#this is all to say I am pretty sure Bran's brother calm

[moremysteriesthantragedies]

Actually, I kind of love writing characters with internalized homophobia/transphobia for reasons other than religion. Because yes, some religions can absolutely cause that to happen, but also, people can internalize that stuff for multiple reasons and I like reminding people (especially those trying to be allies and those struggling with their identity) that just because they didn't suffer from an overly religious environment or parent or whatever doesn't mean they don't struggle with that crap.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Hello!

I love all your work so much and I saw that you were going to be taking a break from your Bachelor universe so I wanted to throw some prompts your way to maybe help get some other creative juices flowing *waggles eyebrows*

1) switched at birth AU

2) Everyone already knows their dating AU

3) Law and Order (SVU AU)

4) you’ve got mail AU

Thank you anon, I'm glad you like my writing!

Now that I've finished my Bach fic, I've been at a bit of a loss what I want to do next. Maybe it's because I'm all out of new ideas, maybe it's because work has been absolutely hectic, but my creative brain is completely empty. So I figured, why not try to do one of these prompts?

Here's the thing: I have never seen SVU or You've Got Mail. And I'm pretty sure Switched at Birth is also a TV show I have never seen? When I saw "everyone already knows" my immediate thought was "oh! like in Friends!" but then I remembered I have absolutely read that fic somewhere?? Like someone already wrote that for Jonsa. (I tried to find it again but have had no luck.)

So I chose switched at birth as a concept - I'm not sure if you meant the TV show or not, but I just wrote whatever popped into my brain.

A warning: this turned out a bit more angsty than I intended, and isn't necessarily Jonsa? It is if you squint. A few other notes, Alayne is a completely separate person from Sansa, Lysa is not related to Catelyn, and Baelish never knew Catelyn either. Sorry if it's confusing and/or not at all what you were looking for!

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Sansa feels as if the world has dropped out from beneath her.

They all sit in the drawing room of what she can only describe as a mansion (and she knows that next to her, Father is likely seething. This is the kind of money he aspires to, but will never be able to reach. He will never have a name. Father is a Baelish, he could never be a Stark.)

She stares at the family sitting opposite and her heart sticks in her throat at the sight of them – the mother, the three sons, they all have the same copper hair that she does and she swallows against the rising tears.

This is what she could have had, she thinks as she averts her eyes, but she only manages to catch sight of the family portrait above the mantel. A father, a mother, siblings. She could have had all of this, if not for the slip-up of an overworked, underpaid nurse sixteen years ago. She could have been Alayne Stark. Instead she is Sansa Baelish.

Switched at birth.

Alayne sits with her family (that should be Sansa's family), and she doesn't look as out of place as she should. Her dark hair matches Mr. Stark's – matches the other daughter, Arya. Alayne fits right in.

Sansa sits with Father (no, not her father; the man who raised her) on the opposite couch and wonders if her Mother (no, not her mother) had known, somehow. Is that why Mother had always been so cruel to her? Why she always seemed to hate Sansa for reasons she could never figure out? Perhaps Mother had known, somehow, that Sansa wasn't hers. Sansa remembers reading fairy stories of Changelings – how the mother would know, insist the child wasn't hers, how no one ever believed her. Is that why Mother threw herself off the roof all those years ago?

“Well this is fucking awkward,” the girl, Arya, mutters, and it breaks the silence as Mr. Stark sighs and presses a hand over his face and Mrs. Stark begins to scold her for her language and impropriety. Sansa watches Alayne laugh, and she feels more than ever like an intruder. She may share the Stark blood, but it seems as if Alayne and Arya are more alike than not. And by the way the brothers are trying to hide their own laughter, it seems Alayne fits in with all of them.

Perhaps it wasn't a mistake to switch them, Sansa thinks bitterly. Perhaps the Starks are better for having Alayne.

….

She is forced to get to know the Stark family, though she does not think she wants to. She doesn't want to look at their life and wish it could have been hers – wish that Ned Stark with his kind eyes and calm voice could have been her father. Wish that Catelyn Stark with her smiles and her freshly baked cookies could have been her mother. Wish that she could have been surrounded by siblings and dogs and even two strange psuedo-adopted-but-not-really brothers that she meets later on named Jon and Theon. The Stark household is chaotic and confusing and Sansa tells herself she would have hated growing up here.

….

She isn't surprised to find that she's not sad Father isn't her real father. In fact, there's a sort of joy inside her that when she turns eighteen, she can be free of him. He is still her legal guardian, the courts have decided, but she has less than two years before she is free and they aren't actually related and so she doesn't have to feel guilty about her dreams of leaving him.

It grows inside her as the weeks and months go by – a hatred she has never truly let herself feel before. She hates him, despises him. She always has.

Catelyn Stark is insistent on getting to know her because Sansa is her daughter, but Sansa can tell that Father has no real desire to get to know his own real daughter. He does not care about Alayne – no, what he cares about is ingratiating himself into the Stark family. She wonders if the Starks can see it like she can. She hopes not – she doesn't want them to think she's only coming to these weekly meetings for their money and their name.

In all honestly, she's not actually sure why she keeps coming to these meetings. All they do is remind her that the Starks will never truly be her family. All they do is highlight how much Father cares about social climbing. These meetings are painful and every week when she finally gets home and takes a shower and gets into her pajamas and climbs into bed, she sobs into her pillow for what could have been.

…

“You know the party's inside, right?”

Sansa startles out of her reverie and whirls around, heart pounding, to find Jon Snow standing behind her, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket.

It's Christmas and the snow is thick on the ground and she's shivering in the thin wrap that she came outside with, her coat in a closet where Mrs. Stark had taken it hours earlier.

“Are you allowed to be smoking?” she asks instead of answering and he laughs, pulling one out of the pack and placing it between his lips.

“I'm eighteen,” he shrugs, speaking around the cigarette dangling out of his mouth. His hands come up and he lights it, with one cupped around the end against the cold winter wind.

“I can't imagine Mrs. Stark approves of smoking,” she sniffs, then shakes her head no when Jon holds the pack out to her in offering. She watches his mouth twitch into a smile for a moment, like he knew she wouldn't take one, before putting the pack back in his coat pocket.

“Seems you don't approve, either.”

“Well, I am her daughter.” She says it and means it to be a joke, but the words come out soft and it wavers at the end.

Jon watches her for a moment, then unzips his coat and shrugs it off and holds it out to her and she stares at it blankly, her mind not processing the gesture. He shakes the coat, like he's insisting she take it and she finally does, slipping it on and then closing her eyes at the immediate warmth of it.

“I get it,” Jon says after a while, when he's halfway down to the filter, clouds of smoke drifting up into the night sky. “I mean, not exactly, I'm not sure there's anyone who can understand... you know-” he gestures at her. “But I get what's it's like - to be a Stark, but not. They practically raised me, but I'm not... I'll never actually be one of them.”

“I used to read fairytales,” she admits, turning her face from him because it's easier to talk into the dark, snow-covered landscape than him. “About secret princesses, and the king and queen were always so happy to have their daughter back. In the stories, there was never another princess who already took her place. Who fit in better.”

Alayne is a perfect Stark, she thinks. Over the months, she's seen it – how Alayne plays football and hockey with her brothers and sisters, makes jokes that Sansa would never. She's nothing like Sansa, who always preferred reading poetry to playing outside, with perfect manners and perfect posture. Cold and reserved. She wishes she were more like Alayne – more like a Stark.

She hears Jon sigh and take one last drag of the cigarette before he puts it out in the snow. “You're a lot like Cat, you know,” he says finally, and she feels something twist painfully in her chest. “And Bran. I mean, I don't know you that well, I guess, but...”

She shakes her head because he's wrong. She's nothing like any of the Starks (though she's not a Baelish, either). Jon sighs again, louder this time, with more annoyance.

“You are,” he insists, and she finally turns to face him again and opens her mouth to argue, but he gets there first. “You'd see it if you let yourself. If you actually tried. Cat's... Cat is trying so hard. You should see how she gets before you come over. Everyone is freaking out about it but you won't even try to get to know them. And I might not get how you feel, but Alayne? Have you even tried to talk to her?”

That painful twist in her chest tightens, it swoops down into her belly and up into her throat. “I am-”

“Like I said, I can't imagine how it feels, you know? And I'm sure it's a lot, and you're allowed to feel how you feel, but the Starks are... they want you here, I promise. But if you don't want to be, if you don't want them in your life, maybe this should all stop, cause it's hurting them and I think it's hurting you. Maybe we shouldn't be trying to force it if it's not what you want.”

Her mind is blank, she can't think of a single argument, though she wants to argue. She wants to say that Alayne hasn't tried talking to her, either. She wants to insist that she is trying, but... but she's not. Not really. She's holding herself at a distance, she's already decided she doesn't belong.

“What if they don't like me?” The words slip out of her, unbidden, her voice barely a whisper. It wavers in the dark. (Her deepest fear – that if she lets them get close to her, they'll decide she isn't worth it, that they don't want her.)

She's not sure what response she was expecting, but it's not for Jon to smile – he does, gives her a little half smile and raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I don't know you that well yet, but so far I like you just fine. And I'm not even a Stark.”

“You seem like a Stark,” she tells him, and watches something flicker across his face and she doesn't know him well enough yet to tell what it is.

“I'm not actually related,” he says, though she already knows this. “Not by blood or anything.” For a moment he brings his hand up to rub at the back of his neck and he suddenly won't look at her and she wonders if she said something wrong. “We should go back inside,” he seems to change the subject and she hesitates, but then he holds out his hand. After a moment, she takes it, and follows him back inside, out of the freezing night air and into the warmth of the house. In the distance, she can hear voices and laughter, she can smell the cinnamon and pine in the air.

She could get lost here, if she let herself.

“There you are,” Mrs. Stark looks up as they enter the kitchen, and Jon lets go of her hand. Mrs. Stark narrows her eyes at Jon, then looks at the back door, like she guesses what he was doing out there and doesn't approve.

“I'm uh...” Jon starts, looking between Mrs. Stark and her, “I should get back to the party.” Before he goes, he turns back to her and she remembers she's still in his coat and she hurriedly takes it off, feeling heat high up on her cheeks as she does. “Try,” he says, voice too low for Mrs. Stark to hear. Then he takes his coat and leaves the kitchen – leaves her in the kitchen. Alone. With Mrs. Stark.

“Are you having fun?” Mrs. Stark's voice is light, but there's something underneath, a hesitance.

“I am,” she says back, wondering if she should make some excuse and leave. Wondering if Mrs. Stark doesn't want to be here talking to her.

(Try.)

“I wanted to thank you for inviting me,” she blurts out, and Mrs. Stark looks at her sharply. “I had some of the pumpkin pie, it was really good.”

It's such a stupid, nonsense thing to say, but Mrs. Stark looks pleased.

“It's a family recipe,” Mrs. Stark says, and then – a bit of hesitation - “I could teach it to you, if you'd like.”

Sansa's breath catches in her throat and it takes her a moment to say, “I like baking.”

“So do I. I could never get Alayne or Arya into it.” Mrs. Stark says it with a fond smile and Sansa feels something break open inside of her and she realizes, she knows, that she wants this. She wants to know this family, she wants to be a part of it. She doesn't want to take Alayne's place, she never could, but she...

“You could teach me,” she whispers. “Sometime. I'd like that.”

“So would I,” Mrs St- her mother, says with a smile that lights up the room.

[myreygn]

Intimacy

thanks for your patience with me @ticklishfrog and i hope this piece can make up for the wait! this is a post for @ticklishraspberries femslashfeburary fic exchange and i’m a little late but alas, at least it’s here now!

prompt: Margaery is getting a new gown fitted, and can't stop giggling. Sansa asks her about it and finds out she's ticklish. (i changed the asking part a bit, i hope that’s not ruining it for you ^^’)

wordcount: 2188

~~~~~

“M-Marge, stop it!”, Sansa blushed like crazy and tried to shove the insatiable lips away from her neck, but the brunette was relentless. Her hands wrapped around the younger one's waist and pulled her closer, lips still at her neck, making her shiver. “Marge! Not now!”

“Why not?” Margaery rested her chin on Sansa's breasts and looked up at her with big, shimmering brown eyes. “Am I not allowed to kiss my beloved when I want to? What kind of world is this?”

“That kind where you're engaged to a king who's just waiting for me to give him a reason to kill me and who'll get one pretty soon if the tailors walk in on us being intimate with each other.”

Margaery sighed and shuffled away a bit. “Fair point. Let me at least brush your hair. I don't think Joffrey can punish you for beauty care.” She grabbed a hair brush, then positioned behind Sansa.

The red head showed one of those rare, soft smiles that her brothers used to drag out of her by inappropriately fooling around and that were now an expression only Margaery got to see, and leaned back into the light contact of the hair brush. Being with Margaery was exciting and relaxing at the same time. She had learned to love the little smirks the about-to-be-queen threw her way, had learned to close her eyes around her and to fully indulge in her touches, to trust her enough to let her do things with her body she hadn't imagined someone doing since Sandor Clegane had saved her from the men who had tried to rape her. But Margaery was different. Margaery was sweet and gentle and never did anything to make Sansa uncomfortable. Margaery was simply everything she had wished for in Joffrey and she felt blessed by the Seven to have her here in King's Landing.

A careful knock on the door made Sansa flinch and almost immediately she felt Margaery's hand on her shoulder, reassuring and calming. She relaxed against the brunette's chest for a moment. “You're so good to me”, she whispered and breathed in Margaery's scent. “I just wish I could give something back to you.” Margaery chuckled. “You're here, aren't you? That's really all I need.”

It knocked again, louder this time, and they heard a woman's voice asking from the other side of the door: “My lady? Are you in there? The tailors are here.” Margaery stood up. “Let them in!”

She was already only wearing her underwear, welcoming the tailors with a wide smile. “Good morning, come in! I hope you don't mind Lady Sansa joining us?”

Said Lady Sansa gave the servants a gentle nod when they bowed and claimed how happy they were to have her here with the king's fiancee and she knew they were telling the truth; who wouldn't happily take the opportunity to spend time with the scandalous northern traitor-daughter?

But Margaery did not seem to be willing to throw her beloved to the wolves just like that. Chatting and joking she kept the tailors' attention focused on her, showing interest in the draperies they used and complimenting their skills, praising the results and asking them, who made which one of her favorite dresses she had in the closet. An hour passed by, another and the tailors seemed to have fully forgotten about Sansa, Margaery's kind smile and her sweet words and how stunning she looked, even in just the draperies. From time to time she smiled at Sansa and the redhead had never felt so safe and happy since she had left the North. Margaery was here. Margaery would look out for her.

The dress was beautiful. And even though Sansa felt amazement at the sight of all the unfinished, yet dazzling outfit, she couldn't help but being immensely relieved that it wasn't her who would have to wear it. No, it was Margaery and Sansa felt sorry immediately – how could she be so egoistic to be happy about the marriage? Not that she was really happy, of course she would've rather had Margaery all to herself, but it felt good to know that Joffrey wouldn't have her like that.

“Something like that”, the first tailor, a man named Rusko with a harsh bravosian accent, said and plucked at the high collar. “We'll probably make this more round”, his hands wandered down to the light silk lying on the lady's shoulders, “and maybe we'll just leave that out, it's distracting. And here –”, his hand gave Margaery's waist a light squeeze and he was cut off by a giggle. He looked up to her confused, but she waved his gaze off with twitching lips. “It's nothing, please continue.”

Rusko did as asked, explained how they'd change the dress, how loose or tight it would be in certain areas and where the embroidery would go, constantly accompanied by giggles and twitches from Margaery. She seemed to quiet literally tremble under the careful touches and while the tailors clearly ignored it, Sansa's thoughts wandered to the memories she had from a long time ago.

Robb pressing Jon to the ground and squeezing his ribs rapidly until the bastard was crying with laughter. Jon, Arya and Bran ganging up on Robb, making him scream through the whole castle. Robb and Jon tickling Arya and Bran to make them listen to them. Bran and Robb carefully tickling Rickon to cheer him up. Sansa herself had never been part of their little games; Arya had tried to include her once but had gotten screamed at by Septa Mordane who had been convinced that this would be no appropriate behavior for a lady. Sansa had always enjoyed watching her siblings from afar though. A smile parted her lips.

It took the tailors another hour until everything was sorted out and they grabbed their stuff to leave, not without looking at Sansa, disappointed – understandable, they practically threw away their shot to squeeze out the biggest scandal in all of Kings Landing. Margaery had done a good job distracting them from it and came now over to Sansa as soon as they were alone again. “Everything alright?”

Instead of an answer, Sansa stood up and reached for Margaery who quirked an eyebrow – it wasn't very alike for the Stark girl to seek physical contact in such an open way, but who was she to refuse to hug her beloved? A happy grin spread across her lips as the king's fiancee literally hopped into the open arms, pulled Sansa over to the bed and let herself fall on it, pulling the younger one with her. They shuffled around a bit until everything was comfortable, then Sansa sat on Margaery's hips and smirked down at her.

The about-to-be-queen folded her arms behind her head and grinned. “I like where this is going!”

“Oh do you?”, Sansa asked softly, laying her hands on Margaery's sides and stroking up and down over the thin dress. She waited until the brunette had fully relaxed into the touch, then she gave her unprotected torso a few rapid squeezes.

Margaery's eyes literally bulged out of her head and she quickly darted down to grab the attacking hands. “Wha-AH! Sansa! Naha ah!” She squirmed, bucking her hips, but Sansa's seat was steady.

“What is it, Marge?” More squeezes, dragging a few chuckles out of the other girl. “Are you hurt? Wait, let me check for bruises.” She began to poke up an down Margaery's sides and all over her tummy. “Where does it hurt the most? Here? Or here? Marge, you need to talk to me!”

Sansa smiled, noticing Margaery's surprise because of the unusual behavior as well as her hands still grabbing Sansa's wrists but not pushing her away – also she hadn't said Stop once yet! The Stark girl wasn't really sure how to read that, but at least she had by now figured out why she was behaving so strange herself: Margaery always comforted and took care of her and Sansa remembered tickling to be something fun – this was her chance to reward her beloved! Now, back to the hands...

“So it doesn't hurt, hm? It must be tickling then – are you ticklish, Marge?” The brunette shot her a glance through the laughter and flushed cheeks, clearly saying something like 'Well, what do you think?!'. Sansa nodded slowly and allowed herself another smirk, making Margaery blush even more. “I see. And say, do you like it? I'm just asking because you're not trying to stop me.”

“I-I doho!”, Margaery gasped and Sansa raised an eyebrow, surprised – she knew that Robb had always liked it too, but she also remembered how long it had taken Jon and Theon to make him admit that every time. But alright, Robb wasn't Margaery and Highgarden seemed to have its very own policy with intimacy anyways.

“I see. So you don't mind if I do this, do you?” Sansa grabbed her prey's hips and began to massage deep circles with her thumbs into the prominent bones, a technique she had seen Arya using to Jon  and with Margaery it appeared to work just as well. The brunette shrieked and bubbly laughter escaped her lips. “Ahanaha Sahahansaa! Ihit tihickles!”

“Yes, you know, that's kind of the point, Marge”, the Stark girl proclaimed sweetly, letting her hands explore more of her beloved's beautiful body. Said beloved giggled breathy. “Buhut I dohNAHA SEHEVEN HELLSAHAH!”

Sansa almost took her hands off – almost. She hadn't expected this kind of reaction from the usually so calm and collected lady but fine, nothing to be bothered by.

“Oh? Your thighs, hm? Is this a good spot?” She continued to squeeze the soft flesh, making Margaery shriek and weakly kick her legs. A tear rolled down her reddened cheek. “Pleahaese!”

“Please what?”, Sansa imitated a phrase that Theon had often used on Robb and Jon. Now she had to pay attention – if Margaery told her to stop, it would be serious since she had refused to say it yet, but if she just repeated herself, Sansa could continue. That's what she had observed in her siblings' tickle fights and Margaery seemed to enjoy herself, so Sansa didn't by all means want to do something wrong and make her uncomfortable.

It appeared she didn't have to worry about it; neither did Margaery say Stop nor did she begin to cry like Bran did once. On the contrary, she squirmed into the touch rather than away from it, making Sansa smile and doubling her efforts. After a minute though, Margaery seemed to be out of breath and more tears followed so Sansa slowed down. “Too much?”

“A-a bihit”, the brunette giggled, then smiled widely. “But ihit's fun!”

“Where do you want me to tickle you then?” As inexperienced as Sansa was, as good did Margaery seem to know about this particular preference of hers and working together could improve this experience further for both of them. Sansa had noticed that she had a lot of fun with this as well and it took their relationship to a whole new dimension – not only regarding the kinds of intimacy, but also her chance to grasp the nettle of their interactions from time to time.

Margaery thought about it for a bit, probably to take the chance and catch her breath, then raised her arms above her head and looked at Sansa promptly. “But be nice, will you?”

“Of course, dear, why would I not?” Sansa smiled, glad that she hadn't crossed any boundaries, and lightly scribbled over the smooth skin of Margaery's armpits, making the brunette giggle and grasp the bed sheets. “Quiet sensitive here, aren't you?”, the redhead mumbled. As an answer, Margaery just leaned back further and purred between the giggles.

Sansa chuckled with her, continuing the soft touches for a bit more until Margaery squeaked and took her arms down, panting and keeping her eyes shut. Sansa handed her some water and let her sit up, giving her the time to recover. Margaery took it gratefully, then smirked at her. “Now where the hells did that come from?”

The Stark girl shrugged her shoulders. “I told you already today: you're always so good and sweet and I wanted to give something back. Then I saw you twitch at the tailors' touches and it wasn't hard to conclude what made you flinch. My siblings always did it and I thought it might be fun.”

“It was, it was!” Margaery laughed. “But you were so teasy, it was... a bit out of character.”

“Well, I had the best teacher”, Sansa said and Margaery beamed with pride. “Oh, did you?”

Sansa nodded seriously. “Theon Greyjoy.”

“Oh, you!”, the brunette cried and threw her onto the bed, climbing on top of her. “How about a taste of yours and Theon's”, she frowned, “own medicine then, hm?” Her expression softened at the excited yet nervous look on Sansa's face. “I'll be gentle. Promise.”

Sansa nodded.

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part IV

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,696

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

“Has he done this before?” Ned asked, referring to Cersei’s wounded cheek.

“My brother would have killed him.” She answered.

”Your brother or your lover?”

“Jaime and I shared a womb. We came into this world together, we belong together. Do you love your children?”

“With all my heart.”

“No more than I love mine.” She confidently said.

“And they are all Jaime’s, except for Y/N.”

“The hair gives her away. I used to have resentment against her. Being the only creation that we brought to the world. Y/N was the only time we really gave it a try. A man who didn’t give a fuck for me. He never loved me but he loves her.” The Lannister woman held a neutral tone.

“When the King returns I will tell him the truth. You must be gone by then. Take the rest of your children and go.”

“You should have climbed those steps. When you play the game of thrones you win or you die. There is no middle ground.” Lord Eddard Stark discovered the secret Lord Arryn died for. It wasn’t his territory anymore.

“I should have spent more time with you. Show you how to be a man. You can learn a big deal from Y/N. I was never meant to be a father. Everyone out!” Cersei looked suspiciously at Ned, Joffrey left the room retaining the tears, not processing what was happening.

“Except you, thanks the gods for blessing me with a daughter like you.” You held his hand tightening the grip. “The girl, Daenerys. You and Ned were right. Varys, Littlefinger, my brother. worthless. No one would tell me no but the two of you. You are much alike. So honorable. She changed my mind. Let her live. Stop it if it’s not too late.”

“We will.”

“And my son, help him. Make him better than me. Help your brother. He’s not ready. Give him your council to make wise choices.” You nodded sobbing.

“I shall always remember this strength you gave.”

“It comes from yourself. Now give me a moment with this fool. And Y/N, don’t be scared even in the face of danger.”

“His grace has had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Princess Y/N convinced him. Whatever arrangements you made, unmade them. At once.” Your father’s best friend declared.

“I’m afraid those birds have flown. The girl is likely dead by now.” You scowled.

“But if it’s not the case stop sending sell swords or assassins to do the job. Also if it’s possible send other birds to abort the mission. That’s a command, Lord Varys.”

“Yes, my princess.” This Targaryen girl will survive.

You once more found little Arya with his dancing teacher, you approached while she was off guard earning a slight hit on your arm.

“I didn’t see you there.” The small one exclaimed.

“We don’t need eyes to see what’s around us, boy.” Syrio reminded her.

“I’m sorry about your father, Y/N.” You sat on the stairs. “I miss Robb, Bran, Rickon and Jon so much. Unlike Sansa, I prefer the North.”

“I met Jon. He seemed to be a good brother, better than Joffrey that’s for sure.”

“He gave me a sword. I named it Needle. I don’t have it here, I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.” You smiled.

“Do you have any bastard siblings?”

“Plenty of them. But it is highly unlikely we’ll ever meet.” You squinted, thinking about the possibility.

“Wish I had a sister like you, mine hates me.”

“I don’t think you hate each other. You just have different opinions, different preferences. You share more than blood. I see a lot of potencial in you. You cannot use someone else’s fire. You can only use your own. And in order to do that, you must first be willing to believe that you have it.” She closed her eyes and proceeded with her classes.

This was crazy. Your mother locked you in your room. The King was dead. Everything was out of place.

“What‘s going on? Why you locked me up?” You shouted to Cersei. She frantically sighed.

“It was a precaution. We don’t know where your loyalty stands, Y/N. Your brother is the King now. Your friend’s father conspired to dethrone him and seize it from himself.”

“That’s insanity...-“

“The little bird was on her room. I haven’t seen the other.” Sandor entered with the redhead.

“Where’s Lady Arya?”

“We have guards looking for her. She won’t be able to hide forever.”

“Princess, what’s happening?” She anxiously asked. After your mother explained what her lord father allegedly did, she made her write a message to his older brother Robb, asking him to come to King’s Landing and swear fealty to Joffrey. You also learned from Lord Baelish that Renly and Loras flee the city before they took the Lord of Winterfell as a prisoner.

“My father would never do that! He is not a traitor” She spat once you two were alone.

“I know, my lady. It must be a misunderstanding.” You said trying to calm her nerves.

“Where do they took him?”

“To the dungeons, I suppose. Things are going to clarify.” The pretty little dove was completely bewildered, same as you.

That very night you went undercover to see the alleged offender.

“Lord Eddard. I brought you some water. Are you okay?” Holding a torchlight, you removed your hood kneeling to give him the canteen.

“Thanks for visiting me. I’m worried about my daughters. You know where they are?”

“We haven’t found Arya, we‘re still on the search. Sansa is alright, she’s under custody. I will protect her.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Treason, my lord? I don’t think that makes sense. Why would you say my brother is not the rightful heir?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You are a clever young princess, I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet.”

“About what?”

“I didn't know if it was appropriate to tell you.” He took another big gulp. “You are the only highborn child Robert had. Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella are your uncle Jaime’s bastards. Your mother confessed it to me the other day. They tried to kill Bran cause he saw them. Don’t say a word, not even mention it or you might face the same fate. Though you are the princess is better to be careful with your family.” He was speaking the truth. Deep down you’ve always suspected it, however it was hard to assimilate.

“Y-yes, I won’t say anything to anyone.” You promised. “If you bend the knee and say he is the one true heir to the crown, you might live.”

“Nothing haunts us like the things we don’t say. You have a gentle heart, don’t let the wrong people take advantage of it.” The late hand cautioned.

You were in the Thorne Room. Your mother called Ser Barristan, he stepped forward facing the new King. A huge crowd was there. You stood beside the Stark girl.

“You served the Realm good and faithfully. Every man and woman in the seven kingdoms owns you thanks. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest and look with pride at your many years of service.” The lioness said.

“Your Grace, the king's guards is a sworn brotherhood. Only death realizes us for our sacred trust.” He replied.

“You let my father died. You are too old to protect anybody.” The boy on the throne yelled.

“The council has determined Ser Jaime Lannister as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” Jaime wasn’t even here, that was stupid.

“A man who profane his blade against the king he swore to defend.”

“Careful, Ser.”

“I am a knight. I shall die a knight! Here boy, melted it out and add it to the others.” He threw his sword and left the room.

“If anyone else has other matters to set before his grace, let him speak now or go ford and told his silence.” The northerner squeezed your hand before speaking.

“Your grace.”

“Lady Sansa of the House Stark.”

“Do you have some business with the king and the council, Sansa?”

“I do. As it pleases your grace I ask mercy for my father. Lord Eddard Stark who was hand of the King.”

“Treason is...-“ Pycelle interrupted her.

“Let her speak. I want to hear what she says.” Joffrey declared.

“Thank you, your grace.” You didn’t peel away your glance off her.

“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Baelish inquired.

“No, my lords, I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was king Robert's friend and he loved him. You all know he loved him. He never wanted to be hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or somebody. They must have lied!” He was clearly nervous, how could she not be? You wanted to intervene and help but you remained silence, it wasn’t the place.

“He said I wasn’t the king. Why would he say that?”

“He was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy. He wasn’t himself otherwise he never would have said it.”

“A child’s faith... such sweet innocence. And yet they say wisdom often comes from the mouths of babes.” Lord Varys commented.

“Treason is treason!” The old maester repeated.

“Anything else?”

“If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please do me this kindness your grace.” She pleaded.

“Your sweet words have moved me. But your father needs to confess and say that I am the king or there will be no mercy for him.”

“He will.” You hope so too.

“Mother, please.” She walked passed ignoring you.

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“You are Queen Regent. You know the consequences.”

“Joffrey, have mercy. If you order to have his head you’ll bring war here. The North will fight you. Thousands and thousands of innocent people will die. You can prevent it.”

“You won’t tell me what to do, little sister.” He immediately dismissed you.

[razieltwelve]

Meeting (Final Rose x GOT)

Ned Stark looked his friend up and down. Robert was the very picture of a mighty king, his  presence filling the courtyard. There was no trace of weariness or weakness about him. His blue eyes were bright, and his powerful frame still rippled with muscle. For a long moment, neither of them said a word, but Robert’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

Robert smirked. “You’ve gotten old, Ned.”

Ned smirked back. “And you’ve gotten fat.”

A shocked silence swept over the courtyard, and then Robert gave that deep, booming laugh of his and lifted Ned clear off his feet in a hug so strong that the Lord of the North feared that his ribs might break.

“Gods, it’s good to see you again.” Robert chuckled and squeezed just enough to make Ned’s ribs creak before setting him back on his feet. “Where have you been all these years?”

Ned made a show of rubbing his ribs. He’d almost forgotten just how strong Robert was. “Keeping the North for you, Your Grace.”

“Hah! And keeping it well if all I’ve heard is true.” Robert threw one arm over Ned’s shoulders and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “We’ve much to talk about, you and I. Your last letter was... interesting.” Then he raised his voice and gestured grandly at the crowd. “A man - and a king - is only as good as his friends. A true and loyal friend is worth more than his weight in gold. I’d not have this crown on my head were it not for the loyalty and friendship of Lord Stark here and all of the North.” There were cries of approval from the crowd, and Robert beamed. “Too few kings have paid heed to the North, but you need never fear that from me and mine. As my wife’s House is so fond of saying: a Lannister always pays his debts... and so does a Baratheon. While my line sits on the throne, the North will always have a friend in the South.”

Ned grinned. It was nice to see that the years had not changed his friend for the worst. He had worried, for a time, that Robert might never overcome his grief at the loss of Lyanna. Yet from the letters they had exchanged, he knew that the birth of Robert’s children had restored his sense of purpose and allowed him to move on. “You have my thanks, Robert. You and yours will always be welcome in the North.”

“And speaking of you and yours, Ned.” Robert nodded at Ned’s children who were standing dutifully nearby. “Introduce me.”

Ned finally managed to pull out of Robert’s grasp. “I should start with my wife first. You remember Catelyn, I’m sure.”

Robert grinned. “As beautiful as I remember.” He nudged Ned and glanced over his shoulder at Cersei. “We’re lucky men, Ned. Both of us lords and with pretty ladies to boot.”

Ned and the queen both shook their heads in fond exasperation. Catelyn, of course, adopted a more polite approach. “You honour me with your words, Your Grace.”

“None of that,” Robert said. “And you too, Ned. I’ve too many people already toadying up to me and calling me Your Grace. I don’t need it from either of you. I’ve no better or more loyal a friend than you. Call me Robert, both of you.” He embraced Catelyn. “Thank you for keeping an eye on Ned here. He likes to think he’s the sensible one out of us, but I remember growing up beside him at the Aerie...”

“And moving on,” Ned said quickly. Both he and Robert had ample stories of childhood misdeeds, but his friend had seized the initiative as he was wont to do. “My eldest, Robb.”

“Ah, my namesake.” Robert studied Robb. “You’ve the look of your mother, lad, but there’s steel in those eyes of yours.” He glanced at Ned. “Blooded, is he?”

“Aye,” Ned admitted. “Helped saved his younger brother from Wildings.”

“Good lad.” Robert squeezed Robb’s shoulder. “A man should protect his family.” He shifted his attention to Ned. “I’ve heard mutterings of the Wildlings stirring. We can talk about it later, but if you need help, you’ll get it.” He glanced past Robb to Sansa. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

“Sansa, Your Grace.” Sansa gave the king a perfect curtsy, and Robert beamed.

“A perfect lady, just like her mother.” Robert looked to the two younger boys beside her. “And unless my memory fails me, then, from your letters, Ned, these must be Bran and Rickon.”

“Aye.” Ned said. “Bran’s got a clever head on his shoulders and Rickon...” He chuckled. “And Rickon is still young.”

“You’re really big,” Rickon said, staring at Robert.

Robert threw his head back and laughed. “That I am, lad. I doubt you’ll ever be my size, but there’s plenty of growing in you, I think.” He paused. “Ned... didn’t you have two more, or am I remembering your letters wrong?”

“Uh...” Ned breathed a sigh of relief as Lyara finally returned, all but dragging Arya. His youngest daughter had, of course, decided that the best time to take a tumble in a muddy puddle was right before meeting the king.

Robert stared at the pair for a long, long moment. Ned could understand his shock. Lyara resembled his sister in many ways although, objectively speaking, Ned could admit that she was fairer, having inherited much of Catelyn’s classical beauty to go with the wild charm his sister had possessed. Then he shook himself, and his shoulders began to heave as he took in the sight of Arya covered in mud.

“Hahahaha...” Robert had to reach up to wipe tears from his eyes. “Oh, Ned, this reminds me of... before.”

Ned mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Another king might have been insulted, but Robert wasn’t like other kings. “Aye. Arya has a knack for trouble.” He put a mock scowl on his face, and he had to fight to hide his smile as Arya quailed. Robert noticed what he was doing and only laughed harder. “Greet the king, Arya.”

“I... uh... welcome to Winterfell, Your Grace.” Arya did her best to sketch a curtsy and failed miserably. Catelyn covered her face with one hand. 

“So...” Robert finally got his mirth under control. “Tell me, girl, what do you favour, the sword, the axe, or the spear?”

Arya stared at him in shock, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard. And then she smiled, the brilliant, wonderfully warm smile that Ned could honestly say would be breaking hearts in several years. “The sword, Your Grace! There is no better weapon than a sword!”

“Oh? I favour the war hammer myself.” Robert smiled indulgently. “Perhaps you could show me your skills while I’m here, or perhaps test them against one of my sons.”

“Really?” Arya’s eyes shone. “I’d love to!” She paused and then quickly added. “Your Grace.”

Robert hesitated for a moment and then reached out to ruffle her hair. “She reminds me of Lyanna, Ned.” There was a trace of grief in the words, but Ned was relieved to hear it accompanied by fondness too. Robert would likely always mourn Lyanna, but he had also moved on. Robert’s gaze shifted to Lyara. “And you must be Lyara.”

“Aye, Your Grace.” Lyara met his gaze, and Ned was only mildly surprised to see that there was none of the awe in it that people usually had when they met Robert. Instead, there was only measured calm. It was as though she’d taken Robert’s measure and had been satisfied by what she saw. “It is an honour to meet the man my father calls his dearest friend.”

Robert’s lips twitched. “A wolf indeed, Ned.” Ned had mentioned in more than one of his letters that he’d always thought the wolf’s blood was thickest in Lyara. “They call you the Rose of the North. Mind explaining the title?”

Lyara’s eyes gleamed. “A rose is known for it’s beauty... and its thorns, Your Grace.”

“She’s the finest swordsman in the North!” Arya cried before Catelyn frantically moved to shush her.

“Is that so?” Robert rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “My eldest is supposed to be a prodigy for his age, as skilled a warrior as any youth. Perhaps you’d care to test his mettle.”

“Perhaps.” 

Robert tossed Ned an amused glance. They were likely both thinking the same thing. A match between their House would be perfect. “Well, now that I’ve met your lot, allow me to introduce my lot.”

X     X     X

Edward, who had once been Diana, bit back a chuckle as another one of the Lannister guards did his best to impress Lyara Stark only to end up disarmed and face down in the mud. 

“Gods,” Tyrion muttered. “That’s the fifth one already. I know Elric. He’s no Arthur Dayne, but he’s no slouch either. All that talk of her being the finest sword in the North might actually be true.”

“Well, the North has never been much given to exaggeration.” And if his suspicions were true, there was a reason none of the young men eager to impress her had gotten anywhere. It was a pity that he hadn’t managed to corner her for a private conversation, but the royal family had been pulled into a whirlwind of activity after arriving at Winterfell. “If they say she’s damn good, then she’s damn good.”

“Are you going to try your luck, nephew?” Tyrion asked. “Although you must surely be aware of what your father is thinking.”

Edward was indeed aware. If his suspicions were correct - and the more he watched Lyara fight, the more certain he grew - then this could get extremely awkward. “Even so, I’d like to test my blade against hers.”

“And it seems you may just have your chance.” Tyrion chuckled. “Best of luck.”

As Edward accepted the wooden practice sword and stepped into the arena, a pair of Lannister guards dragged the unfortunate Elric over to a nearby bench to recover. 

“Don’t take her lightly,” Ser Barristan murmured as Edward passed him. “She’s good, Your Highness, amongst the best I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that I’m also amongst the best you’ve ever seen.” Edward’s lips curled up into a smile. “Wish me luck.”

Ser Barristan grinned. “Good luck.”

“Your Highness.” Lyara greeted him with a nod. Edward’s father had always insisted on no special treatment for him in the training yard. He was to be a proper warrior, not a coddled prince. 

“My lady.” Edward took up his stance, vaguely aware that they had already begun to draw an audience. He was widely considered one of the finest swordsmen in the realm despite his tender age, and already the only ones who could challenge him with a blade were his uncle and Ser Barristan. “Shall we?”

“Any rules?” Lyara asked.

“Well, obviously, we won’t be fighting to the death,” Edward said as he began to circle, drawing laughter from the crowd. His sword whipped out, lightning fast, only to be parried just as quickly before a riposte forced him to lean to the side. He found his smile widening. He knew that riposte. It was one of the very first moves he’d learned from his mother in his previous life. “And fighting until first blood might be problematic since we’re using wooden weapons. I daresay, we’d have to club each other halfway into the grave.”

“That would be unfortunate, yes.” Lyara skipped forward, as swift and easy on her feet as a bird in flight. Her blade went high and then low before a feint to his mid-section was followed by a thrust to his exposed shoulder. Edward blocked the first two blows and then dodged the third. He was definitely grinning like an idiot now. He knew that sequence. It was a training sequence the Yun had often used to teach the importance of seeing through feints. From the faint smile on Lyara’s face, he could tell she’d noticed the ease with which he’d dealt with her attacks - as though he’d known what they would be.

Well, it was time to give her something to think about. “A point match then,” he said. “With blows pulled before contact. I think we both have the control for that.”

“Aye.”

“Then... have at thee.” Abandoning his lackadaisical stance, Edward closed the distance between them. His sword rose and fell with all the force of a sledgehammer, swift, sharp, punishing blows that were nevertheless perfectly controlled and without overextension. It was a training sequence from a Yun sword form melded with the techniques of his previous’s life’s mother. If Lyara was who he thought she was, she would recognise it in a heartbeat.

The light of recognition in her eyes made Edward’s heart soar. He’d feared he might be alone in this new world with none of his friends or family from his previous life. Yet the ease with which she parried the blows, the way she evaded the strikes she knew would be coming, it was practically confirmation. Still, he couldn’t resist pushing harder.

Diana had spent her entire life testing herself against Averia. Edward wanted to see how good Lyara really was.

X     X     X

“Gods,” Robert muttered as he watched Edward and Lyara fight their way around the training area. “The lad’s been holding back on us.”

Beside him, Ser Barristan was watching everything with a critical eye. Despite his calm demeanour, Robert could tell that the old knight was excited. Ever since the death of Arthur Dayne, Barristan had been acknowledged as the greatest swordsman in Westeros. Even Jaime could admit that while he was close to the older man’s equal, Barristan still held an edge. Yet the way Edward was fighting now, Robert could sense the same thing Barristan could.

He might finally have met his match, or possibly even his superior.

And the fact that Lyara was matching him blow for blow...

“She’s a wonder, Ned,” Robert said. “You’re a good swordsman, yourself, but this...”

Ned nodded sombrely. “I don’t know where she gets it, Robert. There’s no swordsman in the North her equal. It’s as if the gods themselves gave her a gift.” 

“Aye.” Robert found himself smirking. “But look at the pair of them. They’re doing their best to beat each other’s heads in, but they’re having the time of their lives.”

It was true. Despite the intensity of their spar, both Edward and Lyara were smiling although the girl’s expression was more reserved. They were talking as they fought although the clatter of their wooden swords made it impossible for Robert to tell what they were saying. Still, he couldn’t help but smile. He’d hoped that Edward and Lyara might get along, but this? This was beyond his wildest expectations.

“They’re bloody flirting,” Robert said, chuckling. 

Ned stared for a long moment before shaking his head. “By the gods, Robert, I think you might be right.”

Suddenly, Edward and Lyara broke apart. They were both sweating, but neither of them looked as though they wanted to stop. 

“Spear,” Edward barked curtly. “Someone get us a pair of spears.”

A blunted spear was soon tossed to the prince, and Robert felt pride swell in his chest as his boy handled the weapon like he was born to it. Likewise, a spear was soon tossed to Lyara as well, and she too handled the weapon with aplomb.

“Shall we continue?” Lyara asked.

Edward’s grin was pure Baratheon. “With pleasure.”

X     X     X

“Did you see it?” Arya cried, tugging on Jon’s arm excitedly. “Did you see it?”

“Aye,” Jon replied, chuckling. “And I’m glad I did.” He’d always known that his sister held back when they sparred, but he’d never realised just how much until she and the prince had fought. Gods, it was like watching something out of a story or a legend. “It was a draw, though, since neither of them managed to land a decent hit.”

“Well, I think she won,” Arya proclaimed. “Maybe they’ll have a rematch.”

Jon thought of the light he’d seen in both their eyes when they’d been fighting. Oh, they’d have a rematch. It was like they’d been waiting their whole lives to meet each other and were overjoyed to finally meet. “We’ll see.” He ruffled Arya’s hair. “Did you see my match?”

Arya nodded. “You fought Ser Barristan!”

“I lost.” Jon shook his head in wonder. The knight was every bit the legend people said he was.

“But he complimented you. He said you fought well and everything,” Arya replied. “And I don’t think he would have lied. He didn’t seem like the type of person to lie.”

“No, no, he didn’t.” The words were still warm in Jon’s heart. To be praised by a man like Ser Barristan! And his father had squeezed his shoulder and complimented him on his fine showing as he’d left the sparring arena. 

“And Robb didn’t do too badly either,” Arya said. “Not that he won.”

“He was fighting Ser Jaime,” Jon said. “Robb’s good, but Ser Jaime might be the second-best swordsman in the realm behind Ser Barristan.” Or behind his sister and Prince Edwards, Jon thought. “Still, he did well. Ser Jaime seemed to think so, anyway.”

“Well, I can’t wait to fight the king.” Arya folded her arms across her chest. “You, Robb, and Lyara have all gotten to show off. I’d like a chane to show what I can do.”

“Try not to kill him,” Jon japed. “He’s father’s friend and a good ruler, by all accounts.”

“I’ll be merciful,” Arya said before lowering her voice. “I do hope he takes it easy on me.”

The king had sparred a few bouts himself. Jon had been shocked not just by the raw strength the king possessed, but his speed. No man that large and that strong should be able to move so swiftly. It was clear, too, that he was pulling his blows. Had he struck with anything even close to his full strength, then even the padded, wooden war hammer he’d wielded would have crushed his opponents in a single blow. 

Jon had heard tales of how Robert had struck down Prince Rhaegar during the Battle of the Trident. Seeing the man in action, it was easy to imagine the Targaryen going down beneath a storm of blows from the Baratheon’s mighty hammer.

“Of course, he will, Arya. You’ve seen him around the others. He’s not cruel. Why, he even agreed to spar Bran, and he handled him as kindly as father does.”

Bran, of course, had been starstruck at the thought of sparring the king, and Robert had humoured him, offering words of advice and encouraging the lad to do his best before ending the bout with a simple disarm.

“Look.” Arya huffed and pointed. “They’re talking again.”

Jon followed her gaze and bit back a chuckle. Arya was so used to having their sister’s attention that he wasn’t surprised she was a bit put out at the amount of talking Lyara and the prince had done. It was like they were old friends catching up after a long time apart or something. Yet from the expression on his sister’s face and the warmth in her gaze, it was clear the pair were truly getting along.

Jon smiled. He’d always worried that his fierce, wise sister might struggle to find a man who could appreciate her. Yet everything he’d heard about the prince suggested that he might be precisely such a man. More than anything, he wanted her to be happy. Yet, he would keep a close eye, as would Robb. If the prince were to do anything untoward, well, they’d have to step in. But if he proved to be an honourable man who would make their sister happy? Well, they’d welcome him... after a bit of threatening, of course.

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

You asked for more, so here it is.

Uh oh. People are really getting the wrong impression. Just wait until Edward and Lyara realise what they’ve done. It was also nice writing this version of Robert who is really the king he could have been rather than the king he ended up being. More intrigue to follow. Perhaps a peek into the Sealord’s court or what’s going on Beyond the Wall.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood In the Rivers: IV

A/N: I’m sorry. (But, on that note, chapter V will be out soon, because I had parts of that written long before I thought of actually posting this fic.) Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented, and read the last chapter. You deserve nice things.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T for brief suicidal thoughts, canon typical sexism, my overuse of italics

Word Count: 7k (I have lost my chill, apparently) 

Read Chapters I-III here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Four: A Pentoshi Heart

Her mother once said, “You may have your father’s name, little one, but you have a Pentoshi heart.”

“What does that mean, Mother?” Y/N asked, eyes wide in childlike curiosity. Her little hands had grabbed fistfuls of her mother’s deep blue skirts as the wind rushed by, carrying the scent of evergreens.

“It means,” she paused and cleared her throat, words warbling on her tongue in her beautiful, Pentoshi accent, “it means that you fling yourself into adventures without thinking of the consequences. That you destroy what you cannot control.” Vaella bent and held her daughter’s face in her hands. “You must take care, little one, that you do not lose yourself to someone who will drive you to your worst impulses.”

The words meant little to young Y/N, but she nodded and smiled at her mother. “I will try, Mother. To not lose my heart.”

Perhaps she had been given too much time to think. Or maybe thinking was the only thing from teetering over the edge into despair. It had been almost two weeks since Tywin had announced that Loras had been raised to the Kingsguard. The second royal wedding was the day after tomorrow and she…hadn’t seen Oberyn since he’d kissed her in the Small Council chamber.

Ellaria had been scarce in her visitations, too. They’d met only twice in the gardens for a few brief moments. There was something Ellaria was hiding, Y/N was sure of it. But she was too sad to question it. To ask for answers. To ask where Oberyn had gone.

And the last time Ellaria had held her close, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her lips, she whispered, “you must be strong, My Tully.”

The sound of the nickname on Ellaria’s tongue almost relieved the weight she felt on her shoulders. She was Ellaria’s. She had been Oberyn’s, too. But that had been nearly a week ago. She’d only caught a glimpse of them at Tommen’s coronation celebrations. A single view of their golden and yellow skirts and robes and then they were gone and she was left to swear her fealty to the new king by herself. Little Tommen seemed too kind to really be king—but she knew he had been king before that silly crown was placed on his head. As soon as Olenna had shared the news of Joffrey’s death, she knew Tommen was king. Everyone had referred to him as king the day after Joffrey’s funeral anyway, the ceremony seemed redundant.

Y/N was suddenly brought back to the present as something sharp sunk into her shoulder. The Maester had the good grace to look apologetic as he continued to haphazardly pull the stitches from her skin. “Nearly finished, my lady.” Daisy was standing at her back as the maester worked, trailing comforting fingers up and down her spine to distract her from the strange ache the procedure created. “These have been some of my finest work. The scars shall be minimal compared to what it could have been.”

Y/N wanted to tell him that the scars were still ugly no matter how “fine” his stitching may have been. It twisted from the edge of her collarbone to just under her arm, raised and discolored like a beacon of her misstep. There was a matching scar on her back. They’d had to cut her open to clean the wound properly, pouring firewine into her flesh to stop a possible infection. It was a small solace that she had been unconscious for that.

To keep her mind from focusing on the pincers in the feeble hands of the Maester, she tried to think of anything else. It was a bit of advice her Uncle Hoster had taught her when she was still a girl and she’d fallen off her horse and into the rocky bed of the Tumblestone river, earning herself a nasty cut along her leg that required stitches. Uncle Hoster, she thought, dead and gone now—he’d died when she was on the kingsroad to represent the Riverlands at court and ask for the Crown’s protection against the raiders. Word only reached her after she’d settled into her chambers at the Keep. Gone. Just like that. Then there was Eddard Stark, calm and strong and if not a little sullen at times. He always had a kind smile for her. He was gone, too. Bran and Rickon killed by Theon in a coup at Winterfell. Catelyn and Robb dead as well. Arya was in the wind, as was her father. Edmure was a captive of the Lannisters and Sansa was in hiding in Dorne. Jon was at the Wall. What a mess. They’d been scattered like sand in the wind.

This obviously was not a productive train of thought so she tried to focus on the dark but happy reality that Joffrey was dead. Dontos, too. Dontos who had tried to lead Sansa away from her teachings and plan.

“Dontos said he has a plan to get me out of King’s Landing,” Sansa whispered as they pretended to pray. She had told her of the note Dontos had placed beneath her pillow, swearing his fealty to Sansa’s cause as recompense for her saving his life. “He says he has a friend with a ship that will get me out. Take me home to Winterfell.”

“Do you believe him?”

“He seems to believe it.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath through her nose and tightened her clasped fingers. “Has he said anything else to you? Mentioned who this friend is?”

“No.” Sansa shuffled closer on the stone.

The older of the pair paused for a moment. The knight-turned-fool was easily manipulated. There was no possible way he could formulate a plan—the fact that he managed to smuggle a note beneath Sansa’s pillow was suspicious enough. “Tell me what else he says.” She reached out and tugged at the end of Sansa’s loosened braid and a small smile finally touched Sansa’s pretty, pink lips. “But you trust me to get you out of here, don’t you?”

“You’re my family. The only family I have left in this terrible place. Of course I trust you.”

The maester finished and she thanked him before he toddled out of her chambers. Silence stretched for a few moments, tense and sad.

“What can I bring you, my lady?” And poor Daisy continued to fret, noticing her lady’s dour mood. “There are fresh lemon cakes in the kitchens. I watched them bake this morning.”

Y/N nodded and stood from her chair. “That sounds lovely. And any juice you can find.”

Daisy nodded and scurried away, happy to see that Y/N was eating. Her meals had been sparse the last handful of days and had taken to only drinking water. It would be good for her to have something in her stomach.

As the door closed, Y/N caught Daemon watching Daisy as she walked away and smiled despite her own melancholy. They would make a handsome match—and as Daisy was the fifth daughter of a Landed Knight, it wouldn’t be a preposterous one either. Perhaps she could speak to Daisy when she returned. But, for now, she rolled her shoulder and felt the pinch that came with disuse and the presence of new scarring. The blades she once sewed into her dresses and hid throughout her chambers had been hidden away at the bottom of her chest and covered with chemises and underclothes to keep any prying eyes from discovering them. She pulled two from the depths and carried through the familiar steps Ser Maegyr had taught her. One position into two and then the third and then back again, swinging and stabbing the blades through the air. “Aim for the eyes, the throat, and the upper thigh, My Lady. All men bleed.” 

Her shoulder continued to pinch and quickly ached as she persisted in her steps.

“Move fast and sure. Indecision will cost you your life.” 

She turned and did the steps across the floor, moving with each new pass. Thoughts trickled by as she tried to think of only Ser Maegyr and his training—but the thoughts came just the same. Of Tywin and his proposal. Of Ser Gregor and his threats. Of all the ways her family had been betrayed. Of Oberyn and Ellaria and their soft lips and beautiful words. She arced the blade in her left hand down and buried it into the soft wood of her vanity. The wood cracked and splintered as she yanked it out.

She hadn’t meant to do that.

A knock at her door had her stashing the blades beneath a pillow and throwing on a dark blue dressing gown over her chemise before she opened it just a crack to see who was there—it was just Daemon. His light eyes searched her face as it was revealed, worry coloring his features. “My Lady? Are you well?”

He must have heard the noise and thought something was amiss. “I am, Ser. I am sorry to have troubled you.”

His dimpled smile appeared and he ducked his head. “You are never any trouble, my lady.”

Before she closed the door, she briefly thought of asking Daemon of Oberyn and Ellaria’s whereabouts. Daemon had been knighted by Oberyn himself—and of course, there had been whispers that Oberyn then took the young knight to bed. And where Oberyn went, Ellaria always was. Could she ask him? But her proper manners reared their head and quieted her tongue. “You are far too kind, Ser. Daisy should be back soon with lemon cakes. Please, take some for you and your brother in arms.”

His smile widened. “Thank you, my lady. They’re my favorite. But are you sure Daisy will not mind?”

“If you ask nicely and say I gave you permission, I suppose she’d be agreeable. Your dimples can work wonders, I’m sure.”

A pretty pink filled his cheeks and she laughed for the first time in almost two weeks. She smiled at him and they said their goodbyes before she shut the door again and she picked up her blades and started to resume her steps. But then there was another knock at her door and she once again hid her blades away under her pillow. She smiled, thinking it was Daemon again or Daisy with the lemon cakes, but her face fell when Bernadette, Cersei’s handmaiden, stood in her doorway.

“My lady, the queen has requested your presence in her chambers.” Her dark eyes slid down Y/N’s hastily tied gown and chemise. “Shall I help you dress?”

“No. I can do it myself.” She closed the door and scowled before pulling open one of her chests and retrieving a simple, pale blue gown that tied at the sides instead of the back. She dressed before pushing her feet into soft-soled slippers. Y/N opened the door to see Bernadette eyeing Daemon and his counterpart with unmasked contempt and she stepped in front of them. “If you’re done eyeing my guards, you may escort me to Her Grace.”

Bernadette flushed and dipped her head. “Yes, my lady.”

The walk was tense and quiet and Bernadette’s heeled shoes slapped against the stone floor and the sound echoed through the halls, grating on Y/N’s last nerve. It was a strange relief to see Cersei’s apartment door.

Bernadette knocked and glanced at Y/N before opening it, “Lady Tully, Your Grace.”

Y/N cast one last look at Bernadette before stepping inside and making sure the maid stayed out in the hall.

“Sit,” Cersei said, pointing at the chair on the other side of her desk without looking up from the parchment and ink she was focused on.

Y/N did as she was told and watched Cersei write, scratching away at the parchment with a subdued flourish. It was a silly little power play. One she knew well. But she still knew how to play the dutiful loyalist and could sit still for hours while Cersei pretended to not see her.

After a few moments, Cersei set down her quill and looked Y/N over. “You are healing well.”

“Yes, Your Grace. The maester relieved me of my stitches this morning.”

Cersei hummed and sat back in her chair. “There has been such whispers about you, Lady Tully. You just cannot seem to stay out of harm’s way.” Cersei’s cold green eyes stared at her shoulder, knowing where she had been injured. “It seems being aligned with my family has given you scars.”

“Nothing that can’t be covered up, Your Grace. Scars fade with time.” 

“Indeed they do. But, you have been remiss in keeping your maids beside you. Wandering the halls like a servant, unaccompanied.”

“I only have Daisy, Your Grace. I found it more timely to have her run to the markets or the kitchens for me than to follow me around the Keep. I did the same at Riverrun. I have never cared to have a shadow.”

“But you care for the Dornish guards outside your door?” Cersei asked, head tilting just so.

Y/N offered an easy, sad smile. “Prince Oberyn insisted, Your Grace, after the…wedding.” She pressed as much false sadness into her tone and dipped her head. “I have tried to tell him it was not necessary—that the Keep is safe. But who am I to argue with a prince? And the one that helped save my life, at that. I’m sure they will depart soon. I am terribly sorry if they have caused a fuss for the Kingsguard.” 

“I would have them replaced. Two of the finest knights from the Westerlands outside your door.”

Another scheme, it seemed. Another move across the board. “That is a very kind offer. But I am afraid I must refuse. The finest knights should be guarding King Tommen, should they not? But I shall send the Dornish knights away today. It is not a matter to me.”

“His Grace has the King’s Guard.”

“Of course, but surely his protection is paramount to mine. Dontos-”

“Is dead, Lady Tully. Have you not seen his head on the spike at the gate?”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m afraid my injury has left me inside the Keep’s walls aside from the coronation and funeral. I’ve not had the opportunity to venture out otherwise.”

Cersei took a sip of her wine and arched a blonde eyebrow. “I offer you a great service, Lady Tully. And you refuse it. Father told me you tried to refuse sitting at our side at the wedding. Have we done something to insult you so?”

Cersei’s hidden meanings and loaded questions had not dulled with the death of Joffrey. If anything, Y/N saw that the queen had started to lean more heavily into thinly veiled insults or threats. A tired game, to be sure. “Of course not, Your Grace. Your family has been far kinder to me than I feel I deserve.”

“And you feel you are not right to marry my father?” Cersei asked point blank.

“I am not sure if I would be a worthy Lady of the Rock,” she said simply. “I am the only daughter born to a second son and a foreigner. One is dead. The other is a traitor. I am not quite the match a man of your father’s station should require.”

“And yet, he’s inclined to choose you still. Despite your…shortcomings.” Cersei almost smiled and took another drink of wine. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Y/N stayed silent, watching Cersei watch her over the rim of her chalice.

Cersei set down her chalice and steepled her fingers atop her desk. “I’m going to give you advice. The same advice I gave that bitch Sansa before she disappeared.” She leaned forward in her chair. “The more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” 

“I do, Your Grace.” And she did. The advice was cruel but kind in equal measure, a way to survive the perils of marriage to man you could not love in any capacity. It was easy to see that bit of advice had seen Cersei through her marriage to Robert Baratheon. It was another crack in her armor.

Cersei nodded and sat back and took another gulp of wine. “It’s just as well, you know. Father loved Mother with a fierceness that can never be replicated.” The Queen Regent fixed her green gaze on the younger woman. “He will never love you. All the stories you’ve read in the dark of your rooms as a girl, of dashing knights and love, they do not exist.”

Y/N straightened her shoulders. “I never cared for fairytales or love stories, Your Grace.”

Cersei smirked. “And of what did you care to read?”

“War.”

Cersei pushed out a short laugh through her teeth. “Perhaps you are more suitable than you think, Little Lamb.”

A knock at the door broke the tightly wound atmosphere of the room and Bernadette stepped in. “Lady Olenna, Your Grace.”

Olenna then barged into the room and her dark eyes swept from Cersei to Y/N. “Ah, I was told you were here. I need to speak with you.”

Y/N turned to Cersei who had pursed her lips. Of course, seeming to look to the queen regent for guidance was just another way to masquerade as someone who cared about what she said. Cersei paused and then nodded.

“Come, Little Fish. I don’t have the virtue of time.”

Y/N sighed and rose and followed the Queen of Thorns back out into the hall after quickly curtseying. Bernadette started to follow when Olenna turned and eyed her up and down. “You can stay here.” Olenna looped her arm through Y/N’s. “We are perfectly capable of walking on our own. Thank you.”

The handmaiden essentially shriveled up into herself at that and curtseyed before retaking her place outside Cersei’s doors, red in the face. But all Y/N could see was the hulking mass of The Mountain now standing guard in the shadows. His dark eyes raked down her form as they had hundreds of times before and he actually licked his lips like a hungry dog. Thankfully, Olenna didn’t seem to notice or did not care and continued to pull Y/N along. Two Tyrell handmaidens followed several paces back.

“It is as if they don’t trust me,” Olenna said loudly.

Y/N wordlessly thanked her companion with a gentle squeeze to her arm and let the older woman lead her out of the Keep and into the godswood without much passing between them aside from trivial conversation about the preparations for the second royal wedding. As they were firmly planted within the shade and greenery of the godswood, Olenna pulled them both to a stop. The two handmaidens had stayed at the gate, surreptitiously turning their backs to give the two high-borns privacy and to keep others away.

“You are quite the challenge, aren’t you, Little Fish?” Olenna chuckled and they settled on the stone bench Y/N and Sansa used to favor. “Everyone thinks they want your loyalty. Everyone thinks they have it.” Olenna patted her hand. “You would have made a fine Lady of the Reach.”

“No longer wanting to marry me to Lord Willas? I’m almost insulted, Lady Olenna.”

Olenna chuckled. “The Lions have their games, we have ours. But, no, Little Fish. It seems as if you are not meant to be a Tyrell.”

“A shame. I have heard Highgarden smells much more pleasant than King’s Landing.” She bit back a sigh. “Why have you requested my presence? We no longer have anything to offer one another.”

A titter escaped Olenna’s lips. “Abandoning hope already? I must have mistaken you for a fighter.”

Y/N turned and tried not to glare. “Tywin Lannister has essentially proposed marriage. There is no fighting him. No other man in this damned city would dare stand against him.” But the anger she’d felt bubbling slipped out of her like a wave and left her sagging in her stone seat. “I’m going to be his broodmare and provide him with another heir and then I can only hope that my second son will become Lord Tully. My home in the clutches of lions. I’m almost tempted to leave it to the Freys. They’ll never hold it.” Y/N closed her eyes and sat straight to angle her face toward the sun, trying to feel its warmth instead of the turmoil in her stomach. “It’ll be besieged and seized over and over again until they abandon it. It will become a mess of rock and rubble in a handful of years.”

“Are you a witch, too? Such terrible visions you have, Little Fish.” The tone of her voice was as close to sympathetic as Y/N had ever heard it but she did not pull away from the sun. “But I, too, would rather see Highgarden in ruins than in the hands of the lions.”

Y/N nearly startled as Olenna gently touched her cheek. Her eyes opened to see Olenna smiling softly at her, a look she had thought reserved for Margaery. “You offer something very precious. In time, you will see.” She tapped Y/N’s cheek and then stood. “It seems you will make allies of us all.” Olenna paused and fished something from the pocket of her dress and handed it to Y/N. “For your scarring.”

It was a small, green jar about the size of her palm. Y/N twisted the top of the jar off and the scent of mint and roses hit her nose, filtering from the white paste carefully spooned into the jar’s depths. That was the closest thing she would get to an apology for being maimed.

“Let us get you back to your rooms. You need your rest.”

Y/N stood and let Olenna once again wrap an arm around hers and they walked back into the cold shadows of the Keep. As they neared her chamber door, Y/N noticed that only one guard was standing sentry—and her door was ajar. The guard’s eyes widened just a fraction as she neared with Olenna at her side. Y/N arched an eyebrow as she stepped from Olenna’s hold and pushed the door open completely, letting the hinges squeal.

Daemon and Daisy were half dressed on the silk rug beside her bed, obviously in a heated embrace. Crumbs of lemon cakes and droplets of juice littered the rug as they continued to kiss and tug and haphazardly try to get each other’s clothes off.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Olenna said, fighting a smirk as she peered into the room. Her handmaidens were on their tip toes behind her, trying to steal a look, too. She waved them back and patted the remaining, fully dressed, guard on the shoulder before the door closed.

Even then Daemon and Daisy did not separate.

Y/N tilted her head to the side as she watched them, half amused that they hadn’t noticed her, half heated at the sounds they pulled from each other. Little gasps, muffled moans, as hands slid across skin and slipped under armor and cloth. It took Y/N a moment to gather herself before clearing her throat.

That was what finally did it.

Daisy’s eyes opened and she gasped and shoved Daemon off of her and he flopped onto the stone with a slap. She shot to her feet and curtseyed, “My lady.”

Daemon was slower to rise, a smirk already pulling at his lips as he bowed, uncaring of his bare chest or half-tied breeches. “Lady Tully.”

Y/N reached out and righted the strap of Daisy’s chemise. “Did you at least save me some lemon cakes?”

Daisy’s shoulders dropped. “No, my lady.”

Y/N turned to Daemon before bending and grabbing his tunic from the rug and handing it to him. “When I said to ask her if she’d share lemon cakes, this isn’t quite what I had in mind, Ser Daemon.”

He pulled the tunic on and then reached for his outer robe which had been rolled into a ball near her vanity, as if it had been shucked off in haste and then forgotten. “She is a master negotiator, my lady.”

Daisy looked like she was trying to scowl but a giggle slipped out instead. “I am so sorry.”

“You both are very lucky no one else noticed your indiscretions. Will you be a bit more cautious in the future?”

“Will there be a future?” Daemon asked softly as he looked to Daisy, eyes open and hopeful as his small smile pushed his dimples to full display.

Y/N felt the urge to look away and she was thankful she did as she heard Daisy whisper, “perhaps, Ser.”

Both of them redressed as Y/N settled on the soft blankets of her bed, a little selfishly happy that they hadn’t used her bed. The pair avoided eye contact with each other (and Y/N) before Daemon slipped out. It was quiet for a beat and then two.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“My lady, I am so sorry-”

“You deserve to be happy, Daisy. I’ve told you that. If Ser Daemon makes you happy, I am pleased.” She reached out and touched Daisy’s hand with a smile and fought the urge to tease. “But please, take care to be a bit more discreet next time.”

Daisy’s blush continued and she nodded. “Of course, my lady.”

                                                       **

The ceremony came and went and Y/N felt her cheeks hurting with how long she had to press a fake smile to her lips. Kevan Lannister and his wife were once again at her side during the ceremony and Lady Dorna had taken it upon herself to link arms with Y/N as the group walked from the Sept of Baelor toward the Keep for the festivities. Dorna prattled on about her life in Lannisport and Y/N managed to interject a time or two to make it seem like she was listening but she begged off as they reached the grounds.

“I must admit I’ve worn the wrong shoes, my lady. If I am to dance, I must change them.”

“Oh, you must!” Dorna agreed. “But do not be absent too long. Your presence shall be missed.”

Y/N smiled again, teeth near rotting, and hurried away. But she did not stop at her chambers. Did not stop at the Holdfast. She raced as fast as she could to the top of the west turret and only drew in a full breath as she touched the rusted railing and the door slapped shut behind her.

Sleep had evaded her the night before. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw Tywin’s face, Gregor’s face, Cersei’s face. All of them snarling and slobbering and growing pointed teeth to devour her whole. The fleeting happiness she had found in teasing Daisy or Daemon for their newfound fondness for each other was short lived when she realized that she would never be held like that, kissed like that. The Prince of Dorne and his Paramour had not looked at her as they walked by when the ceremony was over. Ellaria’s arm had been tucked into Oberyn’s and they spoke softly to one another as Y/N craned her neck to try to get them to notice her. They didn’t.

And as much as she had said that she had not cared for stories of romance or fairytales, she did. She had wanted what her mother and father had: an all-consuming, passionate type of love that stretched into the grave.

It had been a childish dream to think she had tasted it on the tongues of the Dornish couple. She realized that now. All she had been was a game to pass the time. Surely that was all she had been. A childish game.

And it had been childish to run up here, thinking the air and wind could ease the pain in her chest or the slow constriction she felt about her throat. All it did was give her a view of the city she hated and a small reprieve from the stench.

“Lady Tully.”

She turned at the sound of the voice and was surprised to see Jaime Lannister standing near the door leading down into the Keep. The wind caught his white Kingsguard cloak and it fluttered in the wind, giving him the appearance of some roguish prince. His golden hand glinted in the sunlight. “Ser Jaime.” She dipped her head. “I thought His Grace would have you at his side.”

“It is for His Grace that I am here. King Tommen has asked where you were.”

Sweet Tommen. And the small smile the knight gave her reminded her of the smiles the prince, now king, had happily shared at Joffrey’s wedding. “I just needed a moment, Ser. Just a moment.” There was no chance she was going to start confiding in the Kingslayer—even if there had been rumors he’d been much changed since his captivity and the loss of his hand. He was still a Lannister. 

And it was because of his refusal to leave the Kingsguard that she had even come into this position.

A future at Casterly Rock. Unloved and used for the prize between her legs.

“You are standing close to the edge, my lady.” There was actual concern in his voice. How preposterous!

“I would not give anyone the satisfaction of throwing myself off a turret. And I would not spoil another royal wedding. Air, Ser, is all I needed. Away from…this.”

“Then I shall stand here until you are ready.”

And it was said with such soft conviction and that damned concern that it snapped in her chest. Maybe she should throw herself from this turret and be done with her warring emotions and the frivolity of wanting to be loved or thinking she could make a smidge of difference in this wretched world. To end it before it began. It would be a hollow victory, to be sure. She’d rob Tywin of another wife for a moment but he would find another. The Freys would hold Riverrun for a time but it would be destroyed and returned to the mud from whence it came as the riverlands devolved into infighting. The Crown would have to deal with that, again. But she would not see it happen. And Sansa would still be alone in Dorne, without an outside ally.

She was crying in earnest before she could stop it and the metal groaned under her tightening grip. Y/N heaved under the weight of it all. How stupid she had been. How optimistic. The only good thing she had done was save Sansa.

And, as she looked up into the clear, blue sky, she knew that had to be enough.  

Y/N sucked in a breath and calmed her tears, wiping the salt away from her skin with the dark blue cloth of her bell sleeves. The wind dried the rest. She took a calming breath, then another, before turning and looking at Jaime. “Shall you be my escort to the festivities, Ser?”

He looked like he wanted to say something, mouth open and expectant, but he closed it and nodded. “Yes, my lady.” He held out his arm for her and she took it and let him lead her back into the fray.

“I would…I would prefer if no one else knew of what transpired on the turret, Ser.”

“No one will.”

She nodded, almost believing him, as they entered the grounds. Once again, it was awash with Lannister red and gold and filled with food and people and entertainers. The famed knight led her through the throngs of people and toward the head tables reserved for the Tyrells and Lannisters and her stomach sunk at the sight of the empty chair at Tywin’s side. The smirk on the old lion’s face when he saw her only confirmed it: she would be sitting beside him.

“My son, you are kind to deliver Lady Tully to us.”

“I needed to change shoes if I was to dance, My Lord.” She smiled. “I apologize for my absence.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady.” Tywin stood from his seat. “If you would join me.” He held out a hand toward her as he reached her side.

And she left Jaime’s hold and slid into Tywin’s without blinking. There would be no fight. “Thank you, Ser Jaime. For escorting me.”

Jaime dipped his head and glanced at his father before standing beside the other members of the Kingsguard, hand over his sword’s hilt.

Tywin wordlessly led her out into the couples already dancing and pulled her close as he began the steps. The familiar scent of leather and clove swept under her nose and it took a concentrated effort not to wrinkle her face in an attempt to get away from the smell.

“Cersei has said you refuse to send your Dornish guards away.” The tone was reminiscent of Hoster scolding her as a girl when she would not eat the fish on her plate for supper.

“I only thought it polite.” Thankfully, the steps of the dance were easy and the turns kept giving her opportunity to slip from his grip, if even more a moment.

“Yes, you seem very polite with Prince Oberyn.”

“He saved my life, my lord. I would not repay his kindness with enmity.”

Tywin pushed out a long breath through his nose as he stepped back to let her turn under his arm. “You are overly concerned with politeness.” 

“It is a woman’s duty to make sure guests are respected and cared for. Prince Oberyn has a seat on the Small Council and is a renowned warrior, I would not deem myself above him in any circumstance. If he feels the need to put guards at my door, it would be rude to refuse him, would it not?”

Tywin’s thin lips pulled into a smile and she had never been so terrified. “A fine lady you are, Lady Tully.” The dance ended and they clapped but Tywin did not move from her side. “But Prince Oberyn has said he will no longer fill Dorne’s seat at the Small Council. He leaves in three days’ time to return to Sunspear. He has promised another will be elected to fill the seat.”

Tywin did not care if House Martell filled the Dornish seat on the Small Council. She knew it. He thought he had won the game against Oberyn and his quest for vengeance against the Lannisters and the Mountain. Perhaps she did not know Oberyn as well as she thought. But how well did she, could she, have known him? What were a handful of conversations and stolen kisses?

Nothing. They were nothing. And something cold and broken settled in her bones then. They were leaving. Even if they had not spoken to her in weeks, she still felt the news like a slap to the face. And perhaps that is what it was. She was tossed aside in the end, a sad little thing to be scooped up into the paw of a lion.

After another dance, Tywin excused himself to speak with Mace Tyrell and Y/N curtseyed as he left her side, thankful to see Margaery waving her over. It was an easier distraction, the fake smile was almost real. Tommen was smiling beside his new queen and their hands were clasped together, nearly hidden under the table cloth.

“It is good to see you well, my lady,” Margaery said.

“I am happy to be able to fully enjoy the festivities, Your Grace.” She turned to Tommen. “And you look happy in married life.”

Tommen’s cheeks pinked and he looked at Margaery who smiled sweetly at him. “I am. The Seven have blessed me with a fine wife.” His blush only grew as Margaery pulled their clasped hands up and pressed a kiss to his hand.

“You must ask your fine wife to dance then, Your Grace. Keep her happy.” Y/N winked as Tommen paused and then scrambled to his feet and held out his hand for Margaery to take. She did with a wide smile and the crowd parted for them as they made their way closer to the bard and minstrels. Y/N watched them dance, Margaery smiling as she coached Tommen through the steps. They were a pretty picture.

Tyrion stepped to her side and handed her a full chalice of wine. Y/N took it with a soft ‘thank you, my lord,’ and quickly drained its entirety. “You are not well, Lady Tully?” He took the chalice from her and signaled for it to be filled again as he led her closer to his table at the far end of the raise dais and away from some of the crowd.

“I’m waiting to be shot again, my lord. The last wedding I attended was much bloodier.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. “You are safe here,” he murmured.

“Is anyone truly safe anywhere?” She took the refilled chalice and took her time sipping on the burgundy liquid as she turned to look out over the crowds, half-hoping to see the Dornish prince and his paramour. She took a hearty gulp when she didn’t see them, in relief or sadness, she did not know. “But my feelings should not spoil your fun, Lord Tyrion. I thank you for the wine.”

Just as his brother did before, Tyrion looked as if he had more to say. But he didn’t and dipped his head. “I am at your service, Lady Tully.”

The rest of the festivities slipped by. Tyrion danced with her twice and then Kevan Lannister asked for a turn, too. Margaery pulled her from her seat when the minstrels played a tune and called for a dance for only the women to enjoy. She ate roasted boar and honey-coated carrots and drank wine and smiled when she needed but kept quiet in her seat for most of it. Tywin did not offer any conversation and she glad for it. Simply sitting beside him was exhausting. It was as if she was constantly waiting for him to do something, say something. But, as the sun started to set and painted the grounds a soft pink, a knight from the Westerlands approached their table and whispered something into the Hand’s ear.

Tywin’s lips pulled into a thin line and he stood. “Excuse me.”

Y/N watched him go and briefly wondered what had caused him to leave so abruptly. But soon calls for the bedding filled the air and Margaery and Tommen were carried away by a riotous crowd and the festivities were quickly devolving into more lecherous frivolity as they usually did at weddings—the dances were closer, the music faster and heady. Wine was gulped and kisses stolen as the shadows grew darker. Y/N let herself enjoy being a voyeur for a moment and waited until the sky was a beautiful, deep purple before she excused herself. Daisy was waiting for her near the gates to the grounds and they quietly walked back into the Keep, both tired for different reasons. They spoke softly of their time at the festivities, vastly different experiences glaringly apparent. Y/N thought Daisy must have managed to sneak away with Daemon by the blush still touching her cheeks.

They rounded the corner toward her chambers and froze as they watched servants carrying her belongings out of her room. “What are you doing?” She reached out and pulled a dress from a bundle in a girl’s arms. “Where are you taking my things?”

“Lord Tywin has said your rooms are to be moved to the Tower of the Hand.”

“No!” Y/N barked out, pulling more and more of her belongings out of the strangers’ arms and Daisy quickly followed suit. “I have not accepted this move. You cannot just take-”

“Of course they can. I ordered them to do so.”

Y/N spun to face Tywin, clutching her chemises and dresses to her chest like armor. “You overstep, My Lord. I have not accepted your proposal. It would be indecent of you to put me in such a position.”

“Accept my proposal and it would not be indecent.”

“I must have time to think.” She hated how weak she sounded, how desperate. “I have to speak with the Grand Septon, for guidance and prayer before I can make such a decision.” She didn’t and she never would but she hoped playing to his sense of chivalry, no matter how skewed it had become, may work in her favor. She felt her arms starting to shake with how tightly she was holding her mess of fabric to her chest. It felt like there was a hand over her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs as she stared at him.

Tywin stared at her, eyes hard. Then, he held up a hand and the flurry of movement ceased. “Bring Lady Tully’s belongings back to her original room.” There was a murmur of acknowledgment and she watched as they filed back into her room, like a group of soldiers from the corner of her eye. But she did not take her gaze away from Tywin as he stepped closer. “This will be the only time you defy me.” He then stepped away and disappeared into the shadows.

It wasn’t until Y/N was alone in her room with a chair against the locked door, did she collapse, struggling to pull in air as she wept into her blankets. Daisy had quietly left after helping her to refold her dresses and chemises and placing them back in her chests. Y/N curled into a ball on her featherbed and tried to remember something Oberyn and Tywin and Cersei couldn’t touch. Everything was slipping from her grasp.

“Let me be your champion!” Jon’s voice echoed, followed by Robb, “I am your Dragonknight!”

But where were her Dragonknights now? Dead or wearing a cloak of black. She had no knights. Not anymore.

“You must be your own knight,” she whispered into her pillow. But she knew she wasn’t a knight. She was a fish out of water. Surrounded by lions.

A/N: The next chapter will probably be up some time this weekend. Please let me know what you think! 

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame

[lauwrite1225]

Broken Crown || Finan x OC || Chapter 01

Summary :  Since the day he has been enslaved, Finan never thought that he would have to face his origins. But when an old friend made his arrival to Wessex, the Irishman his forced to deal with his past. 

(Flashbacks are in italic.)

English isn’t my first language, if you see any mistakes, tell me :)

Warning : None. 

01 || DANES

Arms crossed against her leather breastplate, Ailis' eyes roamed the battlefield. Guards were burying the lifeless bodies, but there were so many that birds were already flying near. She let out a sigh. So many deaths. Again. 

For few months, Danes were attacking villages in Ulaid. But today, they tried to take Navan Fort, the capital of the Kingdom. They failed, but Ailis knew there will be a next time. Two years ago, the King had ordered the attack of a Dane’s settlement. Now, they wanted revenge. 

She looked away when she heard footsteps approaching. Conall and two guards were walking to her. The King of Ulaid stopped next to her, observing the damages of the battle. He stayed silent as Ailis stared at him. His dark hair was dirty as his face. She could see few tears streaming down his cheeks. He slowly took the crown on his head and with a scream of rage, that surely could be heard miles from here, he threw it away. She watched it fall on the grass, next to a Dane's body. She waited a moment for Conall to calm down. 

“We need help.” She simply said. 

“Damn them.” Mumbled Conall. 

“They'll come back and we need allies to face them.”

“I know.” On this word, he left her side. She sighed, once again. 

The wind made her shivered. It was almost dawn and the atmosphere started to be colder. She tightened up the cloak on her shoulders and followed Conall. 

They walked down the ramparts and entered in the throne room, full of people speaking. All voices shut as Conall crossed the crowd, Ailis just behind him. Dealla, the Queen, was already standing near the throne. Ailis could feel her viper eyes on her. She ignored it. Conall sat on his throne and she stood next to him. 

He slowly brushed his beard as whispers filled the room. Ailis bit her lips. She could easily imagine what they were saying. Conall's crown was endangered since he was made King. She couldn't even count how many treasons were planned by the Lords of Ulaid. Hopefully, none of them ever see the day.

Conall suddenly stood up, making the room silent once again. “This has to end.” He made few steps towards the Lords. “We won't let the Danes ransack our lands any longer.” 

“But Lord King, we don’t have enough men.” Said a young Lord. He seemed to quickly regret his intervention when Conall looked to him with his deep brown eyes full of anger.

“I know.” He said in a soft tone. “That's why we will need an ally. A strong ally.” Ailis smiled a little. Finally, Conall will ask for the help of the other kingdoms of Ireland. “An ally that has already defeated the Danes. And which Kingdom has done it better than Wessex?”

Voices rose up. Ailis' mouth opened in shock. How could he expect Wessex to help them? The Kingdom was at the other side of the sea. They had not made any contact with Wessex since decades. This was complete madness. But Conall seemed determined. He raised his hand in the air to have the Lords’ attention once again.

“Enough !” He shouted. “We will make of Wessex our ally. For years, they fight against the Danes. This will be their occasion to put an end to it.” He walked back to his throne. “I will send my most trusted friend to Wessex.” He turned to look at Ailis. Of course, it would be her. They knew each other since they were kids. She had always been faithful to him, whatever his choices.  Even after that day. No matter how much she hated him for what he had done, she would follow him.

A wide smile was on Conall’s face, but she couldn’t give it back to him. He ordered for the Lords to leave the throne room. Ailis looked to the Queen. The two women had never been friends. Dealla was desperately jealous of her. Of the interest the King had in her. She always thought the beautiful red hair was his whore. But Ailis couldn’t be mad at her. After all, Conall was a King and he could have any woman. Anyone would be prone to jealousy.

“My love, how can you be so sure that King Edward will accept?” Asked Dealla taking his hand into hers.

“I’m sure of nothing. But he has to accept.” He softly smiled at her, caressing her cheek with his fingers.

“And how?” Challenged Ailis on such a harsh tone that it could break a stone. “We have no real army anymore and Wessex have no interest in Ireland. It is madness to request them to be our allies. God, why can’t you ask the help of the other Kingdom of Ireland.” Conall frowned. He walked to her until there was just a small gap between them.

“Exactly because Wessex has no interest in our lands. I am no fool Ailis. If I ask the aid of the other Irish King, they will know of our weakness and take advantage.” He grabbed her shoulders and smirked once more. “Convince him Ailis.” She bit her lip, wondering how she would make Edward accept the proposal. Feeling her uncertainty, Conall’s smiled disappeared. He leaned down to her ear and whispered. “Let the King hump you if needed.” She frowned as he kissed her cheek and walked away with Dealla.

She remained in the throne room for a moment, thinking of Conall’s words. Their childhood was far from them and the boy she used to know either. Conall had always been ambitious. When they were kid, he dreamt of travels and adventures. But his duty as King has taken everything. He was never meant to be the ruler, being only a second child. Yet, he was. And now, he was an embittered man, gnawed by a role that exceeded him.

She shook her head and left the throne room. She had a long journey to prepare.

 …

 Two days after the attack, Ailis was ready to leave. Three horses were waiting in front of Navan Fort’s gates, two for the soldiers that will accompany her and one for her. She was adjusting the bag on the saddle when she heard her name being called out. She turned back to discover a young monk with a bag on his shoulder. She sighed when she recognized the chestnut hair boy.

Rohan was the first-born son of Queen Dealla. When she married Conall, he sent him away to a monastery, as well his younger brother, Bran. They were toddlers when they left the castle. However, Conall never prevented Dealla to visit her sons. All he wanted was them far from Navan Fort.

“Rohan, you shouldn’t be here.” She said as she rolled her eyes. It was not the first time Rohan was fleeing the monastery. In fact, Ailis was used to meet him in the walls of the city. He was pretty good at hiding from the guard and so, he had never been caught.

“Let me come with you.” He declared as he stopped in front of her. He was taller than her, almost a man. But in his mind, he was still a boy.

“I can’t.” She turned her back on him and returned to her previous occupation.

“Why?” He protested, stepping to the other side of the horse so she could see him.

“I can’t bring a bastard in a royal court.” She answered, pointing her finger to him. His expression turned into an upset one.

“I’m not a bastard Ailis. You know that.” He growled. No, technically he wasn’t a bastard. He was the fruit of a legitimate marriage with Conall’s brother. But since his father was gone and Conall was married to his mother, he and his brother counted no more than bastards. At least, that was what the King hoped. Rohan and Bran were legitimate children and therefor, legitimate heirs. “I don’t want to be a monk for all my life. I want to be a warrior.”

“Listen, Rohan.” She plunged her blue eyes into his, green as an emerald. “Conall sent you in the monastery because he fears for his crown. If I allow you to learn to fight, he’ll think that you’ll kill him one day or another.”

“But I won’t!” He exclaimed.

“Then, you go back to your monastery.” She put a foot into the stirrup and she settled on her mount. She looked down to the disappointed boy and gently took his chin between her fingers. “Your brother needs you.” He turned his head and started to walk away. She pinched her lips as she watched him leave. She couldn’t help but think of his father. They didn’t look a lot like each other, but they had the same temperament. 

She made a sign to the two guards that were also ready to leave. She pressed the sides of her horse with her hills and it started walking before trotting. The group left Navan Fort, following the road to the port of Ulfreksfjord.

 …

 Ailis was hiding behind the giant door of the throne room. Tables were setting in the hall and a great number of Lords from all Ulaid were sitting. Ale flowed, making them speak loudly. From where she was, the young girl could see her father, right next to the King. They were laughing with Prince Irial, the King’s son. She smiled at the joy emanating from the banquet.

“What are you doing here?” She quickly turned around to face Finan. The King’s nephew was four years older than her, but yet he wasn’t allowed to participate to the festivities.

“Nothing. I’m just, watching.” He raised an eyebrow, but did not say a word. Joining her against the door, he stared into the throne room. He was a head taller than Ailis and so, he could perfectly see what was going on. He rested his eyes on the King’s place. At his other side, there was Finan’s father. The two were very similar with jet hair and deep brown eyes. Even their features were much alike.

“Maybe one day you will be the one in the middle.” Declared Ailis. The young Prince frowned and looked down to her. “They say that Prince Irial isn’t going to be King.”

“Who told you that?”

“I heard it by my father.” She stared at him. He seemed not really convinced by her answer. “The Prince is a drunk.” She added. Finan looked back to the banquet, raising his shoulders.

“I don’t want to be King.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a life full of constraint. I’d rather be a warrior.”

A/N : You can’t imagine how nervous I am to post the first chapter aha. This chapters and the next one are quite small but it’ll be longer then ;). 

Most of the firsts chapters will be devided in between the present (set after season 4) and the past (before season 2). 

I hope you liked this first chapter and don’t hesitate to give your opinion, it always interest me ! :D

Tagged : @astral-finan @geekandbooknerd @pokeasleepingsmaug @queen-manning @kelly-fasel @naihqh @ucancallmechlo​  <3

[vivilove-jonsa]

"Are you scared?"

Thank you @amymel86 for the prompt!  My little trip to the local amusement park inspired this meet cute along with a picture I saw on here once of a girl pointing to the sign ‘Single Riders Will Be Paired’ with an adorable grin.

FYI-I still hope to get to as many of these dialogue prompts as I can and am still accepting new ones since I never know what will spark writing joy :)

**

Single Riders Will Be Paired

Sansa groans as she notices the sign.  The Ice Dragon 325 is the hottest new coaster at Wolfswood Amusement Park and the queue is long.  So, of course the boys want to ride it again…for the fifth time today as the sun is going down.

“One more time!” they’d begged with the most undeniable puppy dog eyes.  

But Big Bro Robb had been forced to make a break for the closest trash bin after the park’s dubious fish tacos and ride number four so Big Sis Sansa is now obligated to ride with them.

Granted, Bran and Rickon take exception to this, saying at fifteen and eleven they are perfectly mature enough to ride the coaster without a ‘legal guardian’ present.  

“Tell that to the people on Zombie Blasters Apocalypse.”

“We were just really into it!”

“Shouting ‘It’s real! They’re coming for us all!’ and inciting a panic isn’t just being ‘into it,’ Bran.  And neither is hiding behind the host stall in the hopes of sneaking back on after you’ve been banned for the season, Rickon.  Just hope Robb and I don’t tell Mom and Dad.”

The pair of them had given her the stink eye and the silent treatment all through the queue after that.

But now, they’re nearly to the front and Sansa’s staring at the steel monstrosity and feeling decidedly queasy.  If only Arya had come today instead.  She’s not fond of roller coasters, especially not ones like this.  Two minutes and twenty-six seconds of sheer terror await. A 200 foot drop at the start with unnatural G forces in the inversions and speeds up to 80 mph, it doesn’t sound like anything the human frame was meant to endure in her opinion.  

“Gods above,” she murmurs before turning to the boys.  “So, this is my first time.  Who wants to ride with me?”

They both continue to give her the stink eye.  Boys.

And here’s the other thing that doesn’t make her a coaster enthusiast.  She hates the over the shoulder harness system with these kind.  There’s just something so oppressive about feeling pinned to her seat.  Not that she’d want to go flying off mid-ride but being trapped, held down is something akin to a phobia for her.

When the gates open for them to board, her heart starts fluttering madly and every instinct is telling her to run. The boys are perfectly big enough to ride alone and it’d be hard for them to get up to much mischief on a ride like this.  

However, like they’re on autopilot, her feet follow the path to her seat with the boys right in front of her.  

It’s two minutes, Sansa. You can do this.  

Two minutes and twenty-six seconds…Sweet Maiden.

She’s trying to buckle her restraint despite her shaking hands when the attendant calls out:  “Single Rider, here!  We got room for a Singer Rider!”

Great.  She doesn’t want some stranger squeezed in beside her as she battles a hopefully mild and outwardly concealed panic attack.  But she hears a voice call out and suddenly there’s a body climbing in next to her. 

She catches a faint whiff on cologne or aftershave (a pleasing scent and nice contrast to the multitude of  people here who seem to have forgotten to apply deodorant this morning…including Rickon) and then she sees a mop of dark curls, a head turned away from her as her fellow passenger reaches to secure his end of the belt.  

When he turns so they can join the two halves, she’s met with dark grey eyes and ridiculously kissable lips.

“Hey,” he says in a quick breathy way.  Gods, he’s gorgeous.  

She opens her mouth to reply but the overhead harness is coming down, blocking conversation for their few remaining seconds before blast off.

They’re off before her seatmate looks her way again and Sansa’s heart is pounding once more from her upcoming terror.  

Or maybe not.  

The view’s quite lovely really as they climb the lift hill.  She doesn’t care for the rattling sound of the chain pull but she can block that out and look around.  She can see for miles.  There’s mountains in the distance and she can picture herself as a bird, free to fly and not held back by anything at all.  

Until…

“Why have we stopped?” She tries looking behind her but her view’s restricted by the coaster cars and her harness.  “Bran? Why have we stopped?!”

“I don’t know.  It’s a new ride.  Maybe it’s just a safety check.”

How can he be so calm? How can anyone be calm?  Why is she the only one who’s on the verge of having a total freak out here on the coaster after coming to a stop for all of fifteen seconds?!

“Are you scared?”  

No, I’m peachy, she’d like to say.  She whimpers instead.  

“Sorry.  Stupid question.  I’m Jon.  Are you okay?”

She hates to admit she’s not but she is not!  “I’m…I’m Sansa and I’m not okay.”

“Okay, Sansa.  Is that your brother ahead of us?”

“Yes, both of them.”

“Did they talk you into riding this?”

“Sort of.”

“We did not!” Rickon shouts. “She just doesn’t trust us to behave!”

She hears what sounds like a chuckle from Jon before he’s talking just to her again.  “Would you rather me talk to you or shut up?”

“Talk to me.  Please, talk to me.”

So, he does.  He talks about innocuous things, gently testing out topics that help her relax.  It helps more than she’d expect.  They’re both students at Winterfell as it turns out.  

A scratchy voice comes through an intercom and reports the delay is temporary and should be resolved in less than thirty minutes.

“Thirty minutes?!” she screeches, all of Jon’s calming progress completely forgotten.  She’s suffocating.  The restraints are cutting her in two.  She can’t breathe.  She’s trapped and there’s no escape.  She’s going to die here.

“Hey, we’re okay, I promise. We’re going to be okay.  We’re stopped and there’s steps here along the track if they can’t safely get the ride moving for us to use.  May I hold your hand, Sansa?”

She nods as best as she can, not trusting her voice right now.  His hand is warm and a little sweaty just like hers.  She doesn’t care.  She holds it like its her lifeline.  

“I hope it’s not thirty minutes,” Jon tells her next.  “I was in such a rush to ride one more time.  I should’ve hit the head first.”

“No shit,” she snickers, suddenly feeling marginally better with his admittance.

“Well, I just need to pee but yeah.”

She laughs harder but that reminds her of the restraints again.  “I don’t like feeling held down,” she whispers, not sure if he’ll hear her.

“It can be a very unpleasant feeling,” he says softly, his thumb lightly caressing the back of her hand in a regular pattern.  “Let’s take a few deep breaths together and think of something else.”  They take several breaths.  It helps.  “I feel like humming.  Would you want to hum with me?”

It’s ridiculous but it works to relax her even further.  

“I want off this thing!” Rickon shouts suddenly, his own voice edged with more than a little panic.

She’s the big sister and she’s here with them.  “We’re okay, Rickon,” she says, looking to Jon and finding confidence in his smile. “They’ll either get us moving or get us off as soon as they can.”

“Robb’s going to be worried,” Bran says next.

“He knew we were riding and I’m sure they’re keeping guest informed of what’s happening.  All he has to do is look up, right?”

She’s feeling better than she’d expect between holding Jon’s hand and having the boys to take care of.

“Robb?” Jon murmurs beside her.

She glances his way and the question is pretty clear.  “My older brother.  Too many rides combined with fish tacos.”  She makes a gagging face and Jon starts laughing.

“Oh, gods…that’d be nasty. Good thing I got you and not him next to me.”

She tightens her grip on his hand and they’re grinning just as the chain pull rattles back to life and they continue their journey.  

When it’s over, she’s sure her hair’s a mess and she knows Robb’s waiting to take them home.  But she hates to say goodbye to Jon and think she’ll never see him again.  Maybe they’ll run into each other on campus.  She wonders what he’d say if she offered him her number.  She doesn’t have to wonder very long.

He’s got his hands stuffed in his jeans pocket and biting at those kissable lips of his.  “So, Sansa…if you’d care to get stuck on a roller coaster again sometime…or maybe go grab something to eat instead…”  He’s blushing and it’s really adorable.  

“I guess I’d need your number in case I’m heading on any more coasters…or maybe if I decided to grab a bite to eat later since I was wise enough to avoid the theme-park fish tacos.”

He gives her his number and then starts walking away backwards through the large crowd exiting the ride as long as he can just to watch her.  She can’t stop smiling as he does.  

Once he’s out of sight, she puts her arms around her brothers who apologize for her horrible first experience on the Ice Dragon.

“Oh, it could’ve been worse,” she says before clicking a picture of that notice sign and sending Jon a text: Single riders will be paired and this single rider feels like pizza tonight if you’re interested.  

His reply that he would love that comes through within seconds.  

[malereader-inserts]

Amar Pelos Dois

Fandom: Game of Thrones Pairing: Sansa Stark x Male!Reader Summary: If one day someone asks about me tell them I lived to love you. Before you, I only existed tired and with nothing to give Word Count: 1,626 Request: “May I request something with Sansa with a little bit of angst? I would literally take anything, I love your writing so much so I just know whatever you’re going to write will be good 💕💕” A/n: I know there is some inaccuracy in this, but I'm bending the plotline because I am watching GOT season 8, it’s like three in the morning when I started this and now it’s somewhere in the four o’clock. So spoilers for the new season. Also, the title of this fic is from a song, a song about the continuous search for a lost love,  a Portuguese lullaby kinda song that fits perfectly for this story.

“Sansa.”

The voice was like a distant memory to her as she gasps awake, years have passed since she has seen the love of her life. Winterfell was home to her, but it felt empty, she was missing that person she had longed for.

You.

The Targaryen Boy.

The captured Targaryen, you were left to be a prisoner of Kings Landing, under King Joffrey. Sansa had been curious to you when you had arrived, she was merely fourteen when you had arrived being a few years older than her. Joffrey was left not to kill you, under strict orders of Tywin Lannister.

You were pretty in her eyes, as she grew up she wanted to be with a prince. Whilst, she thought Joffrey could be that prince she had longed for, she had seen his cruel nature. Then comes another a prince, an exiled prince with a tongue. A boy of Joffrey age, but instead a crown made of gold, yours was a crown made of silver.

Sharp purple eyes and a boyish smile, despite your predicament you tried looking it from a positive perspective. He’s cruel, bitter and angry, that’s what they say. Locked up in a room in the castle, they say, you’re planning your attack and you being in Kings Landing was bad news.

Sansa dreamt of a prince to wed, she hadn’t expected you.

Your voice was calming, there was no bitterness, no anger. Your purple eyes had enchanted her, Joffrey was nothing compared to you. You were compassionate, loving, but yet oh so fierce. You were allowed to roam certain aspects of the castle grounds, but often times your door was left open.

Members of the Kingsguard kept an annoyingly close eye on you, wary of your actions. You were the one to approach Sansa, fascinated with her looks. Soon, the meetups were frequent, she found you intelligent as you spoke of your wonders.

“This is where I was supposed to be born, this was supposed to be my home,” Yo sighed, it always felt so surreal to you.

“It still could be,” Sansa spoke, there was a determination in her voice but you chuckled, however, it wasn’t mocking to her suggestion.

“Time, my dearest Sansa love,” You murmured, pushing back a stray hair behind her ear, “We need patience, I don’t have a sword to even defend myself.”

The two had arrived at your chambers, you allowed her to enter first, noticing there were no knights around to spy as you enter your room and shutting the door behind yourself. Sansa’s fingers trace the words on the books stacked on a nearby desk.

“I want to get back to my twin,” You dreamt, lying back on your bed as Sansa sat on a chair nearby.

“And what would you do?” Sansa asked, she fondly watched your lips twitched upwards.

“I can’t tell you, or they’ll slit my throat, Sansa dear.”

She never meant to fall in love with you, nor did you. But, within your secret meetings, she found a prince that had ambition, a prince that would fight for his people, you weren’t a coward like Joffrey. You certainly weren’t cruel, nor bitter, nor angry like the whispers that roamed the Castle walls.

She had fallen for you, and suddenly she understood how Cersei wanted to marry your older brother, Rhegar. You were charming, full of pride and full of honour.

You had fallen for her, you watched her grow into a strong woman. She had been pushed and pushed by the king, whilst you tried your best to keep yourself on the good side, sometimes your tongue got ahead of you. You had admired her, how playful she could be and was quick to be swoon with your pretty words and romantic gestures.

Sansa found herself dabbing away the blood on you, you found yourself longing for her gentle touch. Joffrey though he was so smart, forcing a marriage between you and Sansa, he truly believed that you and Sansa hated each other since they hadn’t seen you together. 

Your eyes burn with hatred, the king laughed at your new wife as if she was a joke. She held your hand under the table, trying to prevent you from doing something incredibly stupid.

She was fifteen when she had married you and you were eighteen.

She found happiness with you, she had known that you would protect her. That night of your marriage, she felt happy to be by your side, to consummate the bond. You went her pace, you made her feel like a princess. She felt like the luckiest girl in the world, sometimes she wondered if it was too good to be true.

“Remember I love you,” You whispered into her ear, it was so soft and gentle.

Sansa stood in her room in Winterfell, she had been Lady of Winterfell and she was doing a great job in serving her people. She could imagine you teasing her in the background, but praising her as well. she wanted you to see her now, she was much more than the girl you fell in love back at Kings Landing.

She knew you loved her, it wasn’t false words, it wasn’t a lie. It was something she held onto. 

She had gone through trauma, but she had the hope you were still alive. She kept faith in your return. She had survived Ramsey, she took back Winterfell, all she needed was you. Every day was a day closer to finding the truth of you. But, the last time she had seen you was at the Purple Wedding. 

You both sat on the table, you next to Tyrion and her at the end. Tyrion found it heartwarming to see two children find a true bond, a love that blossomed so naturally and in their favour. However, all good things come to an end.

You both watched how Joffrey choked on his drink, both watching silently in the demise of the King. You squeezed her hand as you kissed her forehead, passionately and lovingly.

She gazed into your purple eyes as you stare back at her blue eyes. Your lips curve upwards, you were always happy to look at the love of your life.

“I love you,” You whispered, “Don’t forget that.”

“It’s the Targaryen boy!” Accusations pointed to you, naturally, and to Tyrion. You looked up to see eyes on you and Sansa.

“Don’t give up on me,“ You looked at Sansa once again, your grip around her tighten, scared to let her go, “Until we meet again, my love.”

Sansa looked outside her window, it had been three years since she had seen you. She’s twenty now, she still celebrates your name day despite not being there. You should be twenty-three. Every day she is reminded of the little things of you, how you would read out loud to her in your shared chambers.

She remembers how warm you were, you claimed it was the dragon blood but she brushed it off as playful. She treasures your story of Essos, how you longed to be reunited with your twin. She recalls back to the time where you two would lie around in bed as she tells tales of her home. Excited for you to visit if it was possible.

Yet, here she stood, at the wall of Winterfell watching dragons fly over her head. She descends down to the courtyard, finding herself waiting for her brother and the new Queen. She stood by Bran as she smiles upon the sight of her brother. Embracing him tightly.

She stares at the new Queen, a spitting image of you, just female. The same silver crown locks and purple eyes, skin as soft and a voice that was soothing. Sansa greets her politely, she was still married to you and despite even not knowing your current status it was only good of her to treat your twin with respect.

Queen or not.

She looks over Daenerys’ shoulder, her eyes widening to see familiar faces. The Hound, who had not noticed her. Then she saw unfamiliar faces before she had noticed someone get off their horse. Wearing white, like Daenerys. She stood up straight as she tries to see this new person who was approaching the Queen.

Then her whole world stopped for a moment. There in your glory, you were alive, sure with some additional scarring but she could get over that. 

Daenerys smirked as she noticed her younger sibling falter and stare at the red hair girl.

“My brother has been telling me tales of you, Lady Stark, ever since he was brought back. You are far prettier than my brother had described.”

Jon looked between the male dragon and his sister in confusion before recalling how Sansa had been married twice. One in a horrible marriage and another that it was too good to be true. 

“(Y/n), you’re making a fool of yourself,” Daenerys whisper to your ear as you snap out of your daze.

“Sansa, my love-” Your voice bringing her back to reality as she jumps into your arm.

You chuckled, your arms fitting perfectly around her tight. She had buried herself in between your neck and your shoulder. Still warm despite the harsh cold of the North. She missed you, your voice, your laughter, your warmth, your scent.

Finally, Winterfell felt complete with you back. Home is where the heart is, and that is you safe and alive.

“I never gave up on you,” She whispers into your ear.

“I never doubt that for a second, my love,” You hummed, still gripping her in a hug, “I hope you haven’t forgotten my love for you.”

“Never in the seven kingdoms would I forget your love.”

[kitten1618x]

GoT Afterthoughts ep. 08x01 ‘Winterfell’ (Part 1)

Whew! I’m sorry this has taken so long. I’ve got two munchkins home from school with a stomach bug, and they’ve been cutting into my rewatch and write-up.

~

So, a few things before we kick this bad boy off... I have not read or interacted much with anyone (except writing up that post yesterday about the opening creds) and I have avoided the discord server (even though I’m DYING to gush) as to not skew my own perception of the episode. Those of you who follow my blog know that I am partial to political!jon, but here’s your heads up for anyone else that just stumbled onto this recap. And with that...

~

We begin the journey of our last season similarly to the way we began our very first: An excited Winter Town boy frantically scrambling to find a better view of the royal retinue marching on Winterfell—complete with the same musical score. Let’s call that strike one against Jon and Dany, as we all know what a farce that first royal couples’ relationship was.

~

This boy, as he shimmies up a nearby tree, very much reminds me of a combination of both Arya and Bran in the pilot — Arya even spies him and smiles, as she stands watching with the smallfolk (a nice book nod). Her face at initially seeing her big brother Jon makes my heart skip a few beats, and I kind of got the feeling she was going to call out for him, but changed her mind. She looks down then, and I’m honestly so worried for their reunion because they have both changed so much, and Arya isn’t the same little girl he remembers.

~

Her smile fades as Jon and Dany pass her by, and the Hound comes into view. Her feelings with Sandor have always been complicated, but we don’t have much time to dwell on that, because Gendry rounds the corner and there’s a different kind of smile lighting up Arya’s face now—and I’m so stoked for their reunion, because it’s what I deserve. WE ALL DESERVE THIS OKAY?!?!?!

~

And what do we have here? Ahhhh yes, the typical D&D ‘cock’ and/or (in this case) ‘balls’ banter via Varys and Tyrion as they once again travel together in another wooden box. You know, we damn well better get the payoff to the jackass/honeycomb/brothel joke this season, or I swear by the old gods and the new that I’m blowing up the Sept of Baelor... oh wait.

~

Missandei looks visibly uncomfortable at the impassive stares of the Northerners as they ride by. However, Jon did warn them about the North—which he reiterates to a rather annoyed looking Dany, who no doubt expected a much more warmer welcoming for coming to “save the North”—but it’s pretty clear there will be no Myhsa crowd-surfing here.

~

A screeching overhead sends the Northerners frantically running for cover as a smug-looking Daenerys smirks proudly at the fear her dragon children instill when they split the skies above. Let’s be real here — that was no coincidence. Remember this?

Dany is in complete control of Drogon, and let’s call a spade a spade: this was a cheap intimidation tactic driven by spite. And I honestly can’t even say I blame the girl, but it’s probably not the best way to make new friends, either—especially when they are all of the mindset that “a Targaryen cannot be trusted”. Just sayin’, Dany girl.

~

And we have Arya’s reaction to seeing Dragons for the first time as they soar high up over Winterfell and Sansa, who watches from the ramparts. Sansa’s reaction is quite similar to Cersei’s—as in, she really doesn’t have one. Someone please cue My Chick Bad by Ludacris!!

Jon and Dany enter the courtyard and Jon springs from his horse to bring Bran in for a signature Stark squeeze and a forehead kiss (another season one callback). He proudly admires how Bran has grown and is now a man, only for Bran to answer with some vague and emotionless three-eyed raven shit, before staring down Daenerys while Jon moves to Sansa’s open arms.

~

*Perhaps no one informed Jon about Bran going all sentient-being?

~

I’m sure most of you already noticed that while this is supposed to be the same hug scene we were shown in the HBO teaser, it’s not the same shot, nor the same angle. In the teaser, Jon makes this soft face and goes straight to Sansa’s arms...

But in the actual episode, Jon goes straight to Bran’s arms, and his expression is quite different...

And in the teaser the hug is much longer in duration, and Sansa doesn’t look up at Dany until the end—still not relinquishing her hold on Jon.

However, in the episode, we get a shorter version and a different angle, while Bran and Sansa simultaneously stink-eye Dany the entire time.

*please note Jon’s expression isn’t the same as it is in the hbo teaser—which begs to differ WHY they chose such a romantic shot of these siblings to hype the final season? I mean, I know why... do you? 😉

~

Annnnnnd moving right along. Jon asks where his darling baby sister Arya has gotten to, as to which Sansa replies “lurking somewhere” — which is an odd response, but I’m not gonna lie, it did make me chuckle a little. If I had to make a guess on this odd dialogue (other than the D’s just suck at dialogue sometimes), I imagine it serves the purpose of leading Jon to assume that the girls still have the same strained relationship of their youth.

~

Not one to stand by idle while getting eye-fucked from all directions (and not in a good way), Dany sashays over to be introduced to the stunning redhead Jon was hugging on, to learn she is (only) his sister (whew!), and the Lady of Winterfell. And with that said, I need to take a moment to address something to all the antis who will probably hop on this post (cuz I know y’all are there): Jon is NOT the Lord of Winterfell. Winterfell does NOT belong to him, not even as warden of the North, not even a little bit. He has no say, no ownership, no NOTHING on Winterfell. The only way he becomes the Lord of Winterfell is if he marries his cousin, Sansa Stark — which is just ONE of the many reasons WHY a marriage between them is advantageous. Tell your friends.

~

The tension kicks up a notch as the introductions proceed and Dany feeds Sansa platitudes of how beautiful she and the North are. Perhaps her words are meant to be kind, but after all she’s been through, Sansa is not here for the bullshit — remember how nice Miranda was in the beginning too? Besides, my girl’s jealousy is so thick, she’s almost GREEN. So, giving Dany a full-bodied once over, she haughtily replies “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”

~

Annnnnnd...

Before a full-blown catfight ensues, Bran throws some ice on the situation—and by ice, I mean ice dragon (harr harr harrrr). The wall has come down, and your dragon is one of them now, he informs Dany—whom of course is horrified by the news. (And probably by Bran too, as I assume she, like Jon, did not get the Bran is the 3ER memo).

~

We move into the Great Hall where we learn that Sansa has already made the intelligent decision to call all their banners to retreat to Winterfell as soon as they knew that the wall had fallen. Little Ned Umber isn’t really sure whom he’s supposed to address or how (bless his little heart), but in any event, he’s getting the horses and carts he needs to safely bring the rest of his people back to Winterfell. Jon tells the maester to summon the Nights Watch as well.

~

And of course you know little Lady Mormont has some shit to say. She’s not pleased with the turn of events and wastes no time voicing her opinion and stirring the ire of the Northerners. But hey,

(Sorry, I couldn’t help myself).

But more on that later, because Jon looks really nervous as little Lyanna throws shade — and his first instinct is to turn and share a look with his sister, errr wife, cousin!, Sansa.

~

I feel like he was looking to her for support, but she’s got none to offer at the moment. So, he pulls himself together and tries to calm the dissent by giving another rousing ‘we need allies and I brought them’ speech, and he actually says something VERY interesting here: “I had a choice: keep my crown or protect the north. I chose the north.” I mean, he ain’t lying, and the best place to hide something is right in plain sight, after all—and of course nothing about that statement sounds political or off at all, does it? I mean, because the Dany stans/jonerii insist that Dany agreed and was FULLY onboard to come north before Jon bent the knee, so why would he say that, then? Go on, tell me...

~

Tyrion decides to throw in his unwanted .02 — simultaneously backing up Jon and feeding Dany’s savior complex (the greatest army blah blah blah — gods, I cannot wait until everyone sees how useless the dragons will be against the NK, especially when using them to roast the wights puts their own soldiers at risk). His words aren’t met with any gratitude when he also drops the bomb that another enemy house of the North is also on its way to Winterfell.

~

Sansa is taken aback but recovers quickly. Armed with her signature snark, she asks how they’re expected to feed the ‘worlds greatest army’ — something she did not prepare for — chased by a sassy, “what do dragons eat, anyway?”

But wa-wa-wait, HOLD UP. Did Dany just— Did she just throw down the gauntlet?

~

Why, I believe she did, my friends! jskslkdlsksjsklslsljsllsl 😂😂😂😂

~

I can’t even with this episode, guys. It’s like I’m watching a medieval version of Melrose Place (google it, youngin’s) with Jane and Sydney throwing shots by the poolside!

Okay, okay, but all joking and snark aside, Sansa has got a valid point. She isn’t prepared to feed all these extra mouths PLUS two fucken huge dragons. I mean, winter is here, and where could they possibly find enough food to sustain everyone? It’s almost as if the show is making it a point to remind us about the lack of food and where did we last see wagons loaded with food? Oh right, I remember...

Put this one behind Northern Independence on the list of ‘Petty Things That Won’t Matter Because the AotD is Coming’ — you know, because who needs food to survive? And who the hell wants independence, anyway?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

~

Moving right along, and holy mother, maiden and crone, this is getting long and I’ve barely scratched the first 15 minutes of the show!

~

You know what? Nevermind, I’m just gonna go ahead and publish this, and post the rest tomorow when I finish it — I know y’all are thirsty anyway. lol Forgive the sloppiness, as I did this ALL on mobile, and my paragraph breaks kept disappearing and arrrrrghh tumblr!

~

*Some gifs/images mine. The others were taken from google. Thanks if it’s yours!!

[fandom-glazed]

CAUTION: I don’t mean to spark hope with this or try to make up something that might happen on Sunday or anything. I know how we all feel with theories perfectly making sense and then being crushed in front of us by stupid writing decisions. Been there, didn’t do me any good. But this thing popped up in my mind before I could stop it so I decided to allow me this little headcanon to soothe my soul when everything is finally over and the rage began to subside (never). I would never believe something like that will really happen, because it would require D&D to actually make sense and I do not trust them to do anymore. So, again, please don’t take the following as a real theory on things, but rather as something we can tell ourselves to feel better about this whole chaotic shit show mess we now have to deal with.

Just another quick thing: I won’t go into book canon for this, just because we know they diverged so badly from the book content, especially regarding this particular character, that we really can’t rely on anything from it at this point. I can, however, imagine this ending with Jaime and Cersei dying “together” also happening in the books, BUT I just think it is extremely poorly executed in the show and the books will provide us with a progression towards it that we can live or actually be content with.

To begin with, I know a lot of us, clown shoes and all, are still hoping/believing Jaime is actually alive. It doesn’t really contradict the thing I’m going to talk about, but I don’t want to push my imagination, stick as close to the “””””canon””””” as possible, so I’ll just assume in my post that Jaime has, in fact, died. Let’s get into it.

Jaime did the Honourable Thing.

Yes, I know. This sounds pretty vague. This obviously wasn’t the starting point of this whole train of thought. We’ll get to it. The thing that started it all was the little voice in my head saying What if they somehow found out (i.e. finding a letter, which was my first attempt to it) that Jaime’s intention was, in fact, to stop Cersei. Even in the way it actually turned out to happen.

As everyone already pointed out, he was the only one who could get close enough to her, so he made her stay in the collapsing building by staying in it as well, because he probably thought if he doesn't somehow prevent her from getting out she will be rescued by someone, i.e. the Mountain. He had to make sure she was stopped and the only way of knowing for certain was to be present in the time of her death, witnessing it. Even if that meant he had to die as well. He probably even welcomed the opportunity, in his twisted post-abuse way of thinking. He never intended to live anyway because his oath to fight for the living was fulfilled and he was so full of self-loathing that he believed he couldn't redeem himself other than in dying with her. Cersei who was the reason for him to retreat from a fairly decent man with hopes and dreams of honour, who put the life of his (innocent) people before his reputation when killing the Mad King, to someone who killed innocent people, for her, out of the desperate love he felt for her.

Felt. Formerly. Let's point out that he never ever said he loved her after their reunion. Even in their moment of certain death he didn’t tell her he loved her. A character whose, like, every third sentence, was about love. All these distinctive quotes we associate with him “The things I do for love”, “We can’t choose who we love”. It’s basically the core of his character. Isn’t it kinda strange that someone like that wouldn’t bother to say the word? For me it is. (Let’s forget that D&D probably kinda forgot about it)

“Nothing else matters" were the words he chose to say before he (presumably) dies. Nothing else matters than ending the torture. Even when he said “only us” this doesn’t necessarily have to be a declaration of love. They die together. Only them. The torture ends. Not only the torture of innocents, but also the torture he feels. The toxicity, the immense guilt. Because they die, nothing else matters for him in this moment. I would even go so far as to say maybe he thinks, again, in his own way of thinking, when they, and only they, have to die now, there’s a chance for those who, in fact, matter to him (Tyrion, Brienne, maybe even the Stark sisters) to get to live. Of course he is not untouched by the death of his sister, even plays a part in it, of course. They have been together their whole lives and there were happier times, there was a long time he had loved her romantically, he probably, certainly never stopped loving her as his sister, as part of his family for whom he would have done everything. So, naturally this wasn’t easy for him, he couldn’t just go and kill her with a crossbow (though this would’ve been a scene) but he is there when the building collapses. Realising they won’t make it out he tells her what she wants to hear, uses her own words. And of course because he knows that’s what she wants to hear, he tells her this, but never says “I love you.” Never. Partly to trap her there, calm her, soothe himself as well, probably. Partly because it wouldn’t be the thing he wanted her to hear in their final moment. Again, we’re talking about a character who was always associated with statements regarding love, and also actions made for love, for love being an essential in his character.

Saying this I am fully aware of how D&D treated an every character’s core in this season, of course I will never ever expect this to actually be behind it all, but I can’t help going on.

Let’s get to Tyrion. I was pretty shocked, when I watched it for the first time, at how easily Tyrion accepted yet another change of heart from Jaime. Yes, they really got close again which was beautiful and also exactly why the Tyrion I, we all, know, would never completely ignore the fact that Brienne existed. Not even asked about her. Just accepted that Cersei was the one Jaime ultimately chose and then saying something about starting a new life when HE was the one who was madly overjoyed when Jaime had FINALLY DECIDED to live a new life WITH BRIENNE. He even kind of initiated the final step for them. He would’ve never just let it pass like that. Then it dawned on me. This was to show that Jaime really managed to convince his brother what must have been, like, probably the hardest part in the journey. Tyrion is the person who knows him best, Tyrion saw him happy in Winterfell, happy even though he knows him well enough to see it’s out of love for Brienne and not because he liked the North so much. That is why Jaime had to pull something pretty grave to make him believe he intended to live. Why else would he have said he "never cared much" for the people in KL, the people he gave his honour for when he killed Aerys and would forever be called Kingslayer and Oathbreaker when all he ever wanted was to be an honourable knight, just because he couldn't save them otherwise, as to get the point across to Tyrion?

That lie to Tyrion? Something he never did before. He always meant what he said and stayed true to his word and his lying began with the parting from Brienne and he has been lying ever since just to make sure no one crosses his plan. He chose to remain silent about the real reason why he killed the King just to not have to make anything up so the people would stop shaming him (even if he didn't have to because the truth would be more than enough) he never actually lied about anything as far as I remember. And that's why I believe everything he said from the moment he left Brienne onward was a lie, the part that convinces me is "Never cared much for them" because THAT is a DAMNED lie, canonically. (And yes again, this is 99% because D&D know shit and just right up forgot about that it is a lie and of course everything he said and did from last episode to now is exactly that because D&D are imbeciles.) Lies to finally get him to his objective: Stopping Cersei, trying to make up for all his wrongs.

Broke Brienne's heart, kinda broke Tyrion's heart as well by purposely proving him wrong in his assumptions about him, so they couldn’t stop him or try to talk him out of it. Because imagine he told Tyrion he didn't plan to make it out alive either. Tyrion would've never helped him. He would have let him be chained in that tent until everything is over and they decide what will happen to him, because like this there would still be a possibilty Jaime would live in the end. Look at his reaction when Tyrion tells him to run away with Cersei. Of course he can't say "No bro, won't happen because we will die, but thanks for the effort" instead he makes him believe he will actually try to do that in order to be freed.

I also questioned why Tyrion never wondered about the golden hand. Yes, he asked if he considered covering it, but isn’t it strange he doesn’t doubt anything in it? Like Jaime doing exactly that when he came to Winterfell in the first place, but not when he rode back? Almost as if it was on purpose? Thought didn’t cross Tyrion’s mind (nor D&D’s of course) because he simple believed that “stupidest Lannister” crap, but it did mine... He wanted to be caught. He believed it would be the safest way to ensure he somehow got to Cersei. Which brings me, finally, to the second part of this chaos.

Bran told Jaime what to do.

I promise, I haven’t gone completely insane yet. Let’s give it a thought. Some point along my long train of thought I came across the controversy that even though he mentiones it in his conversation with Brienne, Jaime was already redeemed for his pushing Bran out of that tower window by Bran himself (or the three-eyed raven, as it pleases you, but he saw him and they talked). So I thought about how that scene at the tree went exactly. Bran letting Jaime know that he was aware of the reasons he did it then, the whole “I’m not that person anymore” thing. Bran telling Jaime he wasn’t Bran anymore. First of all, I think, Bran would’ve seen through it if that “I’m not that person anymore” was a lie. Would have corrected him as emotions can’t take an influence on his judgement anymore, nor does empathy or modesty. Anyway. That crazy thought crossed my mind, as I had always compared three-eyed raven with Marvel’s Doctor Strange who knows the one possible way out of many impossibilities to end the war, what did little three-eyed raven Bran have to say to Jaime Lannister? He gave Arya the dagger with which she killed the Night King. So, why shouldn’t he tell Jaime how to stop his sister, especially if this was the only way it could happen?

That’s when I thought I started to make things up and see ghosts. If the scene ended with Jaime leaving Bran that whole explanation would go to dust. He didn’t. In fact, the scene ends with Jaime asking Bran why he didn’t tell the others what happened and Bran stating they needed Jaime to help in this fight. And when Jaime asks “What about afterwards?” he is answered “How do you know there is an afterwards?” We see Jaime’s confused/shocked face. That’s it. Cut. No Jaime leaving Bran or the other way around. A following conversation is entirely possible. Even kind of hinted by the way Jaime looks when the scene is cut, as if there really is something to follow. Especially when we look at the next scene which has Jaime and Tyrion talking. Talking about Cersei, how she fooled (or hadn’t fooled) them, killing her or being killed by her, in particular. The way Jaime looks, again, after Tyrion says something about how he loved her anyway, the way he looks as soon as Tyrion uses “Cersei” and “murder” in the same context. And then of course that’s when he sees Brienne.

I don’t doubt that he loves Brienne. I could write a thousand pages on why and give all the evidence we all know by heart by now, D&D would still find a way to make it seem he didn’t in the end, but however. He wouldn’t just walk away after making that face when Tyrion talked about Cersei and killing her or be killed by her, to watch Brienne when he didn’t love her. Let’s just very quickly point to the image of Oathkeeper initiating our dearest love scene in episode 4, even THOUGH this is the episode everything went south in the end and it was written by D&D and not, like, Bryan Cogman who blessed us with episode 2 and wanted to get some more shipping feels across. No, Oathkeeper with all its symbolism (D&D most probably kinda forgot about) is in episode 4 and it’s not even an acting choice from people who are just as emotionally invested, it’s a cinematographic one.

So, that Bran part is of course not necessary for the whole finding out about Jaime’s real intention to stop Cersei thought. But I think it really makes sense, especially when looking at those particular scenes in episode 2. It could provide an explanation to how Jaime knew that what he was doing would actually work. Even if Bran told him he would die in the process, Jaime wouldn’t have backed down (run from the fight), since he, in the state he was in at that time, would’ve welcomed death anyway. Telling Jaime that he wasn’t Bran anymore, but something else would make perfect sense if he, in fact, told him “off screen” after the cut, that there was a plan and had to convince him of its credibility. This would be a perfect thing to reveal after what many see as a cliffhanger (clown nose is on, even if Jaime is really dead) at the end of 5. We already got this move from Jaime once. Of course, however, this would be imaginable if D&D still cared about the show. Won’t happen, but there’s still the possibility to keep this headcanon. Especially the part with the letter/note I mentioned at the beginning of this long ass post.

Another thing to point out is Brienne’s quite possible pregnancy. Really a bitter thing when she is left believing Jaime left her for Cersei and because he didn’t love her (anymore), right? Here we can even include some of those cool leaks into my “little” headcanon, as those even support it, in the case they really are true again.

The one about Brienne and the little blonde boy. Yeah, the thing about her pregnancy, seems to be correct, poor thing believing she was never truly loved and gets reminded of it every day. Well, there is another one saying the epilogue will be a flash forward from Bran’s perspective. What if this is shown exactly for that reason, for Bran explaining why Jaime actually left, that it was the plan all along and so Brienne will know she wasn’t betrayed?

(Okay, this last little field trip requires a thin layer of tinfoil. What if that “die together, so that others could live” part in Jon’s after battle speech in 4, which, as we all know, shows our Jaime and Brienne standing next to each other, doesn’t refer to Brienne and Jaime but to their son? Just think about how the horrors of the battle finally brought out the urge to act on their feelings. And if you put another layer of tinfoil on top, you could also connect it with Jaime and Cersei dying together. “Only us”. And Brienne and her son - who would never have been safe as long as Cersei was breathing - could live.)

Nik used to say the ending was done in an “intelligent way”. What we have seen so far was by no means intelligent. What would indeed be intelligent though, is if something like this actually is revealed. Bran or note, whereby Bran would, of course, be a pretty credible way to do it, finding out there was actually a plan behind that whole mess with Jaime, that he truly loved Brienne and really went to KL only to stop Cersei and not actually go back to her, that is something that Nik probably would like. Brienne with their son, but not as a constant reminder of his betrayal, but rather of his love for her and the honourable thing he did in the end, that would also be bittersweet. Not just bitter.

Nik probably started to keep telling himself something along the lines of this until he finally believed it, until he could say his ending was good. And this is what I intend to do, starting now, surviving Sunday and keep reminding me of when I feel the outrage coming back, until I find peace. This will be my truth now. They can’t take that away.

It was one hell of a trip in this fandom. Have a nice last day before the shit comes down one last time. Stay safe and strong!

[thewolfbit]

Thoughts on 801

I missed a TON being off Tumblr for almost a week, and I’ve been trying to go through everything in the tag but failing miserably (bc you all ROCK at generating new content, and I am so well fed!!!!). So this is probably really repetitive and jet-laggy, but here are my thoughts (they may be a bit out of order):

Arya Stark!!!! I SHRIEKED

Then my heart broke because she sees some of the most important men in her life again, and none of them see her, and honestly that scene was really painful??? Her reaction! She was so disappointed and it HURT.

D is upset the smallfolk of the North don’t like her, but then her dragons swoop in and TERRIFY everyone and she has SUCH a satisfied smile... like omg HBO is dark!D on main now I guess??

JON AND BRAN REUNION. Jon quickly falls into the “he’s weird but we still love and accept him” group with Sansa and Arya

JON AND SANSA HUG WAS SHORTENED!!! WTF Y’ALL. I’m mad about this!!! Why did they shorten that amazing reunion 2.0 after hyping it so much?? Idk I know they shoot it from multiple angles, but it just seems really strange to me to edit and prep two different versions to air for no apparent reason. (Also, were they for sure the same footage? For example, D and Jorah start walking, but don’t unclasp their hands like they did in the teaser... idk, I need to watch it again when my brain is done being jet lagged.) 

^ Has GoT done this before with any other alternate footage that’s only used for promo?

D: “JON TOLD ME HOW BEAUTIFUL YOU ARE.” That’s it. That’s my take on this line.

D finding out about Viserion being turned was... rushed... I felt like this should have been a MUCH bigger moment. But—

Sansa and Tyrion reunion. Either Tyrion and Jon are both turned into devoted idiots in D’s presence, or they’re playing at something. Sansa sees through that shit with Tyrion!! I drank grape juice (no wine, I’m jet lagged!) to salute her in this scene

ARYA AND JON REUNION. While parts of this were great, I felt so bad for Arya here!! She deserved a real, wonderful, drawn-out reunion like Sansa and Jon got, instead of two seconds of loveliness and then “help me with Sansa and my gf” 🙄 Jon I get that maybe you’re trying to get on Arya’s side and be co-conspirators again like you were as kids but KNOCK IT OFF, you’re annoying me in this episode. #sansadefensesquad (which Arya is totally a part of and DON’T FORGET THAT)

Oh no the dragons only ate the equivalent of 100 human meals today!! 😢 The dragon flying scene was honestly so cringey I felt like we were watching a completely different TV show. Why TF would D just be like “hey ride my 2nd dragon”??? There wasn’t even any pretext?? Like can’t they just throw in a “hey my dragons weirdly like you, they’ve never liked anyone, maybe they’ll let you ride them”?? Anyway I don’t even have anything more to say about this mess of a DotD2.0-setting-up scene other than: IT’S A MESS

Varys: “if you think J*nerys is endgame you aren’t paying attention”

D threatening Sansa. 

N O P E. 

I want to say “TRY IT” but also... pls don’t try it because you’re scary and have WMDs. LEAVE MY GIRL ALONE, she’s trying to defend her home from a usurper, which seems like something you could understand (tbh Sansa has been perfectly respectful... all she is doing is not being friendly!!! What TREASON)

Theon saved Yara!! Wow, super rushed! But OK! Theon is coming back to WF, probably to die by saving Bran or Sansa or something. Sigh. But at least he’s coming back.

Cersei was amazing in this episode. Everything was just so... great. Lena is perfection. Lena is the anti-dragon flying scene. Grape juice all around

Sidenote: some people are mentioning Daario returning with the Golden Company? I need to look more into this, but DANG. That would be interesting. I would love for this show to tie up some of its loose ends

SANSA AND JON SCENE. This is a great scene (even though I was mad at Jon). THE ANGST. THE SUBTEXT. The lines: “You know I do.” “She’s much prettier.” (Aka she’s a pretty version of the Mad King, Jon... it’s not a compliment!!!) and of course:

The Hound’s reunion with Arya... kinda sucked? Idk I know things are Complicated between them and she hated him a lot, but they also had a kind of grudging love for each other after all they went through. I just hated that he called her a bitch. I’m not trying to defend anything the Hound did or said, because it was awful and he wasn’t an amazing role model or anything!! But that’s who he was before, and I sort of thought that after his redemption arc and all that he’d be happier to see Arya. Or at least not call her a bitch, because 

She was a child!!!

He was terrible to her!! She probably would have mercy killed him if he hadn’t been like “I wanted to rape your sister”

If she’d killed him he would be... dead... you’re alive now so calm tf down and don’t call her a bitch!! #aryadefensesquad 

(Also, I’m a bit nervous that they’ll have the Hound and Sansa have a more emotional reunion since they skipped it with him and Arya, and their relationship was even more fraught, so... yikes)

GENDRY AND ARYA REUNION. My Gendrya heart is SOARING!! That shit was cute!!! “You’ve gotten better” omfg Gendry, YOU ADORABLE IDIOT. IMO this was the only good Arya reunion in this episode, sadly

Sam was obviously upset about his dad and brother being executed. Because duh. Jon was upset too. Because duh. Wait until they find out it was execution by FIRE. (I sort of hope Sam doesn’t, because this scene was so sad and I felt so bad for him.) 

I was also annoyed that they made it somewhat comedic with Sam almost getting run over by a wagon and then tripping down the crypt steps or whatever. Sam is an actual human with feelings who just found out his dad and brother died, not just some comic relief 🙄

Sam and Jon reunion! A short nice moment between Sam learning that his family members were killed and Sam telling Jon who his real family members are (...including, coincidentally, the family member who killed Sam’s family members...)

Parentage reveal. I felt like this scene could have been slowed down a bit (and Jon could have shown a lot more consideration of Sam’s news about his dad and brother dying!!), but I get that the audience already knows the truth so they don’t have time to have Sam convince Jon that it’s true. Jon’s first response: “it’s treason.” Aka he’s scared of D’s reaction. Not that he’s gonna lose his relationship with her. Not that he doesn’t think he could be a better leader. But that she’ll turn against him—and now he’s led her into his home.

Jaime rolls up and Bran’s like “HEY PAL.” My guess is that everyone will want to kill him (besides Tyrion and Brienne) but Bran will be like “we need him” or something

Overall, I think the episode had some great Jonsa/dark!D/pol!Jon setup and enough corny J*nerys stuff to make shippers and GA think it’s still a True Romance. 

Stuff I can’t wait for in the next episode:

Sansa(!) and Arya’s reactions to the parentage reveal

D’s reaction, if it happens—Jon might not want to rock the boat and risk losing her support before the WWs come

Varys seeing Sansa as the ruler she is

Jaime swearing an oath to Sansa, Arya, and Bran in Catelyn’s honor

Braime reunion!!!!!

Gendrya moments!!

Everyone saying goodbye to their loved ones before the battle (night before the battle love/passion scenes are MY JAM)

Cersei plotting to kidnap Sansa?

[crowkingwrites]

Bang Bang!: Guilty (Ch.14)

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton X Reader

Summary: You are now a full-fledged member of the Red Kings. After your first successful mission, Domeric comes with troubling news: they’re being watched and there’s a mole among them. The Red Kings, Ramsay, and You now stand against a new enemy: Stannis Baratheon, a high ranking FBI member out to seek justice who may have his own dark secrets he’s trying to hide.

In this next part of the series, you will be tested, face old enemies, and encounter faces you’d thought you’d never see again. You thought you were safe, but the game has just begun.

Words: 2267 // Ao3 Link

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13]

Domeric read the note over and over and over. Char, I did as you asked. Don’t fuck me over. The words haunted and bothered him.

“You’re talking to Ben?” Domeric stood up and followed Charlotte. “Why are you talking to Ben without telling me?”

“What? Are you jealous?” Charlotte yelled back. Ben followed her voice into their shared bedroom where Charlotte was angrily folding clothes.

“I’m not!”

“You are! I went to Ben for some help because I knew you would be like this,” Charlotte responded.

“Like what? Jealous?” Domeric threw it back in her face. “Ben had less than noble intentions with you. There’s history there. And you went to him for help. Why?”

“Because he’s the only one who really understands—

“Understands? Understand what?” Domeric shouted. “You’re my fiancée, right? Explain it to me. Your future husband.” Charlotte scoffed.

“I fucking knew you would be jealous. It’s not even worth it.”

“No! Explain it to me. What am I not understanding that Ben understands? What is it?” Domeric threw his arms in the air. Charlotte stopped folding clothes and narrowed her eyes at him.

“You don’t fucking listen, do you?”

“Apparently, I fucking don’t,” Domeric matched his lover’s rage. Blood started to boil under his skin so intensely, goosebumps rose on his arms.

“It’s Ramsay.”

“No, no, no,” Domeric started to leave the room. “I’m not listening to this again.”

“We need to do something about him! Or are you fucking blind?” Charlotte said with increasing anger. Domeric kept his arms at his sides, he feared he would raise them soon if Charlotte didn’t stop.

“Ramsay is my little brother. How do you want me to stop him? Hm? You want me to hurt my family?”

“No that’s not— “That’s not what? What you meant? You want to stop Ramsay? Go ahead and try then,” Domeric threw his vase to the ground.

“Domeric, you need to cal—

“Calm down?” Domeric laughed, continuing down the hallway. “I won’t. You think I need to hurt my little brother.”

“He’s kicked her out, Dom,” Charlotte said. “Ben and I have been talking. Ben’s told me that their operation to shut down Stannis isn’t going well. Y/N did what she does best and seduced someone. Ramsay felt like he was cheated on and he kicked her out.”

“Why are you on her side?” Domeric asked. “Seriously, why? What do you know about her?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know nothing about her. She could be a fucking snake to Ramsay—

“Oh, and like Ramsay is a saint, right? God forbid someone treat Ramsay the Good wrong. Fuck you.”

“You think my brother is a fucking monster for fighting with his girlfriend? I’m fighting with you right now, am I a monster too?” Domeric shouted. His voice raised making Charlotte freeze to the spot and her eyes flinch.

“No, I don’t think you’re a monster,” Charlotte said in an even tone. “I just don’t think you’re understanding me completely. Ramsay is spiraling. He needs help. He killed Beth. He’s going to kill Y/N.”

“Ramsay’s killed a bunch of people. You don’t feel bad for them?”

Charlotte shook her head. She let out a long sigh. Her fingers rubbed circles on her temples. “Look. I had Ben send her away to s safe house in the northern country. To an older Red King where she’ll be safe. Locke won’t hurt anybody and I’m going to call your father. Roose needs to know this is getting too far.”

“Why are you protecting her?”

“She’s my friend! She’s a woman! She’s human?!” Charlotte snapped. “You can tell me how little I know about her. You can remind me what she is and where she came from. The point is that Ramsay is a problem. He hurts everyone around him for his own benefit. Why can’t you see that?”

“I don’t agree with you,” Domeric shook his head, crossing his arms. “You’re wrong. Ramsay is more than a one-track minded killing machine. Ramsay is intelligent. Ramsay knows what he’s doing, and he loves Y/N. They’re in a rough patch right now.” “He wanted to hurt her for flirting with another guy,” Charlotte pointed out.

“Not going to lie, but I also kind of want to hurt you right now for talking to your ex and getting help from him instead of coming to me,” Domeric threw it back at her. “Bolton men are jealous like that I guess.” The poisoned words left his mouth and reached Charlotte’s ears. Tears appeared in her eyes, but she wiped them away.

“Ben is the only one who sees Ramsay for what he is. Ramsay needs help.”

“Ramsay doesn’t need help,” Domeric argued. “You do. Ever since Y/N became a Red King, all you want to do is break her and Ramsay up. You’ve been fucking obsessed with it. You haven’t even started to plan our wedding.”

“Neither have you.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t get married then,” Domeric grabbed his keys and left the shared home they had. He started his car despite Charlotte yelling at him to come back inside the house. He drove off and kept driving. He spoke to his cell on the console.

“Hey Siri,” Domeric said in a tired tone. His phone woke up. “Siri, call Sansa Stark.”

The phone rang twice before someone answered on the other side.

“Dom? Are you calling me?” Domeric heard Sansa’s voice and a warm feeling settled in his stomach. He was home again.

“Sansa, we need to talk,” Domeric’s eyes searched for words on the highway. “Things are—

“Getting bad again?” Sansa finished his sentence. “Where are you?”

“I’m going to Chicago. Can you meet me there?”

“I thought you were closer to Las Vegas?”

“I can’t risk being seen with you in Vegas. Not with my father’s dogs hunting around there for you. I can keep you safe in Chicago.”

“Is it that bad?” Sansa asked. Domeric paused before he answered.

“I miss you. I think I really need you,” Domeric choked up. “Call me when you get to Chicago.”

--

Jon Snow wore his best suit he could find on short notice to Stannis’ office. Stannis had been good friends with Ned since Ned’s arrival in Washington D.C. After his mysterious s death in New York City, Stannis kept Jon close to his side and aiding him however he could. Jon did not look forward to meeting with the disgraced FBI director who failed the Red Wedding.

Especially when Jon was busy with a very pretty girl during the evening when all of those immigrants crossed the border illegally on his watch.

His hands shook as he entered the building. He cleared his throat more than once and straighten out his back. He needed to have some sort of spine to face Stannis.

“Good afternoon, Jon,” Stannis greeted Jon as he stepped into his office. Stannis office looked more of the same as any other office of a government official. All of his furniture was made of polished wood. Pictures of his family hung next to plagues of accomplishments and achievements. An entire government career based on organization, order, and military discipline.

Jon sat in one of the two seats in front of the desk. “Hello, Mr. Baratheon.”

“You can call me, Stannis, I told you that.”

“If we’re being frank, sir, I’m afraid to.”

Stannis closed his laptop and set it aside. His eyes met with Jon’s. “Jon, I’m sure you’re aware of the immigration leak. I heard you weren’t around. Care to tell me where you were.”

“I thought I would leave work early,” Jon admitted. “I had a lot of things running through my head and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I sincerely didn’t think I would be leaving five men for the last time. I was at a bar with my work phone turned off. I know I’m not supposed to do that, but everything’s been so stressful lately—

Stannis held up his hand. “You’re not being fired today, Jon Snow.”

“I’m not?”

“No, quite the opposite,” Stannis revealed. He handed Jon a new flash drive. Jon turned it over in his hands. “With everything that’s been happening in our blessed United States of Westeros, I think it’s time I let my associates know the bigger picture. There is an underbelly present in USW. There are illegal people here, they’re bringing their weapons, their drugs, and their filth into this great country. There’s people born in this great country taking advantage of it to better themselves. I’m through stressing out every night. I’m doing something about it.”

“What exactly are you going to do about it?” Jon gripped his seat. He had a bad feeling about all of this.

“You, for starters,” Stannis pointed at him. “You’re my new and personal spy. You’ve worked in espionage before. You have little to no family, so you’re the perfect candidate.”

“Are you removing me from the Border Wall?”

“Yes, your new mission is to the find the Red Kings.” Stannis opened a picture of the Bolton family on his laptop. “This is the Bolton family. They’re known to be the leaders of the Red Kings, but we have zero evidence of any of them.”

“Why started with the Red Kings? If the underbelly is as serious as you say, why not start with finding my sisters? Arya’s been gone for so long and she’s always been a wild one, and now Sansa? My brothers? Last I heard of Theon Greyjoy, he was kidnapped. What about the Red Wedding? Why not revisit that case?”

“I am,” Stannis clarified. “The Red Kings are the head suspects for the Red Wedding. The Red Kings kidnapped Theon Greyjoy. The Red Kings know what happened to your brothers, Bran and Rickon. As far as I’m concerned, Sansa could be with them.” Jon froze to the spot. He had been dragged through the mud and spent many sleepless nights on how to fix his family. Now, he knew exactly who to find.

“If I find them, can I destroy them?” Jon coldly asked. Stannis smiled. He knew he had the right pawn for the job.

“Anything you need.”

--

Locke let his mind wander once more in the car. His time in solitude changed him into a reflective man. He remembered how his little girl would be so happy to see him when he came home from missions. He also remembered the birthdays he missed. He remembered the miserable event of your high school graduation and the inevitable day where he discovered you had run away.

He wanted to blame himself, but he knew it wasn’t his fault. He may have been away for a lot of the important times in your life, but both of you had to suffer your mother together.

Locke did not have too many happy memories of his only wife. He spent a lot of his life trying to make her happy. After a few, hard discussions, she realized what she was missing: a child. Locke and his wife tried over and over and over again. Nothing happened for years. His worst fears came true when Locke discovered he was infertile.

As devastating as that was, he felt relieved. He never thought he would make a good father. That is, until his wife introduced him to the idea of foster care.

“We’ll just host a child here, and they can move along. We don’t have to adopt,” she shared. “Besides, you won’t be here as much. You won’t have to be a real father.”

Locke wasn’t too happy with the idea until one long and awful night. He had just got back from another mission. His head rang like a bell, and his gut hurt from the bad job from the night nurse. His wife met him at the secretive makeshift hotel hospital for criminals. The whole place was outfitted with stolen medical equipment and comfortable beds that the old hotel left behind.

“You didn’t have to visit me here,” Locke said.

“I did,” Kathy smiled. Locke’s wife ran her hand up and down his arm. “This is where we met, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Locke smirked. “I remember how good you look in one of those nurse’s uniforms.” Kathy slapped his arm. Both of them laughed at the happy memory. Kathy opened her mouth to say something else, but a nurse interrupted them.

“Kathy! I know you don’t work here anymore, but we need you. It’s bad. It’s a Code Blue.” Kathy rushed out of the room with her friend. Kathy returned a half hour later with a bundle in her hands. The baby cooed and grabbed onto her finger. Locke sat up, confused.

“You’re back with a baby?”

“Someone came here with her. Someone in bad shape. She had this baby with her, and…she’s gone now, but no one knows whose baby this is,” Kathy explained. “She has nothing just a blanket and her clothes.” Locke caught sight of you. Maybe it was your eyes or the way you smiled at him, but he felt something deep inside of him when he held you for the first time.

“If anything happened to you, I would kill everyone. Do you hear me? I’m going to protect you now.” Locke blinked back his tears in his eyes. He still drove on the highway towards a certain destination. He looked over to your form sleeping in the passenger seat of the car. So much has happened to you and he could have prevented it.

“I should’ve fucking listened to Roose,’ he muttered to himself. “I’m such an idiot.”

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[tacitwhisky]

Jon of the Kingsguard, pt 6

Jon x Sansa - AU where Jon goes to Kingslanding instead of the Wall, there’s no war, and he becomes a knight of the kingsguard even as Joffrey marries Sansa / AO3 Link

The wolf dreams start soon after. It is always the same dream: running swift beneath the moonlit sky, loping over hill and forest and grove with his grey sister, of pulling down deer between silent pines or nosing hares from their warrens, of the copper tang of blood and crunch of bones beneath his jaws. Sometimes Jon wakes with the taste still in his mouse and it takes him a long moment to remember that he is a man and not a beast, a knight bound by vows and not a wolf free to run beneath the night sky.

It is always bitter.

Quickly Jon regrets having confronted Barristan. Perhaps fearing he will do something rash Barristan no longer assigns him to guard Sansa during her days and nights. At court and feasts he places Jon farthest from Joffrey of all his Kingsguard brothers. It becomes impossible for Jon to see Sansa each day, but still he tries, gives up sparring in the yard or drinking with Tyrion to find Sansa in her solar.

Gossip and whispers swirl through the Red Keep, servants murmuring in Jon’s wake when he walks the halls, their eyes flitting to him and then away. Jon can do no more than grit his teeth and meet their gazes flatly. He knows what the whispers call him without having to hear them: coward, false knight, bastard. After all what true brother would let his sister suffer that way, what true knight? What good is a knight who cannot keep his vows? Simple, the answer had always seemed to Jon. Not easy, but simple. For so many years since coming south Jon had dreamed of being knighted, of proving his worth, of carving out a name for himself that was more than Snow. But now…

His white brothers Jon no longer speaks to unless he must. The way they refuse to meet his eye when he stands beside them proves they know of Sansa’s bruises, and the way they stand silent behind Joffrey proves they do not care. Yes and no and speak with Barristan Jon forces through his gritted teeth when he must but otherwise stands silent and furious beside them. Only Jaime acts as though nothing has happened, still as smiling and friendly with Jon as though they’d never spoken that day at the steps of the white tower, jesting and laughing even as Jon remains silent with his jaw clenched. Only the knowledge that Jaime is the most skilled swordsman of the seven kingdoms keeps Jon from drawing his sword. He will be no good to Sansa dead, he tries to tell himself.

But he is not sure what good he is to her living either. Each time he returns new bruises have bloomed across her shoulders and arms like mottled flowers. And though Jon’s fury grows no less white-hot each time he glimpses them, he forces himself to bury his anger deep inside him, in a sunken place where all his shame and bitterness from a childhood of lady Catelyn’s cool gazes still lurks. His anger is not what Sansa needs no matter how helpless it makes Jon not be able to curse or spit or rage. And so each time he returns to her chambers he simply kneels and slips from her hands the warmed rags she uses to ease the swelling, presses them gently to the mottled and raised skin, each hiss of her breath as he does the stab of a blade into his chest.

She never looks at him, face tight and gaunt as she stares at the walls of her chamber or down at the ground. She shakes sometimes, her whole body trembling like a leaf, and in those moments Jon has never felt more useless. All he can do is tell her of his day, of the little he knows of the happenings at court and Kingslanding. Sometimes it is on the tip of his tongue to tell her of the wolf dreams, but he never does. They are only dreams, and telling her will remind her of Lady, of all she no longer has because of him.

Instead he tells her of he and Robb as children, of having to save Arya from whatever latest trouble she’d gotten herself into, of climbing with Bran or wrestling with Rickon. Sometimes the stories draw a smile from Sansa, though just as many time she listens with her gaze on the floor and Jon does not know if she can hear him, if the words mean anything to her.

“You have so many stories of them,” she tells him one day, listless eyes rising to find his. “Is this to be our story, Jon? Yours and mine?”

Jon shakes his head. He forces his voice light despite the ache in chest. “No, our story is the time Arya dared you to spend the night in the crypts and then when you didn’t come out she made me go find you.”

“Gods, I’d forgotten that.” The hint of a smile flits across Sansa’s lips. “I’d brought only one candle with me, hadn’t I? And it had given out by the time you came. I’ve never been a place so dark as those crypts.”

“Neither had I.” Jon finds himself smiling. “I remember thinking I’d never be brave enough to stay the night there myself.”

Sansa cocks her head to the side, a smile playing across her lips. “You thought I was brave?”

“Not always.” Jon looks down, shame welling in his throat. “I’m sorry for that. I never understood your love of dances and songs and courtesies, I thought them-”

“Foolish?” Jon looks up to find her smile twisted bitter. “I know, Jon. I so wanted to believe the songs, the ones of knights and maidens. I thought Joffrey was a prince from one of them, but he isn’t. He’s the monster the knight goes to slay. Not that there are knights. Not truly.” Her eyes have drifted away as she spoke, but now they snap back to Jon. “None except you.”

Jon laughs, a harsh, hollow bark. “Don’t say that. I’m no true knight. If I was-”

“You are.” Sansa reaches down to where he still holds the rag and threads their fingers together. “Even back then in the crypts, Jon. When you came for me you were a knight. I’m sorry I didn’t see that then. I thought a knight had to be like they are in songs, with shining armor and snapping pennants. And I’m sorry if I never thought of you as my true brother, sorry if I treated you unkindly or like you were lesser just because you were a bastard.”

“I didn’t make it easy.” Jon smiles, but his throat is dry and aching, and he squeezes her fingers tight. “I judged you just as harshly for just as little. I thought bravery was skill with a sword or lance or even just getting into trouble like Arya. But I was wrong. You are brave, Sansa. Both now and in the crypts.”

Weeks turn to months, and new bruises bloom over Sansa’s pale skin. They are less frequent but no less ugly, purple-blue veined in sickly yellow, and Joffrey begins to take less care in where he raises them. Jaw, eye, temple: each he graces with a bruise, and for each Sansa is forced to withdraw to her chamber for weeks to let them heal before appearing in court again. Quieter and quieter she is each time Jon comes to her, eyes sunken, cheeks gaunt, and Jon does not know how to draw her out.

And then one morning Sansa will not speak at all, lips closed in a thin line. An hour Jon stays tending her bruises, and only as he turns to leave does she speak, voice a thin whisper. “I haven’t had my moonblood for months.”

Jon freezes with his hand outstretched for the door. Carefully, he turns and kneels in front of Sansa, tilts her chin up from the floor and searches her face. “You’re sure?”

In place of nodding or answering Sansa tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, a tremor shivering though her hand as she does. Only then does she look up, meets his eyes, her own glassy and horribly calm. “I am.”

Jon falls back on his heels. His mouth is dry and tongue too large for his mouth. You should’ve known. In a way it is strange it has taken so long. Even as bruises bloomed across Sansa’s skin it wasn’t as if Joffrey had stopped coming to her. A slow anger fills Jon, replaces the dry of his mouth with a bitter taste, but he lets none of it show on his face, turns his eyes dark and unreadable. She does not need your anger. “What will you do?” He asks.

“What can I do?” Sansa give a bitter little laugh. “I don’t want it, Jon. Isn’t that monstrous of me? But I don’t. I don’t care it’s mine, it makes me sick to think of anything of him growing in me.”

“There are ways to stifle it. I could go find…”

“You are a knight of the kingsguard, and my brother besides. Even without your white cloak all the court would whisper if you left the Red Keep to find a medicine woman, Jon. Your white brothers would know. Varys would know. And what would it matter? Joffrey is the king, and the king must have an heir. It will only happen again.”

“Not if you could not bear him sons.” A sudden hope sparks in Jon and he leans forward, takes her hands in his. “If you could not bear him children he would be forced to set you aside. I know it isn’t what you wanted, Sansa, isn’t what you dreamed of, but you’d be free of him, you’d-”

But Sansa is shaking her head even as the words are still on his lips. “I’m the daughter of a great house, Jon. Joffrey may be king, but do you think Tywin would ever allow him to insult all the north like that? Marriage is a pretty cage they build around us ladies, but a cage nonetheless.” She shivers and pulls her hands from his. “And Joffrey would never let me go. He’s told me before when he’s… inside... he’s told me he’d kill me before he ever lets another man touch me, before he ever lets me be parted from him. He told me if I ever fled he’d have Ilyn Payne take my head.”

Jon clenches his jaw. “Send a raven to our father then. He will come. He’ll raise all the north for you.”

“And see all the realm bleed?” She looks down at her hands. “I’m one woman, Jon. Joffrey is a poor king, but war will make a thousand widows and orphans and it would be one great house against six. The north would lose, and I would still be queen.”

Jon stands and rips his gaze from her. His anger is not what Sansa needs, can feel it rising sure as an ocean surge, all the helplessness and anger from the past months like poison in the blood set aflame, and if he stays any longer it will spill from him. It is weak, cowardly, but Jon turns on his heel and crosses her chamber in a single stride, tears open the door and leaves Sansa alone in her chamber.

AN: The part about Jon and Sansa in the crypts is a reference to We Can Brave the Dark by Snacky. It’s one of my favorite fics and you should all go and give it some love.

[mmazzeroo]

DANY III - I’m Ready When You Are

@helloimnotawesome - Finally an update for you! Chapter 10 - Dany/Arya/Ghost/Jon bonding. Enjoy!

Thank you so much for your patience! <3 Have about a week left of uni (before Christmas) and then we’ll be back on track! 

DANY III - I’m Ready When You Are

'Come say hello to Ghost', he said. 'It'll be fun', he said. The fun had mainly consisted of watching Arya's face. It had been a pendulum swinging between awestruck and pure childish joy. From her trembling it was clear she had to physically restrain herself from just running over and hug the dog tightly - like she'd done with Jon. Ghost on the other hand hand been completely mellow and had an overbearing look to him. Probably due to the pain meds Sam had giving him not long before they arrived back in the room. Twice a day Ghost was still given a small doses of meds to help with the pain from the burn wounds. Though healing up well they were still very sore and causing him a large amount of pain especially when touched. And, she'd shown Sam where the vials were kept and how to administer it for the times when he and Ghost were alone.

They'd given Ghost his own mattress on the floor over by the wall. That way it was easier to get him up on his own, no need for any lifting. Simply being in same room as Jon seemed to be enough now, and this way he has facing the door which was another calming factor. So all in all they'd managed to make him a pretty chilled out winter dog at this point. Arya was laying on her side next to Ghost on his mattress. His mattress very important detail - the dog had literally tipped his head while glancing to the mattress to invite Arya to join him. A detail that had excited Arya even more!

As her and Jon had foreseen, Sam had protested mildly when told he could have the night off, but it was clear to all it was a half-hearted attempt out of politeness. Before leaving he had giving Jon his nightly dose of pain meds as well, and Jon had fallen asleep not long after. Leaving Arya and herself alone - and awake.

Hours later she was sitting in her usual chair - conveniently sandwiched between Jon's bed and Ghost's mattress - quietly catching up on paperwork when Arya started her, expected, third-degree.

"So..." Here we go. Brace yourself Dany! "Why weren't you welcoming Jon back home?"

Keeping her eyes on the papers she continued to write. Don't look up, Dany! This is just a tiny matter. No need to fuel her curiosity. Nothing to see here. Move along.

"Because I was here last night when Ned and Sam told him."

"Why?"

"Because he asked me to stay."

"Jon did?"

"Yes, Jon did." Don't look up, Dany! Remember this is just like any other boring conversation you don't want to be part of.

"Of course he did." Arya chucked lightly. Write, Dany, write. Stay busy. Stay focused. "Anyone could see the way he looks at you."

"How does he look at me?" Oh gods, she's smelling blood!

"Oh don't give me that!" She could feel Arya's eyes on her, seeing right through like a laser.

"I'm not. I don't know how you think your brother looks at me." Well done! You almost didn't sound desperate to know how Jon looks at you. Mentally rolling eyes at self. For fuck's sake, Dany!

"Like you're the oasis in his desert. Like you're the rescue-boat in his ocean." Despite teasing there was a softness to Arya's voice.

The thought of Jon looking at her like that took her breath away. Could it be? She hadn't just imagined that little exchange about 'crossing lines'? Breathe, Dany, nice and easy.

"...like you're a shelter in his storm...like you're a fire in his freezing winter..." Arya was still yapping away.

"No he doesn't." Oh gods, does he? Please let it be true.

"...like you're Marg and he's Robbie...like you're Brienne and he's Tormund"

"Alright, I heard you, Arya." Now she's just being ridiculous. Right?!

"...like you're a library and he's Bran.."

"I said I heard you."

"...like you're a pair of Jimmy Choo and he's Sansa!" Arya had trouble containing her laughter now.

"I heard you!" She hissed and finally looked at Arya. Oh yes, please let me be all that  to you, Jon, and more! Sending her, what she hoped was, an angry look - not that Arya would really care anyway. Giving a quick glance towards Jon before looking back at Arya. "Keep it down! Please."

"Ok, alright. Sorry." Arya mockingly put her hands up as if surrendering. Mumbling she added "...and you look at him the same way."

"What?! No I don't!" Oh gods am I that obvious?!

"'The lady doth protest too much, methinks.'"

"No, I'm not." You are and you know it...

"Protesting too much or lying?" A smug look on Arya's face now.

"Both. Neither. I mean..," she sighed in defeat. Damn it!

"If you say so li'l miss heart-eyes," another chuckle from Arya.

"His wife—"

"—was Naathi. For them it's as simple as 'you love each other till you don't' - 'you're together with someone till you're not.'" Arya slowly got up and moved closer. "For Jon to love her she must've been a special woman and I'm sure she'd want Jon to be happy with or without her. If being with you makes him happy I fail to see how that would be a bad thing."

She had to admit that Arya was right. When she had left, fled from, this room in the afternoon, maybe 12 hours ago, all flustered she'd gone to see Missandei. Just like Arya she'd seen straight through her - and she'd told her pretty much the same thing as Arya. What was it Elia's brother always said? 'The heart wants what it wants'. Yes, ok fine, but why does it want something at a highly inconvenient time?! And what if this 'thing' didn't work? Then what? How would that affect their families? Would it ruin the whole dynamics, the 'one big family' feeling they had going and that she and all the Stark kids had grown up with?? Dany, you're over-thinking again. Stop it! Stop. It.

With a sigh she warily looked at Arya. "I guess, you're right."

"I know I am."

Shaking her head slightly, she couldn't help but smile at the level of confidence Arya was displaying on this subject.

"Look, I'm not saying you should throw yourself at him but if something hasn't happened in like...I don't know...a week—"

"A week?! Are you crazy?!" she hissed again, but as usual Arya kept going completely undaunted.

"—then I'll plaster this room with mistletoe! Neither of you would be able to move even a nanometer without being underneath one - and we all know what must happen underneath a mistletoe."

"You're incorrigible!"

"I'll take that as a compliment." Flashing a big grin she sat back next to Ghost.

That's when the fun stopped for everyone.

Though clearly still sleeping, Ghost was growling and his big fangs were showing. The look in Arya's eyes instantly went from mirth to fear and worry. Slowly backing away she went closer to Jon's bed until she couldn't get any further.

"What's happening?? I didn't hurt him, I swear!"

"Arya, I know you didn't. He's having a nightmare. He's been having them all week - just like his pack-leader up there." She tipped her head slightly to indicate who she was talking about.

"Jon has nightmares?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, but right now we need to concentrate on calming down Ghost before he might do something that could harm himself - or others."

Hearing the last two words Arya's eyes grew even bigger before seemingly calming herself down and proceeded to ask, "anything I can do to help?"

"I know how this'll sound considering how angry he looks right now, but the best way to calm him is to gently touch him and just talk to him in a calm, even, and friendly voice. Can you do that? If not, it's ok and then just stay over there by Jon."

"Yeah I..," she swallowed, "I can do that."

"Ok, then take a couple of deep breathes to steady yourself before quietly sitting down next to me."

Arya nodded eagerly.

She placed herself so that Arya was still close yet behind her. 'Just a precaution'.

"What do I say to him?"

"Anything as long as you keep your voice calm and friendly. You don't need to whisper though," she glanced to her side catching Arya's eye and received a sheepish smile in return.

Arya began telling a story about a little black cat who was scared of everything, and gently stroked Ghost on his head and down his neck and back. Getting her stethoscope from her bag next to the chair she was checking his breathing and heart-rate. Both were still more rapid than she'd like. He'd stopped growling at least. Noticing Arya's eyes on her she nodded slightly indicating for her to keep talking. Now the little cat had arrived at Dr. Owl's office where he was being tickled with a feather and asked if he got enough vitamins. How does she come up with this stuff? His breathing slowed down to a more acceptable rate, but his heart was still racing. Expected as gods know what awful things he must've seen in that sweet head of his. His fangs weren't showing anymore either. Arya's little black cat had now been given a courageous heart by Dr. Owl and was now happy as could be and playing with everyone he met. Again, she couldn't help smiling at Arya's wondrous mind. That girl sure is one of a kind!

Finally Ghost had calmed down and was peacefully asleep again.

She looked over at Arya. "That was really good work," winking she added, "you'd make a great vet."

"Thanks, but think I'll stick with being a paramedic for now."

"How did you come up with that story off the top of your head?"

"I didn't. It's called—"

"—Fraidy Cat." A gruff voice answered from the bed behind them.

Briefly they looked at each other before in unison getting on their feet and over to Jon.

He turned his head giving them a lazy smile.

"It was my favourite story as a kid. Mom read it to me every night before bed." There was a light chuckle. "Dad had read it to me and I instantly loved the story. Mom didn't know it and I wouldn't go to sleep without it. On nothing but willpower I kept myself awake all night and late into the next afternoon. Gods I hope my own kids aren't that stubborn!" They are and the next ones will too. DANY!!!

They all laughed at that.

"After that she had Aunt Lya come and tell it to me until mom had learned it too. Never understood how Aunt Lya knew it though."

"Because dad used to read it to her when she was a child." Both her and Jon looked at Arya in surprise. "He's read it for all of us. He calls it a family heirloom. By the time me and Bran were born the book had been worn out so now we just all learn it by heart." She gave a little shy smile. "I can guarantee he'll be telling the story to Adei and Amador as well if he hasn't already." The smile had grown bigger now.

"I'd love it if he did." Gods, I'm getting all teary again. Get a grip, Dany! "Thank you for calming Ghost down by the way. Must be the accident."

"But Vis told me you were a K9 unit..," Arya trailed off.

"I was - with another dog. Ghost is only a few years old. Luckily he hasn't had to go on any missions with me."

"Oh, I'm sorry I just thought..," again trailing off.

"It's ok, Arya. How could you've known?"

"Right." Looking between Jon and her Arya cleared the throat and said, "Well, it's almost time for my shift to begin, so should go get some food and get ready."

Arya leaned in to give her brother a hug and then left giving her a wink as she walked out the door.

"What was that about?"

"What?"

"The wink."

"Oh nothing, just something we talked about earlier when you were sleeping." Wait! "You were sleeping, right?"

"Yes I was." He chuckled. "Why? What did you talk about?"

"Nothing." She smiled nervously "Why? What did you hear?" Oh gods no!

"Nothing." Is he laughing? Oh gods he's laughing! Why is he laughing? "Though I'll take your nervous denying as a sign that you were talking about 'something' rather than 'nothing'. Is he smirking at me?!

"Oh for fuck's sake! Reading me like a godsdamned open book!" She stared at him horrified. "Oh no! That wasn't supposed to be said out loud!" Embarrassing! Turning to leave her hand was grabbed before she could step away.

"Dany! Please. Stay." That husky but oh so soft voice. Damn it! She slowly turned around looking down at their hands. "I let you run out on me once, I can't let you do it twice. You asked me not to hide from you, remember?" She nodded slowly. "And so I didn't and I won't." He squeezed her hand. "Now I'm asking you, Dany, to please don't run from me."

She took a deep breath as she slowly lifted her eyes to look at him.

"I'm afraid...with you."

There was a slight smile on his face at her mimicking his words from the day before, and he played along saying, "sorry if I've crossed any lines with you. That was never my intention."

"You haven't," she removed her hand from his to balance herself as she leaned in closer to lightly touch his forehead with hers, "but I'm afraid I might want you to."

From this position all she could see was steel grey eyes swimming with something she was too scared to name yet.

Moving his head slightly giving her a quick little peck at the tip of her nose he said, "I'm ready when you are."

[cathcacen]

Arya, giggle, sword, cherish and bed (for the jonsa five word thing)

Hey, look! I fixed 7x06 with a prompt! :)

Thanks for the prompt, nonnie!

“Jon.” Her hands aren’t exactly the warmest, but they’re embers against his icy skin. “Jon, get up. I can’t rule the North without a King, so get up.”

He blinks blearily at her, clearly exhausted – then shock washes over his features, and his eyes fly wide, his hands going to her arms to grip her tight. “Sansa.” He can barely speak, but he says her name. “Sansa.”

She nods firmly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She lingers, just long enough to whisper against his skin. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She’ssick to death of skirting the halls, avoiding Arya on one end and Littlefinger on the other. When she has thetime, she sits with Bran.

Thatunnerves her more than the other two combined, but she needs to try wheremother, father, and Robb had failed. It’sjust us now, and I can’t let our family fall apart again.

Soshe tries. She tries – gods she tries to include Arya in housekeeping matters,making sure the Lords and men are happy and fed. She tries to make sense ofBran’s ramblings. Some nights, the visions run so long and so hard he wakespanting, and it’s then she sees a hint of her brother in his eyes. It’s thenthat he’s most human. He allows herto fuss and bundle him up in furs, and after, she sends to the kitchen for hotsoup and crusty bread.

They’resitting together on one of those nights. The Lord’s Chambers are deliciouslywarm, and she thinks back to the time mother had explained about the waterrunning through the walls – from the hotsprings, to keep you all snug and sweet in our home. Sansa had giggled then,a girl of seven, as mother kissed her cheek and tickled her toes.

Shecan’t remember the last time they’d been that happy.

Theydon’t giggle any more.

There’sa knock on the door, and she opens it to receive a scroll from the Maester. Sherecognises the seal – the raven had come from Eastwatch. But it’s just Tormundthere, and if Tormund is writing, there is surely trouble on the horizon.

Herheart sinks. Will I have to command thesemen to march, to fight? War is Jon’s forte after all. She scans the scrollquickly, then lets out a breath. The words are like ice in her gut. No.

Aryaraises a brow as she settles on the chair beside Bran. She hands the scroll offto Arya, who reads through it before passing it on to Bran. There’s beenanimosity – most of it misguided. But in the face of imminent danger, not forthemselves, but for Jon, it dissipates.

Aryastares at her. And then it clicks, and the young woman leaps to her feet. “Wehave to go to Eastwatch.”

“Ican’t leave Winterfell.” It’s warm,she reminds herself. It’s supposed tobe warm – but there’s only snow in her heart, and it’s cold and unfeeling. Shecan’t think. “Someone has to stay, or the men will leave and Jon will have noarmy when he returns.”

Arya’shand goes to the hilt of her sword.Needle is a stark reminder of what Jon had meant to her – what he still meansto her. The mask comes back on. She quirks a smile. “You could get rid of us inone fell swoop. Is that what you want?”

Shestares at her sister, and even Bran consents to look up. There’s no time forthis – even now Jon stares death in the face. Or maybe he has already died.Maybe he is on his way home this very moment. Maybe she’ll see him sooner thanshe thinks, an undead Jon who won’t remember her. Who doesn’t love her.

Thethought pierces her consciousness, and she has to turn away to hide the factthat her hands are shaking. “Fine. You stay, then. Stay and rule Winterfell inmy stead, and I’ll go to Eastwatch.”

“Oh,gods.” Arya’s voice softens. “This isyour face.”

Thatconfuses her, and she turns around, wringing her hands. “What?”

“You’rea lady.” Arya looks as if she’s justbeen dealt a blow. Surprise, wonder, and amazement shroud her face. “There’s noearthly reason you should go. Your place is here – your politics are here. Yetyou want to give up your newfound, hard-earned power to go to Eastwatch, whereyou’ll be about as much use as a pretty vase in a corner?”

Shegrits her teeth. “I don’t have time for this. I need to pack.”

“You’rein love with him, aren’t you?” Arya’s hand tightens about Needle’s hilt. “I waswrong. You’re not going to betray him. You’ve just become a Lannister. ATargaryen. You want to bed him.”

It’shard to ignore the disgust in her sister’s voice. She clenches her fist,willing a defence into being. The words don’t come, but they don’t need to.

It’sBran who speaks. “Father lied. I saw it.” He glances between his sisters, hisvoice dull and low. “He picked Jon up at the Tower of Joy, where Aunt Lyannawas being kept for her safety. He’s not our bastard brother – he’s our cousin.”

Thegears shift in her head. She lets out a breath. Across the room, Arya’s eyesmirror her own shock. Lyanna and Robert. Lyanna and Rhaegar. If he were Robert’sson, then Lyanna would be Queen, and Jon would be the Prince in line for theIron Throne.

“Jon’sa dragon.”

It’sArya who breaks the silence. They share a look. After the war, she thinks,there will be time to talk. But now, Jon is waiting, and she doesn’t have thestrength to fight her sister any more. It takes all the pride she has left –all the dignity, but she sinks onto her knees before her sister. She needs the youngwoman to understand.

“Iam a wolf. I won’t ever betray that. If you believe it – if you can find itin your heart to believe that I am your sister who loves you, then please.Please hold Winterfell for us. For our family.”

Aryagnashes her teeth together. “Gods damn it, Sansa.”

They’d left him behind.

Jonis all alone beyond the wall, and it’s all she can do to remain calm in theface of the Dragon Queen and her men. But she does – she puts on a mask, icebefore fire, and thanks the woman with all the graciousness she can muster forher efforts. They’re to sail back South with the captured wight.

Sheshares Cersei’s correspondence with the Dragonstone party and makes small talkabout Little Lyanna Mormont when Ser Jorah asks of his niece. She sits withRobert’s bastard and he tells her of his sharedexperiences with Arya. “When you are better, you must come to Winterfell to seeher,” She says.

Whenthe day grows colder, Ser Davos makes her drink hot tea. Tormund asks aboutBrienne, and coaxes a smile from her when he explains that all gingers are beautiful and kissed by fire.

TheTargaryen Queen extends an offer for her to sail southwards with them, but shepolitely declines. “My place is with my people.”

Sheknows the Targaryen Queen is putting it off. Whether romantic or familial,there is a pull she can see, an attraction to her most cherished King.She bites back the jealousy. There is no place in war to fight over a dead man,and the North will need the remaining dragons if they are to survive.

She’sjust about ready to bury the dead in her heart when the shouting begins. Eyeswide and heart in her mouth, she watches as the gates open to the sight of Jonon a horse, shivering and half delirious. She runs to him, just in time tocatch him as he rolls off the edge of the horse, bringing them both to theground. Snow breaks her fall, and she breaks his. She takes his face in herhands, her voice stern as she calls his name. Somewhere behind her, she hears the Targaryen Queen repeat her words.

“Jon.”Her hands aren’t exactly the warmest, but they’re embers against his icy skin. “Jon,get up. I can’t rule the North without a King, so get up.”

Heblinks blearily at her, clearly exhausted – then shock washes over hisfeatures, and his eyes fly wide, his hands going to her arms to grip her tight.“Sansa.” He can barely speak, but he says her name. “Sansa.”

Shenods firmly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She lingers, just long enough towhisper against his skin. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bythe time Davos has dragged Jon off to bed,she’s damp from all the snow and her hair is a mess. She glances up to see theTargaryen Queen, all perfection with silver hair and rich, deep-grey robes. She’sroyalty personified, and with two dragons at her beck and call, power leansheavily in her favour. The woman stares down at her, and there’s a flicker ofsomething darker in her vivid lilac eyes – something like envy.

It’spetty, but she can’t help it. She smiles, warm and winning, in a way she’s sovery often seen Margaery smile. “Excuse me, your grace. I have to see to myKing. I bid you safe travels to King’s Landing.”

Shestrides off. There is a story she must tell, and it absolutely cannot wait.