend my father. Let us see now what their words are worth.”

The maester nodded his head and left the room as quickly as his old bones could carry him, the rings on the chains dangling off his shoulders signifying the many subjects he had mastered clanking with each step he took. Jungkook shut his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers as the words on the small scroll bounced around his head.

“Are you sure about this?” his mother asked him, coming to stand by his side and rest a hand on his shoulder.

Jungkook sighed and stood straighter before looking down at his mother. “The new king has labeled my father a traitor and keeps him in chains. This message is a royal summons that I cannot ignore.” He looked away from her dark eyes, clenching the parchment in his fist. “If he wants us to come south, we will. But we will bring an army of Northmen with us.”

His mother pursed her lips and nodded slowly, letting her hand fall away from his shoulder. “Whatever your decision, I will stand behind you.”

Jungkook smiled briefly at her. “If it’s a war the king wants, it’s a war he’ll get.”

YOU

“When will we arrive?” you asked your father, the horses trotting along the Kingsroad leisurely.

Your father, an older man with a gruff exterior and experience with war, grunted and shrugged a shoulder. “Your brother rode ahead of us. It shouldn’t be too much longer until we reach the Jeon boy.” You stayed quiet, letting your horse follow your father’s the rest of the way.

By the time you reached the camp, night had fallen and darkened the skies. Torches had been lit around the tents and along the way. Many men wandered around the grounds, chatting with their fellow Northmen. You turned forward again just in time to see your father unmount his horse and leave it to a squire from your household. You quickly followed suit, sliding off the saddle and handing the reins to the same boy, only a handful of years younger than you.

You knew your father was headed off to see the son of Lord Jeon, Warden of the North, and that he wouldn’t want you coming along. So you stayed behind, slinking in the shadows away from the torches, keeping a careful eye on your father until he reached a tent and ducked in through the flap, two men guarding it and prohibiting anyone else from entering.

You cursed under your breath and attempted to make your way to the side, but you could see one of the guards eyeing you suspiciously, thwarting your plan to eavesdrop on the lords inside. But it didn’t take long for your father to come out of the tent, a younger man right behind him.

When your father saw you, a sheepish smile creeping onto your lips, he rolled his eyes. He walked a few steps away from the tent, talking quietly to the man beside him, and waved you over. You hurried forward, stepping into place beside your father as he cleared his throat.

“My Lord,” he started, gesturing to you. “This is my eldest daughter.” You bowed your head slightly and peeked up at the man through your eyelashes, surprised to find him still looking at you and your heart leapt into your throat. Your father called your name again and then dropped his hand. “This is Lord Jeon’s eldest son of House Stark.”

“My Lord,” you said quietly, keeping your head bowed.

“It is good to meet you, my Lady,” he said kindly, bowing his own head. “My name is Jungkook.” The last part he murmured quietly, as if in an attempt to ease your nerves. It was just loud enough that you knew your father had heard him and your cheeks felt hot when Jungkook continued to watch you even after you had straightened, his eyes holding yours for a few moments that felt like an eternity.

The young lord then moved his eyes to your father, tilting his head respectfully before walking away. Your own eyes followed him, watching every step that he took farther and farther away from you. You snapped out of your daze when your father rested a heavy hand on your shoulder and drew your attention.

He had a strange look on his face, his lips twitching up briefly. “Let’s go find your brother.” You smiled and agreed, pausing just as he began to walk forward. Unable to resist the urge, you pivoted to look behind you for a few seconds before going after your father.

You wiped the sweat from your brow, focused on wrapping the bandage around the man’s leg and keeping it tight to stop the bleeding from worsening. The battle had been a success for Lord Jungkook and the North, as evidenced by the aftermath you now stood in. You were tending to the injured on the field, and you had lost count how many you had attempted to help.

Once you were done, you nodded to the man sitting to the side, signaling for him to take his friend elsewhere. You stood up and stretched your aching muscles for a few moments. A hand came down on your shoulder and you whirled around, eyes wide and breath catching in a startled gasp.

Your father was giving you a hard look, his bearded face covered in dirt and blood. You swallowed, but you didn’t have the chance to say anything.

“Go on,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of one of the tents. “Lord Jeon’s son is waiting for you.”

You turned to look at the tent he was referring to and bit your lip as you left him to walk over to the tent, your supplies and medicine still in the bag hanging at your hip. Once there, you ducked slightly as you shifted the flap to the side. Entering, you made eye contact with your Lord immediately.

He gave you a brief smile, seated on the edge of the table. You could see blood dripping down his fingers, but the fabric covering his arm was too dark to spot where his injury was.

“My Lord,” you greeted, bowing your head slightly.

“My Lady,” he returned, eyes still focused on you. “You did not need to come. The wound is nothing more than a scratch.”

Your eyebrows went up as you got closer, standing only a few feet away from him. “I mean no offense, my Lord,” you said playfully. “But mere scratches do not bleed as much as yours seems to.”

Lord Jungkook chuckled quietly, the sound causing a flutter in your belly. “My scratches seem to be special, then,” he replied, tone just as teasing as yours.

Unable to hide your smile, you ducked your head so he wouldn’t see instead. You peeked up at him and made to reach for his arm. “May I?” you asked. He nodded his head and held out his hand, which you took in your own. His skin was warm and sticky with blood, but you stopped your thoughts before they could spiral out of line. Pushing his sleeve up, you didn’t fail to notice the way he hissed quietly, his so-called scratch coming into view quickly.

“Is this scratch too big to be mended?” he asked you quietly as you examined it.

You shook your head, running your hands up his arm to the slice on his forearm. “No,” you told him. “But you will need this stitched up. I’m afraid this scratch is too deep to simply bandage up and send you on your way.”

“Stitch it up for me, then,” he commanded, though his voice was soft. When you looked up from his arm, startled, his dark eyes were just as soft.

“Alright.” You swallowed nervously and looked around, spotting a few chairs around the table he was sitting on. “Would you mind moving to the chairs, my Lord? It might take some time.”

He stood without a word and you stumbled back to keep a respectable distance between the two of you. Lord Jungkook dragged two chairs over to where you stood, placing them so they faced each other, and then sat down in one. He raised his eyebrows at you until you sat in the chair opposite him. You looked down to sift through your bag, taking out a thread and needle that had already been prepared from others that had needed stitching as well.

Once you had what you needed, cleaning the needle with a bottle of alcohol that was on the table, you reached out and took his hand in yours gently. You ran your hand up his arm and bent over it, looking up at him with a wince.

“This will hurt, my Lord,” you warned quietly. “Would you like for me to get you some Milk of the Poppy?”

Your Lord shook his head. “No, that’s alright. It is nothing I can’t handle.”

“Excuse me for being adamant, my Lord,” you continued, looking at him properly now. “This is no time to let pride take hold.”

His lips twitched up into a smile. “Do your work, my Lady,” Jungkook replied. “If the pain is too great, I will scream.”

You huffed, turning back down to his wound. You bit your lip and started to sew it shut, wincing every time his muscles tensed under your hands. You were grateful that you had the stomach for it, or you would have to clean the remnants of your pitiful lunch off the floor. You made quick work of the wound, surprised that he did not let out a sound other than a grunt every time the needle pierced his skin and tugged it.

“There,” you mumbled, tying the thread and slipping a knife from your bag to cut the excess.

“Will you bandage it now?” Jungkook asked, his chest moving up and down slowly. There were beads of sweat running down his face.

“Yes,” you replied. You took out the bandaging and started to wrap it around his arm, taking great care not to tighten it so much that it would hurt him. As you worked, you brought up something that had been nagging at the back of your mind. “I heard that you captured the kingslayer during the battle.”

There was no reply for a few moments, the only sounds the faint ones of the men outside the tent. “You have quite the open ears,” he finally said amusedly.

“So I’m right?”

Lord Jungkook chuckled. “You are. He is bound and being held as prisoner.”

You finished bandaging his arm. “Will you use him to bargain for Lord Jeon’s release?”

Looking up, you met his eyes easily. “You’re quite clever, you know,” he said. “I will use him to bargain, yes. The new king will want his uncle back safe.” You gnawed on your bottom lip, your question on the tip of your tongue and just barely being held back by your teeth. Your Lord noticed and sat back in his chair across from you, resting his injured arm across his lap. “Go on, ask whatever it is you’d like.”

Your eyes nearly sparkled as you met his, sitting up straight in your chair. “How did you capture the kingslayer? I heard there was some distraction—”

“Yes, I sent two thousand men down the Kingsroad,” Jungkook explained. “They distracted the kingslayer’s larger forces, led by his father, while I took the rest of my men to the Twins. We ambushed the kingslayer there and he fell into our trap easily. The man has gotten too comfortable in his abilities.”

You hummed. “Very strategic, my Lord. How many men did you lose? I helped where I could with the injured, and there were quite a lot of them.”

Jungkook’s face shut down and he leaned forward again. “Has your father spoken to you?” he asked quietly. When you shook your head, he reached out hesitantly and then rested his hand on your knee. It felt warm through the fabric of your dress. “We lost those two thousand men, and another few hundred during the ambush.” Your heart started to beat harder in your chest. “Among them was your brother.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. He looked sympathetic, his hand on your knee heavy and distracting. You stood from the chair, dislodging his comforting grasp, and he jerked back to avoid your skirts in his face. “No, you’re wrong, you—you must have—”

Lord Jungkook rose as well, standing before you with a frown on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, reaching out and taking your shoulders in his hands. He pulled you closer to him, voice softening when he could feel the trembling in your limbs. “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes filled with tears as you stared at him, almost unseeing. He was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in your ears. “No,” you whispered to yourself, your tears starting to slip out. “He can’t—he can’t be dead, he can’t be—”

The Lord pulled you in, crushing you to his chest. You stared at a point on the tent over his shoulder as his hand ran down your back, his cheek pressed to your hair, but still warm. The furs around him were tickling your skin and his breath was warm on your neck when he spoke, though you had no idea what he was saying.

It didn’t feel real, what he’d just told you, the way his arms felt around you, the whispers against your skin. Nothing felt right. You wanted to push him away, wanted to forget what he had said, wanted to go back in time to before the battle—but you couldn’t. And you knew the only thing holding you up was his embrace.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when your senses came back to you, but Lord Jungkook’s arms remained firm around your body, and his head had not moved from its place against your hair. His hand was rubbing your back comfortingly and you felt heat warm your cheeks.

Lifting your hands to his chest, you pushed him back lightly. He looked at you curiously when he moved only inches away from you, hands still pressed warm against your back. “My Lord,” you whispered, cheeks flushed with heat and voice thick. “I—”

“My Lord!”

You startled, turning to look at the entrance of the tent, where a squire had just come in. The young boy was staring at the two of you, locked in an inappropriate embrace, his eyes darting between you. Lord Jungkook cleared his throat and dropped his arms, turning to face the squire, and you inched back slightly, lowering your head—though you knew the boy must have seen you and known who you were. You only hoped he would not spread rumors of what he thought you must have been doing.

“Yes?” he replied. “What is it?”

“The—the kingslayer, my Lord,” the boy stuttered. “He is bound and awaits your audience.”

“Yes, I will be there immediately,” Lord Jungkook said. “You go ahead. I have… things to attend to.”

The young squire’s eyes landed on you for a brief moment before he bowed and took his leave. You were gnawing on your bottom lip hard enough that it was painful. The fleeting moment had passed, taking along with it the ease with which you had forgotten to grieve. With the prying eyes of the squire gone, you returned to feeling like there was an ache in your chest, a gaping hole that felt like your brother’s sweet smile; he had never been cruel, a man too young and too kind for war.

“My Lady,” Lord Jungkook started, reaching out and gently taking your hand. “I am deeply sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do to ease your pain—” He paused, meeting your eyes intensely. His grip was firm on your hand and his eyes were soft as he watched you. “Please let me know.”

You bowed your head, not knowing what to say to him. The loss still didn’t feel completely real and you weren’t sure if it ever would. You had a feeling that you would still wait every day for your brother to walk into your line of sight, laughing and ready to tell you everything he had done.

Barely able to muster up a smile, you squeezed his hand in return. “Thank you,” you said sincerely. “I will keep that in mind.”

He seemed pleased, a smile breaking out on his face. “I must take my leave now, forgive me. But I thank you for your assistance tonight.” You nodded and he turned away, grabbing his sheathed sword and belt before he left the tent. You met his eyes again when he quickly looked over his shoulder at you, smiling sadly and walking out from under the tent flap.

You followed suit after a few minutes and numbly walked back to your father’s tent, where you found him sitting in a heavy silence. Your knees felt weak and you fell to the ground, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Your father barely looked over at you, his gaze burning a hole into the grass in front of him. You fisted your hands in your skirts until your fingers started to hurt.

And you wept.

JUNGKOOK

He walked with heavy footsteps toward the cell his men had made for the kingslayer. He’d given up part of his freedom to get his hands on the man and succeeded. But his chest was heavy with the sacrifice his men had given for it to be a possibility.

Walking into the cell, he laid his eyes on the man, whose blonde hair was sticking to his face with sweat and dirt. With a wolfish smile, the bound man opened his mouth. “My Lord,” the kingslayer greeted mockingly. “Why haven’t you sent me to one of your bannermen’s castles? Instead you drag me with you to your camp; I dare say you’ve grown fond of me.”

Jungkook had to hold back his sneer, tilting his head to the side instead. He observed the kingslayer’s bonds, his seated position leaving him vulnerable. His hands were bound behind his back to a pole his men had dug into the ground. Seeing him in a similar to position to how he presumed his father to be, all the way in King’s Landing, gave Jungkook a twisted sense of pleasure.

“If I left you with one of my bannermen, your father would know within a fortnight. My bannermen would receive a raven with a message: ‘Release my son and be rich beyond your dreams. Refuse and your House will be destroyed root and stem.’”

The kingslayer raised a brow at his words. “You don’t trust the loyalty of the men following you into battle?”

Jungkook held back a scoff, though his lips did twitch upwards for a second. “Oh, I trust them with my life.” He paused and took in the sight of the Lannister man again, feeling powerful as he towered over him. “Just not with yours.”

The kingslayer chuckled humorlessly. “Smart boy.” Jungkook couldn’t stop the twitch at his words. Of course, the kingslayer took notice of it and tilted his head, his dirty hair falling over his face. “What’s the matter? Don’t like being called ‘boy?’ You feel insulted?”

There was a low growl from behind the cage in the darkness. Jungkook could see the way his body tensed, head shifting to try to get a look behind the cage to no avail. Footsteps echoed in the night, the rumble of the growl low and the short pants sending a chill through the air.

Jungkook’s voice was just as low when he spoke. “You insult yourself, Kingslayer.” The man’s eyes darted to the opposite side as the beast came into view outside the bars, circling it slowly. “You’ve been defeated by a boy. You’re held captive by a boy.” Jungkook paused, a small smile playing at his lips when the kingslayer’s wide eyes remained solely focused on the grey and white fur of the large direwolf as it came to a stop beside Jungkook. “Perhaps you’ll be killed by a boy.”

The direwolf, on all four legs, was nearly half the size of Jungkook himself. He was sure if the beast stood on its hind legs, it would be taller than himself. The pleasure twisting inside of his belly grew stronger at the look on the kingslayer’s face, stiff and fearful. Jungkook slowly brought a hand to rest on the back of his companion, fisting the fur gently in his gloved fingers.

“I’m sending your cousin down to King’s Landing with my peace terms,” Jungkook informed him, comforted by the presence of his wolf.

The kingslayer swallowed roughly and glanced up at him before returning his eyes to the terrifying beast. “If you think my father will negotiate with you, you don’t know him very well.”

“No. But he’s starting to know me.”

The man scoffed. “A few victories don’t make you a conquerer.”

“No,” Jungkook mused, smirking and releasing his loose hold on his direwolf. “But it’s better than a few defeats.” The wolf’s growling grew louder, until it almost drowned out the sound of his voice. “Sleep well, Kingslayer.”

Turning swiftly, Jungkook left the cage and allowed his smile to linger at the sound of his direwolf’s snapping teeth and the rattling of the kingslayer’s chains.

As he walked through the camp, he nodded his head respectfully at the people who greeted him. His eyes raked across the fields, looking for you in particular even though he knew he shouldn’t. You were probably still reeling from the news he’d given you earlier. Jungkook couldn’t quite halt the thoughts of how you had felt in his arms and against his body, like you belonged there, and he couldn’t quite hate himself for it either.

As if the gods had smiled down on him, he bumped right into you while scanning the people for your face. Jungkook’s hands found your arms, steadying you on the ground after the impact. You let out a soft noise and backed away, flustered. You looked adorable, standing in front of him, barely illuminated except for the light of the torches.

“My Lord,” you greeted him, bowing your head. When you looked back up, he could see how red your eyes were and how puffy your face was. His chest tightened with sympathy for a moment and he had to shove his tongue against the inside of his cheek when he started thinking about how beautiful you still looked.

“My Lady,” he replied. “How are you?”

You smiled briefly at him. Jungkook wanted to crush you to his chest right then and there. He clenched his fingers tightly into fists. “I’m well. How is your arm, my Lord?”

Jungkook paused for a moment, taking the sight of you in silently. “My scratch is doing fine, thanks to you.” You chuckled quietly and he couldn’t help the smile on his face at the sound. “I am in your debt, my Lady.”

You shook your head quickly, lifting your hands up in front of your chest. “No, my Lord, there is no debt to be paid. It was my duty.”

“Still, I did not wish to trouble you—”

“It was no trouble at all, really!” you interrupted. “I was happy to do it, my Lord.”

“Very well, then.” Jungkook’s smile softened. “Goodnight, my Lady. I hope you are able to rest tonight.”

Your small smile fell and your eyes fell downward, toward the grass. “Yes, thank you, my Lord. Goodnight.”

As you walked off without another word, Jungkook kicked himself internally. He hadn’t meant to upset you, but he wished he could comfort you. He knew there was no way to comfort you, it wouldn’t be proper. Especially not when—

No. It was best not to dwell too much on such thoughts. Jungkook sighed heavily and turned back toward his tent, his thoughts torn between you and the strategies he still needed to go over.

YOU

Awoken by shouts and the clinging of armor, you sat up straight in your cot. Too drowsy to really focus on anything that was being said, you hurried to get out of bed and start to get dressed, haphazardly fixing your hair as you did. When you deemed yourself presentable enough, you raised the flap of the tent and squinted at the bright sunlight, heart pounding.

The men were running back and forth, voices loud and barely comprehendible. But you did manage to catch a snippet of what was being said as you walked a little closer, avoiding the soldiers as they frantically ran about.

“The Kingslayer! He’s escaped!”

“Where is Lord Jeon?!”

“How did he escape?”

Mouth falling open in shock, you hurried to find your father and Lord, even if you knew it wasn’t truly your place to intrude on either. Logical thoughts, however, were not your biggest concern at the moment. You found them in Lord Jeon’s tent, slipping inside to the raised voices of everyone inside. They barely noticed you.

“What have you done?” Lord Jeon’s voice growled. You heard him before you saw him, stood almost at the opposite end of the tent, his face twisted with rage. Before him was his mother, her hair pinned back as it usually was. In front of you were the many lords, your father included. You stayed silent, standing behind them and near the entrance, too afraid of drawing attention in the tense atmosphere.

“Jungkook, please,” his mother pleaded, voice gentle. “It was for—“

“I don’t care what it was for!” he interrupted, throwing his arms out in frustration. “What were you thinking? He was our prisoner!”

“I did it to save your father!” she screamed back, desperation filling her voice. “He swore to return him to us! That’s what we’re fighting for—“

“He’s an oathbreaker! Have you lost your mind? Do you know what I had to do to secure his capture?” Lord Jeon stopped for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose between gloved fingers. “Two thousand men lost their lives so we could capture the kingslayer. You had better pray to all the gods that he does not break his word and returns my father safely.” His voice was dangerously low and he turned to face away from his mother, as if he couldn’t stomach to look at her. “All of you, leave.”

You quickly stepped out, keeping yourself at the side of the tent’s entrance before the men could begin to shuffle out. Once they had all exited, you saw his mother being led out of the tent with more than one guard. Biting your lip, you waited a few more moments before gathering the courage to step inside the tent, eyes finding Lord Jeon’s hunched frame over the table.

“My Lord?” you asked hesitantly, lingering by the entrance of the tent.

His head shot up, pleasant surprise etched into his features. He smiled at you kindly and you almost couldn’t believe he had just been yelling at his mother a few moments ago. Lord Jeon said your name softly. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering how you were,” you said.

“That’s very kind of you,” he replied, walking around the table and gesturing at the chairs. You followed suit and sat in the chair beside the one he took, fidgeting with your hands. “We’ll be moving camp today, to Riverrun.”

You nodded your head. “I will be sure to have all of my things ready.” You paused, unsure exactly how to bring the topic up. “I’m sorry that you lost the prisoner, my Lord,” you eventually settled on, voice barely above a whisper.

Lord Jeon looked tense, but he reached out hesitantly and rested his hand over yours. You clenched your hands tighter in your lap so that you wouldn’t do something mad, like hold his hand.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. His hand was hot on top of yours despite the cold weather. “During times of war, we must prepare for losses. Even without the Kingslayer, the North will not bend to the will of the boy-king in the South.”

Silence fell upon the two of you, though you could faintly hear the commotion of the men outside of the tent. The light inside was dim, casting shadows across Lord Jeon’s face as he watched you, his hand still resting atop yours. You could feel your body heating up from his touch, gnawing on your lip as you considered what you should do. You turned your hand under his, clasping his fingers in yours, and looked directly at him, meeting his wide eyes.

You leant forward, eyes darting down to his lips. You knew it wasn’t proper, that you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop yourself even if you had wanted to. All was quiet save for your breaths, steady and deep as you moved closer and closer, fingers tight around his. You could feel his breath on your lips, so close that your noses almost touched, when his other hand came to grasp your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, leaning back and away from you. Your heart thudded in your ears, eyes wide as you watched him move. His hand slipped out of yours and he removed his other from your shoulder. His lips were drawn into a thin line.

“No, I—“ you cut yourself off to take in a shaky breath, standing from the chair and lowering your head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, my Lord, I shouldn’t have presumed—“

Lord Jeon stood as well, stepping closer to you. When you swallowed roughly and took half a step back, he seemed to come to his senses and halted sheepishly. “No, it’s not that,” he interrupted you. He sighed heavily, dropping his hands to his sides. “I’m betrothed to a Frey girl,” he finally said, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear him.

“Oh,” was all you said in return.

Before you could truly process what that meant, your lord continued. “We had to pass through the Twins to get to the Kingslayer’s forces,” he explained. “There had to be negotiations made with Lord Frey. His condition to let us through was for me to marry one of his daughters.”

You finally looked at him, clasping your hands in front of you tightly. “Oh,” you repeated.

“I—“ Lord Jeon stopped himself, gazing back at you almost desperately. He seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t get the words out—or wouldn’t.

You steeled yourself and took in a breath. “Regardless, please forgive me, my Lord. It was not proper nor my place to do such a thing.”

Lord Jeon’s face softened as he looked at you. “There is nothing to forgive, my Lady.”

You bowed your head slightly. “I wish you good fortune with your bride-to-be,” you continued, almost choking on the words. “Please excuse me.” You heard him faintly murmur what you assumed to be a dismissal and you took your leave, walking straight out of the tent and back towards your own without looking back.

Your name was called by a soldier, catching your attention as you finished cleaning the wounds of the young boy in front of you. You turned to meet his gaze, blinking up at him curiously from your crouched position.

“Lord Jeon wants to see you,” the man said, a smirk on his face.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, simply nodding your head and finishing up with the patient you were currently bandaging up. You hadn’t seen or spoken to Lord Jeon in days, too afraid and embarrassed to go looking for him again—not after what he’d told you the last time. Your face felt hot as you recalled the memory, chiding yourself for acting so impulsively and improperly. What had you been thinking, trying to kiss your lord?

You found him in his usual tent, alone. You swallowed nervously as you walked in with your bag of medical supplies. The last time you had been alone with him had been disastrous. He looked up at you with a small smile.

“Hello,” he said easily.

“Hello,” you replied, your voice quiet. You walked over to the chair he was seated at, the map and plans for his next move in front of him on the table. His attention, however, was focused solely on you. “You wanted to see me, my Lord?”

“Yes,” he responded without missing a beat. “I seem to have gotten another scratch.”

“I see.”

He tilted his head to the side, almost playfully. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you to treat me, my Lady?”

You ducked your head, biting back a smile. “Of course not, my Lord. Where is the scratch?”

Lord Jeon chuckled, shifting to put his leg out closer to you. When you took a closer look, you could see that there was blood pooling over his knee and his pants were torn higher up along his thigh. You swallowed past the quickly forming lump in your throat, glancing up at him briefly as you crouched down between his legs. The air suddenly tensed, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen to inhale, and you wondered if it was just you who felt like this.

You pulled out a pair of scissors from your bag after you set it beside you, fixing your position so you were comfortably on your knees. You set a hand on his thigh, trying not to think about how firm the muscles felt under your palm. You dragged your fingers along the tear in the fabric, pulling it up so you could cut away from the wound. You had to force your breathing to remain steady as you got to work cleaning the large gash on his thigh.

“We managed to push back the Lannister army,” Lord Jeon said quietly, cutting through the tense atmosphere while you worked. “We took two Lannister boys as well.”

You perked up slightly. “Have you caught the Kingslayer yet?”

He sighed. “No, he was nowhere to be found, the coward. And to think they call him the greatest swordsman alive.”

“He’s no match for you, I’m sure,” you quipped.

Lord Jeon chuckled. “Of course not.”

After another brief silence, you grabbed your thread and needle to stitch his wound, just as you had before. “This will hurt, my Lord.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” he joked.

You rolled your eyes playfully and started to stitch, sticking the needle through the skin at the end of the wound. “Who are the Lannister boys you captured?”

“Distant cousins of the Kingslayer,” he said, though his voice was pitched low. “They’re just boys.”

“How old are they?”

“Thirteen and eleven.”

Your eyes widened, but you continued to work on the wound as carefully as you could. “That’s very young.”

“Too young,” Lord Jeon replied.

A few more moments passed as you worked, your eyes never leaving his wound. “Why did you call for me, my Lord?” you finally asked, barely able to gather the courage to do it. “There are many nurses to treat the wounded.”

When he didn’t respond, you worried that you had overstepped, but then his gloved hand came to rest atop your head. You stopped your stitching and looked up at him in surprise, shocked to find his expression a mix between regret and tenderness. His thumb was gently stroking your hair, almost like a subconscious movement. “I trust you.” The hand on your head, even through the glove, felt unbelievably warm on your head and you couldn’t stop the shiver that shot through your spine. “And it wouldn’t do to have the others see their lord wounded.”

You wanted to kiss him.

He was promised to another, meant for another to hold and to love and to kiss. But when his hand lingered on yours for a moment too long to be proper, and when his eyes held yours for a beat too long to be a passing glance, you allowed desire to creep into your veins, to take root inside your heart. Perhaps before you might have been permitted to love him freely. Perhaps he might have even been promised to you instead. But war was no place for the wants and desires of two people, no matter how much they yearned for it to be.

You swallowed, opening your mouth to say something, when Lady Jeon rushed in with a few guards, a paper clutched tightly in her fist. Your head snapped over to look at them, your position provocative from behind the table. Body flushing with heat, you moved away as far as you could without pulling the thread of the needle, and Lord Jeon quickly removed his hand from your head.

“What is it?” he asked after clearing his throat. He beckoned them over to the side of the table the two of you were on. They approached cautiously, but you could see the line of his mother’s shoulders relax when she was close enough to see that you were mending his wound.

“It’s your father,” she told him with a broken voice. “They’ve executed your father.”

There was silence in the tent and you looked up at Lord Jeon’s face, his pain and shock written all over it for everyone to see. He started to move, but you quickly pressed down on his thigh, catching his attention.

“My Lord,” you said. “You mustn’t move. The wound is not properly mended yet.” He looked down at you with stony eyes and you almost flinched away, but you ducked your head and worked to finish stitching his broken skin with your trembling fingers.

“What,” Lord Jeon began with a voice that sounded almost like that of a wolf’s growl, “happened?”

Lady Jeon dropped the parchment on the table in front of her son. You couldn’t see her face for she stood behind you, but you attempted to complete your work as quickly as you could. He picked the parchment up off the table and his eyes took in the words harshly.

“Treason?” Lord Jeon scoffed. “Father? He is no traitor. The new king fancies himself a man, labeling my father a traitor of the Seven Kingdoms and taking his head.” You barely recognized the edge in his voice, unlike you’d ever heard it before. “Guards, escort my mother back to her tent. We arrive in Riverrun tonight.”

“Jungkook, you can’t be serious—“ his mother started, but he silenced her quickly.

“You released my prisoner for the sake of my father’s safety,” he said bluntly. “Now he has been beheaded, his name smeared with the word ‘traitor,’ and the Kingslayer is probably drinking and whoring himself back in King’s Landing. You will be confined to your chambers indefinitely.” His voice dipped low, dangerous, and you had just barely managed to finish your stitching, tying the thread and cutting it with the scissors. “The only reason you’re still breathing for your treasonous acts is because you are my mother.”

Once the guards had escorted Lady Jeon out of the tent and toward her own, you shifted back a bit, your knees aching when you moved them. You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, sure that Lord Jeon would want to be alone, but before you could get to your feet or say a word, his arms had wrapped around you and pulled you in close.

Your face was crushed into the furs of his coat, his hands holding your crouched body as close as he could to his chest. He had pulled you in closer between his thighs, until the two of you were flush against one another. You didn’t know how to react, the needle and scissors still in your hands as you held them still over his thighs.

His fingers carded through your hair. You could feel him rest his head atop yours, breath fanning the strands. “Please stay,” he whispered into your hair. “Don’t go.”

Instead of replying, you released your tools to fall to the ground and wrapped your arms around his midsection, turning your face so that your cheek rested on his torso. He buried his face into your hair, clutching you tighter at your silent compliance. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you could hear his own heart beating at a quick rhythm.

You stayed there, in that same position, for what felt like an eternity. You were just as reluctant to let go of him as he seemed to be of you, the only sounds filling the tent your mingling breaths and the quiet whimpers of a boy who had too heavy of a burden to carry.

Everyone was gathered for the victory feast, meat and fruits littering the tables set across the camp. It wouldn’t be long until the forces reached Riverrun. Night had fallen and you sat idly beside your tense father, eating silently even as the men around you started to debate which king they should pledge to fight alongside against the boy-king in the southern capitol. Your eyes kept flickering up from your plate of food to find Lord Jeon, who was seated at the middle table with his mother and a few other lords.

One of the many lords stood from his table, walking to the middle to continue the debate. “The course of action is clear! We should swear fealty to the Baratheon boy and march our forces South.”

Lord Jeon cut in, still seat at his table but turned to face the rest of the soldiers. “We cannot swear fealty to the Baratheon boy. He is not King.”

“My Lord,” another soldier spoke up. “Do you mean to pledge us to the boy-king? He put your father to death—“

“That doesn’t make the Baratheon king,” Lord Jeon argued. “He is the youngest brother of the late king. Just as my brothers cannot be Lord of Winterfell before me, he cannot be King of the Seven Kingdoms before his older brother.”

Lord Umber stood abruptly, interrupting all of the arguments. “My lords,” he started, walking leisurely until he was in the middle. His stance commanded the attention of everyone. “Here’s what I say to these two kings.” After a brief pause, he spat on the ground, drawing a few chuckles from the soldiers—and yourself included. You didn’t much care for either of these kings, as you would never be going South after this war was won—your place, and everyone else’s here, was in the North.

The lord continued, voice rising as he grew more passionate with every word. “The two of them mean nothing to me. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of war? Of the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong!” You found yourself laughing heartily alongside your father and the others, eyes falling on Lord Jeon briefly. There was a small smile on his face and you found your own dwindling at the sight. “Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to. And now the dragons are dead!”

There was a murmur of agreement throughout the now hushed group, and you could see heads nodding as he continued his speech.

Lord Umber drew his sword easily, turning his body and pointing the tip at Lord Jeon. “There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to.” The camp was completely silent, the only sounds the crackling of the fire. Lord Umber dropped to one knee, digging the very tip of his sword into the grass in front of him and holding the hilt tightly. “The King in the North!”

Your eyes were wide and your breath caught as you watched the scene unfold before you. Lord Jeon’s dark hair was swept handsomely across his forehead and his dark eyes were trained on the kneeling lord in front of him.

Another lord stood, this time from your table, and approached Lord Umber. “I’ll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castle. And their iron chair, too!” He kneeled beside Lord Umber and in front of Lord Jeon, drawing his sword and digging it into the grass. “The King in the North!” he repeated loudly.

Lord Jeon stood from his place, looking down at the two men with something like awe in his expression. You knew you must have mirrored his look, but it was directed at him. As others rose to their feet, your father included, all drawing their swords and lifting them in the air, you looked around in astonishment.

“The King in the North!” they all shouted. “The King in the North!”

And standing amidst his people, all cheering for their new king, Jungkook appeared to you not as a boy taking his father’s role, but as a man worthy of the crown of his people.

Your breath felt labored, the blood rushing in your ears nearly drowning out the calls of everyone around you. You stayed seated, lips parted as the North gained a new king and its independence, its freedom, back. Your eyes couldn’t stray from your king’s form, tall and powerful among the lords rallied around him, and your chest was tight with a feeling you knew all too well and wished not to recognize.

You had been given your own chambers once the Northern forces had reached the Riverrun keep weeks ago. There had been another battle, one that you had witnessed crumbling from the moment King Jungkook’s uncle had gone off on his own instead of listening to the strategy the new king had told him. That argument had not been a pretty one, after all was done and the Lannister forces were forced to flee—he had wanted to trap the Lannister army between them, unable to retreat back to the South, but thanks to the insubordination they had been able to make a full retreat.

Walking down the hall, you made your way down the now familiar route to the king’s chambers. You were always discreet, but with a place this large and servants bustling about at all hours, it had only been a matter of time before rumors began to spread of the two of you.

You opened the door after you knocked, his voice signaling for you to enter. “My King,” you greeted with a small bow of your head. Once you had secured the door shut behind you, the king in the north beckoned you over to where he sat on the edge of the large bed.

“How many times must I remind you to call me Jungkook?” he asked.

“As many as you wish, my King,” you teased. Sitting beside him on the bed, he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you close. “How is it today?” you asked softly, lifting your own arms and embracing him back. You let one hand trail up to his hair, running your fingers through the dark strands.

He sighed into your neck and you had to suppress a shiver. “Better now that you’re here.”

“You really ought to let me give you some milk of the poppy,” you told him gently.

You could feel him shake his head against your shoulder. “The only thing I need to soothe me is to have you here, in my arms.” You didn’t respond, simply playing with his hair. This had become a nightly ritual for the two of you—your king summoned you to his chambers discreetly and you appeared, his request from the first night to just let him hold you until the tremors subsided still ringing true now weeks later. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into your skin. “I know this is unfair of me to ask of you.”

You shook your head, swallowing past the lump in your throat. You didn’t have the right to touch him like you were, to hold him as you were, but you wished for it to never end regardless. You knew that, eventually, you would have to hand him over to his betrothed, to a woman who was a stranger to him and to you; she would be the one wrapped up in his arms, clutching him to her breast and running her fingers through his hair. You selfishly prayed that day would never come.

“You can ask anything of me, Jungkook,” you whispered back, hugging him closer.

Neither of you said another word for the rest of the night, content with listening to the other’s calm breathing and the feel of your bodies pressed together in a sweet embrace. Once it was time, the two of you growing tired, Jungkook pulled away and lifted his hands to cup your face. His fingers brushed back your hair. You blinked blearily up at him, your arms slipping away from his body to rest on your lap.

“Go rest,” he said softly. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

You smiled at him, nodding your head, but he kept his hands on your cheeks. His thumbs trailed back and forth on your skin and he gazed at you for a long time, until your breathing started to deepen and your fingers started to shake. Finally, he released you from his gentle grasp, sitting back and watching as you gathered yourself and left his chambers as quietly as you could, just as he did every night.

The walk back to your own chambers was quiet, the rest of the castle fast asleep or outside on duty. Once you were curled up in your bed, sleep overtook you quickly. As you drifted off to the land of dreams, you thought you could almost still feel your king’s arms circling you.

You woke as early as you usually did, stretching and preparing for the day ahead of you. You knew you wouldn’t see Jungkook again until the night, as he was busy with his advisors and planning his next move against the Lannisters. You found your way to the kitchens, sneaking a few pieces of fruit and bread, dropping them in your bag.

Making your way down to the dungeons, the guard sighed and let you through the door easily; he had long given up arguing with you over it.

Two pairs of blue eyes met yours with excitement as the guard unlocked the cell and let you in. The two young boys smiled up at you easily, excited to see you. It broke your heart, how happy they seemed just to have another person come to them.

“Good morning, boys,” you greeted, digging through your bag. “I brought you some breakfast.” Their small hands took the food gratefully, quickly digging in to eat. Your chest twisted with something painful, watching them. “Did they bring you supper?”

Martyn, the older Lannister boy, shook his head. “No. One of the men said that Lannisters should learn what hunger really feels like.”

You bit your lip, brows furrowing at the bit of information. You stayed silent, watching the two young boys eat ravenously, and your heart ached for them. Once they had finished, you pulled out a cloth from your bag and knelt in front of them. They blinked at you but did not move.

“Martyn, don’t you know how to keep yourself clean?” you chided, though you didn’t mean it. The boy looked sheepish as you cupped one of his cheeks to hold his face still, using the cloth in your other to wipe away the bits of food stuck around his mouth. You wiped away the grime and dirt sticking to his face from the cold, small cell as well before moving on to do the same for Willem, who eagerly let you clean his face—you supposed the eleven year old must have seen you as a surrogate mother figure while he was being held away from his real one. You swallowed roughly at the thought of how worried their mother must be, wondering where her sons were and if they were even alive.

“Will you come back again?” Willem asked innocently, lifting one of his small hands to grab part of your dress.

You smiled at him as best you could, trying not to show them how affected you were. “Of course I will. Who else will take care of you?” All three of you giggled together, the tension easing. “Do either of you have any more scrapes for me to take a look at?” They shook their heads and you quietly let out a breath of relief.

“Is it true, what they say?” Martyn asked you abruptly.

“What do they say?” you questioned back.

“That the King in the North turns into a direwolf at night,” he said innocently. “That he howls at the moon and eats the flesh of his enemies.”

You gnawed on your lip, taking in the sparkling eyes of the young boys. Playfully, you leaned forward and lowered your voice. “It’s true,” you told them. “But only on the full moon. And he only eats the flesh of naughty boys who don’t listen to what they’re told, so you two had better behave yourselves.” They nodded their heads quickly, easily believing the tale.

As you took your leave, hugging each boy goodbye and promising to come see them tomorrow and to bring a bigger breakfast for them, you could hear them murmuring about how the king in the North couldn’t be killed with admiration in their voices. You sighed, the guard giving you a pitying look as you left the dungeon, hoping that the war would be won sooner rather than later. At least the boys didn’t seem to hate Northerners or the Starks, regardless of their family name and position.

As you exited the castle, you saw your father fuming and Jungkook’s mother in front of him. Their voices were loud enough to draw attention and you slipped closer to the crowed of soldiers around them, listening in.

“I’ll have their heads!” your father was shouting. “And if you try and stop me—“

“You will strike me down?” Lady Jeon yelled back, narrowing her eyes at him. Her face was twisted with rage so like the way Jungkook’s had before that you were momentarily reminded of how alike the two really were. “Have you forgotten me, Ser? I am the widow of your liege lord—I am the mother of your king!”

Lady Jeon’s guard unsheathed part of his sword, drawing nearer. “Threatening my Lady is an act of treason—“

Your father interrupted menacingly. “Treason? How can it be treason to kill Lannisters?”

Lady Jeon looked at him firmly. “I understand your grief, my Lord, better than most. The Lannisters will pay for their crimes, I promise you. But for now, in the name of my son—your king—stand down.”

“I will demand their heads from your son,” your father continued, anger still simmering in his expression.

Lady Jeon’s face tightened. “Wise men do not make demands of kings,” she warned.

“Fathers who love their sons do,” he spat back, turning away from her and marching toward the others. Soon, the crowd dispersed, and you quietly slipped away, unwilling to let anyone know that you had been down in the cells. Your heart was pounding harshly against your ribs, pumping dread through your entire body as you set about making your usual rounds to the soldiers to keep them healthy and well.

As you were going back to your chambers to grab a few things and rest a few moments, you were summoned by your father to his own. You quickly made your way there, knocking on the door to his chambers lightly.

“Come in,” he called from the other side of the door.

When you walked in, shutting the door behind you, you took in the dark look on your father’s face. You immediately knew to brace yourself for a lecture. “Yes, Father?” you prompted, clasping your hands in front of you as you waited.

He stood from his chair, watching you coldly. “Do you know what they’re saying about you?”

You swallowed. “What are they saying about me?”

“That you go into the king’s room every night for hours,” he started, almost spitting the words at you. “That my daughter is the king’s whore!”

You had to calm your breathing, trying not to panic at the insinuations. You already knew that they had been spreading rumors about you, but not to this extent. “I haven’t done anything improper with the king,” you mumbled, barely able to string a coherent sentence together; you were lying, of course—being alone with him and letting him hold you close was far from proper, but you hadn’t shared a bed with him.

“Do you think it matters, you stupid girl?” he shouted, drawing closer to you. You had to stop yourself from flinching away. “It doesn’t matter if you have or not! The rumors themselves, that you’re—that you’re spreading your legs for the king, no man will ever come near you!”

“But, Father—“

“Quiet!” he roared, his open palm coming down hard against your cheek. Your head snapped to the side and you cried out, reaching out to hold your stinging skin, looking back up at your father fearfully. “The king is betrothed to a Frey girl,” he continued, towering over you. Your hands started to shake. “He will never marry you. Do not bring dishonor on our family—on our House!”

You nodded your head, staying silent. After a few moments, your father scoffed and turned away from you, walking back toward the table in his room. You straightened your back again, hand still cupping your burning cheek.

“You are dismissed,” he told you coldly.

Without a word, you left his chambers. You kept your head down as you passed people in the halls, dropping your hand to your side and fisting the fabric of your dress in your hands. Once alone in your own room, you hurried to wash your face and press a cloth wet with cold water to your cheek, hoping that it wouldn’t swell.

You slipped down the hall toward Jungkook’s room, as you did every night. He hadn’t called for you yet, but you were impatient to feel his arms around you and feel his breath on your skin. The dread pooling in the pit of your stomach hadn’t subsided, but you pushed it to the back of your mind in favor of seeing your king.

When you passed the main hall, you paused, hearing people talking inside. The door was ajar and you peeked through the crack, seeing your father surrounded by a few other men and Jungkook himself standing before him. The king had a scowl on his face and you couldn’t help but quietly enter the room, watching and listening in even though you knew you shouldn’t. Jungkook’s eyes caught yours and for a brief moment you saw a distressed expression take hold on his face before he schooled it into something harsh and he looked away from you, toward your father.

You didn’t have to say anything, as your eyes were drawn toward the ground, where on a rag lay two bodies, dried blood smearing their throats. You bit back the gasp as bile rose in your throat, eyes wide and trained on the two young Lannister boys’ dead bodies, the familiar color of their golden hair and baby features startling you. You snapped your gaze back up toward your father’s back.

“Is this all of them?” Jungkook asked one of his guards. The man nodded his head. “It took five of you to murder two unarmed boys?”

“Not murder, Your Grace,” your father spat. “Vengeance.”

“Vengeance?” Jungkook repeated incredulously. “These boys did not kill your son. I saw your son die on the battlefield against the Kingslayer.”

“And they were his kin—“

“They were boys!” Jungkook yelled, unable to keep his composure. There was silence and you were sure if a needle dropped to the floor, you would be able to hear it. You wrung your hands, squeezing your fingers repeatedly, trying to keep your breathing steady and even. Your father had really gone through with his threats and killed the two boys. “Look at them,” Jungkook snarled at him.

“Tell your mother to look at them,” he shot back, eyes never wavering from Jungkook’s face. You managed to tear your gaze from the dead bodies, catching sight of a silent and disheveled Lady Jeon seated at the window sill, her eyes unmoving from the Lannister boys. “She killed them as much as I.”

“My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your treason—“

Your father interrupted, provoking the already angry King. You wished he would just stop talking for once, but you were familiar with his combative nature, too hot-headed to ever just shut up. “It’s treason to free your enemies! In war, you kill your enemies—did your father not teach you that, boy?”

There was a heavy silence, everyone’s eyes snapping to your father. Nobody seemed to be comfortable with the insult at Jungkook’s deceased father—he had been a good man, and an even better lord. One of the guards started to draw his sword, but King Jungkook raised his hand in a motion for him to stop.

“Leave him,” he said.

“Aye, leave me,” your father taunted, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Leave me to the king; he wants to give me a scolding before he sets me free. That’s how he deals with treason.” You could see the hateful smirk on your father’s face. Your eyes darted to Jungkook’s, which was set into a scowl. “Our king in the North… Or should I call him the king who lost the North?”

Jungkook’s face didn’t even twitch at the provocation. His eyes remained firmly on your father and when he spoke, his voice was soft—but the words were not. “Escort our lord to the dungeon. Hang the rest.”

After a beat of stunned silence, there was a flurry of movement. The guards began to push at the men to lead them out, and two guards gripped your father’s arms. One of the younger men spoke in a panic, struggling against the guards.

“Please, mercy, Your Grace!” he begged. “I didn’t kill anyone, I only watched for the guards!”

Jungkook’s cold eyes cut to the man, not a shred of compassion in his gaze. You shuddered, the look so foreign on his face. “This one was only the watcher,” he started, voice growing harsh. “Hang him last so he can watch the others die.” You watched on with a sense of growing horror as the men were shuffled out of the room and Jungkook turned away, his mother and uncle watching his every move.

“Word of this can’t leave Riverrun,” his uncle said, approaching Jungkook. You stood by the door, too frightened to make a move and draw the attention to yourself. “You can bury them and remain silent. The Lannisters always pay their debts, they keep fucking saying it—���

Jungkook cut his gaze to his uncle, halting him with just his look. “I can’t fight for justice if I don’t serve justice to murderers in my ranks, no matter how Highborn.” His eyes seemed to find yours for only a brief moment. “He has to die.”

The words cut straight through you and it was like your muscles remembered how to move again. Your steps were quick as you made for Jungkook, grabbing his arm and looking at him pleadingly. His own hands automatically raised to grip your elbows, almost steadying you.

“Please, my King,” you rasped. “Please, don’t do this, I beg of you—”

Lady Jeon cut in. “Keep him as a hostage until the war is over,” she argued, approaching the two of you quickly. “They’re Northmen. They won’t forget the killing of their lord, nor will they forgive it.”

“Please,” you whispered, gripping the fabric of his sleeves so hard your fingers started to ache. “Please don’t kill him, please, he’s my father—”

Jungkook’s eyes bore into yours and his brows furrowed. He seemed pained and his hands around your elbows tightened, as if he was going to make to pull you close. “Take her to her room,” he said instead, shoving you away from him. “Make sure she doesn’t come out.”

“No!” you begged, fisting the material of his shirt even tighter, refusing to let go of him even as his uncle grabbed your shoulders from behind to yank you back. “Please don’t do this, Jungkook, please, he’s my father, don’t take him from me like my brother was, please, he’s all I have left—”

Your pleas fell on closed ears, Jungkook turning away from you harshly as you were dragged out of the room, still kicking and screaming and pleading with him to reconsider. You didn’t even feel the hot sting of tears rolling down your cheeks until you were thrown into your chambers and the door locked from the outside.

You rushed at the door, attempting to open it even as you heard the locks click into place, screaming and crying until your voice went hoarse and your throat ached with every wracking breath you took in.

JUNGKOOK

Jungkook watched the men lead the lord over to the stone, the weather just as gloomy and threatening as the atmosphere that surrounded everyone. Many of the lord’s men stood to watch the execution, as well as his own family and other houses.

His hands were bound, his look venomous as Jungkook approached him. “The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as it does yours, boy,” he spat at the young king. “I fought the Mad King for your father,” he continued. “I fought the boy-king for you. We are kin.”

Jungkook’s voice was even as he spoke, though he could feel the weight of the sword at his hip like it wished to drag him to his knees. “That didn’t stop you from betraying me. And it won’t save you now.”

“I don’t want it to save me,” the lord scoffed, a mean smirk playing on his lips. “I want it to haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed at the older man. “Kneel, my Lord.”

The man did so after a long look at his king. He dropped his knees to the ground and bent his body over the stone until his head was past the edge. Jungkook drew his sword, willing his hands to stop shaking and that nobody would notice it; he set the tip on the ground and held the hilt with both hands as he started to speak.

“Lord of Karhold, here in sight of men and gods, I sentence you to die.” Jungkook looked down pitifully at the older man. “Would you speak a final word?”

The man slowly turned his head to glance up at Jungkook, his features contorted with rage. “Kill me and be cursed,” he said. “You are no king of mine.”

Before he had even fully turned his head back down, Jungkook drew his sword up in front of him. With a harsh, swift movement he swung the sword down and the metal sliced into the lord’s neck until it went cleanly through. The head fell to the ground with a thud and blood dripped down the metal of his sword beside it. His eyes tore away from the sight and he was breathing heavily as he turned away, the silence of everyone around him deafening.

Jungkook walked away from the scene, sword clasped tightly in his fist and trailing blood behind him.

It didn’t take long for his mother and uncle to find him in his chambers, sitting at his table with a look of concentration on his face. His sword was nowhere to be found, as he’d given it to a squire to clean.

Before they could say a word, Jungkook spoke up without looking at them. “Are there guards posted by ____’s room?”

“Yes,” his uncle replied.

Jungkook sighed. His mother stepped closer to him, but stayed on the other side of the table. “His men won’t forget this,” she warned. “The second they seize her, they’ll abandon you and march back North.”

He sighed again. “I know.” Staring daggers into the wood, he repeated the words. “I know.”

“How will you manage to keep her as a political hostage?” his uncle said. “They might abandon us even without her. I don’t think those stubborn soldiers will willingly ride into battle for us regardless of if their lord’s daughter is locked up in a room somewhere or not.”

Jungkook had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Bile rose in his throat and he knew what his mother was going to say the second he met her eyes.

“You’ll have a choice,” she said gently, kindly. “You can let her go with her father’s forces back to the North, and marry the Frey girl for more men from Lord Frey.”

“There’s no guarantee that he would send them in time,” Jungkook groaned, dropping his chin to rest on his palm. “Lord Frey is notorious for sending his men at the end of wars.”

His mother reached a hand over to settle it on his shoulder. He wished, for a brief moment, that he was young enough again to be able to hide in her skirts and be comforted by her. But he wasn’t. And the burden he carried now would forever rest on his shoulders.

“You can marry her,” she said. Jungkook glanced up, catching sight of his startled uncle staring at his sister as if she were mad. “It would bind our families together and as the only remaining heir to their House, you would be in command of their men until she had a son. They would have to stay.”

“If you do that,” his uncle started. “The Freys will never forgive you. Lord Frey is not a man to be crossed.”

“You are both right,” Jungkook mumbled. “But I will not force her to marry me. And I’ve already given my word to Lord Frey.”

His mother pursed her lips. “You won’t be forcing her. We need only speak to her mother. And they won’t refuse you—their House will care more for having a daughter as Queen in the North. I need only your agreement, Jungkook.”

Jungkook dragged a hand over his face. There was no way he could put his trust in Frey to send men in time for the next battle. That wretch of a man would rather see them all dead than send his aid, even if his daughter became Jungkook’s wife; his children were too many to count on his favor for any of them.

“I’ll do it,” he strained. “Send a raven.”

YOU

It had been days since the execution of your father. You were not allowed to leave your chambers, maids leaving your meals for you before leaving and locking the door. There were always at least three guards posted right outside of your room—and if you had somehow managed to get past them, there would be many more of Jungkook’s men that you would encounter.

The door to your chambers opened suddenly and you flinched, straining to see from your spot on the windowsill. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of your mother, the door shutting quietly after she was let inside. You stood from the window and rushed over to her, wrapping your arms around her tightly. She embraced you just as tightly, her hand stroking your back comfortingly as you started to cry like you had as a child.

“Are we leaving?” you finally whimpered, sniffling. “Are we going back home?”

Your mother’s silence concerned you. Your heart started to beat faster and you tightened your grip on her, waiting. “We’re not going home, my sweet child.”

You pulled back, hating the pitying look on her face. “What do you mean? Why not? They—“ You swallowed, eyes turning down toward your feet. “He killed Father.”

“He did,” she replied. Her hands pulled away from your back and she brushed your hair from your face, wiping your tears gently. “But you’re going to marry him.”

Her words were like ice piercing straight through your abdomen. “What?” you whispered. “No, you can’t be—you can’t be serious!” Your voice started to strain and you backed away from her, shaking your head. “You can’t make me!”

She sighed, clicking her tongue as if you’d just refused to sit with the maesters. “Think about what you’re saying,” she chided. She walked to your bed and sat at the edge. “Your father and brother are dead. You’re the heir to Karhold. Who will take care of us?” she asked. “Neither of us will be able to take care of ourselves. You’ll have to marry anyway.”

“But surely not him,” you sputtered. “He’s promised to a Frey girl! He can’t marry me!”

Your mother stopped your arguments with one harsh look. “Think. The King in the North has already sought out your hand. Do you think any other man, Highborn or not, will dare ask for your hand now?” You bit your lip, unable to say anything back. “If you don’t marry him, you’ll bring ruin to our Great House.” She sighed, standing again. “I’ve already approved the match. After all this, you’ll be Queen in the North. Our family will rise to an equal level with House Stark.”

You blinked back your tears, letting your mother take your limp hands in her own and squeeze them. “How can I marry my father’s murderer?” you whispered, staring at her fingers wrapped around yours.

She frowned. “We all do the things we must, in any situation. He will not be the man who killed your father after this. He will be your king and your husband.” You sniffled and she made a displeased noise. “Your children will be princes and princesses. Soon, you will forget all about your worries and be free, my dear.”

You tried to give your mother a smile, swallowing all of the pain stirring in your chest. “You’re right. I’m being silly.”

She smiled, now, and wrapped you up in another hug. “I want you to be happy,” she said quietly in your ear.

“I will be,” you answered her, though you didn’t believe it yourself.

The ceremony would be soon, you knew. You hadn’t seen your newly betrothed nor anyone else, for that matter, besides the servants who brought your meals. You knew they must have been afraid that you would run away if given too much freedom, even if you had agreed to the marriage. You spent your days and nights doing nothing but think and remember the last conversation you’d had with your father. You blinked and wiped away your tears, not wanting to ruin the makeup they had spent so long on.

It wasn’t long before there was a knock on your door—you had to hold back a chuckle at the notion. It was locked and the person outside would need to unlock it themselves, so there really wasn’t a point in knocking.

Your mother walked in, smiling widely as she saw you. “My sweet child,” she breathed. “You look beautiful.”

You hoped your own smile didn’t look too much like a grimace. “Thank you.”

She rushed over, helping you stand and fixing a few of the wrinkles she could see in your gown. “Here,” she said, gesturing for you to turn around. “Let me put the cloak around you.” You faced away from your mother to let her put the thin fabric with your House colors on your shoulders, covering much of your frame.

You turned toward the door just in time to see a man you didn’t recognize walk into your chambers. “Who is this?” you asked.

“A distant relative,” your mother answered easily. Her face soured for a moment before it fixed back to her normal smile, though you could tell she was forcing it. “Since your father and brother both won’t be able to walk with you.”

You swallowed past the growing lump in your throat. “Right.” Your mother left before you, hurrying to the courtyard where the ceremony and feast would be held. You took in a shaky breath and approached the handsome man.

“You look beautiful,” he said kindly as he offered you his arm. “My name is Eunwoo.”

“Thank you, Ser,” you mumbled, taking his arm hesitantly and allowing him to lead you from the room toward the feast. You could hear a soft melody the closer you got.

“Oh, please,” he laughed. “I’m no knight. Just call me Eunwoo.”

You somehow managed to shoot him a strained smile, fingers subconsciously tightening on his arm the closer you got to the feast. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Silently, he helped you drape your veil over your face.

The two of you exited the castle and a hush fell across the guests. There were candles and torches lit, placed strategically to give off an intimate atmosphere under the darkness of the night sky. Through the veil, you could vaguely make out the shape of Jungkook standing at the end by the Septon.

You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you repeated to yourself like a mantra.

Once you were close enough, Eunwoo released you and you took a deep breath. You could tell that the ceremony was being held in the Godswood, the different faiths combining for your wedding. You supposed it was to appease all the gods, since the two of you were from Northern families who still worshipped the old gods.

Jungkook’s uncle stood beside him—at least, you assumed it was his uncle. You weren’t sure until you heard his voice.

“Who comes before the old gods this night?” he asked. With all the ceremonies you’d been to, his voice reciting the words sounded awkward; it couldn’t be helped, you supposed, since Jungkook’s uncle was from Riverrun and not the North.

Eunwoo spoke on your behalf, saying your name and House. “She comes here to be wed. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods,” he finished with. His voice was confident as he said the words. “Who comes to claim her?”

You swallowed as Jungkook stepped forward. “Jeon Jungkook, of House Stark. Heir to Winterfell and King in the North. Who gives her?”

“Cha Eunwoo of House Poole,” your distant relative answered. “A cousin to her mother.”

Jungkook’s uncle spoke again, directing his question to you. “Do you take this man?”

There was a long silence as they all waited for you. I could go now, you thought to yourself, heart pounding harshly. If I beg the Septon, he’d help me, surely. I could go.

“I take this man,” you murmured, stepping forward toward Jungkook. Everyone seemed to release a breath of relief when you finally answered, the tension that was starting to build up easing. Jungkook’s uncle and Eunwoo left the two of you.

You could vaguely make out their figures moving to the side, presumably to find a place to stand on the proper sides of the guests. You walked forward the rest of the way to Jungkook on shaky feet. Once you stood beside him, you faced him and he pivoted to face you as well. His hands gripped the hem of the veil and he lifted it from your face, letting it fall over your shoulders. Your eyes met his for a long moment and your chest felt tight with something bittersweet; this had been the sight that you yearned for, a mere few weeks ago. Now seeing him illuminated by the fires and moonlight, standing before you and a Septon, you were overcome with the urge to cry—for your grief and for your love, which hadn’t disappeared as you thought it would.

The Septon’s voice broke the spell the two of you had suddenly been put under and you darted your gaze over to him. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Jungkook nodded and shrugged the dark cloak off of his shoulders. He circled you until he stood behind you and he gently lay the cloak over your shoulders, making sure it was completely in place before he pulled his hands back. You found yourself wishing that he would keep his hands against your skin and you hated yourself for it.

When he came back to stand at your side, the two of you faced the Septon. Jungkook stretched his arm out with his palm facing the ground and you followed suit, resting your hand on top of his. A shiver ran up your arm and you almost couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight.

“In the sight of the Seven,” the Septon started, voice echoing through the silent grounds. He dropped a strip of fabric on your hands and began to wrap them together, looping the thin white cloth around three times as he continued. “I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words.”

You swallowed roughly and turned to face Jungkook, who did the same and faced you. Your hands remained together between the two of you. Like this, you almost felt too close to him. You could hardly breathe, especially when his dark eyes were so tender in that moment, the features that had looked so cold the last time you saw him now appeared soft and gentle.

“Father, Smith, Warrior,” the two of you recited together. “Mother, Maiden, Crone.” You licked your lips. “Stranger.”

“I am hers, and she is mine,” Jungkook said softly.

“I am his, and he is mine,” you echoed at the same time.

The two of you finished the last of the vows quickly. “From this day until the end of my days.”

There was a long pause, everything quiet but the sound of your breathing and the crackling of the fire. You glanced at the Septon, who gave the two of you a small nod with a smile. Jungkook’s hand turned upwards and he held yours in his gently. Leaning forward, he raised his other hand and his fingers grazed your cheek. He cupped your face and you let your eyes flutter shut as he pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. Jungkook’s mouth remained on yours for a few seconds and a tingling sensation started on your lips, spreading to the rest of your body as if the gods themselves had reached forward and given you a drop of nectar.

When he pulled back, you opened your eyes and an applause started from the guests—almost all of which were soldiers. You took in a shaky breath and tried to smile, eyes scanning the crowd of suddenly noisy people for your mother. You met Lady Jeon’s eyes instead and her smile was so warm as she gazed at the two of you, hands clutched together tightly, that it almost brought a wave of fresh tears to your eyes.

You squeezed Jungkook’s hand, wanting to feel his skin on yours desperately and hating yourself for it.

Jungkook walked over to the largest table with you at his side, hands still clasped together. Everyone’s voices started at once, the crowds starting to gather from the food that had been prepared, digging in immediately. As the two of you sat down, Jungkook released your hand. You put them in your lap, staring at the food in front of you blankly, the mix of emotions swirling inside your stomach distracting you from wanting to eat anything. When you peeked over at Jungkook, he was eating slowly, talking with the people who came up to the table lightly.

It didn’t take long before the guests grew rowdy, their voices growing loud and chanting something that you didn’t want to hear.

“Bed them! Bed them! Bed them!”

You glanced over at Jungkook with wide eyes. The corners of his lips were twitched down into a small frown, but he clenched his jaw and forced a smile onto his face.

“Perhaps we should skip the bedding ceremony,” he said.

There was a round of boo’s from the guests and soldiers.

“Your Grace!” someone shouted from the crowd. “It’s only right to bed the new lovers!”

He sighed as everyone started to laugh and cheer, already getting up from their seats. “Alright, alright,” he grumbled. He got up, the few women in attendance hurrying up to the two of you.

A group of the soldiers followed suit, all of them rushing the two of you out of your seats and shoving you toward the hall again. The women giggled as they pulled at Jungkook, undoing his buttons and strings. Your breathing quickened as the soldiers lifted you in the air, hands gripping you tightly so you didn’t fall. They led forward first, tugging at your cloak and dropping it in the warm hall as they rushed you toward the king’s bedroom.

“Watch your hands!” Jungkook shouted from behind. The men looked sheepish and stopped their insistent gripping at your gown, thankfully leaving you with your dress on. They pushed open the door and carried you to the bed, dropping you unceremoniously onto it. The women dragging Jungkook inside weren’t far behind, and you swallowed as you saw his disshelved state—his shirt was pulled open to reveal most of his chest, and his pants already half undone.

They pushed Jungkook beside you and he let out a small noise as he fell next to you, hand catching on yours for a brief moment. The two of you looked up at the men and women still laughing, their smiles wide and naughty.

“Have fun,” one of the soldiers said, winking as he ushered the others out. “Don’t be too rough, now! One should always be gentle with a lady on the first night!” he called loudly before they left the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

And then you and Jungkook were alone in his chambers, only the dim candlelight illuminating your forms.

You stood from the bed, pulling at the sleeves of your dress nervously. Jungkook stayed seated on the bed, watching you silently. It only served to unnerve you more. You heard him shift behind you, but you refused to turn and look at him.

“If you don’t want to—” he started.

“It’s fine,” you said tightly. “We have to.”

More silence. You continued to fiddle with your sleeves, unsure of what to do. There was a soft sigh behind you and more rustling. You didn’t hear Jungkook come up behind you until you felt his hands on your arms, gripping them gently. You couldn’t stop the flinch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop,” you said, just as quietly.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Jungkook continued. “If things had been different—”

“I said stop!” you shouted, whirling around to face him. Jungkook dropped his hands from your arms. You hit his chest with one of your fists, not hard enough to truly hurt him but hard enough for him to feel the weight of it. He said nothing, eyes falling shut as the room smothered the two of you in silence.

Tears were starting to fall down your cheeks and your chest was heaving with soft sobs. “You killed him,” you whispered, voice thick. Jungkook remained silent. You hit him again, with both fists, and kept hitting him, moving his body backwards with each strike. “You killed him and you didn’t let me see him!” Your voice cracked as you screamed the words at him, your punches to his chest landing more frantically in your hysteria. “You didn’t let me, you didn’t let me, you didn’t let me—”

Jungkook’s fingers wrapped around your wrists tight and he pulled you flush against his chest, halting your assault. You were crying loudly, now, thrashing and twisting in his grip in an attempt to dislodge his hands. He didn’t let go, instead shaking you back and forth.

“Of course I didn’t!” he shouted, his own voice hoarse and his eyes glassy. You fought to get away from him, not wanting to hear his voice, the same voice that had whispered such sweet words in your ear only weeks before. “You would never have forgotten it, if you had seen. I was trying to protect you!” He shook you again and you let yourself finally look at him, let yourself see the desperation in his eyes. “Don’t you understand?” he asked. “Don’t you understand that I was trying to protect you?”

You went limp in his grasp, sobbing violently. Jungkook released your wrists and caught you in his arms instead, wrapping you up in his embrace as he held you close. You rested your head on his chest and let him hold you as you cried, grief washing over your body like the winter winds. His hands stroked your back comfortingly, his face burying itself in your hair. You could feel his heartbeat as you wept against his chest, fast and unsteady just as yours beat.

Looking up at him with teary eyes, you took in a shaky breath. “Comfort me,” you whimpered, leaning forward. “Please.”

Without another word, Jungkook pressed his mouth to yours harshly. He kissed you almost violently, hands gripping your body tight enough to leave bruises as he led you back toward the bed. The back of your legs hit the edge and you sat down, his lips following after you while you crawled up onto the middle. Jungkook crawled up toward you, lips finding the skin of your neck and trailing chaste kisses up and down it before pressing his tongue to the flesh.

You arched your back and spread your legs, allowing his hips to nestle comfortably against yours, the hard bulge in his pants pressing against you deliciously. He bit down on your shoulder as his hands hurriedly lifted the skirts of your dress, fingers trailing on your skin light enough to ignite a sense of urgency in your nerves. You rocked your hips up into his, chuckling breathlessly at the groan you received from him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, beginning to pull his head away from you so that he could look at you.

Your mouth dried and you didn’t want his eyes on yours. With your hands, you gripped his hair and lightly pushed his head back down toward your neck, swallowing roughly. “Make me forget, Jungkook,” you told him. “Please.”

There was a pause and the tension between you was harsh, almost suffocating you as you waited, throbbing, underneath him. Then Jungkook moved and you let a relieved sigh escape your lips as he slightly lifted his head to kiss you. His eyes were closed and his mouth was rough, just as you wanted it.

His hands continued to shove your dress up until you could feel the breeze of the cool room against your bare skin. He barely glanced down to look at you as his hand found your undergarments, fingers caressing your most sensitive spot. You gasped softly, pulling away from his hungry kisses as he rubbed his fingers against you, the added friction of your underwear making you shudder.

“Do you want it?” he asked roughly, looking down at you.

You couldn’t meet his eyes and turned your head to the side, thighs opening wider to give him more room. “Yes,” you whispered.

“How badly do you want me?” Jungkook pressed, rubbing against your clit harder.

“So badly,” you breathed, a moan escaping. “I want you so bad, please—”

Jungkook nearly tore your undergarments off, yanking them roughly down your legs until you could kick them off, roughly maneuvering you as he did so, which you didn’t mind. He continued with your dress, actually ripping the seams on the back after he pulled you up a bit to get it off. You helped him as quickly as you could, pulling your arms out of it and then kicking the heavy thing off and tossing it to the floor.

Pausing to just look at you, splayed out beneath him, Jungkook gave you a strained yet soft smile. You didn’t want to see it. Instead, you grabbed at the hem of his own shirt and started tugging, wanting him to take it off. He snapped out of whatever it was he was thinking and helped you, undressing himself quickly until the two of you were bare before each other.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes trail down his body, taking in every inch of his beautiful form. Your gaze stopped at his cock, erect and red—it was larger than you’d thought. Would it even be able to fit inside of you? You paled for a second as you stared shamelessly at it.

Jungkook chuckled, leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to your head. You looked up at him in slight alarm. “Don’t worry,” he reassured you. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Are you sure it’ll fit?” you asked in a small voice, unable to stop yourself.

With a choking cough, Jungkook looked away from you and bit his lip hard. When he turned back to you, his eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated and covering almost his entire irises. “Yes, it’ll fit,” he said gruffly. “I’ll prepare you first.”

“What do you mean, ‘prepare’ me—” You cut yourself off with a hitched gasp as one of his fingers slipped inside of you slowly. You clenched your fists and flopped back all the way onto the large bed, your cheeks and neck hot.

Jungkook leaned over you as he worked his finger inside of you, curling it and seemingly looking for something. When you peeked up at him, you could see that his eyes were focused completely on his movements between your thighs.

“I’ll prepare you with my fingers, first,” he said in a dark voice, another finger starting to slowly push inside of you. You groaned gutturally, screwing your eyes shut. “You’re already very wet, so it shouldn’t hurt when I replace my fingers with my cock.”

Your eyes were wide at his crude words and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed at how he was looking at you—or, well, a part of you. The pleasure from his fingers was starting to take you over completely, the pressure from the second digit starting to disappear.

His thumb pressed against your clit and you moaned unbidden, the sound nearly tearing itself out of your throat. You quickly covered your face with your hands, not wanting him to see whatever faces you were making as he worked on pleasuring and preparing you.

“No one’s ever touched you like this?” Jungkook asked, his voice breathy and pleasant. You shook your head, pushing it back into the pillow as your back arched and your hips rocked up toward his fingers. “Gods, you’re beautiful. I could spend all day like this, watching you come undone on my fingers.”

“Please,” you begged, not sure what you were even asking for. “Please, Jungkook—”

“You want to come?” he asked. You nodded your head. “Answer me when I ask you a question.”

With a whimper, you moved your hands down your face and rested them on your chest. “Yes, please Jungkook, I want to come—”

“Then come,” he said easily. His fingers worked you harder, his thumb pressing against your clit deliciously and your mouth fell open as the ecstasy ran through your abdomen and through your entire body. You came around his fingers, clenching them erratically and rolling your hips up into his palm.

When the feeling had passed and you relaxed your tensed limbs, Jungkook’s fingers moved inside of you. You winced and wriggled, but he shushed you and moved his thumb away from your clit. You felt a third finger press against your folds and then he slipped it inside, all the way to the knuckle, along with the two still inside you.

“Jungkook—”

“You’ll need more than two fingers to be able to take my cock,” he told you gently, but when you glanced at his eyes you could see them flickering with something like delight. His fingers moved inside you slowly until you were moaning again, the slight pain turning to pleasure again. Jungkook groaned and his voice was unsteady when he spoke. “You’re so tight and wet, and all for me.”

You whimpered at his words, clenching around his fingers. “I’m ready, please, Jungkook, I want you—”

“Fuck,” he grunted, pulling his fingers out of you abruptly. You were left clenching around nothing and feeling strangely empty, but it didn’t last long. You peered down and saw Jungkook using the hand that was pleasuring you wrapped around himself and he was pumping his cock with it, letting out quiet hisses of bliss at the friction. He guided himself toward you and the head of his cock rubbed against your folds, gathering your slick.

You swallowed nervously and couldn’t help but tense up your body.

Jungkook noticed and used his other hand to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Are you ready?” he asked seriously. You couldn’t move away from him thanks to the hand on your jaw, but you knew he would pull away from you if you asked in that moment. You knew he was asking you are you sure you want this and not are you ready for me because you knew him.

“Yes,” you whispered, holding his gaze confidently.

Jungkook released your jaw and then pushed his cock inside of you slowly, eyes never leaving your face. Every time you tensed your body more or bit your lip, he stopped and waited for you to relax. It took a few moments, but eventually he was buried completely inside of you.

You were already sweating, your body feeling completely damp. Jungkook was right above you, his own hair damp and his breath heavy on your face. He held himself up and off of you, only touching you where his cock was sheathed in you, his hips against yours, and his thighs brushing yours. You let your hands press against his chest, dragging your hands up and down slowly. You were clenching tightly around his cock, still unable to relax completely. It felt more like an intrusion than anything you would willingly partake in, but you were sure the pain would ebb into pleasure soon.

Jungkook shuddered above you and you watched him curiously as you let your fingers caress his collarbones and up his neck to his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut and you could see him swallow. You raked your nails lightly down his neck and chest, letting your hands grip his sides. He shifted and then you felt him brush against something inside of you that made you arch your back and nearly cry out from the ecstasy that shot through your limbs.

“There?” he asked breathlessly. He pressed in even deeper, holding himself still against that spot inside of you and your legs wrapped around his hips, trying to get him in even deeper. Your arms moved of their own accord, going around his back and nails digging into his skin. “Does that feel good?” he teased.

You let out a puff of air and nodded your head, pulling him down against you completely. He nipped at the skin of your shoulder as you buried your head against his neck and pressed a chaste kiss to his warm skin. “Yes,” you answered shakily. “You can move now.”

With a shaky exhale, Jungkook shifted and then pulled his cock out slowly. You made a strangled noise, the sensation strange and foreign. Then he pushed back in slowly, starting a gentle pace in and out as you adjusted to the new feelings between your thighs. You were throbbing and he let you hold him as tightly as you desired, his chest brushing your breasts lightly. His hand ran down the side of your body and he slipped it between your bodies, fingers finding your clit easily and rubbing circles against it.

“Faster,” you breathed, arching your back and throwing your head back against the pillow. Jungkook groaned and didn’t quicken his pace, simply looking down at you curiously.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Please,” you whispered, shutting your eyes and clinging to him tighter. “Harder.” You didn’t dare open your eyes and look at him, simply letting yourself lose your senses in the movements of his cock and hands.

He complied with your request, pulling back from your body and then slamming into you roughly, making you cry out in surprise. It was as if he became a beast, his hands grabbing hold of your hips and yanking you toward him as he sat back on the bed, thrusting his cock in and out of you harshly. Your hands slipped off of his shoulders and you fisted them in the sheets of the bed, moaning unabashedly at how blissful it felt.

The pain strangely offered you a newer sensation, mixing with pleasure deliciously. You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t want him to stop. No, you wanted more.

Clenching around his cock, you moved your hands back up to his forearms for purchase as he pistoned in and out of you relentlessly. His quiet grunts as he rocked his hips into yours only fueled your pleasure, the ecstasy spreading from where you were joined to your abdomen once again. You took in a deep breath and squeezed your eyes shut as you came undone a second time, this time around his cock.

As the pleasure ebbed away, you winced at Jungkook’s continued movements. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked quietly, still thrusting into you harshly. You grabbed one of his hands and swallowed, moving it away from your hip. You pulled yourself backwards, off of his still hard and leaking cock, and he bit his lip as he watched you.

When he started to shift away from you, you squeezed his hand to stop him. Jungkook watched you curiously, unsure of what you wanted from him. You yanked on his hand to bring him forward and he took the hint, letting you maneuver him until he was seated against the headboard of the bed. You licked your lips and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his mouth while you straddled his lip, positioning yourself above his no doubt aching cock.

You slowly sat down, using one hand to guide him in properly. With a hiss, you felt the head of his cock push past your folds and into you. Somehow, he felt much bigger in this position. You could barely make out his expression as you were too focused on fitting him in completely, but you could tell he was holding himself back from making any movements while waiting for you.

Once you were fully seated on his cock and your slick was dripping onto his thighs, you fluttered your eyes open and met his hungry gaze immediately. Jungkook let his palms rest on your thighs, where he slowly trailed them up to your hips, his fingers caressing you tenderly.

“You’re so big,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck while you adjusted to the stretch once again.

Jungkook groaned and pulled you closer, both of you moaning when you rolled your hips and clenched around him. “You don’t know how dangerous you are,” he breathed, letting his forehead rest against yours and his eyes shut. “It’s taking every bit of self-control that I possess not to fuck you until you’re crying.”

You couldn’t help but smile shyly at him, even though he couldn’t see it. “Why don’t you, then?” you said teasingly.

Jungkook’s eyes snapped open and he peered at you darkly. “It would be wise to keep your mouth shut before I find another use for it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words, but then he thrust upwards and your giggles turned into gasps for air and quiet moans. One of his hands found its way to your clit again, rubbing the throbbing area until you were almost wildly bucking into his hand, clenching erratically around his cock. His other hand trailed up from your hip to your hair at the base of your neck, gripping it tightly in his fist and yanking your head back to bare your neck.

“I think you need a lesson,” he growled against your skin, biting down hard on your throat while he fucked up into you. Your fingers found their way to his hair and and you fisted the strands sporadically while you moved along with him, feeling as if every nerve in your body was screaming, drowning you in a pleasure you’d never known before.

It didn’t take long for you to orgasm again, your hips stuttering as he rolled his own upwards, his cock dragging against your clenching walls heavily, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders for support. His fingers didn’t stop moving against your clit, his cock still shoving into you roughly, and it all helped you drag out your pleasure until tears were spilling from your eyes, all of your feelings crashing into you at once along with the pleasure.

You held Jungkook to you tightly as he chased his own release, breathing heavily while he left a trail of sloppy kisses against your shoulder and neck. It took only a few more strokes until he was coming, tugging on your hair and pulling you close, his fingers moving from your clit to wrap around your back and hold you to him while he emptied his seed inside of you. You shuddered at the warmth filling you, squeezing tightly around him to try to prolong his pleasure.

When it was all over, the two of you sat there, holding each other close, the tears in your eyes freely flowing down your cheeks. You had no doubt that Jungkook knew you were crying, but he said nothing. He released his grip on your hair and let his hand drag down your back gently, still hugging you close to him. You could feel his come start to drip out of you, his cock softening inside you until it started to slip out as well.

Jungkook didn’t make a move to shift the two of you, allowing you to take a moment that you so desperately needed. You used one hand to rub at your eyes and cheeks, wiping the tears away, and you shakily exhaled as you pulled away from him. His arms relaxed around you so that you could pull back, and you met his dark eyes. Looking away from him, you shifted your hips up so that his cock slipped out of you, grimacing at the dripping release that followed it.

Neither of you spoke as he helped you clean yourself up and then the two of you prepared for bed. Once you were both comfortably laying underneath the furs, Jungkook turned to look at you beside him. You turned your own head toward him, watching him silently and waiting.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, almost whispering. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You allowed yourself a brief smile as Jungkook reached over and gently caressed the side of your face with his fingertips. “No,” you whispered back, trying to ignore the swell of the ache in your chest. “You didn’t hurt me.”

The morning had been stiff and odd, soreness settling into your limbs and making you wince with each movement. Jungkook had risen the same time as you, both of you muttering quietly as you spoke briefly—neither of you were used to waking beside another.

Jungkook had left a mere moments ago when there was a knock at the door. You were still seated by the mirror in the room, head turning to call for whoever it was to enter. When the door opened, you saw your mother’s bright face peeking in and you smiled. At the sight of you alone, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her, walking over to you with something clasped in her hands.

“How was it, my sweet child?” she asked, a smirk on her face. Your cheeks felt hot and you were violently aware of the marks littered on your neck and down your chest. The servants had not been in yet, but you knew your mother could clearly see what she was looking for on the sheets, barely covered by the furs.

“Mother,” you chided, voice muffled with embarrassment. “That’s not proper—”

“Oh, please,” she waved off, coming closer to you and putting a hand on your shoulder. “Men will be men. As your mother, I want to know that my daughter is being taken care of.”

You sighed aggressively, rolling your eyes. “It was fine.” At her raised eyebrows, you curled in on yourself a bit. “He was just fine. I didn’t know I could feel like that,” you muttered, almost under your breath.

She chuckled and nodded her head. “Good. Now, here, drink this,” she continued, holding out a small vial to you with a liquid you didn’t recognize inside. At your questioning look, she finished speaking. “It’s to help with fertility. You need to cement this union with a child soon.”

You pursed your lips but took the vial from her nonetheless. Going down your throat, the liquid was bitter, but you held back the cough as you handed it back to her. She smiled sweetly at you and patted your shoulder.

“I will be with you a while longer,” she said. “There is nothing much for me to return home to, as things are.”

The ache that had dulled in your chest grew sharp at her words. You couldn’t speak even as she left the room, and you fidgeted with your fingers where you sat. Tears sprung to your eyes and you sat where you were, crying as quietly as you could manage. Even as the maids came in and inspected the sheets before removing them, replacing them with new ones, you sat and wept for all that you had lost—you were not sure that what you had gained could ever overshadow the grief.

You stretched your arms and back, letting out a satisfied groan when you felt the crack in your stiff muscles. Jungkook had gone out to speak with the soldiers and heads of the Houses, and you had just finished up your breakfast when your mother came into your room, precisely at the time she did every morning these days.

“Again?” you huffed.

Your mother clucked her tongue at you as she held out the same vial to you, which you took with a grumble about the taste every morning. “You know it’s important for you to produce an heir, my darling. Once you are with child, there won’t be a need for these visits.”

You rolled your eyes but drank the bitter liquid anyway, crinkling your nose as you swallowed it down in one go. “It’s been weeks, Mother, surely it’s helped as much as it could with fertility by now. We wouldn’t know, anyway, if I were with child already.”

She didn’t say anything, instead sitting across from you and helping herself to some of your almost finished breakfast. You let her, setting the vial down on the table and sighing. With her mouth full, your mother started to speak. “And how is our king? Can I assume he’s still as enthusiastic as he was on your wedding night?”

Your neck felt warm and you huffed loudly, crossing your arms. “Mother! How can you ask me that so easily?”

She smiled at you wickedly. “Everyone can hear you two, you know. It’s a little unnerving hearing the servants and a few others talking about your daughter’s activities with her husband, but thank the gods I’m staying nowhere near this room—”

“Okay, okay, enough!” you yelped, shaking your hands out to get her to stop. She laughed heartily, but you couldn’t stop the embarrassment that filled your gut. Though you knew by now that if Jungkook knew about this, he’d be thrilled—he did often whisper huskily in your ear to be louder, to let everyone know how good he was making you feel.

There was a knock on the door to your shared quarters and a guard poked his head in after you called out for whoever it was to enter. You stood from your chair, your mother quickly doing the same.

“My Queen,” he said gruffly. “Your presence has been requested by the King. You are to come at once.”

You nodded your head, letting the smile slip from your lips and a more serious expression settling in place. “Take me to him,” you told the guard. He nodded, opening the door fully and waiting for you. Turning to your mother, you found her already looking at you. “I’ll come visit you soon,” you said softly. She nodded her head and took the empty vial with her before she left ahead of you, walking down the hall. You walked out of your room and the guard shut it behind you before he escorted you to the main hall that was used to welcome in guests.

When you entered, you saw Jungkook seated on one side of the large table, two men seated across from him. Your husband looked at you warmly and quietly motioned for you to take a seat beside him, which you did with ease. He reached over and gripped your hand under the table, intertwining your fingers with his. You tried to keep the small smile off of your lips, but you knew you weren’t too successful in your attempt.

“These are two of Lord Frey’s sons,” Jungkook introduced, squeezing your hand.

You swallowed nervously and smiled at them. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my Lords.”

One of the men looked you up and down, his gaze lingering on your chest for a few moments too long. You tried not to scowl or roll your eyes. “So this is who you married instead of one of our sisters.” Jungkook cleared his throat. The man continued, not letting your husband utter a single word. “No matter. We come bearing news from our Lord Father. He is a forgiving man, our father. He wants to make you an offer.”

Jungkook leaned forward a bit, interested. You didn’t know much about the strategies, but you knew that House Frey was better to have on your side rather than the enemy’s. Everyone knew Walder Frey was not a man so easily crossed. “And what is this offer?”

“If your uncle takes your place and marries one of our sisters, all will be forgiven,” the other man said, leering at you in a way that made you uncomfortable. “But he demands that they be wed immediately, so that you cannot go back on your oath a second time.”

Jungkook cast his eyes down for a split second before he looked back up at them. “It will be arranged. We make for the wedding tonight, then.”

The men smiled and then stood, prompting the two of you to stand as well. Jungkook dropped your hand on the way, keeping it at his side. He shook hands with the two men and then they were escorted out of the room, where they were to gather their things and then make their way back home along with everyone here.

Jungkook had a soldier outside call for his mother and uncle to come to the hall, where he would go over everything with them. You wondered how his uncle would take the news—not well, you were sure. The news of your own sudden betrothal had come as a shock, even if it had been under slightly different circumstances than Jungkook’s uncle’s. You had an inkling that he would respond in a similar way as you had, or in a way much more exaggerated than you had—men had a tendency to express their emotions more often.

When both of them had appeared, Jungkook paused for a few minutes of tense silence before he decided to break the news.

“Uncle,” he said. “Arrangements have been made for your marriage to a Frey girl.”

There was an almost instantaneous burst from his uncle, as you’d expected. “What is the meaning of this? Why was I not consulted before the decision?”

Jungkook’s face was emotionless as he stared at his uncle, looking every bit a King in the North. “There was no need to consult you. We do not want the Frey House in our bad graces forever, and this is what they demand for crossing them.”

“So I will be fixing your mistake, then—”

“Careful, Uncle,” Jungkook said lowly. A shiver ran down your spine at his tone. “I may be your nephew, but I am still your king.”

The sentence shut the older man up, his face turning red with humiliation. You simply stood in silence, glancing between the men. Jungkook’s mother stood by the window, watching her brother and her son argue. You wondered how it felt for her.

Jungkook continued in the face of the silent but fuming man. “The Freys clearly want a powerful alliance and we have snubbed them already after making an oath. We cannot afford to make another enemy of a House, not when we are fighting for peace and the freedom of our people.” He turned to give his uncle a disappointed look. “Is your comfort more important than the future of our Northmen?”

At least at these words, Jungkook’s uncle had the decency to look embarrassed. He lowered his head, unable to meet Jungkook’s eyes. “No,” he nearly spit out. “It is not, Your Grace.”

“Good,” Jungkook replied without missing a beat. “Then prepare yourselves. We will be leaving at once to make our way to Lord Frey’s keep.”

His uncle bowed his head and then turned to leave, slamming the door behind him. You tried not to roll your eyes and turned toward your husband, only to find his mother already beside him.

“Are you sure about this, my son?” she asked quietly. There was a strange look in her eye but you did not question it.

Jungkook sighed and let his shoulders relax now that it was only the three of you in the hall. He faced you briefly and the tired look on his face prompted you to walk over to them and grab his hand with yours to comfort him.

“What else is there to do?” he asked. “I have no more options. If I hope to win this war, I need more men on my side rather than the Lannister’s. This will be a way to fix both the rift between our Houses and get more men. Refusing Lord Frey isn’t an option.”

His mother paused, looking down at your intertwined hands and you thought you saw the ghost of a smile crack on her stern face. When she met her son’s eyes, the smile had gone. “Do what you think is right for your people. You always have.”

With those words, she parted, leaving the room to go prepare herself to leave for the wedding. Jungkook turned to face you fully when she left, releasing your hand so he could grip your upper arms lightly and look at you.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, though it almost sounded like it hurt him to say it. Like he wanted to say something else, but held back. “With me.” He shifted his hands up your arms and the sides of your neck until they were cradling your face gently.

“Me too,” you replied, keeping your voice soft and gentle. You couldn’t meet his eyes, the guilt of your statement gnawing at your insides like a ravenous beast, even as his touch on your skin ignited sparks of a flame.

Jungkook leaned forward, resting his forehead on yours. You raised your hands and placed them atop his on your cheeks, letting your eyes flutter shut as he breathed in deeply. Your husband was a just and fair ruler to his people, you knew that despite what had happened, but you could tell he was feeling the burden that had been placed on his shoulders.

“My father would have liked you,” he whispered, losing himself in his thoughts. You bit the inside of your cheek, remembering that you hadn’t been the only one to lose someone amongst the Northerners. It was a painful reminder.

“I wish I could have met him,” you told him, gripping his hands a little tighter.

“As do I.” He sighed slowly and his thumbs started to caress your cheeks absentmindedly. “One of the last things he told me before he went to King’s Landing was that being a Lord was like being a father.”

“How so?” you asked.

“It’s like you have thousands of children,” Jungkook said. “You wake with fear in the morning and go to bed with fear in the night. The farmers are yours to protect. The children and women scrubbing the floors are yours to protect. The men you order to fight for you are yours to protect.” He pulled back a bit to look at you, smiling with only the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t believe him, you know. I asked him how a man could be brave if he was afraid.”

“What did he say?”

Jungkook chuckled. “‘That is the only time a man can be brave,’ he said.”

You allowed yourself to laugh briefly as well. “Your father was a wise man.” Getting the words out were harder than you expected, a lump forming in your throat.

“Yes, he was,” Jungkook continued. “He was the best man I ever met.” Pulling away from you completely, your husband brushed his fingers across your cheek before he dropped his arm to his side. “We’d better get on our way, as well.”

You nodded your head and followed beside your king as the two of you left the hall and made your way to your quarters to pack what little you had brought with you.

The lot of you were gathered in front of Lord Frey and all his many children and grandchildren. You shifted uncomfortably every time any of their eyes landed on you, standing beside Jungkook.

“My Lord,” Jungkook started confidently, stepping a little forward. “You have my sincerest apologies.”

“You broke your oath,” Lord Frey returned, a nasty smirk on his face. “Your father would not have.”

You could see the tension in Jungkook’s shoulders at the lord’s words. “You are right,” he said calmly, lowering his head briefly. “I should not have done so. It was wrong of me to break my word.”

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” the lord continued dismissively. You could tell he was enjoying all of this, even if everyone else looked extremely uncomfortable. You tried not to let it show how uneasy you were at being here. “It is my girls who you spurned.”

There was a pause and Lord Frey gestured with his arms for his daughters to step forward. They did, coming to the front in a very long line. You tried to count them all but there were too many of them. You had heard numerous times from your parents having attended multiple weddings of Walder Frey himself that he had married many young girls. It seemed every time a wife of his passed, he would find himself another.

He made you sick.

“Your father is right,” Jungkook said, his voice much softer now than it had been when addressing the lord. “It was wrong of me to treat you, and my oath, with such disregard. The fault is not with you; it is with me. All men should keep their words, and kings most of all. I pledge to do all that is in my power to amend these wrongs so that our Houses may continue to be friends.”

The old lord clapped his hands almost mockingly and his daughters returned to their original places, no longer standing in a visible line. You wondered how the old man had the courage to so blatantly disrespect the King in the North, but you supposed he knew there was not much that Jungkook could do to him right now.

“Very good,” the lord said loudly, smirking at Jungkook. Then his eyes turned to you, dragging up and down your form in a way that made you wish you had another cloak over your shoulders. “And there is the bride you broke your oath for.” He leaned forward in his seat and narrowed his eyes at you. “Come closer, dear. Let me have a look at you.”

You fidgeted, glancing at Jungkook. He turned his head and met your gaze, giving you a small nod. Stepping forward, you bowed your head briefly to the lord. You glanced around the room, noting how all of the Frey men eyed you up along with their lord. It was disgusting. You wished you hadn’t come.

“Very pretty,” he said appraisingly. “Quite beautiful, indeed. Alright, enough of that. The servants will help you all to your accommodations and then we will feast.”

You breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped back and tried not to completely shy away into Jungkook’s side. When you were all led out of the hall and to your own rooms, Jungkook made sure to stick close to you even though he wasn’t touching you.

Once you were in your quarters, your bags having already been placed there before you, you turned and faced Jungkook. He placed a hand on your cheek and then leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips, leaving you flustered.

“Whatever happens tonight,” he started, “stay close to me, alright?”

“Are you afraid they’ll try something?” you asked curiously.

Jungkook sighed and shook his head. “Lord Frey is a dangerous man, but he’s not stupid. It wouldn’t do well to start a fight with me and my men here. But I want you safe.”

“I will be safe,” you promised. “I have you, don’t I?”

Jungkook chuckled, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close into a warm embrace. “Yes, you do,” he mumbled into your hair softly. “You’ll always have me.”

You wrapped your own arms around him, holding him close to you as you shut your eyes.

It would be a long night ahead.

The chatter during the feast was loud and servants were walking around refilling goblets with wine and replenishing the food that was being eaten by the hungry Northerners. You spotted a few of your own men seated at tables or standing around flirting with the women, having fun. You could even spot a few people dancing to the merry tunes the band was playing.

Your eyes landed on Jungkook’s uncle, seated happily by his new bride—who turned out to be quite a beautiful girl—eating berries from her hand while she laughed. You couldn’t help but have to hold back a chuckle at the sight, as the entire way here he had been moaning and complaining about the marriage. But now he was sat beside his bride, enjoying himself completely. You tried not to think ill of your husband’s uncle, but he was indeed extremely shallow. Just a look at a beautiful girl and he was forgetting himself, completely overjoyed.

“That could have been you, up there,” you teased, turning toward Jungkook, who was sitting beside you. He was comfortable, leaned back in his chair, the food on his plate nearly completely gone and the wine in his goblet having been refilled at least twice. “Eating berries from a beautiful girl’s hand, enjoying yourself.”

Jungkook hummed, sending you a small smirk. “Maybe I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Your mouth fell open and you faced him fully, making to smack your hand against his chest for the jab. He caught your wrist easily and his smirk turned into a wolfish grin. “Striking your king is treason, you know.”

You lifted a brow at his words and cocked your head to the side teasingly. Jungkook pulled you toward him with the hand in his grip and you pushed at him lightly when he made to kiss you. “No, don’t,” you mumbled, leaning away from him. “Don’t insult them.”

Jungkook grumbled but did as you asked, leaning back in his chair and dropping your wrist. You sat back in your chair as well, just in time it seemed. The loud music in the dining feast started to quiet, the new happy couple stealing glances at each other seated up by Lord Frey.

“Your Grace,” the man called. “Your uncle has wrapped my daughter in a cloak and the Septon has prayed his prayers. But they are not yet man and wife! A sword needs a sheath, and a wedding needs a bedding!” There were roars of laughter around you and you grimaced. How could a man utter such words at his own daughter’s wedding? You supposed you were luckier than most to have married Jungkook, even if the wedding had been cloaked in despair and death. “What does my sire say?”

The men around all of you started to cheer and slam their cups into the tables. “Bed! Bed! Bed!”

Jungkook smiled and sat up in his chair. “If you think the time is right, Lord Frey, then by all means—let us bed them!”

Applause and cheers broke out as the Northerners rushed forward to make a grab for the newlyweds. Jungkook’s uncle was laughing along with the women and girls who grabbed at his clothes and started to undress him as they went, though you could see the Frey bride’s unease as the men carried her out, shedding her of her outer clothes.

You tried not to shake your head at the sight, remaining in your seat instead. Jungkook reached over and held your hand comfortingly in his, sending you a smile. The large doors shut loudly after the couple was led out along with the men and women, and only a handful remained—including a lot of your own men. You leaned toward your husband, but then Lord Frey’s voice rang out again in the quieted hall, a strangely familiar tune playing from the band.

“Your Grace,” he called out. “I’m afraid I’ve been remiss in my duties. I’ve given you meat, and wine, and music, but I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve. My King has married and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift!” The lord chuckled as he spoke, but something about his voice and the way he was looking at the two of you made you uneasy.

You glanced over at Jungkook, whose eyes were on the lord’s, and you caught the barest glimpse of something in the light. You started to turn in your seat and saw a hand with a tight grip come down toward your king. You couldn’t process what was happening until you heard Jungkook’s pained grunt, his hand loosening around yours.

It was a knife.

Your eyes widened and you started to scream as the man stabbed Jungkook’s abdomen repeatedly with his blade, blood splattering on your hand gripped in your husband’s, and spilling from his clothes. Jungkook released your hand to grip at his wounds while the man hurriedly shifted away so that he couldn’t grab him. Your hands started to reach for Jungkook.

You were still screaming when hands gripped your arms, yanking you out of your seat and away from Jungkook. You could vaguely hear shouts and the sound of metal slashing against armor and skin, the faint sound of Jungkook’s mother screaming her son’s name, but your eyes were focused on him and him alone. He tried to get up from his seat and failed, groaning with pain as his men were slaughtered alongside him.

“Let me go!” you shouted, thrashing against whoever was holding you. “Please, please, let me go—let me go!” The man didn’t listen to you, simply holding you against him in place as he moved away from the bloody scene. A hand came up to cover your mouth when you started screaming incoherently.

Your wide eyes took in the scene of carnage, Northern men falling into puddles of their own blood, the band shooting arrows from their crossbows at any Northerner still standing, and you could feel the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. Jungkook crumpled to the floor from his seat, cradling his torso as blood pooled underneath him. With a quick sweep of the room, you could see that it was your men along with the Freys who were weilding bloody weapons.

What had they done?

As the screams and shouts had faded, almost everyone lying dead on the floor, you spotted Jungkook’s mother standing in front of Lord Frey, a knife in her own hand and blood dripping down her arm and to the floor. Jungkook was gripping the side of a table, pulling himself up shakily onto his feet, one hand still pressed uselessly to his bleeding stomach.

“Enough!” she shouted, voice thick. “Let it end! Please… he is my son. Let him go and we will take no vengeance, I swear it! By the old gods and new, we will forget this!”

“You already swore me one oath—you swore by all the gods your son would marry my daughter!” Lord Frey shouted back, comfortably seated in his chair.

“Jungkook!” she cried, turning to face her staggering son. “Jungkook, get up! Get up and walk out, please!” Your chest was wracked with silent sobs as the man held you, his hand still covering your mouth, and you cried helplessly at the desperation in her voice, the same desperation filling you. “Please!”

Lord Frey scoffed. “And why would I let him do that?”

Jungkook was standing now on his own, facing his mother. Then he turned back, his dark eyes finding yours. You fought against the grip around you harder, trying to get to him.

You spotted a man making his way toward Jungkook and you screamed, tried to make Jungkook understand that he needed to leave, needed to get away from the man. With a shock, you realized the man making his way to Jungkook was Eunwoo. Had this all been arranged before with your mother and Eunwoo, along with your men?

He grabbed your husband by his shoulder and stood completely in front of him. Brandishing a knife, he mumbled something quietly to Jungkook, and then he plunged the knife into his gut once more. Yanking it out, Eunwoo stepped away and left Jungkook to crumple once again to the ground, into his own blood, completely limp.

The grip around you loosened enough for you to stumble forward, falling to your knees. Staggering forward, you made your way over to Jungkook and fell once again to your knees at his side. You could feel the damp blood seeping into your dress, but you paid it no mind as you cried, your hands desperately clinging to Jungkook, his eyes open and staring up at nothing.

You looked up and saw someone grab Jungkook’s mother and shift their blade against her skin, slitting her throat, and she fell to the floor in a heap as blood spurted from the slice. You turned back to your husband and king, laying lifeless in front of you as the men hurried to and fro, cheering for their victory against the King in the North.

Your hands grabbed at his chest and torso, coming away sticky with his blood, and you shakily placed them against his cheeks. His dark eyes were unseeing and you couldn’t stop sobbing, not paying any mind to anything else that was happening around you.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, the tears still falling. “You can’t leave me, please,” you cried. “Please don’t leave me, you have to stay with me, Jungkook, please—don’t you remember?” The tears fell onto his face while you asked, a small pained smile making its way onto your face. “You said I would always have you. That’s what you said, Jungkook. You can’t leave—” You broke off into muffled sobs, unable to continue speaking.

There was no answer.

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his, weeping for another loss amidst the deafening shouts and cheers of the men around you.

all rights reserved © junqkook | 17 JAN 2020 | the reposting, modifying, and/or translating of any kind on any medium is strictly NOT allowed. 

[guiltycorp]

about the ‘sworn’ or ‘righteous’ part of Kaeya’s relation to Ragnvindrs Considering the fact that Kaeya must have been ~10-13 years old when he was taken in by Crepus and also that his profile description calls him his sworn son (義子) I believe it's safe to assume that this was the primary relationship. Later in his stories Kaeya is often referred to as 養子, adopted or foster son and it is my belief that the meaning is 100% foster because being a sworn son is different to actually getting adopted. Sworn children don't share their 'parents' surnames and they don't inherit anything, in fact, often there's no form of written contract at all and instead it's just an agreement where one side provides patronage and care while the other offers filial piety. So, that means that it probably wasn't Diluc's decision to swear an oath of brotherhood with Kaeya! Instead Kaeya first became Crepus's sworn son and thus became Diluc's sworn brother by association; though calling the children of your sworn parent your sworn siblings isn't an absolute rule it's still kind of expected. Having skimmed through the Chinese Wikipedia page it seems to me like the main contemporary reason to make other children your sworn sons/daughters is because people weren't allowed to have more than one child and 'adopting' sworn children like this allowed the kids to learn the value of 悌, concept of fraternal loyalty. Also just in general easier to make close friends when your parents already did that for you. It would make sense to me if Crepus didn't want to risk adopting a random kid but still took in Kaeya as his sworn son specifically to provide Diluc with a close friend of a similar age and semi-equal status (sorry Elzer т_т). I should note that the practice of sworn parents/siblings was often historically used for political and economical reasons, in turn leading to corruption and abuse. For example, 'I give you filial piety, you give me money and promotions' or 'I give you a roof over your head and you give me your servitude' etc. This isn't really relevant to Kaeya's character since he mentions happiness while being with Ragnvindrs (when comparing his duty to his feelings), but still this is to provide context bc the practice isn't seen as completely ideal&pure. Plus he diiiid become a knight under Diluc ehe, but of course it’s easy to make the case for ‘he deserved it’.  Anyway in my opinion, considering the fact that Kaeya's and Diluc's sworn brotherhood oath wasn't made by them on purpose, the only thing that truly matters when it comes to their relationship is the characters' own view. We don’t really have much information on their pre-fight dynamic aside from them having been very close with Diluc as the older perfect prodigy and Kaeya as his sidekick (support + planning). However, they are said to have been as close as the gemini, like, the sign that means twins. This is probably a point in favor of an actual brotherly relationship rather than a fairly distant friendship. Meanwhile their current in-game relationship is fraught with tension.  Kaeya obviously wants to reconcile and Diluc still relies on him whenever Kaeya suggests it, so when it comes to professionalism they fall back into the same dynamic of brawns & brain, but their dialogues are filled with mistrust on Diluc’s end and with bitterness on Kaeya’s side.  It's fairly concerning that the only sign Diluc might still care about his ex-sworn brother is that ugly ass vase he kept in the lobby.   Considering the amount of things Kaeya managed to do for him already, it's slightly unbalanced immo to say the least :/ :/ Some like to say that Diluc not giving him over to Jean is already a sign of caring on his part but idk, considering his personality he might just see Kaeya as his own responsibility to watch over and I doubt that he would leave Mond for 4 years if Kaeya actually seemed like a threat.  And there were plenty of times when Diluc could have alluded to Kaeya (like, kaeya alludes to him in his voicelines all the time) and yet just doesn't.  Even the line that could vaguely be associated with Kaeya, the one about nightingales, is a mistranslation — he meant night OWLS, his own constellation and symbol. What a pity tbh.  We just have to wait for further content with them to be sure that Diluc isn’t completely heartless.  And more about the pairing though, read only if it’s relevant to your interests.  While ideally sworn siblings are expected to maintain platonic relations and to care for each other their whole lives, being halves of a whole and all that, interestingly enough according to the Wikipedia page the specific kind of sworn siblings you make through parents is less regulated, so if kids grow up and pursue romantic relationships between each other it's seen as just fine, sometimes even encouraged by the more meddling type of grannies. Tbh at first I was surprised by that, but likely it's because becoming sworn siblings isn't really their call? While if you swear an oath of brotherhood/sisterhood by your own decision as an adult you're expected to maintain that specific kind of relationship? makes sense to me i guess (that said, of course there are also practices like 契兄弟, Qi sworn brothers — like, specifically the gay sworn brothers, when men swore brotherhood with their lovers to avoid persecution for homosexuality... also my understanding is that women did that way more often because for them it was also a way to get out of marriages by saying that they were fully devoted to their 'sisters' instead, this isn’t relevant here, just interesting) Basically as soon as you enter a romantic relationship with your sworn-anything the boundary you maintain is replaced by the new romantic kind and you shouldn't count as sworn siblings anymore; unless you're lgbtq in which case open romantic relationships are dangerous anyway so you might as well continue calling your partner whatever. Basically there would be nothing wrong with kaeluc especially since they even already stopped calling each other sworn brothers (the eng translation took liberties again, in the comic it’s not actually clear who was the first one to stop). It’s all about the characters’ own perspective and while I’m convinced that genshin won’t have any outright lgbt representation bc chinese game, we can still assume a lot from how things between Kaeya and Diluc develop, like whether they will reconcile and if they do will they go back to calling each other sworn brothers or if they will start a completely new friendship free of the ties to Crepus. Or will they fail to reconcile in a dramatic and angsty fashion? Either way, this time it would be their own choice and thus all the stronger for it! 

[tailorvizsla]

A Proper Mandalorian Courtship - Chapter 4

Title: Fire (Or Some Mando Slice of Life) Pairing: Paz x OFC, OFC x OMC, Paz x Reader Word Count: ~6800 Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Sort-of graphic description of an injury and its treatment.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 📚 My Master List 📚

Tag List: @hdlynn @princessbatears @ffiiggyy

If you want to be tagged, let me know! :) 

[flashback]

Paz returns to the karyai. Zephyr is with Norj in the nursery, safely shielded from the shit-show that is about to happen. Three minutes after his return, Armorer strides back into the room amidst pure silence. Mere seconds later, Zeli and Liam slink into the karyai, buckets firmly back in place. Neither even dares to look up as they come stand in front of the table where Armorer is standing. She stares at them for several moments. The silence drags on, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“You broke your Oath. Why?” Armorer asks, in a tone that some might regard as casual.

Paz knows better than that. Armorer is livid. She has probably gone from incandescent rage to calm and back several times. They take too long to respond, and she finally loses her temper.

“Why?” Armorer barks sharply at them.

“I have no explanation,” Zeli says, her voice wavering slightly.

“I have no explanation,” Liam says hoarsely.

Like a cold autumn breeze rasping leaves across the ground, whispers erupt through the crowd, and sends a wave of prickles down his flesh.

“The Tribe cannot come to a decision regarding your punishment,” Armorer says, her voice like ice. “Twelve votes for marriage, twelve votes for exile.”

The two of them exchange a look between themselves. He knows what they are thinking: there are twenty-eight adults in the Tribe; since the Alor usually abstains from these votes, the stalemate should have been broken.

“One individual abstained from the vote,” Armorer says, her tone calm and cold. “Thus, the decision falls to me.”

She withdraws her own dagger. Though beautifully ornate, it is honed to a lethal edge. It has taken many lives over the years. It is only fitting that it decides their final fate with the tribe. She does not hesitate to drive the blade under the tongs. Marriage. It shocks him to his core. Of all the people here, he thought she would vote for exile. She withdraws, her entire body tense. No one dares to argue, though he can hear angry mutterings.

“You will marry,” Armorer says flatly.

“What about – “ Zeli starts to say.

Zeli dares to look at him. Paz tightens his jaw, biting into the sides of his cheeks to avoid the caustic response. Here, right now, he feels no sorrow. Only anger. Pure unadulterated rage. While he simmers, Din growls. She quickly looks back down.

“What about Zephyr?” Liam finally asks.

How could a buir even hesitate to ask about their child’s wellbeing? Paz is beyond disgusted with Liam.

“What about Zephyr?” Armorer repeats, enunciating each word carefully. “Did you think to ask yourself that before you bared your face to Zeli?”

“Did Paz see our faces?” Liam asks.

“No,” he responds. “I did not look.”

“Then why take our helmets?” Zeli asks quietly. “I would have thought you would want us gone…”

Paz does not look at either of them.

“My Oath to this Tribe comes before anything else. If I had not acted – if I had walked away, pretending I had not seen what I saw, I would be complicit in this blatant disregard for the Oath we all swore,” Paz says, every word carefully modulated to remain as neutral as possible. “I did what I could to ensure the best possible outcome for Zephyr, which is more than I can say for either of you.”

More muttering, though it is a lot quieter than before. To drive the knife in deeper, he continues. He cannot help himself.

“Regardless of what has been done to me, I am no liar. I still have my honor and my integrity.”

This time, everyone remains silent.

“Do you wish to exchange vows?” Armorer asks, her voice silky soft.

“We…we will exchange them,” Liam says.

His voice is hoarse. Pained. Paz feels his lip curl in disgust. The two adulterers turn to one another. Quietly, they exchange their vows. With each word, Paz feels his stomach tighten to the point of pain. He wants to throw up, but he forces himself to witness their farce of a marriage.

This is not how it is meant to be. The riduurok – the marriage bond – is formed from love. To a Mandalorian, especially one as conservative as him, marriage is an oath of loyalty, fidelity, and unconditional support.

Marriage comes from a love that is formed from mutual admiration and acceptance; from whole-hearted, joyful surrender to ones’ other half. It comes from the type of respect that grows deep, strong roots. It culminates with two people joining their lives as one, from the moment the vows are spoken until the day they go marching far, far away.

Marriage is not the love that is formed from passion, lust, and deceit. When the heat leaves their hearts, and the nights grow cold, their roots will dry and weaken. They will not grow together and become one. There will only be rot stagnation until there is only distance and bitter resentment. He can only pray that Zephyr does not suffer further.

When they finish exchanging their vows, Armorer sighs and retrieves her dagger. One by one, the others follow suit. No one looks at them. Paz turns to exit. He will not be able to make them suffer the way he wants, but at least he can make them hurt a little. He can make them know how much he despises them for what they have done. Before he leaves, he pauses next to the newlyweds.

“My congratulations to the newlyweds. It is my greatest hope that the two of you will find peace and prosperity together,” he says calmly, coolly. “My gift to you.”

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws the ceremonial blade he had hoped to give her one day. Then he flicks it down onto the table, embedding the tip into the table before Zeli. She lets out a choked sob. Liam exhales and looks away.

“Paz,” Zeli starts to say.

“Please, ner vod,” Liam tries to say. “I am so sorry – “

“Do not ever address me by name again, demagolka,” he hisses at them, finally unable to keep his temper under control. “You are dead to me.”

He turns around before either of them can speak to them. From there, Paz heads back to his room. He hesitates at the door for just a moment. Then he exhales. The sooner he gets this done, the easier it will be. Entering, he finds Din already in the process of cleaning out Zeli’s property, tossing everything carelessly into a crate. He pokes through whatever Din has already packed to make sure nothing of his accidentally ends up in there. Paz unfolds another crate and starts going through the main room, listening as Din occasionally mutters an expletive or insult.

He finds several things that had once been at home with his – her second pair of boots, a bright pink sock, and a book. All of it goes straight into the crate. Piece by piece, he removes her from his life, each article erasing part of their eight years together. Like all other wounds, this pain will eventually heal, but he will not be the same as he was before. He can only hope that his new course in life will allow him to become a better man.

From here, he watches Din strip the bedding off the mattress. He balls it up and dumps it in the bottom of another crate. Paz turns away as Din flips the mattress over. Paz has never been one to get emotional about objects, but he cannot sleep there. He will replace it eventually, but it will do for now. A firm knock at the door makes his shoulders tense. He hadn’t the foresight to tell them to stay away, that their belongings would be left at their door.

Din is at the door before he can respond.

“What?” he asks.

A gloved hand pushes a basket into his arms.

“Take care of alor’ad,” Neten says. “He’s the only one…who can kick our asses the right way, you know?”

“Thanks,” Din says gruffly. “I’ll let him know.”

He shuts the door. Before Din can put the basket down, there is another knock. This time, it is more insistent. Din opens the door again.

“Hey, Reva - what the fuck – “

“Damn it, Djarin,” comes Revala’s voice. “Grab the other end, would you?”

“Let me put this down,” Din says indignantly.

Paz watches as Revala and Terys push a mattress into the room, brand new and still wrapped. He blinks a few times in utter confusion.

“Uhm…where did this come from?” Din asks, as he backs into the room, holding his end steady.

“Eh, Terys just had a spare one laying around,” Revala says briskly. “Thought the old man could use better support for his back.”

“Yeah, we got sick of hearing him bitch about it,” Terys says. “Every other fucking day. My back this, my back that.”

The other man drops a linen bag onto the couch.

“We’ll just help tidy up,” Terys says, going straight to the bedroom.

Paz watches in silence as the two of them swiftly push the old mattress toward the door.

“Don’t want to hear you bitching about your back, okay?” Revala asks, her voice choking up.

Suddenly, Paz realizes that Terys and Revala had been planning on moving in together. That they had bought the mattress for themselves. He did not even suspect they had been in a relationship, much less being at the point of moving in together. Sudden guilt wracks him.

“Yeah,” Paz says. “I won’t. How much – “

“If you even think about trying to pay me back, I will stab you in the kriffing balls,” Terys says flatly.

“You just want any excuse to touch his balls, don’t you?” Revala asks in a saucy tone.

“Oh, fuck off,” Terys snaps.

Paz holds both hands up in surrender. The two of them disappear, bickering between themselves. Paz helps Din set the bed up on the makeshift frame. It hangs over the edges a bit, but it will do until he can replace the frame. Din unpacks the sheets and snorts.

Paz stares at the monstrosity Din has lifted out of the bag. The sheets are a violent shade of pink with fluorescent green stripes. As if the eye-watering combination is not bad enough on its own, whoever had designed the pattern also included lines of tiny black taun-tauns running parallel to the stripes.

“Holy hell,” Din breathes. “That man has no taste.”

Paz hears the grin on Din’s face, and he can’t help himself. From losing two people he once loved all the way to his Tribe rallying behind him to support him through the clusterfuck his life has suddenly become…today has been a bizarre, surreal ride of emotions. He can only laugh. Hard. Din chortles a bit, though he is clearly worried about him.

“I’m keeping them,” Paz announces.

“You’re insane,” Din retorts.

“They’re great,” Paz shoots back as they get the bedding back in place. “They add…uh…character.”

Nothing in the bag matches. One pillowcase is fluorescent orange, while the other is black. The flat sheet looks like someone spilled a child’s watercolor palette onto a dirty tissue. It might have been bleached by accident at some point, but he cannot tell. At least the thick blanket is a relatively normal shade of brown, despite being made of cheap velour-like fabric.

“They certainly add something,” Din says, as they take a step back to survey the horror scene laid out in front of them, “But I’m not sure it can be called character.”

Paz nods, suddenly sober.

“Hey…thanks,” Paz says to Din.

Din responds by grabbing him by the chest plate and headbutting him hard enough to make his teeth rattle in his skull.

“If you need anything, send me a message,” Din says.

Cheekily, he reaches into the basket Neten had brought by. He grabs a beer and a handful of the snacks. Then, with a jaunty salute, Din leaves. After locking the door, Paz goes to the basket and takes out the alcohol. He pops the cap and takes a big swallow. He grimaces. Far too bitter, no flavor. He drinks it anyway.

Turning to the bottle is an unhealthy coping mechanism that has claimed a number of his brethren, but he has no plans to make it a habit. Tonight, he just wants to be numb.

[end flashback]

-

-

-

“My fayshe feels funny,” Paz says to Din, who sighs.

“Doctor Shen, Paz is starting to slur his words,” he calls out through the door.

No one responds.

Paz tilts his head to the doorway as Doctor Shen and Armorer argue in the main room. Well, it really is not an argument. The two of them are just repeating themselves over and over in different ways, trying to tell the other what needs to happen. Armorer says the bucket does not come off due to the Oath. Doctor Shen says that the bucket comes off. The two of them have been going around in circles for a while now, long enough such that the pain medications were starting to lose their edge. It is not until Doctor Shen brings up the fact that traumatic brain injury can render him completely useless to the Tribe that Armorer relents.

“Then we blindfold you,” Armorer says.

“How the fuck do you expect me to treat him with a blindfold on?” Doctor Shen asks in exasperation.

“That is the only way,” Armorer says.

“Can I use the deep tissue scanner?” Doctor Shen asks bluntly. “I technically won’t be looking at his face – just the bones and tissue underneath the skin.”

Armorer falters.

“Can you assure us that you will not know his identity?”

“Yes,” Doctor Shen stresses.

“Very well, do what you must to ensure Paz’s health and preserve his identity,” Armorer says.

“We are going to discuss this oath with the rest of the Tribe, Armorer,” Doctor Shen says flatly. “There must be an exclusion for medical professionals.”

“Doctor Shen – “

“Armorer,” Doctor Shen hisses through her teeth.

“I will leave you to your work, Doctor.”

Paz snickers as Armorer gracefully concedes defeat. It has been such a long time since he has last witnessed Armorer backing down from a fight. Then again, there is an unspoken rule – the chief medical officer outranks even the Alor when it involves someone’s health.

Coming into the room, Doctor Shen wheels the bed over to the deep tissue scanner. She positions the arm of the machine over his head. Then Din takes over, draping a sheet over everything to keep him from being seen. Once it is set to the deep scan mode, he removes his bucket. He grimaces as the bright light stabs straight through his pupils and into the back of his head.

“First of all, how many times have you gotten your nose broken?”

“Lost count,” he remarks.

“Fuck’s sakes. Hunters,” Doctor Shen hisses. “Stay still. You’re going to feel a bit of a tickling sensation in your teeth. I’m trying to set the bone fragments without causing further damage.”

Searing pain jolts down the side of his face. Paz gasps.

“Only a sadist would call that a tickle,” he groans.

“Din, jab this into his neck, right into the jugular.”

“What is it?” Din asks.

“Painkillers,” Doctor Shen says. “Now go do it before I take it back.”

“Aye, Doctor,” Din says. “I’m gonna stab you, okay?”

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Paz asks.

“Stop moving,” Doctor Shen growls.

Din laughs as he jabs him in the neck. After a few seconds, Paz feels his head swim.

“N-now that…that’s the good shit,” he slurs out. “C-can’t f-feel my face.”

“That particular cocktail contains a bacta infusion as well as anti-inflammatory drugs that are targeted specifically to brain tissue. There’s also a mild muscle relaxer in there for your neck muscles. So, hopefully, that’ll keep you still.”

Paz relaxes, nearly falling asleep as Doctor Shen works to reposition the bone fragments in his face through the equipment. Once his nose is put back together, she gives him another injection to stimulate the bone cells and help support the bacta infusion. She reaches under the blanket, wearing latex gloves.

“Alright, I have to do this part by touch, since I can’t look at your face,” she says. “Stay. Still. I don’t want this falling into your mouth or your eyes.”

With one hand resting on his cheek, Doctor Shen’s other hand disappears. Then it returns with a strip of quick-set stabilizing bandage. She quickly maneuvers it into place. It heats up uncomfortably as it dries.

“That will keep the bridge of your nose in the right shape,” she says. “You can wear the bucket, but please be careful putting it on and taking it off for the next few days.”

“Sure thing, doc,” he says.

Din returns to his side and slides his bucket under the sheets.

“Hey, you cleaned it out,” Paz says. “Thanks, ner vod.”

“Your neck is fine, no damage to any of the nerves, muscles, or vessels,” she says. “But those muscles are going to hurt if you agitate them again before the bacta can do its job. I don’t want you doing anything stupid, Vizla.”

“I won’t do anything stupid,” he insists.

“You’re a hunter,” she retorts sharply.

“Point taken,” Paz says. “Nothing more vigorous than light sparring, then?”

“No sparring at all,” she says. “You can lift weights and jog for the next week. No sparring until I’ve had a chance to check your muscles again.”

“Can I go shooting?”

“Handheld blasters only, nothing heavier than a child,” she says.

“Fine,” he says. “Light shooting.”

“Alright, I’m happy with where you are right now health-wise,” Doctor Shen starts to say.

“Does…does this mean I can leave today?” Paz asks as he carefully puts his bucket back on.

Then he reaches out blindly, trying to remove the sheet from his face. Doctor Shen takes the sheets away, tossing them at Din. The unspoken command is clear to them both. Din goes and puts the sheets into the bin to be washed and sterilized.

“Absolutely not,” Doctor Shen says in an exasperated tone. “You have a concussion, Paz. We take brain injuries seriously around here. Your ass is staying in that bed overnight. In the morning, I’ll decide if you can leave.”

“Doctor Shen, please,” Paz says. “I have something very important that I need to do.”

“No. Your only job right now is to heal.”

“Please? It’s extremely important,” Paz insists.

“What is so important that you want to risk further brain damage?”

“Well…I have a date,” Paz says. “So, surely, you understand – “

Her head shoots up.

“Oh, no,” Doctor Shen says. “You are staying in bed and you are cancelling your plans.”

“But – “

She turns around slowly. Paz swallows as the inky black visor of her helmet tilts down toward him.

“Alright, I’m cancelling my plans,” he says. “No problem at all.”

“Good,” she says, pacing closer to his bed, looming over him. “I would hate to have to pull rank on you.”

Paz grimaces to himself under the bucket. The last thing he wants to do is piss off Doctor Shen. He knows she will make him stay another night if he mouths off. So, wisely, he stays where he is, hoping to be put out of his misery soon.

Din sends a message, informing him that he will be getting him some clean clothes. Paz sighs and closes his eyes. Doctor Shen allowed him to wipe some of the blood off with wipes, but everything from the chin down is saturated in blood. Once she can confirm the bacta is working and that the pain medications have not caused any adverse reactions, she will let him have a proper shower.

-

-

-

When you see Din come out of medical, you approach.

“How is he?” you ask, trying to keep the worry from your voice.

“Concussed,” Din sighs. “Idiot broke his nose, but he’ll be fine once the bacta kicks in.”

You nod. A broken nose and concussion aren’t too bad.

“Does he need anything?” you ask.

“Nah, he’ll be – “

Din suddenly stops talking as he tilts his head. Then slowly, he turns his head to look at you. You wait, hoping there’s something you can do.

“You know what, I think he might need a clean set of clothes,” Din says, in an odd tone. “But I need to take care of some stuff. Can you grab him something to change into?”

You jump at the chance to help Paz.

“Absolutely,” you say. “Did Doctor Shen specify visiting hours, or - ?”

“He’s going to have a checkup in two hours,” Din says. “Take stuff to him then. He’ll appreciate whatever you bring him.”

“Okay,” you say. “I can handle that.”

Din nods. A few minutes later, a message from Din pops up in your HUD, containing Paz’s door code. Immediately, you return to your room and grab one of your larger storage bags. Chewing on your lower lip, you consider what he might need for an overnight stay in medical. Pajamas, clean clothes for tomorrow, and toiletries. A small smile crosses your face – he will need his snacks, too. Warmth spreads across your cheeks as you stride down the hallway toward the officer’s quarters.

Paz always enjoys eating whatever you cook, even when it means he sneaks something off behind your back. You have long since started making extra so he can have some as well. He is also considerate and polite, a far cry from some of the coarser company available in the Tribe. You decide that you will be as considerate with him as he is with you.

Once at his door, you type in the code and let yourself in. His room is huge, you think enviously to yourself, as you look around. He also seems to have half the armory stacked on tables and in bins around his room. Along wall, he has a large table with neatly organized tools and a few partially assembled blasters.

Turning toward the bedroom, you hesitate. This is his bedroom, his personal space. You almost feel like you are trespassing here. Taking a deep breath, you shake your head, and move forward. Din gave you his code. If he didn’t trust you, he would not have given you access to Paz’s private space. You step in and head toward the shelves opposite the end of the bed. There, you find his clothes. Tonight, he will need pajamas, so you grab one of the soft-looking flannel sets. For tomorrow, you grab a suit, a set of padding, and a cowl in matching dark grey.

In one of the boxes on the lower shelves, you find compression shirts, shorts, and socks. Those are also added to the bag. Finally, you find his shower caddy and grab it as well. Once you are finished there, you leave the bedroom, and come into the living space. Stopping by the couch, you pick up the book on the table and add it to your bag. From there, you make your way through the karyai and into the kitchen.

He will need something edible to keep his strength up. You’ve had hospital rations before and they are unpleasant, to say the least. No flavor, no spice, and certainly no heat. Doctor Shen says that the rations are bland to ensure the patient can rest and heal, but you think she secretly enjoys the torture.

In the bottom of one of the bins, you find your cake supplies. You check the time. One hour and fifty-two minutes before you can see him and drop off supplies. Plenty of time to make him a small cake and get him some snacks. Exactly two hours and a minor burn later, you finish your gift to Paz. One small tray of uj’ayali cake, made with your dwindling stock of spices, syrup, and wine. You wrap the entire thing in parchment paper and include a fork.

Then you go to the stasis unit in the corner and steal some of the cheeses, crackers, and a small container of pickles. There, something to tide him over. In one of the bins, you find some apples. You take two for him so Doctor Shen cannot complain about him eating too much cake.

You would not do this for anyone else. You love your Tribe, but Paz is special to you. Nervously, you stop that train of thought before it can even depart the station. Paz is your friend first and foremost.

Glancing around, you take in your mess. It is extensive. Well, that all can wait until later. Paz needs you more than anything needs to be cleaned up. You turn the lights off and make your way to medical, hefting the bag onto your shoulder. You wait patiently inside the main room, listening as Doctor Shen scolds Paz for something or another. When Doctor Shen steps outside of the private room, she does a blatant double-take.

“What can I do for you?” she asks.

“I’d like to see Paz,” you say. “Is it okay if I go in?”

Doctor Shen pokes her head into the private room.

“You okay with seeing more visitors, buckethead?”

“Depends,” comes Paz’s voice. “Who is it?”

“Shu’shika,” Doctor Shen says.

“Sure,” Paz says. “Send her in.”

You step in, noting that Doctor Shen is watching you, her head cocked to one side. As soon as you come into the room, she follows you to the doorway, carrying a tray of equipment. Paz is resting on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankle, and his boots on the floor.

“Hey,” you say, echoing his words from earlier.

“Hey,” he repeats. “So, uh, what brings you here? What is all this, anyway?”

“Din said he has some really important stuff to work on, so I volunteered to get you some supplies,” you say to him. Digging into the bag, you grab his book and hand it to him. “Din sent the code for your door, by the way, I didn’t like break in or anything.”

Paz’s head jerks up at your words.

“Din…sent you the code?”

“Yes,” you say. “He was in such a rush to go finish his work. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he says, in an odd sort of tone. “I am so glad I cleaned up last night.”

You laugh as you hang the bag onto one of the wall hooks.

“I also came to see if you’re okay,” you say quietly, “And to see if you’d like some company?”

He nods in response.

“You want to stay and keep this cranky idiot company?” Doctor Shen asks, as she goes to the deep tissue scanner in the corner.

Paz growls as you sit down next to him.

“Well, of course,” you say. “Why wouldn’t I come see Paz?”

“I don’t mind,” Paz says. His voice takes a mischievous tone. “You did say you didn’t want to speak to Lyras. So now you don’t have to talk to him.”

You laugh, relief filling you. Then you clear your throat a bit.

“I…I also wanted to give you this,” you say, holding the tray to him.

He takes the tray from you, still slightly warm from the oven. He unwraps it and stares down at your offering to him.

“Uhm…my buir always said to eat plenty of uj’ayali if I was injured,” you say.

Inexplicably, you feel yourself blushing cherry-red, the heat filling you all the way down to your bellybutton.

“Where the hell did you find uj’ayali?” Doctor Shen asks.

“I-I made it,” you stammer out.

Oh, gods above, why did I even come here?

“You made this for me?” Paz repeats, his tone so gentle that your breath catches in your throat.

You nod earnestly at Paz. Thankfully, he does not seem too weirded out by your forwardness. In fact, he might even sound a bit happy at it.

“You made… You made - ?” Doctor Shen asks.

You can feel her incredulous stare through her bucket.

“I have some of that wine that you like,” you admit softly. “I kept a few bottles…for a special occasion.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice sounding almost awed. “I really appreciate it, Shu’shika.”

“I’ll go finish something else,” Doctor Shen says, backing toward the door. “Uh…somewhere else.”

She shuts the door, leaving the two of you alone. As much as you appreciate the doctor, you are grateful that she has work to do. You have not had a lot of time with Paz in the past few weeks, so you would like to make the most of your visit with him today.

“Would you like to try some?” you ask. “I can wheel the privacy curtain over, if you’d like. We can…we can hang out. Since we can’t go shooting.”

Hopefully, he will not think that you are being clingy.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.”

You beam at him. You have no idea why Doctor Shen would say he is cranky.

-

-

-

Doctor Shen finishes putting her equipment into the autoclave just as Din carefully peers into the room, edging in as if expecting to be attacked. She looks up at him. He has to know about you and Paz. She goes to him.

“Did you know about Paz and Shu’shika?” she asks him in a low tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Are they - ?”

“Yeah,” Doctor Shen responds. “I’ll let her stay until I close down for the evening.”

Din nods just as they hear what seems to be a minor explosion down the hallway. Doctor Shen almost purses her lips as she hears Garan’s familiar bellowing. There is nothing new about this situation – some idiot hunter has rightfully earned their tongue-lashing from Garan. He takes nothing from anyone, especially not hunters.

“What’s all the noise down the hallway for?”

“I don’t know,” Din says. “Maybe someone left the water on again?”

They listen for a few moments, the occasional shout drifting back to them. She turns back to Din.

“Is Paz serious?” she asks.

Doctor Shen knows you well – after all, she has been caring for you for years now. Even as a child, you tagged along after her, pestering her endlessly with your questions and tendency to injure yourself. She was there when you put your bucket on at thirteen. She watched you grow up to become a skilled, competent, and hard-working member of the tribe. It is everything that she could have wanted for you.

“Dead serious,” Din responds. “He’s been thinking about this for a while. He went to Armorer two nights ago to talk to her about courtship.”

Doctor Shen feels relief fill her stomach. If there is a hunter she trusts, it is Paz. He is a good man and will not take advantage of you. Doctor Shen knows that you are an adult, but she still sometimes sees the little girl you used to be, complete with a busted lip and two scabby knees.

“Good,” Doctor Shen says to him. “Shu’shika might be a walking disaster, but she is our most precious disaster.”

Someone taking an interest in you was bound to happen eventually. She cannot help but to be overjoyed that it is a hunter of Paz’s caliber. Before Din can respond, they hear Garan shout your name.

“Where is she?” Garan roars. “If she’s not already dying, I’m going to kill her – “

Din grabs the surly mechanic by the chest plate and shoves him back out into the hallway.

“She’s busy,” Din says in his most menacing tone. “You will leave her alone.”

Undeterred, Garan shoves him back. This time, Din slams him up against the wall, pinning him in place with one arm against his chest plate and one finger pointed at his visor.

“I. Do. Not. Care,” Din hisses.

“This is the third time her carelessness has gotten something caught on fire,” Garan growls. “That little shit – “

“That little shit is busy,” Doctor Shen says from the doorway, her voice like ice. “Go back to the kitchen and take care of the mess. I’ll send her by later.”

Garan snarls but eventually concedes. Din grabs him by the shoulder and forcefully marches him away from medical. Doctor Shen goes to listen at the door. She hears only your combined laughter. Nodding to herself, she goes back to working on cleaning the equipment.

-

-

-

Din makes sure to keep Garan going forward to avoid letting him interfere. It is rare that you and Paz can spend more than a few minutes alone, so he wants to ensure that the two of you have as long as possible to talk and get to know each other a little better.

“Why the fuck are you even involved?” Garan asks moodily.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Din says. “Workshop, I assume?”

“Yes.”

He escorts Garan to the workshop, where they pick up the parts they will need to replace the melted circuitry and charred air vent. Din carries the bag without protest, even as Garan complains with every single step. In the karyai, they find Dezha and Armorer at the kitchen window, watching as Terys finishes putting the flames out. Jalyn is by the backmost kitchen vent, trying to waft the smell of burnt wine and sugar out with a tea cloth. Din knows better – Jalyn is just here to snoop like the shameless little gossipmonger he is. Regardless, Din shoves Garan into the kitchen and bodily blocks the doorway.

“What is the problem?” Armorer asks, looking between the two of them.

“Just making sure Garan fixes everything in time for dinner,” Din says.

“Apparently, poor wittle Shu’shika is so busy I can’t yell at her for her carelessness,” Garan snaps moodily in his direction as he starts unpacking the components onto the counter.

“Yes. She is busy,” Din confirms.

Terys puts the fire extinguisher into the cabinet. Then he looks across the counter. Din can see the wheels turning. A few seconds later, Terys looks up sharply, having come to the logical conclusion.

“Did she make her special uj with wine syrup?” Terys asks slowly.

“She didn’t clean up after herself,” Garan interrupts as he shoves a pile of dirty dishes over. “And she didn’t even leave any for us. Brat.”

“Yes,” Din confirms. “Just for him.”

Garan continues grumbling as Armorer and Dezha look at each other. They come to the same conclusion.

“I will help you tidy up,” Dezha cuts in smoothly. “We can overlook this minor mistake.”

“Again?” Garan asks, turning to Dezha. “This is the third time, Alor. This has got to stop. We can’t afford to keep replacing everything her kriffing hands touch.”

“I am aware of that,” Dezha says. “But we will overlook it this time. I’ll talk to her when she is finished.”

Din leads the cleanup effort by picking up the charred pot. He tosses it straight into the trash bin. He will have to buy a new pot before Hannah discovers one is missing. Din pauses. Then again…Hannah will overlook any mistake as long as she knows that Paz is trying to court you. Din wonders if he can enlist their cook’s help in ensuring the process is as smooth and painless as possible for the rest of the Tribe.

Armorer starts sweeping the powder from the fire extinguisher into a neat pile on the floor, while Dezha works on wiping the counters down. Jalyn just keeps fanning the acrid air toward the vent. Judging by the wide grin on his face, he seems to have caught on already, though Din cannot fathom why he is still here. At long last, Garan seems to realize that something isn’t quite right. In the middle of replacing the filter, he pauses, and looks around, slowly taking stock of his present company. Everyone is quickly working to put the kitchen back in order in time for dinner.

“Why are you all here?” Garan asks slowly.

“Good question,” Hannah says, as she puts her apron on. “Why the hell are you crowding into my kitchen, anyway? And why do I smell smoke?”

“It was a minor incident,” Armorer says, cutting Garan off. “We are rectifying the problem.”

“Minor?” Hannah asks, picking up the charred remains of her pot out of the trash. “Did Shu’shika set another pot on fire? Gods above, someone needs to have a serious talk with that girl.”

“That’s what I tried to do earlier,” Garan says, “But nooo, Din said she was too busy to get a proper tongue-lashing for her kriffing carelessness.”

Din looks at Hannah.

“Shu’shika is looking after Paz,” he says diplomatically.

Hannah blinks, turning to look at him.

“Shu’shika…and Paz?” she asks.

When Armorer nods, Garan drops his wrench onto the counter. It goes clattering onto the floor. Garan wordlessly stares at each of them in turn. The only sounds that can be heard are Jalyn’s snickers and the sound of the tea cloth he is flapping at the vent.

“You’re shitting me,” Garan says as he shakes his. “Oh, no. No, that is not happening. I absolutely forbid it.”

“And what authority would you have to interfere?” Armorer challenges immediately, coming forward a step, her hand falling to the hammer tucked into her belt.

Din cracks his knuckles threateningly, though he is certain that his muscle will not be needed here. Armorer is lethal with her hammer. Garan sinks down to a seated position on the counter and rests his face plate in his hands.

“We are not going to survive this,” Garan says in a defeated tone.

“That is an unfair over-exaggeration,” Armorer scolds. “They are good together, Garan.”

“Do we know when he intends to propose? He won’t make us – her wait too long, will he?” Hannah asks nonchalantly, as she starts sorting through the ingredients for dinner.

No one is fooled by her tone. Everyone knows where her mind is – the bonfire feast. Hell, Din has found himself thinking about what he will bring back to celebrate their marriage. He has already purchased a scope for Paz and set aside a small piece of bes’kar for you. Now, he needs to figure out what food he is bringing, but that can wait until later. He doesn’t expect the two of you to marry for at least six months, if not more.

“Paz managed to give himself a concussion before they could go on their first date,” Din says. “It isn’t happening for a few months at least.”

Hannah and Armorer both seem to sulk at his words.

“You know, it might not be so bad,” Terys says. “He’s a bit older, you know. He will look after her. Maybe get her trained up so she can actually start participating in hunts on the regular?”

“We can only hope,” Garan sighs dejectedly. “We can only hope.”

Jalyn puts the cloth down and picks up his cane. Carefully, he picks his way back to them. Din wonders what the little shit-stirrer is going to do next.

“Oooorr,” Jalyn says, somehow splitting a single-syllable word into three. “Imagine what it’s going to be like once he finally knocks her up. Can you imagine them having a few Vizla brats with his temperament and her propensity for accidental arson?”

Silence fills the kitchen. Garan lets out a low noise of distress. Armorer and Dezha exchange a look. Din thinks that any child that you and Paz name as your own will be perfect the way they are, even if they end up being prone to damaging their surroundings. Hell, under the right conditions, that could be a benefit in combat.

“Regardless of their unique personality traits,” Armorer says. “Anyone who interferes will be made to regret their actions most severely. Be sure to pass that along with your gossip, Jalyn.”

“Please, everyone here wants more children to look after,” Jalyn says dismissively. “If there was a way to get them married tonight, we would do it.”

Garan picks up the bottle of wine and checks it. There is a quarter of it left. Garan shrugs to himself and lifts the front of his bucket. He chugs the wine down straight from the bottle. He wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and lets out a rude belch.

“May the gods take mercy on us,” he says.

-

-

-

demagolka - someone who commits atrocities. Paz chooses this word because they risked hurting a child just so they could carry on an affair.

[ddagent]

Lol the anon who is still thinking about Nikolaj's very cute bum WEEKS later. Lol, my first thought was porn star au but I didn't have enough imagination to figure out how B would believably get into the industry (there's a reason you're the writer and i'm the reader) so I went leaked unintentional sex tape route but now that you've said it I have to prompt: porn star au please

Anon, I do not blame you: I regularly think about Nikolaj’s cute bum. I love my environmentally friendly danish pastry. ANYWAY, I have a couple of ideas relating to JB + porn: I, too, struggled with Brienne getting into the industry, but I could totally see her doing unsimulated sex for a proper film. And, also, I have porn star!Jaime/fan!Brienne. Which is what I shall write for you now, because I want to write some filth. This is probably not for the faint of heart, but I hope you enjoy. 

Brienne was looking through her latest student essays when her phone buzzed beside her. Grateful for the respite, she put the papers to one side and reached for the device. Perhaps it was her new tenant needing help with the boiler. But it was just Margaery, who had only left two hours ago. 

Margaery: I KNEW I recognised your renter B4!! FUCK B, check out this link: www.littlefingerlegends.com/vid/74561

A crease formed across Brienne’s forehead. Jaime Lannister had seemed nice enough when he’d replied to her ad looking for a tenant downstairs. He checked all her boxes: non-smoker, polite (well, not overly rude), no musical instruments, had first, last and a deposit. Of course, when her friend Margaery had found out she’d rented the flat downstairs to a man, she had to check him out. And check him out she had. 

“I know I recognise him from somewhere,” she’d whispered to Brienne, ogling him blatantly in the stairwell. “I just can’t think where.”

“He’s probably a model,” Brienne had explained. “He’s certainly—”

Brienne’s assertation that her new neighbour was attractive had certainly distracted Margaery from his identity. Long enough for Jaime to head into his own flat, and for Brienne to usher her friend upstairs where she spent the majority of her visit checking fashion shows and perfume ads, and giving Brienne tips on how to seduce the renter downstairs. Not that she was even interested. As if he ever would. 

I told you he’s a model. 

Margaery: He is NOT a model. Just watch, B, and use your 7mas present from urs truly. 

She shot a sideways glance at her bedside table and the vibrator inside, still in its original packaging. Where it would remain, no matter what this video was. Brienne knew she should respect Jaime’s privacy. But she also knew that Margaery would badger her until she viewed it. And...she really didn’t want to read any more inaccurate interpretations of Goldenhand the Just. So, Brienne’s thumb pressed the link included in Margaery’s text. 

A site sprang up in colours of black and gold. The video was entitled ‘The Queen and her Guards’. Hmm. Maybe Jaime was in a documentary series. She imagined they needed actors for those silent reenactments. So Brienne settled against her pillows and watched. A tall, blonde woman in flowing blue robes entered the frame. A silver crown rested atop her head. A door opened, and in walked her downstairs neighbour! Jaime was dressed in a rather poor imitation of the Kingsguard armour. One snap and those things would come straight off. 

“Your Grace, your silence worries me so.”

“Lord Commander, I am silent out of grief. Grief for a pleasure I will never experience again. My husband offers me no passion in our marriage bed.”

What. The. Fuck. 

“You should have said something, Your Grace.” The camera panned close to Jaime as he wet his top lip. “There are seven of us who would gladly serve our Queen, in any way you wish.” 

No...Brienne’s eyes widened, yet she could not look away.

The actress on-screen placed a hand atop her forehead. “You mean, you all would pleasure me? But you swore an oath—”

“—to take no wife, to father no children. That does not mean we can’t fuck your cunt, Your Grace.” 

Brienne was affronted on behalf of the brave men of the Kingsguard who would be disgusted that the white cloak had been tarnished in such a fashion. But then the actress playing the Queen tore off Jaime’s white cloak. And his armour. Soon enough, her downstairs neighbour was in nothing more than his nameday suit. Taut muscle; firm cock. Brienne gasped as he took himself in hand and pumped his shaft. 

“Brothers, get in here. Let’s serve our Queen.”

Brienne lay, hand over her mouth, as she watched six other...porn stars enter the frame. They were all young and golden and handsome, but not nearly as captivating as Jaime. Whilst the camera wanted you to focus on the six men touching their Queen – and each other – Brienne was focussed on her downstairs neighbour. The way he stroked his cock; how his thumb would swipe over the head and the moisture beading at the tip. Her body flooded with warmth; arousal stirring in her belly. 

“I should—”

Oh, but then Jaime was crawling onto the bed beside his Queen. One of her hands was sifting through his golden hair; longer than it had been when Brienne had seen him earlier that day, but no less soft, strokable. The Queen reeled Jaime closer and pressed her mouth to his in a searing kiss. Whilst the Lord Commander’s tongue slipped inside Her Grace’s mouth, one of the Queensguard began swirling his tongue around one of the Queen’s nipples. Brienne ran the palm of her hand over her own breast, feeling the erect tip through the fabric. She tweaked the bud until she gasped; the shame at touching herself to her neighbour washed away by sheer lust. 

“Is this what you need, Your Grace?”

Jaime’s hand slid down the actress’ bare form whilst Brienne’s knuckles brushed the crotch of her jeans. It didn’t take much for her hand to slip inside her waistband, or for Jaime’s fingers to enter the Queen’s cunt. Her hand mimicked Jaime’s movement; Brienne’s eyes transfixed to the screen as he fingered her clit before thrusting two deep inside her. The Queen’s back bowed, mouth formed into a perfect ‘o’, as two of her Queensguard began to suck at her breasts. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” 

The camera seemed to know who it’s moneymaker was, as it lingered on Jaime rather than the other six actors, or the young woman having her legs spread wide by eager hands. Brienne watched, the pads of her fingers rubbing her clit, as Jaime’s mouth left soft kisses across the Queen’s sternum and down her belly. And then he settled himself between her legs; one hand on the top of her knee whilst the other stroked himself even harder. Drawing in a ragged breath, Brienne’s touch grew firmer; two fingers inside herself, now. 

And then Jaime was inside her. 

In the few porn videos she, Margaery and Renly had watched back at university, Brienne had been put off by the seemingly gargantuan appendages the men seemed to possess. Jaime was nothing like that. He looked like a golden god as he took his Queen; his cock thick and hard and almost beautiful. The wet sounds of him fucking the actress sounded far too loud in her quiet bedroom, but they were soon joined by the noise of Brienne’s fingers sliding against her clit as she fucked herself in unison to Jaime’s thrusts. As one of the Queensguard lifted her leg to rest over Jaime’s shoulder, taking the Queen deeper, Jaime glanced towards the camera. 

It was at that point that Brienne came, biting her pillow so as to not scream her neighbour’s name into the stillness. 

[jeyne-stark]

To the lovely anon who sent me a delightful message detailing how Theon and Robb couldn’t get married because it isn’t historically or canonically accurate for the North to be accepting of gay relationships:

Amazing. Every word you just said was wrong.

Let’s begin.

To the first claim, that it isn’t historically accurate for two men to marry, let me discuss the case of Bertrand du Guesclin and Olivier, Lord of Clisson, who, in October of 1370, swore several oaths to each other. Most of them were martial, fittingly for a pair of warriors: mutual protection in case of attack, a division of the profits of war, and so forth. These oaths were written out, sworn on a Gospel book in the presence of a priest, and sealed with a kiss. None of that is terribly unusual for an oath at the time; perhaps they were merely brothers in arms—and indeed, they do refer to each other as brothers.

Except that they held joint property, and swore to love the other’s wife and children, and they had provisions in these oaths for what should become of their joint property in case that they didn’t have heirs. (It was to be used for masses said for their souls and their parents’, incidentally.)

And they weren’t the only ones swearing such oaths. The practice of “brother-making” in the Western Church was fairly common (and distinct from what was going on in the Eastern Church, who continued performing such ceremonies until the 1980s, and who get very annoyed when it’s compared to same-sex marriage). Among the lower classes, there is less pomp and splendor, but the tax rolls regularly show two apparently unrelated men cohabitating.

To say nothing of the various unofficial relationships, particularly common among monks and nuns, which don’t usually get mention in the official records but do crop up in literature.

(And yes, the medieval era was a really terrible time to be queer, please do not take me saying “there were established ceremonies similar to marriage in the medieval era that bound two men or two women together in a life-long bond” as “there was no homophobia in the medieval era,” those two statements are not at all the same thing.)


And this is only western medieval Europe; get even a little bit further afield in time or place and you find records of two men marrying all over the place—or at least having official, recognized, accepted relationships, which is marriage by any other name. 


So, it’s not in fact unrealistic for a fictional country that’s only pseudo-medieval at best to have an established tradition that two men can marry if they want. 


All of that said, let’s be real here, if Westeros was even pretending at historical accuracy, all of that long flowing hair should be tied up and covered, long hair is a bitch to wash with modern technology and only worse with the technology level indicated in Westeros, and covering hair protects it from the need for frequent washing by keeping the dirt off.


To the second point, the idea that Westeros canonically has homophobia: does it? Do we see that? You’d imagine that Stannis would use it to discredit Renly’s claim, but it never seems to come up.

There is one solitary instance that indicates a slight stigma around it in the North, which is that it’s implied that the prostitute who tried to rob Hothor “Whoresbane” Umber was a man, and that the gender of the prostitute is why it’s only talked about in whispers, but that isn’t confirmed on any level—either that the prostitute was a man, or that the gender of the prostitute is the reason why the incident isn’t discussed openly. Regardless, Hothor still holds a position of power in the Greatjon’s household, indicating that whatever the reason for that incident having a stigma—which could be simply because it was a prostitute—it isn’t considered a significant mark against him.

The show did add a layer of homophobia into the culture: Joffery’s threat to make homosexuality punishable by death is show-only, and it’s not clear whether that gets carried out and established as law. Similarly, the Faith’s position on homosexuality is only a factor in the show, and the High Sparrow was rather making shit up as he went along during the trial, so that doesn’t really indicate that Renly and Loras’s relationship was forbidden because they were both men. (Although, since Renly was married to Loras’s sister, it would be forbidden for adultery and possibly for incest, depending on exactly how closely the Faith hews to real-world canon law.)

Even in the show verse, however, one of the first things we learn about the North is that they’re different than the South. It’s the Seven “with all the rules,” as Ned puts it, and the Old Gods don’t particularly care about what their followers do, aside from the big stuff like incest, kinslaying, breaking guest right, and suchlike. The North keeps the Old Way, and nothing we hear of what the Old Way is indicates that homophobia is actually part of it. They also officially break away from the South, meaning that any laws that apply in the South, such as Joffery’s hypothetical edict, do not apply to the North.

In conclusion, there’s no indication of established homophobia in Westeros at all, let alone in the North, only an implication of a slight stigma or scandal. The North doesn’t have to be homophobic unless you want it to be, and if you do, maybe take a moment to reflect on why you want that.

Historical accuracy is not, I’m afraid, a very good figleaf.

[httyd-grimmelsgirl]

Readers,

I want to do fanfiction in the future, and it's taking me forever to finished what I started bc I am very (not literally) OCD when it comes to my writing. So, here are some of the ideas I had going.

Edit: Forgive me for how silly it sounds. I don't know a lot about what a young, more innocent Grimmel would be like.😊😊 Enjoy!

__       __ __       __ __ __      __

{ Stories Lost to Editing }

"...When I was a boy"

Grimmel's father was the most important person in his life, and the ideal father, as well as an ideal warrior. He encouraged his son to perdue his desire to become something greater. Grimmel lived with his father and mother. He was smart, energetic, friendly, imaginative, and crafty. Solving problems was fun for him, and creating was his passion, so he wanted to find an impactful way to use his skills. Grimmel's settlement lived much like other civilizations at the time, like problems with dragons. In this village raids were common, and during each raid in Grimmel's village, Night Furies were with the other dragons. Grimmel was haunted by dragons. It deeply saddened and angered Grimmel that the safety of the village and the world around him could any day go up into flames.

During a raid, Grimmel's father was killed, and he became overwhelmed with grief and hatred, then he became intensely worried about what the future held. He swore he would prove his worth by killing the monsters that plagued their village, especially the exceedingly feared Night Furies. This was because he loved for his family, but he hated the bloodshed more, and he became determined to make a difference.

Later, he found a Night Fury asleep in the woods, afraid knowing it could wake and kill him. He remembered the pain it inflicted on his people, then proceeded to fulfill his oath. When he did, his fear was quenched, and he thought of killing it as a huge victory. His mother eventually found out, and she saw that he was growing to become successful, and was proud that he was the first to kill a Night Fury. Grimmel was instantly praised by the people. He understood what he did right, then sought to use his crafting skills to better his people. 

In his mind, dragons were a danger because of what they caused and the aftermath. There were many villages that were struggling in some way due to dragons' existence. He didn't see any value in dragons. He only witnessed the pain they caused, and that they didn't preserve anything other than their own, who burned, crushed, and feasted on the world. He saw no reason for the world to be destroyed under dragons' reign. 

"...Smartest dragon hunter I've ever met…"

He decided to turn his skills into his career, and he left to work alongside trappers at twenty years old. From here, his life was a long evolution from a boy to a man that made drastic changes. His trapping skills took time to perfect, and the beginning of his career was trying, but he was eventually very successful. Grimmel enjoyed victory and his career was his passion. He didn't enjoy the action of killing, rather what less dragons will result in. He always found fun in a chase and being challenged. He has had his fair share of tragedies, so found joy in little things such as how much easier his job was coming to him, the things he would accomplish, and the friends he had with him. 

If Grimmel ever formed an alliance, he would let the relationship remain mutual, and in some people gained a good reputation. However, if the situation gets testy, he will take courses of action that will eventually help the situation, but look and work like personal goals. He has a worry free attitude and much confidence. His confidence makes him an achiever, but unreserved and seem insolently fearless. He forgets his actions aren't easily accepted, even if with a justification. If he feels taken advantage of, he doesn't care how he comes across to people and can cause his allies to resent him or presume treachery. 

Grimmel was always working to fight dragons and do it better. He created better weapons and traps, and later revolutionizing them. He always thought of a better way to tackle any problem when dealing with dragons, by learning their abilities and how to better combat them. After creating a mind control serum and seeing that it fulfilled its purpose, he wanted to use it, so he would have dragons power as his own. He knew he could improve hunting by applying better use of dragons' abilities to his knowledge and skill. Deathgrippers were some of the most vicious dragons. They were widely known for working in packs, their agility and aggression, they were mindless predators to the extent they never surrender the way most dragons do when overpowered, and their abilities, most notably their venom. Knowing this, he was inspired. Such potential shouldn't go to waist. He eventually utilized their unique venom to numb their minds enough to more easily train and control them. With consistent work and patience, he was able to train them, using them for their natural aggression and abilities for better use then. Grimmel had done greatness in the Trapping Community that other trappers never even dreamed of.

Grimmel earned his title [the Grisly] from being one of the greatest trapper ever, and for his monstrous might and courage. On occasions like when he succeeded in fighting a pack of Deathgrippers and stunning a few by himself. And when he was a boy, he approached a sleeping Night Fury which was unsafe and something no one before him ever dared to do.

"Grimmel! My old friend."

Grimmel never endangered his life, but was not foriegn to taking risks. On many missions, he was comfortable with tackling jobs alone, and often took on tasks that were dangerous. When he had a partner, almost never was a human caught in the crossfire. He was mindful that not only he needed his allies, but they also needed him, and that they were human lives just as just as easily lost as the most innocent souls in the world.

At some point, he met a Tradeswoman, and they encountered each other several times while working in many places. They slowly became friends, eventually fell in love, and joined in marriage. They loved each other tenderly, and she was one other reason he must spare mankind from dragons. His wife revealed the gentle, beautiful, and innocent side of humans. Her compassion, gentleness, and love further solidified his belief that the world needs to live healthy, happy, and in peace. To him, she was like mankind: talented, understood morality, and was able to create, but not without vulnerability. Any day, she could die to a dragon, just like any other innocent person. Several years later, she happened to be shipping dragons, and something came and freed the dragons. The ship was burned down simultaneously, with few survivors, and she died. Grimmel was forever broken by his loss. 

He developed a positive view on all mankind. He met many people with varying personalities and views, learning to appreciate humanity's potential to do justice, aside from obvious exceptions. He met various trappers and warriors who proved the capability of humans, and knew of some people that used their knowledge and skills to attempt helping people and other creatures. Even if it was an occupation he didn't understand fully, he respected it, understanding the importance of their choices and the way they chose to utilize their skills. While his wife revealed a reason to love humanity, the warriors revealed reasons to respect the might and importance in it. He believed whether someone fought for self gain, or for others, whether to destroy, or to protect, if the dragons were being defeated, a brighter future was to come. 

A dragon trapper named Eir Stormheart formed a partnership with Grimmel. She was attempted using chemistry and making a concoction to control dragons. He provided dragons for her experiments, and perfected the serum for her. Eir believed it was her creation simply because it was her idea. Later, they went on an exploration, and stumbled upon a Changewing nest. Grimmel ran knowing there was no chance of survival, and he has a mission to complete. In Eir's mind, she was betrayed, and she believed her serum, bridles, and dragon was stolen. Grimmel was disappointed to have left her, believing she had died.

Grimmel is a well spoken, talented, unorthodox man with well developed strategy building, gentlemanly attitude, and a courtly sense of authority. He stands tall, and speaks with emotion and in metaphors. Grimmel is also a very observant individual, and is satisfied with many things in his life. He has always found fun in a chase and being challenged. He was living for something more than killing dragons, but his claims and determination were the only proof of that, for he evolved into a hardened, less sympathetic man bent to eventually freeing the world. It was the pain and struggle of himself and others that led him to kill dragons in order to resolve most problems that people endured. 

"...This young chief will bring me the Night Fury."

By the time he had ended his quest to eliminate the Night Furies, he had earned the respect of the commoners for his "contribution". He was widely known in the dragon trapping community, Even at sixty years of age he was active in the trapping business. Many people respected him and his talent, which is what led the Warlords to acquire his assistance. He did what the Warlords requested, to rally the dragons, to kill the Night Fury, and to put Berk in their place for their insolence against what his father fought for and all the pain they caused the world by helping dragons.

When he discovered that the Berkians were dragon savers, he didn't respect them at all, especially after apathetically risking the lives of others for the dragons. He knew they would eventually be noticed and snuffed out by their many enemies. To him, they spit in the face of his ancestors and those that fought for the safety of the greater things in the world. Anyone that was proven to be an enemy of his, he has no respect for and is careless of how or why Berk should be recognized. He may attempted being friendly to his enemies, but can't help being scandalous.

He knew the Berkian's would act aggressively towards him before having a chance to begin a negotiation, because the Berkians past actions were enough to prove that they were intolerant of outsiders and would strike. He simply waited for them to strike. He saw no need to explain himself why he hunts dragons, he wasn't one to explain apologetically or change his beliefs, for he understood his justification. much less to Hiccup, an enemy, who asserted his way on others, and Grimmel knew of the chaos Berk spread by releasing dragons. He so only mentioned that killing dragons was widely accepted as an "act of courage" among those that haven't yet accepted dragons. So was comfortable with killing dragons, and was only faced with harming people when someone was a direct threat.

Grimmel believed in eliminating the threat before irreversible damage was done. Grimmel was not one to betray for self gain because what is to gain when there is no alliance to gain from. The Warlords didn't know this, but knew of his unmatched talent in the art of trapping. When he came to Berk, taking a Night Fury wasn't hassle. He knew of the Night Fury's nature and capabilities. When he had Berk's Alpha, he knew that if it had human friends, it was trained, and could even in it's most vulnerable state, escape or order an attack. Grimmel pointed a weapon at the beast, ending the reign of the unholy offspring. But before he could, the Dragon Riders unexpectedly came and saved the dragons.

When the end came, he was not going to let Hiccup live to protect dragons. He wanted to be very sure Hiccup's vision would die with his own, and for the safety of mankind. For his people, for his father, and the one he, Grimmel, loves...

__        __ __        __ __ __       __

~Swan Grisly

[apieceofcakecat]

Children’s Wedding (Noremma Week - Day 2: Childhood)

   Emma carefully closed the door behind her and tiptoed through the corridors, careful not to be seen. She crept all the way until finally slipping into one of the rooms, where Gilda and Anna were waiting for her

   “Did you make it?” asked the girl in glasses, with expectation.

   “Of course.” the redhead raised both arms and in her hands was Isabella’s sewing kit, which she had taken from her room. “Never doubt my incredible skills.” she said proudly.

   “I never doubted it.” Gilda clapped her hands cheerfully and ran toward her friend, being followed by Anna.

   “Won't we be in trouble?” she asked the blonde, worriedly.

     “Of course not. We'll return him before Mama realizes he's gone.”

   Gilda readjusted the glasses on her face and took the sewing kit from Emma's hands; the three then marched to one of the beds, where there was a fashion magazine and some sheets. Gilda had found the magazine in the orphanage library and while leafing through it with Emma and Anna, she came across a picture of a beautiful wedding dress, which she decided she would make on her own, because she thought it would be a great training to help her realize her dream of becoming a fashion designer in the future.

   As they knew that Isabella did not allow any of the younger children to handle any object that could cut or puncture them, Gilda asked Emma to sneak into the caregiver's room and take the sewing kit. Now that she had the kit and the fabric – in this case, some extra sheets removed from the warehouse – only one model was missing.

   “Emma, you're going to be my model.” said the girl with the glasses.

   “Why me?” questioned the redhead, hanging her head to the side.

   “Anna will help me sew, so I need someone to be the model.”

   “Not to mention that you're going to look really cute in that dress.” completed the blonde.

   “All right! I will help you by being the model.” Emma said, with determination.

   After that, Gilda started working on the process of making the dress, being assisted by Anna, and despite being very young, the girl with glasses was really talented. The time spent flying and the girls were so distracted with their games, the cuts and seams in the fabric that ended up not realizing the hours passing. Before they knew it, the sun was setting.

   “We'd better fix it soon, it's almost time for dinner.” said Anna.

   “But we're not done yet.” said Gilda, gesticulating to Emma. “We're almost there and it's getting so beautiful.”

   Even before the blonde had time to answer something, the bedroom door was opened. The three of them immediately looked towards the entrance to the room, where Isabella was, standing with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

   “What did I say about not touching my sewing kit?”

   “Sorry, Mama. But look, we're fine.” said Gilda, trying to ease the situation.

   “Still, you could have been hurt. Not to mention they disobeyed me.” said Isabella, in an accusing tone. The three of them bowed their heads, almost synchronously. “However, I must admit that you have made a beautiful dress.” your look and tone of voice softened a little, causing the girls to sigh for relief.

     “Mama, isn't it amazing?” said Gilda, proudly.

   “Yes, it's beautiful and Emma is very cute in It.” the redhead smiled when she heard the compliment. “You girls are really talented, but you still disobeyed me. So I want you to promise me that you'll never get your hands on any dangerous objects again.”

  “We promise, Mama.” said the trio in unison.

   “Great. Well, unfortunately I will have to apply some punishment, but for now?” Isabella paused and approached the girls, then took her kit. “I will help them finish the dress.” The trio's eyes lit up and they jumped in celebration.

   Isabella in fact did what she promised; she finished the dress and soon after all went to the kitchen where the dinner was served. And after the meal, Emma, Gilda and Anna were in charge of tidying up the kitchen as punishment.

                                                    [...]

    Norman searched the whole area around the orphanage, but did not find a single trace of Emma. He was quite discouraged, after all, really appreciated the presence of the girl. The albino decided to enter the house to look for her and went straight to the room she shared with other girls in the orphanage.

   “Emma, are you-“ he interrupted himself as soon as he opened the door to the room, seeing an Emma inside wearing a wedding dress, even a veil. Norman's eyes widened a little and he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

   “Hey Norman.” she greeted him, opening a smile.

  “Emma... Where did you get this outfit?”

  “Gilda made this dress yesterday with Anna's help and she asked me to be a model. Gilda wanted to take a picture of me using him as a souvenir, so she asked me to dress him while she went to borrow Mama's camera.” the redhead explained.

   “Oh.” was the only thing he could say, since he was still a little stunned. Because of this, they remained silent for a few minutes, until Emma decided to break it.

   “What did you think?” the redhead stared at him while he waited for an answer.

    “Oh... W-well…” the nervousness was making it very difficult to verbalize a coherent response and Norman could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead. “I think... I think you're a very cute bride.” he said, feeling his cheeks warm up.

    “You know, Gilda and Anna said similar things to me, but... Actually, I still don't understand what a bride is.”

   “Huh? Don't you know?” Norman asked, blinking his eyes in surprise. Emma nodded in response.

   “Norman, do you know what a bride is? And do you also know what a wedding is? They were saying that word too.”

    “Well, yes. A marriage... Let's see...” although not completely unrelated to Emma's subject matter, the albino's knowledge of marriage was very limited because of his youth. Therefore, he had to think a little to elaborate an explanation that was easy to understand.

    “Weddings are parties where two people wear fancy clothes, such as your dress, and these people are called bride and groom. The bride and groom swear in front of their entire family and friends that they will be together no matter what and that oath will last forever. This is a marriage.”

    “It seems to be very nice.” the redhead's eyes lit up and she held the albino's hands. “Hey Norman, let's get married.”

    “We…What?!” the question came out in a higher tone than intended because of the shock.

    “There's Ray too, but I think he'd definitely call me empty-headed if I asked him. And you said that people who get married stay together forever, and I don't want to be separated from Norman ever. So, let's get married.”

    Those words made the albino's heart melt and his cheeks become redder than ever.

    “Yes, Emma. I will marry you.” he replied, giving a smile of satisfaction.

   In the end, even Isabella ended up being involved in the fun, and she, together with the other children, organized the ‘ceremony’. Norman wore a suit made by Isabella, and the guests – in this case, the other children in the orphanage – sat in the chairs covered with sheets that were scattered around the garden, while watching Ray – who after much reluctance and being bribed with books, ended up accepting the role of ‘priest” – perform the marriage of Emma and Norman.

     Ray recited some excerpts from things he had seen said at wedding scenes in the books he read, and soon after that, Emma and Norman joined their pinkies and swore never to abandon each other. The moment was recorded by Isabella, who took several photos throughout the playful wedding, and when the ceremony was over, she served some cupcakes to the children.

                                                         [...]

    “Hey, what's this picture?” Yuugo pointed to the picture frame that Emma was holding, in which was a picture of a younger version of her next to an albino boy, the two were with their little fingers crossed and smiled at each other.

    “Oh, it's from my wedding. I found it when I was messing with some old stuff.”

    “Marriage?” the man arched an eyebrow.

    “Yeah. It happened before you guys adopted me.” the redhead explained.

    When she was about 11, Emma was adopted by Yuugo and Lucas, who were her parents now. Even though she left the orphanage, she always kept in touch with all those who stayed there, especially with Norman, who was adopted about 9 months after her and the two of them ended up going to the same school. Over time, the bond between the two grew more and more until they finally became boyfriends.

    “I think Lucas will be a little upset when he hears about it. After all, he's always had the dream of going into church with you and all that bullshit.”

    “Don't worry. When we make our wedding anniversary, we can do a renewal of vows.” she said, laughing a little, making Yuugo laugh too.

    The sound of the bell distracted both their attention, and because of the way Emma's eyes lit up, Yuugo didn't even have to answer the door to know who he was.

    “Well, I have things to do. Take care of yourself.” having said that, the man left the room, leaving the redhead alone.

    Emma looked at the picture one more time and a silly smile formed on her lips. She placed the picture frame on the coffee table and walked to the door, not noticing the crack that formed on the glass moments later.

[afraschatz]

The Children of Atreus

Let's talk a bit about the coolest of the mythological Greeks, the children of Atreus - Agamemnon, Menelaus, and Anaxabia. And let me just name three things about them that are guaranteed to make you fall in love with them.

Before that, here is a quick summary of the things that everyone already knows anyway: Menelaus is the famous king of Sparta whose wife Helen’s disappearance sparked the Trojan War. The Greeks’ troops are led by his brother, Agamemnon, king of mighty Mycenae (who, when returning from the war, gets murdered by his wife Clytemnestra). Anaxabia is their sister, and she is married to Strophius, king of Phocis.

Secondly, here are three of the (many) reasons why they are The Best:

 1 - They are the best of siblings.

Obviously, they are called the Atrides (or Atreides) after their father, Atreus, who is the son of Pelops and grandson of Tantalus. That makes them part of the forever cursed family of the Tantalides. That curse manifests itself in their father’s relationship with his brother, Thyest. Atreus and Thyest come to Mycenae after they get thrown out of Elis, the territory around Olympia, for murdering their half-brother. They then quickly gain power and influence in Mycenae and use the majority of it to stab each other in the back - repeatedly and quite literally, as they both end up dead.

With role models such as these (plus the curse that Tantalus brought on his family for murdering and cooking his own son just to prove a point), it is absolutely amazing and quite heart-warming how close the Atrides are. Despite their family history of betrayal and murder, they always, ALWAYS stand by one another and support each other.

I mean, Agamemnon starts a war to end all wars to get justice for his brother, for fuck’s sake (yeah, yeah, there’s that bit about the oath of Helen; I’ll get to that later), and for that ten-year-long war they are practically joined at the hip.

And it’s not just a matter of obvious power-politics either: Agamemnon sends his son Orestes to his sister and brother-in-law in Phocis when he has to leave for war. To entrust his only male heir to them is massive proof of his trust in them, in her. Anaxabia and Strophius continue to raise Orestes as their own, and Orestes becomes best friends (and quite definitely lovers, according to my man Euripides) with their son, Pylades who supports him through thick and thin.

Pylades ends up marrying Electra, Agamemnon’s daughter, while Orestes gets wed to Hermione, Menelaus’s kid with Helen. While for today’s standards this might be a bit too incestuous for comfort, it is further proof how tightly knit that family now (in contrast to previous generations and their fondness for throwing people down wells / dismemberment) is because of the bond of the three siblings.

 2 - They are strategic and diplomatic masterminds.

Agamemnon and Menelaus are often reduced to being one entitled and power-hungry dick and his arrogant but ultimately impotent little brother. While that makes them the perfect cardboard-cut-villain for everyone in need of one (such as grieving Achilles, for one) and while I enjoy Brian Cox and Brendan Gleeson as “Troy”’s villains as well as Sophocles's characterization of them in "Aias" as much as the next guy, it really doesn’t do them justice.

First of all, as for the notion that they are entitled and/or feeble: Both of them are self-made men. Not only are they (as well as Anaxabia) kids of a refugee / man living in exile, after their uncle Thyest overthrows their father and has him murdered, they have to flee from Mycenae and seek refuge in Sparta, with king Tyndareos, their future father-in-law, (step) father of Clytemnestra and Helen. From there, they not only manage to mobilize enough man power to overthrow Thyest and conquer Mycenae. They also turn Mycenae into the most influential and mightiest of all the Greeks’ kingdoms. And by proving himself over and over again, Menelaus inherits the right to the throne of Sparta from his father-in-law, while Anaxabia marries the king of Phocis, a kingdom North of the gulf of Corinth with influential Delphi right in the center.

The Atrides’s influence is not just gained by clever marriage and perseverance, however. Sure, the famous oath of Helen (in which all the kings that asked for Helen’s hand in marriage swore to protect her and her husband-to-be) is thought up by wily Odysseus. But who makes sure (for all those years before Paris) that it would be upheld? It’s not like alliances between Greek kingdoms are all that stable. And yet, the council of kings - including extremely strong-willed characters such as Achilles, Aias, and Odysseus - WORKS and works well for ten years, even under the pressure of a prolonged war. Why? It’s because Agamemnon knows how to choose advisers (such as wise Nestor), knows how to utilize the human equivalent of an eel (I am looking at you, Odysseus) etc. He is a fucking brilliant politician. (And it was his RIGHT (AND a necessity) to demand Briseis from Achilles, however much the Myrmidon may moan about it; but more about that later).

Simple proof in numbers: Three exiled kids with NOTHING; fast-forward a decade or two and you have this: Agamemnon commands the largest of the Greek fleets (100 ships). If you add to those the number of Spartan (60) and Phocian (40) ships as well, that’s a whooping 200, even if you disregard for instance the huge Cretan fleet (80) which is led by their uncle, Idomeneus. Brilliant strategists and politicians.

 3 - They are so highkey EXTRA when it comes to the love department. (Well, the brothers are. Anaxabia rolls her eyes at them.)

Before I talk about the brothers and their highkey Extra relationships to their wives, let me just again go back to Anaxabia. Her marriage to Strophius is delightfully stable and uneventful and no one ends up dead (which is quite rare in Greek mythology, really). It produces delightfully stable and unproblematic children, such as the original bestest of mates, Pylades. Just think of Anaxabia and her husband just looking at each other silently at a family dinner,when her dramatic brothers and their dramatic wives start throwing food (and possibly knives) across the table. Next year, we’re doing a couple’s retreat in Delphi, my dear. I love her.

But the brothers’ marriages are equally fascinating.

Paris kidnaps Helen while Menelaus is attending his grandfather Catreus’s funeral btw - dick move, prince of Troy -, and for some reason THEIR relationship is the stuff of legends? Well, fuck that. While I have all the love in the world for one (1) flamboyant and canonically cowardly favourite of Aphrodite, let’s not forget how superglue-strong Menelaus’s bond with Helen is.

First of all, out of all the suitors for her hand in marriage, she chooses HIM without hesitation - after they must’ve known each other for years, btw considering Menelaus’s time in exile in Sparta.

And when she is suddenly gone, he mobilizes literally every available man in Greece to get her back.

That’s a matter of pride, you say? That’s because - much like Agamemnon when he demands Achilles’s prize of war, Briseis, because he had to give his own, Chryseis, back to appease Apollo - he would lose face and power (and thus massively endangering the stability of his reign and consequently the safety of his country, btw)? Sure, it’s that as well.

But.

It’s not like other kings haven’t “misplaced” a wife before. It’s not like he couldn’t simply have claimed she died. He could have. And you know what? It would have saved him from being both the laughing stock of all of Greece (“Here comes Menelaus who couldn’t hold on to his wife”) and also everyone’s favourite villain for having to go to war for him.

And later, what does he do when he finds her again - either in the ruins of Troy or in far away Egypt? Does he kill her? Does he demand a divorce?

No. They sail back to Sparta together and - and this is the kicker - rule together for many years, quite happily reunited.

He fucking loves her, and she loves him. (Okay, she might ALSO love Paris and that whole war could’ve been avoided if they just got into a poly relationship. I wouldn’t have been opposed to that either.)

The same goes for Agamemnon and his family.

Iphigenia, you yell at me in outrage? Well, the unquestioned villain in THAT story is so clearly vengeful Artemis for demanding her life in the first place. And yes, you may fight me on this.

And okay, I am having a slightly harder time explaining away Agamemnon murdering Clytemnestra’s first husband as a romantic gesture, fine. But my point is, Agamemnon’s and Clytemnestra’s relationship status throughout is clearly “it’s complicated”, it’s ENDLESSLY fascinating. Plus, Clytemnestra is such a fierce and badass (Spartan) woman who without problem competently takes care of Mycenae during the war. They are SO well suited for one another, and their relationship is brilliant, from a storytelling point of view.

 So, in conclusion: Give me Rufus Sewell as Agamemnon, Dominic West as Menelaus, and Oona Chaplin as Anaxabia, and I’d watch the hell out of twenty plus seasons about the Atrides and how they feel rightfully superior to all those other Peloponnesian peasants .

The Atrides are the best. It’s just a fact.

[aboutnorsemythology]

The Master Builder (Part I)

Thor had gone to the east to fight trolls. Asgard was more peaceful without him, but it was also unprotected. This was in the early days, shortly after the treaty between the Aesir and the Vanir, when the gods were still making a home for themselves and Asgard was undefended.

“We cannot always rely on Thor,” said Odin. “We need protection. Giants will come. Trolls will come.”

“What do you propose?” asked Heimdall, the watchman of the gods.

“A wall,” said Odin. “High enough to keep out frost giants. Thick enough that not even the strongest troll could batter its way through.”

“Building such a wall,” said Loki, “so high and so thick, would take us

many years.”

Odin nodded his agreement. “But still,” he said, “we need a wall.”

The next day a newcomer arrived in Asgard. He was a big man, dressed as a smith, and behind him trudged a horse—a stallion, huge and gray, with a broad back.

“They say you need a wall built,” said the stranger. “Go on,” said Odin.

“I can build you a wall,” said the stranger. “Build it so high that the tallest giant could not climb it, so thick that the strongest troll could not batter through it. I can build it so well, by placing stone upon stone, that not an ant could find space enough to crawl through it. I will build you a wall that will last for a thousand thousand years.”

“Such a wall would take a very long time to build,” said Loki.

“Not at all,” said the stranger. “I can build it in three seasons. Tomorrow is the first day of winter. It would only take me a winter, a summer, and another winter to build.”

“And if you could do this,” said Odin, “what would you ask in return?”

“I need little enough payment for what I am offering,” said the man. “Only three things. First, I would like the beautiful goddess Freya’s hand in marriage.”

“That is not a little thing,” said Odin. “And it would not surprise me if Freya had her own opinions about the matter. What are the other two things?”

The stranger grinned a cocky grin. “If I build your wall,” he said, “I want the hand of Freya, and I also want the sun that shines in the sky by day, and I want the moon that gives us light at night. These three things are what the gods will give me if I build your wall.”

The gods looked at Freya. She said nothing, but her lips were pressed together and her face was white with anger. Around her neck was the necklace of the Brisings, which shone like the northern lights as it brushed her skin, and her hair was banded in gold, which was almost as bright as the hair itself.

“Go and wait outside,” said Odin to the stranger. The man walked away, not before asking where he could find food and water for his stallion, which was called Svadilfari, which means “one who makes an unlucky journey.”

Odin rubbed his forehead. Then he turned and looked at all the gods. “Well?” asked Odin.

The gods began to talk.

“Quiet!” shouted Odin. “One at a time!”

Each of the gods and the goddesses had an opinion, and every one of them was of the same opinion: that Freya, the sun, and the moon were all too important and too valuable to be given to a stranger, even if he could build them the wall they needed in three seasons.

Freya had an additional opinion. She felt that the man should be beaten for his impertinence, then thrown out of Asgard and sent on his way.

“So,” said Odin the all-father, “we are decided. We say no.”

There was a dry cough from a corner of the hall. It was the kind of cough intended to attract attention, and the gods turned to see who had coughed. They found themselves looking at Loki, who stared back at them, and who smiled and held up a finger as if he had something important to divulge.

“It is worth my pointing out,” he said, “that you are ignoring something huge.”

“I do not think we have overlooked a single thing, troublemaker of the gods,” said Freya tartly.

“You are all overlooking,” he said, “that what this stranger is proposing to do is, to make no bones about it, quite impossible. There is no-one alive who could build a wall so high and so thick as the one he described and have it finished in eighteen months. Not a giant or a god could do this, let alone a mortal man. I would stake my skin on it.”

At this the gods all nodded and grunted and looked impressed. All of them except for Freya, and she looked angry. “You are fools,” she said. “Especially you, Loki, because you think yourself clever.”

“What he says he can do,” said Loki, “is an impossible task. So I suggest this: we agree to his demands and to his price, but we set him stiff conditions

—he may have no help building his wall, and instead of three seasons to build his wall, he has but one. If on the first day of summer any of the wall is unfinished—and it will be—then we pay him nothing at all.”

“Why would he agree to that?” asked Heimdall.

“And what advantage would that give us over not having a wall at all?” asked Frey, Freya’s brother.

Loki tried to suppress his impatience. Were all the gods fools? He began to explain, as if he were explaining to a small child. “The smith will begin to build his wall. He will not finish it. He will work for six months, unpaid, on a fool’s errand. At the end of six months we will drive him away—we might even beat him for his presumption—and then we can use whatever he has done so far as the foundations of the wall that we will complete in the years to come. There is no risk to us of losing Freya, let alone the sun or moon.”

“Why would he say yes to building it in a season?” asked Tyr, god of war. “He may not say yes,” said Loki. “But he seems arrogant and sure of

himself, and not the kind to refuse a challenge.”

All the gods grunted, and clapped Loki on the back, and told him that he was a very crafty fellow and it was a good thing that he was crafty and on their side, and now they would get their foundations built for nothing, and they congratulated each other on their intelligence and their bargaining ability. Freya said nothing. She fingered her necklace of light, the gift of the

Brisings. This was the same necklace that had been stolen from her by Loki in the form of a seal, when she was bathing, and that Heimdall had fought in seal form with Loki to return to her. She did not trust Loki. She did not care for the way this conversation had gone.

The gods called the builder into their hall.

He looked around at the gods. They all seemed in good humor, grinning and nudging each other and smiling. Freya, however, did not smile.

“Well?” asked the builder.

“You asked for three seasons,” said Loki. “We will give you one season, and one season only. Tomorrow is the first day of winter. If you are not finished on the first day of summer, you leave here, unpaid. But if you have finished building the wall, as high and as thick and as impregnable as we have agreed, then you will be given everything you have asked for: the moon, the sun, and the beautiful Freya. You may have no help in building your wall from anyone; you must build this wall alone.”

The stranger said nothing for some moments. He stared away into the distance and seemed to be weighing Loki’s words and conditions. Then he looked at the gods, and he shrugged. “You have said I may have no outside help. I would like my horse, Svadilfari, to help me haul the stones here, the stones I will use to build the wall. I do not believe this to be an unreasonable request.”

“It is not unreasonable,” agreed Odin, and the other gods nodded and told each other that horses were good for hauling heavy stones.

They swore oaths then, the mightiest of oaths, the gods and the stranger, that neither side could betray the other. They swore on their weapons, and they swore on Draupnir, Odin’s golden arm-ring, and they swore on Gungnir, Odin’s spear, and an oath sworn on Gungnir was unbreakable.

The next morning, as the sun rose, the gods stood to watch the man work. He spat on his hands and he began to dig the trench into which the first stones would go.

“He digs deep,” said Heimdall.

“He digs fast,” said Frey, Freya’s brother.

“Well, yes, obviously he is a mighty digger of ditches and trenches,” said Loki grudgingly. “But imagine how many stones he will have to haul here from the mountains. It is one thing to dig a trench. It is another to haul stones many miles, unaided, and then to place them, one stone upon the next, so tightly fitted that not an ant could crawl between them, higher than the tallest giant, to make a wall.”

Freya looked at Loki with disgust, but she said nothing.

When the sun set, the builder mounted his horse and set off for the mountains to gather his first rocks. The horse dragged an empty stone-boat behind it, a low sled that it pulled across the soft earth. The gods watched

them leave. The moon was high and pale in the early winter sky.

“He will be back in a week,” said Loki. “I am curious to see how many rocks that horse can haul. It looks strong.”

The gods went to their feast hall then, and there was much merriment and laughter, but Freya did not laugh.

It snowed before dawn, a light dusting of snowflakes, a presentiment of the deep snows that would come further into the winter.

Heimdall, who saw everything approaching Asgard and who missed nothing, woke the gods in the darkness. They gathered by the trench the stranger had dug the previous day. In the gathering dawn they watched the builder, walking beside his horse, coming toward them.

The horse was steadily dragging a score of blocks of granite, so heavy that the sled made deep ruts in the black earth.

When the man saw the gods he waved and called good morning cheerfully. He pointed to the rising sun, and he winked at the gods. Then he unhitched his horse from the rocks and let it graze while he began to manhandle the first of the granite blocks into the trench he had already dug to receive it.

“The horse is indeed strong,” said Balder, most beautiful of all the Aesir. “No normal horse should be able to drag rocks that heavy.”

“It is stronger than we imagined,” said Kvasir the wise.

“Ah,” said Loki. “The horse will soon tire. This was its first day on the job. It will not be able to haul that many stones every night. And winter is coming. The snows will be deep and thick, the blizzards will be blinding, and the way to the mountain will be difficult. There is nothing to worry about. This is all going according to plan.”

“I hate you so much,” said Freya, who stood unsmiling beside Loki. She walked back to Asgard in the dawn and did not stay to watch the stranger build the foundations of his wall.

Each night the builder and the horse and the empty stone-boat left for the mountain. Each morning they returned, with the horse dragging another twenty blocks of granite, every block larger than the tallest man.

Each day the wall grew, and by evening it was bigger and more imposing than it had been before.

Odin called the gods to him.

“The wall is growing apace,” he said. “And we swore an unbreakable oath, a ring-oath and a weapon-oath, that if he finishes building his wall in time, we will give him the sun and the moon and the hand in marriage of Freya the beautiful.”

Kvasir the wise said, “No man can do what this master builder is doing. I suspect that he must be something other than a man.”

“A giant,” said Odin. “Perhaps.”

“If only Thor were here,” sighed Balder.

“Thor is hammering trolls, away in the east,” said Odin. “And even if he were to return, our oaths are mighty and binding.”

Loki tried to reassure them. “We are like old women, getting ourselves all worried about nothing. The builder cannot finish the wall before the first day of summer, even if he is the most powerful giant in the land. It is impossible.”

“I wish Thor were here,” said Heimdall. “He would know what to do.”

The snows fell, but the deep snow did not stop the wall-builder, and it did not slow Svadilfari, his horse. The gray stallion pulled his sled, piled high with rocks, through snowdrifts and through blizzards, up steep hills and down again, through icy gorges.

The days began to get longer.

Dawn came earlier each morning. The snows began to melt, and the wet mud that was exposed was thick and heavy, the kind of mud that clings to your boots and drags you down.

“The horse will never be able to haul those rocks through the mud,” said Loki. “They will sink, and he will lose his footing.”

But Svadilfari was sure-footed and implacable, even in the thickest, wettest mud, and he hauled the rocks to Asgard, although the stone-boat was so heavy it cut deep gashes into the sides of the hills. Now the builder was hauling the rocks up hundreds of feet and manhandling each rock into place.

The mud dried and the spring flowers came out: yellow coltsfoot, and white wood anemones in profusion—and the wall being built around Asgard was a glorious, imposing thing. When it was finished it would be impregnable: no giant, no troll, no dwarf, no mortal would be able to breach that wall. And the stranger continued to build it with relentless good humor. He did not seem to care if it rained or it snowed, and neither did his horse. Each morning they would bring the rocks from the mountains; each day the builder would lay the granite blocks upon the previous layer.

Now it was the last day of winter, and the wall was all but completed. The gods sat on their thrones in Asgard, and they spoke.

“The sun,” said Balder. “We have given away the sun.”

“We placed the moon in the sky in order to mark off the days and the weeks of the year,” said Bragi, god of poetry, moodily. “Now there will be no moon.”

“And Freya, what would we do without Freya?” asked Tyr.

“If this builder is actually a giant,” said Freya, with ice in her voice, “then I will marry him and follow him back to Jotunheim, and it will be interesting to see whom I hate more, him for taking me away or all of you for giving me to him.”

“Now, don’t be like that,” began Loki, but Freya interrupted him and said, “If this giant does take me, and the sun and the moon, then I ask only one

thing from the gods of Asgard.”

“Name it,” said Odin all-father, who had said nothing until now.

“I would like to see whoever caused this calamity killed before I go,” said Freya. “I think it only fair. If I am to go into the land of the frost giants, if the moon and the sun are to be plucked from the sky and the world plunged into eternal darkness, then the life of the one who got us to this point should be forfeit.”

“Ah,” said Loki. “The apportioning of blame is so difficult. Who remembers exactly who suggested what? As I recall, all the gods share equally in this unfortunate mistake. We all suggested it, we all agreed to it—”

“You suggested it,” said Freya. “You talked these idiots into it. And I will see you dead before I leave Asgard.”

“We all—” began Loki, but he saw the expressions on the faces of all the gods in that hall, and he fell silent.

“Loki son of Laufey,” said Odin, “this is the result of your poor counsel.” “And it was as bad as all your other advice,” said Balder. Loki shot him a resentful glance.

“We need the builder to lose his wager,” said Odin. “Without violating the oath. He must fail.”

By Neil Gaiman

[dailyawakening]

oh please tell me your thoughts on loki! she's actually a rather interesting character and i dont think intsys could do her justice so i would love to hear your ideas!

this response is so late because A) I’ve been trying to figure out what to draw for it and B) I’ve been trying to figure out how to structure the monster novel that by necessity needs to be attached to anything relating to my Loki thoughts. 

As a disclaimer, all of this is entirely my own invention based on the original mythology and what we’ve seen of canon; I’m resigned to the fact that there’s no real chance any of this will become part of Heroes, but this is what makes me happy personally, so I’m going to stick to it as an AU if nothing else.  So with that out of the way: let’s talk about Loki. 

I decided that the easiest way to go through this would be in the major stages of Loki’s life, with each one showcasing a different appearance (Loki’s a shapeshifter, after all).  It’s not always easy to put myths in order, but I have a pretty strong personal plot thread that runs through Loki’s myths, so let’s start at the beginning: with Loki’s early experiences as one of the Aesir. 

Loki is not technically a god – not in the way that Odin and Thor are, at least.  Loki is a child of jotunn, and more than likely is a jotunn as well, rather than one of the Aesir, so under normal circumstances would not have counted among their number; however, Loki and Odin forged a blood pact and swore an oath to treat one another as brothers, and so Loki was adopted into the Aesir fold by bonds of kinship. 

Loki is not truly evil, and never has been.  Loki is a mischievous spirit, fiery and wild, fond of trickery and games, and those have a tendency to get out of hand sometimes, which leads to big problems.  But Loki’s word is also their bond, and when they swear an oath, they keep it.  The myth of Idunn shows this very clearly: when Loki is captured by a jotunn, they swear to give him whatever he asks, and he asks for the goddess Idunn, responsible for keeping the Aesir young and strong.  When Loki is released, they do exactly as they swore, and lure Idunn into the jotunn’s clutches; however, when the rest of the Aesir realize what’s happened, they force Loki to promise to get Idunn back, which Loki proceeds to do. 

This oath keeping is important.  It will come up again. 

Now, because of the bond they swore, Loki was often called on by Odin to perform various tasks, many of which sent them wandering across the various realms – of course, Loki also succumbed to wanderlust sometimes when left bored too long, and had been known to wander off.  On one of these wanderings for whatever purpose, Loki met the jotunn Angrboda and ended up having a rather extended affair with her – enough that three children came of it: the wolf Fenrir, the serpent Jormungandr, and a daughter named Hel who seemed neither living nor dead.  

Loki loved those children.  They didn’t care a whit that they were seemingly strange: those were Loki’s babies, and Loki doted on them endlessly.  Eventually, though, Odin had need of Loki again and summoned them…and rather than leave the babies behind, Loki decided to bring them back to Asgard.  Now, the Aesir were significantly less thrilled about these children than Loki, but when Loki asked the Aesir to look after them in their absence (calling on Odin’s pact when he falters), they relented, and Loki left the three children with the gods. 

For a while, things were fine.  Unfortunately, Fenrir and Jormungandr in particular grew at an alarming rate, and the Aesir came to fear what monsters they would eventually become – so rather than let them become destroyers wreaking havoc on Asgard, Odin chose instead to deal with them while Loki was absent on a mission: Fenrir was bound with the ribbon Gleipnir (only managed because Tyr, the Aesir he trusted most, agreed to place his hand in Fenrir’s mouth to prove it was no trick – and he lost that hand for his deception), Hel was exiled to the realm of the dishonored dead (those who died of sickness and famine rather than gloriously on the battlefield), and Jormungandr was thrown into the swirling chaos of the Tempest before Odin used his might to quell it. 

Loki was…less than pleased when they got back.  Vascillating wildly between rage and desolation, they took out their suffering through increasingly malicious pranks on the Aesir (the theft of Brisingamen and the shearing of Sif’s hair), which ultimately ended in Loki paying the heaviest price.  Eventually, grief took its toll, and Loki gave in to a listless depression; it was their inability to care at all that made them discount Svadilfari’s strength, and they came to pay for that, too – though the price came in the form of a new child, the eight-legged colt Sleipnir that Loki bore as a mare.  Unwilling to see another child suffer the same fate as the first three, Loki gave Sleipnir over to Odin in hopes that leaving him in service to the Aesir would protect him from harm…and, at least, Loki would still be able to see the child. 

And it’s here that we reach the first turning point: realizing how unstable Loki had become owing to the loss of their children, Odin decided to take drastic action and try to ground them in the present – by arranging Loki’s marriage to Sigyn.  No one actually expected the marriage to be more than lip service, with the two leading separate lives within the same house; however, much to everyone’s surprise, Loki and Sigyn readily came to care for one another, and Loki finally began to heal from the loss of their children.  They still mourned, yes, and still worried for Sleipnir, but much of their playfulness returned as they found joy with their new wife.  Settling with Sigyn and becoming a more committed member of the Aesir led to the first major shift in Loki’s appearance, as well. 

Loki and Sigyn had a child together: a son named Narvi who they both loved dearly.  Having a child to raise once more helped to ground Loki still further, and they finally settled comfortably into their role and came to be almost friendly with several of the Aesir.  When Thor’s hammer was stolen, Loki helped him first to find it (by using Freya’s cloak of feathers to fly to the realm of the jotunn; he promised to return it and made good on his word) and then retrieve it, and even won a new ally into the fold with their antics.  Loki and Thor traveled together as allies for a spell, no less, and had a rather harrowing encounter with a jotunn skilled in illusion (during which Loki lost an eating contest with a wildfire and had an unwitting encounter with Jormungandr, something they mourned once the truth was revealed because they had no idea).  And beyond that, Loki even came to the aid of mankind alongside the other gods, helping to save a boy from being devoured by giants when even Odin and Thor could not. 

Sadly, this period of happiness was not meant to last.  In time, Odin’s second son Baldr began to have terrible nightmares about his own death; fearing deeply for her son’s life, his mother Frigg went to every plant, animal, and other object in the world and begged them to swear to do Baldr no harm, to which they all agreed. 

And this is where things get dicey: Odin, wise and well-traveled already, had knowledge of what would come to pass at Ragnarok and after – and because of that, he knew that Baldr would rise from Hel to claim the world after the rest of the gods and men had fallen, inheriting the new and beautiful world that rose from the fire and flood.  With Frigg’s frantic attempts to keep her son alive, that prophecy would be endangered.  Odin, of course, is known as a good and honorable god…but looking at the myths more closely, it sometimes seems that he’s only ‘good’ and ‘honorable’ because he has others do his dirty work (it was his order that had Loki lure Svadilfari from his work, thus cheating the builder of his prize, after all) or claims that he acts in everyone’s best interests (as he did when he bound or exiled Loki’s first children).  

So in order to preserve his son’s ability to inherit the world, Odin went to Loki and asked him to find a way to take Baldr’s life. 

Naturally, Loki balked at that.  But Odin cited their blood bond, and insisted that it was necessary.  In the end, Loki agreed – on the condition that his family be spared from whatever followed, for there could be no doubt that there would be a heavy price to pay for this.  Odin swore it, and Loki left, discovering that Frigg had failed to ask the mistletoe for its oath and using it to create an arrow; and while the other Aesir were having a grand time throwing things at Baldr and watching them bounce off him without doing a thing, Loki tricked Baldr’s twin brother Hodr into firing the arrow – which struck Baldr in the heart, killing him instantly. 

It took little enough time for the gods to realize that Loki was behind the crime, and they proceeded to shut him out of everything.  Wracked with guilt and emotionally unstable, Loki gradually neared a breaking point, which led to the roasting of the other gods at Aegir’s house (which Loki intruded upon by pointedly reminding Odin of the same blood oath he’d cited to make Loki agree to the plot).  Realizing that Loki posed a great danger should the truth come out, Odin took drastic action: when the other Aesir, incensed by Loki’s criticisms and sharp words, hunted them down to be punished for Baldr’s death, Odin turned his youngest son Vali into a wolf and had him attack Loki’s son Narvi, viciously murdering the boy; and to make matters worse, the Aesir then used Narvi’s entrails to bind Loki to a stone beneath the earth, transfiguring them into chains before affixing a snake above Loki’s head to drip poison onto them for eternity. 

Only one stayed beside Loki through this: their wife Sigyn, who remained by Loki’s side catching the poison in a bowl (though she had to leave to empty it on occasion, and when she did the searing poison made Loki writhe violently enough to cause earthquakes).  And it is because of Sigyn that Loki remained passive for so long: her presence kept Loki calm, kept their thirst for revenge from overwhelming them, for she reasoned that if they did slip those bonds and set Ragnarok in motion, then Loki and all of their children all would die, just as Narvi had.  At least now the children had life and could have pleasant dreams – and at least now, Loki had Sigyn. 

But at some point in the very recent past, something happened: Sigyn vanished.  Loki had slept, and when they woke to the searing pain of the snake’s venom, they found that their wife was nowhere to be seen, and no amount of calling and pleading made her reappear.  That, truly, was the last straw for Loki: all their grief and despair turned to fury and hate in that instant, and the fireball they became incinerated both their chains and the snake that had so long tormented them.  In the aftermath, only one link of the chains remained intact, and Loki kept it close, fashioning it into the buckle of the belt they wear.  And without Sigyn by their side, Loki allowed that desire for vengeance to burn through them, which has led to where things stand today. 

The shape Loki now assumes is strategic as much as comfortable, meant to distract enemies and give her more openings in combat. Everything she does is self-serving, up to and including her alliance with Surtr – hence her betrayal when he ceased to be useful.  What she seeks: her children.  Calling on Veronica to secure Naglfar and raise the Tempest, she sought Jormungandr (and still seeks him, as each foray into the Tempest has left her empty-handed); and now that Surtr’s power has been added to Hel’s army, giving her the ability to break the barrier Askr put in place, Loki seeks her lost daughter.  And in the end, she intends to make the treacherous Aesir suffer for the pain and misery they caused her and her family for so long. 

[worldofcelts]

Dangerous Women of Irish Mythology

Article by Sharon Blackie @ DWP

I’ve often heard it declared that Celtic myths and legends are largely heroic in nature, dominated by the exploits of roving adventurers like Fionn Mac Cumhaill, the battles of formidable warriors like Cú Chulainn, and the courtly questings of Gawains, Galahads and Percevals for the Holy Grail. It’s true of course that the old stories have their fair share of male heroism and adventure, but what often goes unrecognised is that the major preoccupation of their heroes is with service to and stewardship of the land. And the Otherworldly (divine) woman who just as consistently appears in these tales happens to be the guardian and protector of the land, the bearer of wisdom, the root of spiritual and moral authority for the tribe.

Old Irish texts contain an abundance of stories of powerful women who were embodiments of the Sovereignty, an allegorical figure who in many senses represented the spirit of the Earth itself, the anima mundi, a deeply ecological force. The power of Sovereignty (in Irish, flaithius) was the power to determine who should rule the land – but if the power she bestowed was abused, then disaster befell the tribe. Whilst a king reigned who was favoured by the goddess, the land was fertile, and the people were prosperous and victorious in war. But if the king didn’t meet her expectations, crops would fail and the tribe would falter.

So it was that the ancient rites of kingship in Ireland included a ceremonial marriage contract, the banais ríghi, between the king and the goddess of the land, and so fundamental was that idea to the Irish way of life that those rites lasted into the sixteenth century. In this sacred marriage, the king swore to uphold and protect the land and his people, and to be true to both; in return Sovereignty granted him the gifts which would help him to keep his oath. These old stories make it clear that, while there is mutual respect between the two partners – between the goddess and the king, between the land and the people, between nature and culture, between feminine and masculine – then all is in harmony and life is filled with abundance. But when the contract is broken, the fertile land becomes the Wasteland.

Sovereignty figures, however, are very different from the usual ‘Earth-Mother’ archetypes who symbolise fertility and prosperity. Like most women in early Irish literature, they are infinitely more ambiguous, unpredictable, and on occasion, decidedly dangerous. Mess with them at your peril. Sovereignty could show herself as a beautiful young woman, fairy mistress or wife; she could appear as a powerful (and by modern standards, promiscuous) sexual figure; she could take the form of a leprous old hag, or a harbinger of war and death.

Let’s take the example of Macha, just one of many fascinating and complex Sovereignty figures in early Irish mythology. Typically, her attributes include tribal/territorial goddess (she is associated with Armagh, Ard Mhacha, in Ulster) and fertility goddess – but she is also a battle goddess. And as is so often the case with these complex divine women, there are three different versions of Macha in the early texts.

In one story, Macha appears as a typical Otherworldly bride, turning up out of the blue at the door of Cruinniuc, an unsuspecting farmer, and bestowing good fortune and prosperity on him. But one day, at a fair, disobeying Macha’s instructions, he boasts to King Conchobar of Ulster that his wife can run faster than any of the king’s horses. In spite of the fact that she is heavily pregnant, Conchobar forces Macha to come and prove herself: to race against his horses. She wins easily, but at the finishing line she collapses and goes into labour; as soon as her twins are born she dies. But before she does, she curses the men of Ulster to experience labour pains at the hour of their greatest need.

In a second story, Macha Mong Ruad (‘red mane’), daughter of Áed Rúad, is the only queen in the List of High Kings of Ireland. She defends her right to her father’s throne against male rivals who deny her because she’s a woman. She marries one of them, defeats the other in battle, and pursues the latter’s sons into the wilderness of Connacht. Surprisingly, since she’s disguised as a leper, the men seem to find her attractive and, one by one, they follow her into the woods to sleep with her. But Macha overcomes each of them and takes them back as slaves to her territory, where she forces them to build her a fortress: the great Emhain Mhacha. This Macha, clearly, is keeping the Sovereignty firmly for herself.

In a third set of references to her, Macha is a woman of the Tuatha Dé Danann, one of three daughters of Ernmas – the others being Morrígu, the dangerous and powerful goddess who appears often as a raven or crow, and Badb. In the Yellow Book of Lecan, she is referred to as ‘one of the three morrígna’, ‘raven women who instigate battle’. In the Second Battle of Mag Tuired, the Morrígan ensures victory for the Tuatha Dé Danann by sleeping with the Dagda, one of their leaders.

Inevitably perhaps, the old goddess of Sovereignty has been treated badly over the centuries, as patriarchal values have increasingly taken hold. She began to lose some of her power when these stories from ancient oral traditions were first committed to paper by Christian monks. Later, she might find herself reinvented as a saint. But if the qualities she embodied in a specific incarnation didn’t fit new images of what a good woman should be, she would be dismissed simply as a ‘fairy woman’, or (for example, in many stories about Medb – or Maeve – of Connaught) remodelled as a promiscuous, pseudo-historical queen. The Morrígan, impossible to whitewash, was simply written out of later versions of the old stories. And by the seventeenth century, when a woman could no longer be accepted in any significant position of influence, all that persisted of the once-powerful goddess of Sovereignty were the dreamlike visions known as aislings in which she appeared as a muse to inspire (male) poets – a weak, melancholy, vaguely Otherworldly maiden, sexless, romanticised and distinctly unreal.

And yet, in the last century Sovereignty, irrepressible, has risen up out of her iconic landscapes and undergone something of a renaissance. We see her, alive and well, in contemporary Irish poetry – from the fertile, female bogs to which Seamus Heaney declared his betrothal, to Nuala Ní Dhomnaill’s Cailleach-ridden Kerry mountains. We see her in a growing interest in the female divine, and the divine female of Irish legend is more interesting than most. It is her complexity, perhaps, that fascinates above all else; these dangerous women for sure don’t lend themselves to easy archetypes, to simple psychological classifications, as has happened with the Greek pantheon in way too many ‘find the goddess within you’ books by a string of Jungian psychologists. Throughout their stories, these women of old Irish literature teach us about the beauty of balance and the dangers of excess. Along with fertility comes promiscuity; the giving of life is balanced by the bringing of death; adherence to the light must be balanced by embracing the dark.

Sources

Lebor Gabála Érenn: The Book of Invasions

Annals of the Four Masters

The Second Battle of Mag Tiured

Secondary sources

Bitel, Lisa M. Land of Women: Tales of Sex and Gender from Early Ireland. (Cornell: Cornell University Press, 1996)

Clark, Rosalind. The Great Queens: Irish Goddesses from the Morrígan to Cathleen ní Houlihan. (Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe, 1991)

[systlin]

Tell us about Sleipnir (is that how it's spelled?) the eight legged horse.

OH MAN THIS ONE

One of the most (in)famous of Loki’s shenanigans.

So. Shortly after the construction of Asgard, the gods were going about their business when a stranger arrived at their gates. He offered his services to construct a wall for them around Asgard, one that would never fall. He swore that he would do this in a mere three seasons, which seemed impossible, and as payment for his services he wanted the hand of Freyja, the beautiful, in marriage, as well as the sun and the moon.

The gods went into a huddle at this to discuss things.

“Fuck this guy.” Announced Freyja. “In the metaphorical sense, not the literal. I’m not marrying him.”

“Anyway, yeah, this is a scam.” Odin said. “I know a scam when I see a scam, and this is definitely a scam, and you know what we do to people who try to scam us.”

“COUNTER SCAM!”

“What the fuck you two, Loki, shut the hell up, that isn’t what he…”

“Exactly, thank you Loki. We counter scam them. Here’s the plan.”

*Some time later*

“Fine. Fine. I’m in. But know that if he pulls it off, I will kill both of you. Slowly. And use your skulls as food dishes for my cats. And also kill him on the wedding night.”

“Noted, Freyja.”

So the gods returned to the craftsman and agreed, with a condition; he would only have one season to complete the work, and it must be done without any aid save that of his horse.

“Deal.” He agreed immediately. “But you’ve all gotta swear a binding oath that you will keep your word.”

The myth does not specify that he was, specifically, eyeballing Loki and Odin at that part, so I am forced to assume that he was.

The gods all do. The craftsman gets straight to work, and the wall begins going up at an impressive pace. As Freyja’s scowl deepened, it was noticed that the man’s mighty stallion, Svadilfari, was doing most of the work, hauling stones larger than any normal horse could shift and never seeming to tire.

“It’s fine!!!” A sweating Loki assures a glowering Freyja. “Just fine! The horse will tire, he won’t finish it!”

But winter wears on, the wall grows, and it’s soon clear that the horse will not tire, and the man will indeed complete his work. Freyja has taken to making throat-cutting gestures at both Odin and Loki whenever she sees them.

Three days from the end of winter, and only the final layer of stones for the gates need to be laid. I picture here Odin and Loki watching the mason pack up his tools and horse for the evening and ride off, secure in the knowledge that he will soon wed Freyja and take the sun and moon.

“He could do it.” Loki squints up at the wall.

“Yep.” Says Odin, sipping mead.

“He’s a frost giant, isn’t he?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Got this won, he has.” Loki nods, sipping his own mead.

“Oh, yes.”

“Freyja cornered me today and threatened to feed my balls to her cats.”

“She’s going to use my remaining eye as a necklace too, apparently.”

“She’d make it painful, too.”

“Yep.” Odin refills both their ale horns with mead. “Because, of course, there is no one in Asgard who would, in this situation…how did you put it the other day?”

“Cheat like a motherfucker.”

“Yes, that’s it. No one at all.”

“I’ve got a plan.”

A grin from the Old Bastard, a sort of half smirking wolfish grin. “I knew you would.”

They then clink mean horns and cackle like hyenas for a full minute and a half.

The next day, the mason arrives for his work and begins cutting more stones as his stallion grazes. As he works, a pretty young mare prances out of the woods, tossing her mane and tail and giving Svadilfari come-hither glances.

Svadilfari sniffs, decides in .000000003 seconds that a young mare in season is infinitely more interesting than hauling rocks, and takes off after her. The mare dashes ahead of him, staying juuuuuuust out of reach as the giant swore and cursed back by the sledge.

The mare, of course, is Loki. He leads Svadilfari a merry chase, but is still Loki, and allows herself to be caught eventually. Loki and Svadilfari proceed to have a grand few days in a nice clearing in the woods, far from Asgard and Svadilfari’s master.

Meanwhile, the three days come and go. The giant tries his hardest, but cannot finish the wall without Svadilfari. At last the sun sets on the end of the season, and the wall remains unfinished. He has not completed his task, and Freyja and the sun and moon are lost to him.

“YOU CHEATED!!!” He presumably yelled, swelling to giant size and revealing himself as a frost giant at last.

“I didn’t do a single thing,” Says the Allfather, which to be fair is technically true. "Go from this place. You have lost.“

The enraged giant did not. Therefore, he was paid, instead of his wages, a blow of Thor’s hammer to the head, which shattered his skull and killed him on the spot.

Loki did not return for many months, though there were sightings in the forest of a pretty mare with an eight legged foal on occasion. Finally, Loki reappeared at the gates of Asgard with a weanling foal in tow. The foal had eight legs, and followed Loki as a young horse will its mother. The gods all, presumably, gave each other Significant Looks at this.

Loki took the foal before Odin, who also presumably raised an eyebrow.

“You know, you didn’t have to do it that way, but good job.”

“Hey I didn’t question the whole tie yourself to a tree thing, you don’t question my methods. Also, this is Sleipnir. Sleipnir, this is Uncle Odin. You stick with him and be a good boy, okay? Remember, mommy loves you and will come to visit but you’re a big boy now and I need to get back to my other interests.”

And that is how Odin obtained Sleipnir, the eight legged steed that carries him through the realms.

[thelionsauvage]

Saving Sansa and Justice for the North

Barack and Bardoul both grin at eachother as they and their thousands of men each ride into King’s Landing, knowing that even with the death of their cousin Robb; they remained loyal as they protected their younger cousins. And today? Today was going to lay waste to all those bloody Lannister’s have held dear as both brothers kicked their horses’ sides to gallop straight to the keep, their men and wolves right beside them.

They planned ahead to leave their banner down until they entered the keep, it was a tactic to keep their beloved Lady Sansa alive; they nodded as they rode into the courtyard before motioning for their men to dismount then doing so themselves. All their horses stayed where they had halted, almost as well trained as the Dothraki across the Narrow Sea.

The brothers then made their way towards the throne room, their own men shoving aside each Lannister soldier to keep the way clear for their lords. Barack nods to his second-in-command Sam, “Open the doors and wait for the signal.” The large red head nods before gesturing to his brother’s second-in-command, who just happened to be his younger brother Gregory and just as large, the two men kicked open the two large throne room doors shocking all that were present.

Barack and Bardoul glanced around at all the faces worth their time in remembering; Cersei, her bastard son Joffrey, their beloved cousin Sansa, Lady Margaery who just happened to have a true betrothal pact with Barack himself which caused the young man to grin, their grandmother, uncle, cousin Loras, Tyrion, even the Prince of Dorne himself, Jaime Lannister and finally Tywin. The brothers took one last glance at eachother before marching forward with their men spreading out behind them; no one had an army this size in the capital, not the Lannisters or Tyrell, not even the king himself.

“Who dares to enter my kingdom like this?!! Who are you people?!” Joffrey spews, ahem shouts, out at them before the two brothers raise their hands; one is handed a bag to which he tosses at the steps of the Iron Throne while their banner men finally unraveled their flags. “We are the last of the Starks. We serve our lord, Brandon Stark; who quite coincidentally was pushed out of a window by your father my king, as your mother kept yelling he saw us, he saw us. Now...strangely it was just...that day King Robert and our Uncle Eddard Stark were out hunting. Then...these were the last words as this blonde man sighed, the things I do for love. Meaning, Joffrey, the bastard born of Cersei and Jaime Lannister; your father...” Barack the only one who had been speaking as the entire throne room was struck with dead silence, “Is right here in this room. With one hand less. Imagine that. So this must mean...our dear princess and young prince are like you, bastardborn of incest. Also....Wolves! Grab them.” Their men rush forward, their second in commands going for the biggest threats which was Jaime and the Kingsguard. Both knocking Jaime out by a single punch each, before drawing their double-handed swords and chopping off all their heads except for Ser Meryn who they subdue and growl in his ear, “You bastard have a special role to play.” They drag him to where Cersei, Tywin, and Jaime were.

Together both brothers grab Joffrey by his coat, while the rest calmly gather up the Tyrells and their Lady of the North Sansa to the side safely. They all then watch as Joffrey is throne down the steps of the iron throne crying out in shock and pain as the brothers prowl slowly like direwolves they are and their own direwolves larger than horses now step up to the boy and snarl in the whimpering boy’s face as he tries to scramble backwards only to feel cold steel on either side of neck.

“We have heard of what you have been doing Joffrey Hill, to our cousin Lady Sansa. You pointed a crossbow at her while Ser Meryn ripped off her clothes and beat her. We thank ya, Lord Tyrion Lannister of keeping us informed. Now then...” Barack and Bardoul look once at eachother then towards those on their knees, “Bardoul kill Meryn and I’ll kill the bastard.” Bardoul pulls his axe away leaving a cut line of blood on Joffrey’s neck before he and his wolf Niko stalk towards the disgraced kingsguard. Upon reaching the man, he whistles sharply for Niko to grab the man roughly by his cloak to drag him in front of Joffrey and both the brothers then look as one at the Lannisters, “Well...time to pay a debt for you bastards isn’t it? But before we do...Sam, show them what’s in the bag.” The giant of a man stomps forward and grabs the bag before turning to the Lannisters and dumps the heads for all to show, “Mean Lord Bolton, traitor of the North who killed our cousin, his wife, and unborn baby. Lord Walder Frey who staged the killing and our most beloved Aunt, Karstark who betrayed the North with Bolton, all who betrayed the North and Riverrun.” Snarled Bardoul, who finally deigned to speak. “You like heads on spikes? Yours will be joining them soon. Wake up the Kingslayer. He deserves the sight of his bastard son’s death. And in case any of you think we are lying? Here’s proof from that very tower;” Bardoul tosses an old piece of a dress that Cersei is known to be fond of as well as another old piece of cloth that Jaime had been seen wearing that day. Tywin looks at his two children in disgust, “You bring shame to my name?!?”

“Oh! Like you keep saying to your true born son, Lannister? Luckily; don’t worry for Tyrion will be a great Lord of Casterly Rock especially when you’re dead.” Bardoul laughs before Barack slams the bottom of his spear to the ground, “ENOUGH! Now Bardoul!” Both brothers quickly choose their favorite methods of killing, just as Jaime awakens to see Joffrey speared from lower spine to straight up his mouth, gagging on both the weapon and blood; Cersei screams at her son’s death. While Bardoul swings his weapon up and down cleanly straight through the Kingsguard’s skull and down till his body was split in half.

Barack snarls while tearing off the pretender’s crown and tosses it straight into a brazier to crackle and melt. Their direwolves and wolves; as their men were known as, howl in victory as Barack looks towards his cousin Sansa as she cries out in happiness and runs into their arms. They protectively hold her close, knowing exactly why she isn’t minding the blood before they all turn to the three kneeling Lannister’s and their now Lord, Tyrion. “What would you like us to do with them, Lord Tyrion?”

The Imp looks at his siblings then his father before the Starks, “Kill all but my brother...he’s the only one who ever loved me out of this family and I’ll make sure he stays loyal.” The two Wolves nod at their men before each runs their sword through the two mentioned as Jaime just looks at his brother in surprise. “Why just me...?”

Tyrion looks at Jaime and sighs, “Who else will command the Kingsguard better than you? And Starks...who shall be our king if my nephew and niece are now considered bastards?” Barack groans as his hand raises, “Me, Lord Tyrion. As decided between myself and family in Winterfell with those of the Stormlands, Westerlands, Riverlands, Iron Islands as they’re now ruled by my brother and his wife, The Vale, and the North ruled by my cousin, and since....”Here he looks mockingly around, “Oh wait... Since I have Commander of the Kingsguard and Master of Coin with me here...you both rule the favor for the Crownlands...go ahead and vote. I need to meet my future wife.” He pulls out a large roll of paper and walks to the Tyrells with a smile, “Hello Grandmother, I’m here to accept the marriage proposal made between our houses from a very long while ago. Between the House of Stark and House of Tyrell; myself and...Lady Margaery. Seems you get to be queen after all.” Surprise was written upon many of the faces before him except his grandmother who stood up once he offered his hand to her and now is held out to Margaery with a slight smile in kindness to his future bride as she accepted his hand and stood barely reaching the center of his, she noticed with a huge blush. Her grandmother cackles at the sight while Barack just grins, “I am Barack Stark of Winterfell, my lady. It is an honor to finally meet you. I’ve read that contract so many times, the correspondence between our grandmother and I about you, hell even the small painting she had made of you just recently that’s joined all the others.” They watch as the red stained cheeks stay blushing, mutual grins upon their faces before his face is turned to face the Lady of Thorns; “You look just like her, you look like Amaris, your mother my boy. “ His eyes softened at that, his siblings as well as himself rarely speak of their mother since losing her all those years ago.

“Ahem, it has been decided...King Barack Stark, First of His name, King of The Andals and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm shall be our one and true King!” Tyrion yells out to the throne room, the lords and ladies there including his family and men all cheered; “Send out the word! Send it to the Kingdoms, to the Wall! We have a new king!” Jaime approaches the new king and kneels before him, swearing the oath of the Kingsguard before Loras kneels beside him, surprising everyone; after Jaime finishes his oath. “Accept me into the Kingsguard, your Grace. Any children you and my sister have, any son that isn’t your firstborn or second, could rule Highgarden in my stead.” Another surprise was Brienne of Tarth kneeling as well before the new king, “And me, your Grace; for you did what I could not. You saved your cousin, a task left to me by your Aunt who I swore to serve.”

Barack looks at those all around him, before he holds his hand up; “I accept these three as part of my Kingsguard, Jaime train them well...Another matter, Lord Tyrion; I may be a hard man but I am not cruel...Tommen and Myrcella will not be of the same fate as their brother and other members. They can return to Casterly Rock and live to serve the Lannister family at your discretion.” Jaime’s shoulders shake slightly in relief, only noticed by his brethren at his side, his king, his future Queen, and his younger brother. “And lastly, after my coronation; I shall marry my future bride Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden, your future queen!” Many more cheers rang out in the throne room at the news before couriers ran to spread the word in the city while others ran to send out the ravens. “Bardoul, I would wish for you and your wife to choose your best captain to become our Naval Commander in the small council; I believe Lord Davos that served Stannis will be best don’t you? We have our Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, we need a new Grand Maester;” He ignores the sputtering of the old fool, “Oh. Kill him, I forgot he helped kill not just our Uncle but Lord Jon Arryn the Hand of the King, next...Tyrion will you be the Hand of the King again?” He smiles at the Imp who seemed very surprised before leaning down to Jaime, “That means Tommen and Myrcella will stay close by, as wards to the House of Lannister. Don’t worry Jamie, I’ve been planning this with my family for many years.” He stands back up to his full height with a nod as his Kingsguard and his second-in-command to stand up and step forward.

“Sam, return to Winterfell and take my place at Bran’s side...you know his mission. Also tell Jon, I say hello and hope his feelings aren’t too hard that Revna stole away that fire haired lass of his.” Both men chuckle at that, it happened before they marched south. Hearing of Wildlings on the other side of the wall, had Bran ordering that Revna and Barack take their men to fight and kill if they had too. Luckily, they killed those that were called the Stenns as a large red-haired man called them before Revna stopped the rest of the forces, which numbered in the thousands as many northern men knew that there were still Starks in Winterfell and had told them all of what happened. Let’s just say, the traitors were dealt with swiftly. After hearing the Wildlings out, they opened the doors of Winterfell to them on the orders of Bran. Now, here they are.

“The rest of the Small Council will be decided on later, no offense...Uncle you are a fool if you think you’ll be Master of Coin or on the Small Council ever again...Instead, Grandmother? I know who truly rules Highgarden and makes the coin.”

[sheikah]

Jonerys in 7.07 and Beyond :)

Okay so I have gotten a steady flow of asks both positive and worried after the finale so I thought I would just post one, big analysis of Jonerys in the finale for anyone interested in my take on things!

First of all I just want to establish that I loved this episode and it is my favorite of the season. There was much more to love than Jonerys here, but they are what I will focus on for this particular post, and I think this episode solidified their love in a major and lasting way. This is giant so I used a cut. 

Dany’s arrival on Drogon was epic. I love that she made such a dramatic entrance and it was a true showing of her power to Cersei--showing without telling. Dany didn’t need to list her titles or raise her voice to Cersei. Her forces (the legion of those loyal to her and her two dragons) speak for themselves. I also really loved Jon standing up and looking out from under the tent covering to see Dany arrive. He loves her so much :’)

Moving on from that, the Dragonpit scene goes a long way to showing us what Jon and Dany can/might be like as co-rulers. I have seen the argument that Dany would eclipse Jon, make him submit to her, etc, but this episode should lay that argument to rest once and for all.

I talked in this ask about why I think Jon and Dany can and will operate as equals, and even after seeing this episode I stand by my argument. I think Jon is still a king. 

Dany referred to him as the King in the North when talking to Cersei and when Cersei and Tyrion were discussing Tyrion’s apparent plans for an alliance between Jon and Dany, Tyrion said, “Not like this.” I don’t think he wanted them to fall in love or for them to necessarily be equals because it can and will complicate Dany’s designs on the throne; because as I’m sure Tyrion is aware, the Northerners will not like it. 

But even beyond that, Jon has still never bent the knee and taken up a submissive posture. He merely swore loyalty to Dany as his queen, but that doens’t mean he isn’t a king. 

Also in this scene, we saw Jon taking charge and handling the demonstration of the wight. Dany sat by as a passive observer. She hardly had lines in this scene and let Jon and Tyrion do the talking. I think this signifies her trust in them both. Even when Jon swore to her, she chastised him for it. She admires him and welcomes his loyalty but she is not interested in having him as her subordinate or having him endanger himself or the North on her behalf. She wants Jon as her equal. 

Even after Sansa received a letter in which Jon apparently claimed to have bent the knee to Dany, Littlefinger still saw that as an alliance of equals and asserted that Jon is still the King in the North after this has taken place. So I think it is safe to say that they will be equals moving forward.

The moment of Jon swearing to Dany is significant to me, too. It shows the depth of Jon’s commitment and his honesty. Jon is a man who keeps his word and that was reiterated again here. I think we should take this as a sign that even if things get tense in season 8 and that the North is resistant to this match, we should know that Jon will never break his oath to Dany. 

My favorite scene of the episode was Jon and Dany’s private talk in the Dragonpit. Here we saw more honesty and vulnerability from both. Dany shows rare humility and admits that without her dragons, she’s just a woman. Without dragons, Targaryens are only people. Like everyone else. 

Jon, meanwhile, took this opportunity to continue to be absolutely adorable and perfect and tell her that she’s still extraordinary to him--”You’re not like everyone else.” Also in this moment, Jon assures Dany that her family’s line  has not ended, not while she still lives. 

To me, this is the single most important moment in the Jonerys relationship so far. Because the implication here is obvious--Dany has already asserted that she can’t have children. She repeats it again. But Jon doesn’t accept it. Not only does he want to comfort Dany in the notion that the words of a witch aren’t necessarily true, but he wants to be the person to prove this wrong. That might sound like a leap, but bear with me. 

Jon clearly doesn’t believe that Dany is really infertile. Her explanation isn’t really a solid one. Add to this that Jon is someone who would never, ever want to father a bastard. Period. His bastard status is something that has haunted him for his entire life. So for him to later in the episode have sex with Dany is HUGE. 

He not only believes Dany is perfectly capable of having a child, but he mentions it to her in an encouraging way. Jon wants children with Dany. Jon wants a future with Dany. This is . . . more than I ever expected or hoped for haha and I love it SO much. 

So back to what I was saying earlier about him keeping his oaths. I have seen a lot of people in the tag worried about the future of their relationship for a variety of reasons. 

1. D&D’s “Inside the Episode” comments in which they said the revelation “could” tear Jon and Dany apart and “she’s his aunt.” 

To that I say, this is Stark Bowl 2.0. They tried to get us to believe that Sansa would betray Jon to take over as Queen in the North because making us think that created dramatic tension and drama not only throughout the off season but this season as well. I personally never believed it would happen but the GA did, and the writers thrive on that. They don’t want anyone to think it’s neat and tidy. 

2. Kit’s and Emilia’s weird interview comments about Jonerys. 

Again, this isn’t serious. They are trolling us as they are trained to do. As they have done for  years, most notably with everyone swearing up and down that Jon was truly and permanently dead post-season 5. They don’t want us to think that everything is peachy because that’s not GoT. 

Furthermore, even though we know that in the universe of GoT, incest is not an issue for an aunt and nephew, Emilia is acting squicked out about it probably to protect her image and keep people from thinking that she is accepting of incest in real life. I suspect she is also acting squicked out to lay to rest the rumors that she and Kit enjoyed their romantic filming a little too much last season and that they were sleeping together in Spain. Her acting like it grosses her out covers her ass in this regard.

Tldr: I don’t believe the actors when they are teasing Jonerys breaking up. And you shouldn’t either :)

3. The montage scene and what it represents. 

I was worried about the montage scene, but now that I’ve seen it, I feel 100% confident in Jonerys. It was incredibly romantic. It featured a loving and romantic parallel in the form of Rhaegar and Lyanna (putting aside how problematic that relationship is) and everything from the music to the editing and shots themselves showed this as a positive, intimate, and loving relationship. 

Jon and Dany didn’t have gratuitous, smutty HBO sex. They made love with each other. They looked each other in the eye for extended periods, kissed a LOT, and just generally were tender and sweet. 

And the montage added to the weight of the scene. Bran saying “he loved her” and “she loved him” AS it showed Jon and Dany is HUGE. It’s showing us that they are actually in love. This isn’t just comfort sex. This isn’t a fling. This is the real thing. 

And even the later parts of the montage, when Bran discussed Lyanna, were important to me. This just shows us the odds that Jon had to overcome, how close he came to dying, how long and crazy his and Dany’s journeys have both been, just for them to end up where they are--together at last and in love. 

Jon being the heir does not spell trouble for their future. Jon has mentioned on more than one occasion that he is not interested in being a king. I don’t think that will magically change the moment that he finds out that he is a Targaryen. 

Furthermore, Jon has brought out a softer, kinder, and altogether different side of Dany. Her sights have moved from the throne to the betterment of the people. It’s as she said to Jorah when she swore she would sail North with Jon instead of riding Drogon--she’s not going to conquer the North, she’s going to save it. 

Dany is a changed women after losing Viserion and loving Jon. I can’t see her hurting a man she loves just because his birthright rivals hers. If anything, she will be thrilled to find that the man she loves is one of her family, that she’s not “a Targaryen alone in the world” after all.

And the moment we find out this information is huge. We learn that Jon is the heir as we see Jon and Dany making love in a moment that heavily hints at them conceiving a child together. To me, all this means is that Jon is now someone of even higher stature and a more valuable alliance to Dany than before. It does NOT hint at “Targ Bowl.” I do NOT think that Jon and Dany would ever fight over the throne. 

That being said, Jon will probably freak out. I do see a bit of conflict in their future in season 8 about this, but not for long. To me, Jon will be more shaken about his own identity than he will about he and Dany’s relation to one another. As I’ve said, aunt/nephew or uncle/niece marriages were not scandalous or frowned upon and even Starks did this. It isn’t the issue many are making it out to be. 

Instead, I think that Jon will be momentarily shocked and upset to find that he is not Ned Stark’s son after all. Instead, he is the son of a man he has never seen or probably really thought about. He is still half a Stark, but in this universe, for some reason the father’s half counts the most. 

So Jon will grapple with the news but possibly also be a bit happy that he is not a bastard and that it was never true that he had a mother Ned was ashamed of. It was never true that he had a mother who didn���t want him. He was just in danger and needed to be hidden--just like Dany. 

Taking this further, Jon’s pep talk to Theon foreshadows Jon’s own acceptance of his identity down the line. It’s just like Jon said to Theon--he doesn’t need to choose. Theon is both a Greyjoy and a Stark and Ned’s teachings and love will always be a part of him. Similarly, Jon is both a Targaryen and Stark, and Ned’s guidance and love will always be a part of him, too. This little speech wasn’t thrown in by accident. Jon and Theon were never particularly good friends. This is a parallel for Jon’s own coming identity crisis and I think the way he advised Theon can tell us how Jon will handle the news himself. 

And his love for Dany and the likely promise of their child together will calm him down and remind him of what’s important. 

4. Sad Tyrion

The last thing I have seen people freaking out about is Tyrion’s strange, sad look as he watched Jon enter Dany’s cabin. Many have taken it to be jealousy but I don’t see it that way. Not even a little bit. 

I think that Tyrion is realizing now that Jon and Dany are deeply attracted to each other and that they have a connection that can and will put them both in danger. Jon risked his life in a way by swearing to Dany in front of everyone. It almost reminds me of the famous story of Rhaegar crowning Lyanna Queen of Love and Beauty at the joust in a snub of Elia in front of everyone. This is different though, because Jon’s action is symbolic of unity and an alliance, not divisiveness or adultery. 

Still, Tyrion knows what falling in love can do. He’s had disastrous relationships and he’s seen what can happen to the realm when people let desire cloud their judgment. I think he knows that already Jon and Dany’s relationship is making them reckless. Dany riding off to save Jon was reckless even though we wanted it to happen. Jon swearing to Dany was reckless even though I think it was the right thing to do.

So Tyrion’s sadness wasn’t about desire for Dany, but worry for her future and Jon’s and how their relationship will continue to complicate the war. Even Peter Dinklage said in BTS commentary that Tyrion knows that love can be a disaster for people. That’s why he’s upset.

Okay so now that I’ve talked about the objections/worries I’ve seen, I want to talk about positive stuff haha :)

I already said how much I love the scene in the dragonpit of Jon and Dany discussing her fertility. But I also really love the scene back at Dragonstone when Jorah is trying to talk Dany out of traveling to Winterfell by land and sea because of the danger it presents. 

Jon talks her out of riding Drogon and his reasoning is solid--if Dany wants to win over the North, it needs to be clear that their alliance is real and lasting. Jon wants the Northerners to see them together. I think this is pretty on-the-nose foreshadowing of a marriage down the line. Jon wishes for he and Dany to be a united front who travel and appear together. That’s everything!

I also love how Dany agreed with him and went on to say that she needs to be seen at Jon’s side and not on Drogon’s back because she isn’t there to conquer. I am hoping this will finally silence the people claiming that Dany wants to take the North by force. That is obviously not the case.

But from a shipping standpoint, this scene was so lovely to me because it was also Jon and Dany doing a very poor job of hiding the fact that they don’t want to separate. Jon wanted Dany to sail with him to White Harbor and ride with him to Winterfell because he simply wants to be with her. He’s in love with her. So obviously he wants her nearby!

And of course all of this led up to the scene we’ve been waiting years for hahaha--epic boatsex.

I have seen a lot of complaints about it but it really lived up to and even exceeded my expectations. My only problem is that I wish we had gotten a scene of their first kiss, but this is okay. If we had gotten that, given how short it was, we probably wouldn’t have gotten actual sex, too.

And it was good sex you guys. The moments of them looking into each other’s eyes actually killed me. Jon just looked grateful to have her, like she was the single most amazing and beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life. He was literally shaking in that moment. And even Dany, who tries so hard to put up her stoic exterior, looked almost in tears with emotion when he was looking at her like that. I think her feelings for Jon and the depth of them came as a surprise to her and now that it’s here she’s just going with it. 

But as sweet as it was, as far as it went to establish their love, it was damn hot too and yall know it. That lick or whatever the hell it was is amazing and I will see it when my life flashes before my eyes before I die hahaha. 

Jon wanted her bad and when he finally got her he totally went for it. I’ve never seen Jon like that and damn are we blessed to have gotten it. He got his woman. And the whole “love comes in at the eyes” couldn’t have been clearer.

So I think this was an amazing way to end the season and look forward to the final one. They’ve established this ship in a lovely way and I don’t think they’re going anywhere. Jonerys is here to stay. 

If anything, next season will see some of the Northern lords cautious and wary about Dany, and Jon defending her as he already did in the dragonpit. This will only drive them closer together, as will the BABY I am almost certain they will have. 

The Jonerys ship is still sailing guys. And I couldn’t be happier :)