#threads ;; catelyn

[west1rosi]

He   is   to   be   her   husband.   What   a   strange   world.   Her   father   had   been   clear   that   she   could've   done   much   worse   in   a   marriage   and   while   not   said,   the   implication   was   that   perhaps   from   the   brothers,   Ned   Stark   was   more   suitable.   It   sounds   cruel   for   her   father   to   imply   such   a   thing,   especially   when   Brandon   had   died   in   such   a   horrible   way,   defending   his   sister   against   the   king   and   what   the   prince   had   done.   Catelyn   admits   she   had   only   met   him   once,   twice,   if   she   counted   seeing   him   from   afar.   She   is   glad   at   least,   that   while   Ned   shares   features   with   the   man,   that   they   don't   shadow   one   another.  

He   is   handsome   and   sullen,   long   features   and   expressive   eyes.   Quiet   too,   but   she   is   yet   to   determine   if   that's   a   characteristic   or   the   exploits   of   war.   "My   lord?"   Catelyn   asks   once   she   finds   him   at   their   godswood.   Riverrun's   own   tree   is   pale   and   a   mere   imitation   compared   to   what   she   believes   he   has   back   on   the   North.   She   is   sure   they   will   not   even   be   wed   in   the   Old   Gods   faith,   and   while   she   is   thankful   for   it,   she   understands   that   he   would   prefer   otherwise   (   if   he   survives,   she   will   present   the   idea   to   be   wed   again   in   Winterfell,   surely   he   would   like   that,   and   be   endeared   to   her   ).

  "I   know   you   are   to   ride   after   the   wedding,   so   I   sew   you   this   coat.   It's   not   winter   but   this   will   do   good   for   the   nights."   She   had   to   do   it   in   a   haste   but   hopefully,   he   will   like   it.   Tully   blues   stare   back   as   she   offers   a   gentle   smile,   all   too   polite   and   then   extend   her   arms,   holding   the   coat   with   his   house's   sigil   as   a   detail   in   metal. @dcviline ft. ned.

[vaeycllas]

princess vaeyella targaryen had lived for a good nineteen years with little to vex her. her father , the mad dragon , had thrown the realm into strife , and @rhaegxr had as well in some people's opinion after the council at harrenhall and successfully dethroning the mad king aerys and naming himself king of the seven kingdoms , defender of the realm. vaeyella , while the dethroning and death of her father was a stressful time for the targaryen family , had found more joy in the time that her brother was king than in the last five years of her father's life.

while the realm still struggled to adjust , rhaegar had seemed to usher in an era of peace amongst the regions and even in king's landing. months had passed with this presumption staying steadfast in vaeyella's mind , but something had seemed to trouble her these past few days. rumors. now , vaeyella heeded the words of her mother , lady rhaella , well for most years , but she could not help but stop and think of this when she heard the ladies of the court speak of 'the most desirable suitors for the princess was that of the starks in the north.' while others said that king rhaegar would 'have better luck looking south to the princes of dorne , doran or oberyn'

"brother..." vaeyella would start as she entered one of the many libraries in the red keep. "may i ask you a question?" she would start , her shoes making soft clicks onto the stone floors. the little dragon did not wait for an answer from her king ( an almost prisonable offense for most others ) before she started up again , lilac eyes looking over the many books on one of the shelves. "why have i heard rumors that i am to be sent off to another region of the westeros for a marriage alliance?"

[sesikudadaryti]

"Rickon! Where in Seven Hells is that boy?" It seemed like with all these children running around, she was losing her mind with keeping track of each one. Thank the Gods for her oldest Robb, once he was able to help with his younger siblings he was all too eager to do so, for the most part. As she walked through the courtyard, she stopped short when a certain Direwolf came running through her path, causing her to look to the direction he had come, looking for her son who she knew would be close behind. @aforgottenpride.

[ofhumanvoice-a]

Only. Cat.

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival. A thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

[amber-laughs]

agot is so hard if you’re a jon snow understander because it’s just “adults in my life abuse me and i feel unwanted, unloved and unfit to live. i’m treated as a second class citizen even by those who have no standing at all even though i deserve it for the crime of Being Born Against My Will. i am my father’s greatest shame and he has rightfully sentenced me to life imprisonment but i shall always yearn for his undeserved love like the greedy bastard they all say i am” and everyone around him just says “awww you gonna cry now you little bitch?” and then BOOM! some girl on twitter is writing an 18 tweet thread about how he’s ungrateful that catelyn didn’t make him sleep in the dungeons and feed him only dog food or something

[chemtrailsoverthesun]

A thread of parallels between Elia Martell and Sansa Stark:

1. Elia is the older sister to Oberyn. Sansa is the eldest stark sister.

Art by Melrosing

2. They are both described as gentle.

"Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit.” - Daenerys

“Was there ever a wedding less joyful? she wondered until she remembered her poor Sansa and her marriage to the Imp. Mother take mercy on her. She has a gentle soul.” - Catelyn

Art by elvishness & vesubia-jugorum

3. Both were excited to leave their home.

"Elia found it all exciting. She was of that age, and her delicate health had never permitted her much travel.” - Tyrion

“She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell… off to see the great wide world.” - Sansa

Art by the-lady-rae

4. Both were betrothed to the crown prince.

“Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell” - TWOIAF

“She had to wed Joffrey, they were betrothed, he was promised to her, she had even dreamed about it.” - Sansa

Art by amaati

5. Elia and Sansa were both held as hostages by Mad kings.

“The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad.” - Jaime

“They have Sansa hostage, and they mean to keep her." - Catelyn

6. Cersei blames them both for taking someone from her- Rhaegar and Joffrey.

“It had to have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest.” -Cersei

"I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf…She helped murder my son.” - Cersei

7. Elia and Sansa witnessed the death of a family member in front of them, both pleaded for their loved one to be spared.

“Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar's heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes.” - Daenerys

“Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father." - Arya

8. Both were romantics.

“A pretty lad, and my sister was half in love with him.” - Tyrion

“I love him, Father, I truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian.” - Sansa

Art by the-lady-rae

9. Victims of the Lannisters.

“Some said it had been Gregor who'd dashed the skull of the infant prince Aegon Targaryen against a wall, and whispered that afterward he had raped the mother, the Dornish princess Elia, before putting her to the sword.” - Tyrion

“When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well." - Sansa

Art by amaati

Conclusion: Both deserved better

Art by Elia illustration

[thelustybraavosimaid]

Taylor's assorted fanfics:

JONRYA:

To Forgive, Divine:

—Aemon and Arya wed.

—Something is not right.

Aemon makes Arya a crown.

Jon and Arya reunite. Sansa watches from afar.

[partial] What am I, if not your son?

Jon's a bit too brutal for Sansa's tastes. She asks Arya about it.

Arya asks Yna about her fate.

Wed to death.

What is fighting but dancing?

Come at me. Strike me.

Observing the constellations.

Come burn me.

Aemon could only stare.

I will not let you go again.

[partial] Jon gives Arya gifts for solstice.

Arya receives a bow.

—Jon is filled with longing.

A flower like that's begging to be stolen.

RHAELYA:

"The man" his father wanted him to find was no man at all.

Rhaegar and Lyanna spar. Of course.

JONERYS:

This man looks familiar.

Daenerys and Jon stand at the edge of the world, peering into the beyond.

A place of wonders.

RHAEGAR WINS AUs:

Threads of Destiny:

—Rhaegar receives the prophecy.

—Rhaegar defies the prophecy.

—Rhaegar rides to war.

—[partial] Rhaegar prays to the gods who may hear.

—To the tower of joy.

—[partial] Thinking of his son after Lyanna's death.

Jon is reborn as himself:

—The warmth of people he longed to know.

—Where did you get this sword?

Rhaegar and the babe Aemon in the ruins of Summerhall.

You will not join the Guard.

CATELYN & ARYA:

Arya must make a sacrifice.

ARYA & JON:

My brother died.

Hearing the latest gossip.

This is a test.

—He looks a little different now.

A reunion.

Take me home, Ghost.

The gods answered his prayers.

Arya gifts Jon Robb's crown.

—Promise me you'll take care of our people.

NYMERIA & GHOST:

The night wolf reunites with her brother.

Nymmie hears her brother's silent howl. Somehow.

DAENRYA:

Your destiny, bride of ice.

JON:

You are a holy man, my lord.

You worry of her, she who has your heart.

Jon looks a little different.

Feasting with the dead. Voice of the living.

—The face he wanted to see.

The babe is a girl. He knows.

RHAEGAR:

The wrong man came back from the Trident.

ENDGAME:

To the War for the Dawn.

ARTHUR/TILLY (RDR2):

Treading through a field of flowers.

DAGAN/SANTARI (STAR WARS JEDI: SURVIVOR):

Santari is the ghost that haunts his mind.

She is the ghost that he cannot escape.

She is the ghost that he can never leave.

She watches him dwell in his own element.

ELIAS/GUTHWULF (MEMORY, SORROW and THORN):

Guthwulf's loyalty, in the face of madness and despair.

THE LAST OF US:

Tess's final moments.

[countrymusiclover]

19 - Three Very Important Words

Part 20

The Last Velaryon

Tag list @rise-my-angel @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila

Spinning around on my feet throwing my hair over my shoulders I eyed my husband seeing his hands clenched at his sides. “Robb, please don’t be angry with me over speaking to Walder Frey without telling you I was going to in the first place.” 

“Oh I have every right to be angry with you.  We’re supposed to be a team, Haelesa.” 

I parted my lips, releasing a breath. “We are still a team, Robb.” 

“It didn’t appear that we were out there in front of Walder Frey and his household.  It looked like we had completely different plans in mind and didn’t communicate that to one another.” He threw his hands away from his sides in frustration. 

“I’ll take full responsibility for the miscommunication.  With that said, may I tell you of my plan that I wanted to propose to him?” 

Robb gestures with his right hand. “Continue, my lady.” 

“Robb, those girls all deserve an escape from that man.  I mean he's old and has had four different wives over how many years.  I'm afraid if young wives of other houses stop sending their daughters to him, then he might start making babies with his own children.” 

Robb pointed out. “Like the Targaryen's did to keep their bloodline supposedly pure.” 

“Exactly.  I - I want to help then escape from him in some way.  I know that there can’t possibly be that many lords wanting to be married to the Freys but it would be a start and create the loyalty between your two houses once again.” 

Robb ran a hand over the growing beard on his chin, thinking in deep thoughts. “There’s a few sons of my bannermen who are not wed off just yet.  My uncle Edmure of House Tully has no wife either.” 

“My brother has borne some bastards but since you’re a King now you can make them into official members of our house.  Unless of course you aren’t truly open to this idea at all.” 

The young wolf glanced at me, closing most of the distance between us taking my hands in his larger ones. “Whatever you want to do, we shall do to the best of our abilities.  So he also has another daughter the age of nine and ten named Rosaline.  We could wed her to my uncle.” 

“That’s a good start.  For the other girls I think we should help find husbands for Merry, Freya, Marianne and then I can take little Shirei under my wing.  I was raised by someone who wasn’t my mother and I’m terrified to think of who will talk with her about her bleeding among other things.” 

Robb kissed my forehead once cupping my face in his gloved hands. “Your heart is one of the things I love about you.” 

“Did you just say you love me?” I drew my head back slightly with a curious look. 

Robb smiled down at me longingly. “Yes, I did.”

“Say it again, Stark.” 

He nuzzled his nose against mine with a cheeky grin spread across his face when he uttered the words a few more times. “I love you.  Do you hear me, I love you.  I will always love you, Haelesa.” 

“I think I love you too, Robb.” I grinned at him feeling overjoyed at this moment.  I knew if I told him now he wouldn’t let Jaime live another night so it was best to keep the secret from him and visit a Maester here before we left.  If I don’t know who the father could be after that the Moon Tea was my only option left that I had in my back pocket. “Robb, there’s something you should know along with me loving you.  I think I am pregnant with Jaime’s-“ 

Robb connected my lips with his wrapping one arm around my waist bringing me in as close as possible.  Wrapping my arms around his neck I deepened the already heated kiss.  He threaded his other hand into my silver locks of hair that cascaded down my back and we would have remained that way if it wasn’t for someone knocking on the closed door peeking their head inside revealing none other than his mother Catelyn. “Robb, Lord Frey is getting tired of waiting for your girl to finish whatever her plan is for his daughters and granddaughters.  What would you wish me to tell him?” 

“Tell him we’ll be out in a minute to tell him our offer.  Thank you, mother.” He glanced over his shoulder responding to her. 

She nodded, closing the door when shen left. “Of course.” 

“On your lead, my king.” I extended my right hand to him waiting for him in return to which he looped his larger one with my small palm. 

“On our lead, my queen.  Now and always.” 

Together we exited the chamber room making our way into the throne seeing all eyes shift to us regardless of Lord Frey being the one to speak first and break the uncomfortable silence that had surrounded us the second we had left moments ago. “So Lord Stark, what has your lady wife come up with for our two houses to become united once more?” 

“Lord Frey, we have come up with a solution.  We will choose some of your granddaughters to choose which of my unwed bannermen to try and form a connection with them.  But under no circumstances will we force them into an arranged marriage where they aren’t happy.” Robb explained to the elderly lord before our eyes. 

Lord Frey eyed his uncle Edmure. “I’ll agree to that on one condition. We shall join house Tully and house Frey through Edmure and my daughter Roslin who was supposed to marry you, young wolf.” 

“That can be done, my lord.  You have my word.” Robb bowed his head. 

Lord Frey clasped his hands together. “Then it’s settled then.” 

“We did it. Ahh!” I squealed caught off guard when my husband scooped me up into his muscular arms twirling me around in circles of laughter briefly sitting me back down on my feet. 

Robb put one hand on my hip and his other on my stomach grinning ear to ear. “Now all we need is a baby of our own.” 

“Actually there’s something I’ve been needing to tell you about.  I told you before that I gave my maidenhood to Jaime, that was true but there’s more to it.  Robb, I think I’m pregnant except it might not - urgh!” I grunted grabbing at my belly feeling serious pain with a liquid falling down in between my legs. 

Robb's face went flushed with fear. “Haelesa?” 

“What’s wrong with her, son?” Catelyn came over to where we stood. 

Chezney ran over where I grabbed her shoulder for balance until she bent down seeing something staining on the stone floor. “That can’t be too good.” 

“Is that blood?” I cried, feeling tears welling in my eyes. 

Robb shouted at the people in the room scooping me up into his arms where I winced feeling more pain spreading through my belly. “We need a Maester!” I was rushed into the nearest available room and empty bed with no clue of what was happening to me and my secret baby growing inside of me. 

[emilykaldwen]

OC-Core

Thank you for the wonderful tag phia! @huramuna the original thread was getting long so I made it here. You cand find the template HERE!

So this was actually really hard, I had EIGHT picked out and had to narrow it down. Tohru Honda - Fruits Basket Mary, Queen of Scotts - Reign Psycho - the myth of Eros and Psyche Catelyn Stark - A Song of Ice and Fire Sophie Hatter - Howl's Moving Castle Sansa Stark - A Song of Ice and Fire Honorable mentions: Juliet from Romeo and Juliet, Eurydice, and Silva from Girls Weekend.

tagging: @rainwingmarvel7, @queen--kenobi, @lya-dustin, @lullaebies, @theothermaidoftarth, @humanpurposes, @starcrossedjedis, and anyone else who'd like to!

[bellarkeselection]

My Tully Lover

Y/n Tully can't help but start a secret love affair with Jaime Lannister while she is supposed to be working her way towards a husband

Running through the hallway of the Red Keep my hair was getting thrown around in my face when I reached a certain chamber door. Swinging the door open I sucked in a breath closing the door quickly behind me before someone could notice me. “I have been waiting all day for you, Y/n. My little secret fish.” Jaime’s voice whispers in my ear with a husky tone and I felt his arms wrap around my waist.

"I've missed you too, Jaime." Spinning around in his arms I leaned up on my toes kissing him slowly.

Jaime tugged me against his chest deepening the kiss slowly. One of his hands moved into my hair while my other hand went to grasp his shoulder blade. Our others hands moved around bringing the other person closer to one another. "One of these days I am going to wake up and you will be gone. Since you have to be looking for a husband while you're here."

“I thought you told me once that everybody else doesn’t matter. We are the only ones who do matter in this world. You’re exact words were fuck everyone but us. What changed hmm?” I raised a brow at him with a smirk on my face when his green eyes scanned over me.

The knight of the Kingsguard cupped my face in his hands leaning down and capturing my lips onto his slowly. “That is what I said because it’s true. Because I don’t want to think about you leaving me, Y/n Tully.”

“And why is that. We’ve known that this couldn’t last between us.” I pulled slightly away blinking through some tears not wanting to be wed off to anyone else but him. But my father had already wed off my sisters Cat and Lysa so I wasn’t far behind.

Jaime turned away from me going over and pouring some wine into a glass taking the whole thing in one big gulp. “I’m not good with words. You know that….so if I can’t do this don’t get annoyed.”

“Okay, so what are you trying to tell me?” I questioned him slowly striding across the room meeting him at the table with the wine in the corner closely watching him.

The golden sighed heavily where I could tell his shoulders were tensed when he started speaking slowly. He wasn’t good with words like his younger brother Tyrion. “Y/n, I’ve only been with anyone except Cersei. I haven’t experienced any type of romance…not for real. Until I met you and now…urgh marry me.”

“Wha…what. Jaime we can’t marry. You’re a member of the Kingsguard. You can’t marry or bear children to anyone.” I parted my mouth opened in shock twisting the fabric of my dress.

“My father wants me to become his heir again and undo my vow as a knight. I want to be with you. I want you as my wife if you’re father will accept.” Jaime turned quickly to face me before he cupped my face in his hands where our eyes locked onto each other deeply.

Shaking my head up at him I throw my arms around his neck smiling up at him like a child getting a present. “My father doesn’t care who I ask him to let me marry. He already has two secure marriages with my sister Catelyn and Lysa. So I accept, Jaime. I’ll always accept.”

“So you’ll marry me even if I am a Lannister. I know you’re family doesn’t like to deal with Westeros and wars.” He shook his head until I leaned up kissing him slowly where he leaned down deepening the passionate kiss.

Threading my fingers through his golden hair he moaned into the kiss until we both needed air. “I want to marry you because I am in love with you, Jaime Lannister.”

“And I think I’m in love with you too, Y/n Tully.” He vowed back tugging my body closer to his before I jumped up wrapping my legs around his waist. He crashes his lips onto mine and we didn’t break the heated kiss not even after we stumbled back onto the bed.

Comments really appreciated ❤️ @makeshift-prime @rosie-posie08 @lover-of-books-and-tea

[baubeautyandthegeek]

No damsel in distress, don't need to save me//Once I start breathing fire, you can't tame me – Catelyn Stark/Rhaenys Targaryen

A/N: Fic 3/42 for my 6x6 @julybreakbingo card with Alts.

Catelyn Stark, formerly Catelyn Tully, had come to her when her husband and children were killed. Hurt danced in her eyes even as she pledged her love to Rhaenys Targaryen. Her Queen, the Queen who never was but always would be for Catelyn.     Love as loyalty was rare, even now. Catelyn’s fear and need had bonded them close, especially when Corlys had died in Rhaenys’ place, leaving her to rule alone as she mourned her love. Now, though, she had Catelyn, whose gentle honest love was a balm she had never expected to find.     Danger would follow Catelyn, the woman tucked behind Rhaenys even as Meleys set the men aflame, a roaring anger that Rhaenys had never voiced came from Meleys instead. Once home Catelyn had followed Rhaenys in silence to their bedroom, curling close with a soft, contented sigh.     Rhaenys’ fingers thread through the copper-brown hair that falls loosely around Catelyn’s shoulders, her lips pressed to her hairline. It’s peace, she thinks, peace and loyalty, that allow her to love Catelyn so well.

[ofhumanvoice-a]

@thelordslight​ liked for a cat starter

“Wars need not be fought until the last drop of blood.”

[ofprevioustimes]

[ @ofimaginarybeings​ ]

When their horses crossed the gates of Winterfell, Catelyn sighed with relief.

The journey had been long and perilous. Every ear at the Crossroads Inn had heard her say that she would take him to Lysa in the Vale, but as soon as they’d departed she’d taken a turn north instead of east. It had been a rash decision to take the queen’s brother captive, but the chance might never come again. The endless weeks of riding through small villages and back roads had given her enough time to contemplate what she had done, but Cat could not bring herself to regret it. What they did to Bran had been too heinous, too unspeakable to overlook. But then she thought of Ned in King’s Landing, and Sansa and Arya and what this would mean for them, and her heart shrunk with a faint and cynical hope that Robert would still be relied upon as a friend. 

At her arrival, Catelyn had confined her prisoner to a secluded chamber in the ruins of the Broken Tower. Two of her most trusted guards secured the room. The Imp was far too clever for his own good: she’d rather have him confined and away from the others, lest he might find an ear susceptible to his bribes.

They’d reached Winterfell by morning, and only by night did she visit her captive. 

She’d enjoyed a sweet homecoming at the sight of Brandon alive and healthy, albeit forever broken, Rickon as tender and needy as ever… Tyrion Lannister all but forgotten in his cold and empty cell. Catelyn had bathed in warm waters and fed with warm food. She’d kissed her children, discussed the latest news that crossed the air beneath the wings of birds and the potential outcomes of holding a Lannister prisoner with Maester Luwin. The meal she sent to Lannister wasn’t sumptuous, but she refrained from sending something worse out of spite. The wine, however, was one of the best from the cellar. She wanted him drunk and loose, more inclined to let some hints of truth slip through the lies he was bound to tell her.

Catelyn entered the chamber about an hour after the food and drinks were sent to him. The room was cold, dusty and grim, providing little comfort from the tiresome journey they’d taken. Cat lowered her hood, her stare as hard as iron as they landed on the little man. Just looking at him filled her heart with anger: he was a walking, talking reminder of the two assassination attempts against her son. The scars in her hand tingled with the memory of Valyrian steel against her flesh. 

Gulping down her anger, Catelyn addressed him with a tense voice: “Imp”, she said, full of spite. “I’ve come to hear your confession to your crimes. Do it now, and the punishment shall be lighter than if you make us force the truth out of you.”

[alxarasm]

The Wife of Morpheus

Summary: Ned has a nightmare early on in their marriage. His visions are shrouded in secrets he keeps from her, and Catelyn cannot help but remember the last time she asked him to share a secret.

Day 6 of @nedcatweek : Nightmares

“I’m fine, Catelyn. Go back to sleep.”

Cat watched him roll onto his other side, away from her. The breadth of his back was higher than the Wall itself, so she turned her back on him too, to shelter from its cold shadow.

Ever since they started sharing a bed again, the air has been stale between them. Their peace was fragile, held by threads thinner than hair for almost a year since his return from the war with the boy in his arms. It might not have been a thread. It could’ve been a rope, thrice knotted, thrice over, holding them and their new family together. But the moment Ned placed that boy in a cradle next to his true born son…Catelyn could not bear it. And Ned would not listen to her pleas.

The frigid air was not a matter that kept him from her bed before, she was his wife, and he was free to bed her as he pleased. Even if he wasn’t pleased to do it often. Only once a week he came, and he never lingered in her arms, or her bed. And that was when she wished to speak to him properly on the matter of the boy. He would roll off her, pull on his clothes and walk out with a muttered goodbye and a half slammed door, a cold draft in his wake. And every time her pleas wrapped around her throat, tight like a noose. It tightened the longer she considered it. She was his wife, she had to remind herself. She was the Lord of Winterfell’s wife, but when did being a wife ever mean anything? I could have married a shepherd’s wife and my words would have meant all the same. A woman’s words would always turn to dust in a man's ears, when the man has only heard the bite of steel and the screams of dying men, he cannot bear the sound of peace.

She supposed she pitied him, but that was a placating lie she told herself, watching the sweat on his back dry, and his shoulders rise and fall with even breath as the night wore on, while her thoughts grew weary and tired. She fell asleep to the sound of her husband’s screams, ringing in her head.

The next few days passed without incident. Ned made no indication he wanted to discuss that night, and Catelyn made no effort to approach him during the day. She had done her duty by forgiving him. She needed not comfort him, especially when it was so clearly unwanted in the first place. They could live like this. They could be happy in the same place without the matter of being happy together . Did she not abandon her home to live at his side, and give him an heir? Did she not forget Brandon for him? Did she not vow to remain faithful to him, and kept that vow, even if he did not honour her the same? Yet they live on.

If the gods were cruel, if she did not have Robb, she feared her heart would grow hard and cold like her husband’s, but her boy only made it beat with a fiery passion. She would fight for her son’s place as Heir of Winterfell, she would fight her husband if needed. If not yesterday, then tomorrow, she would make Ned see that Family came first, true blooded Family. They are all that remain in the end. For now, he will only show her Winter, in all its polarising faces.

Despite her determination to abide by her distance, he did not stop coming to her bed again. And it grew more frequent. From once a week, to twice, to

thrice, to an entire seven nights by her side. And some nights, he would not bed her. He would hold her until she slept, tight in his big, strong arms, tucked under his chin until the scent of him faded into a dream. His warmth was startling, and pleasant, and she welcomed whatever heat she could get from his skin, even if she could not understand his presence. Time wore on, weeks of this new development. And where silence once lingered, tentative words took root. Whispered nothings in her ear as she slept, sweet endearments as she came apart around him, and rarely sober, honest words, when both were unflinchingly wide awake late into the night. She learned of his childhood, the games he loved to play with Benjen in the godswood. She learned he hated loud chewing, or speaking with a mouthful, and that Brandon found this most amusing in their youth. She learned that he disliked dancing, that he was so horrible at it, that one time he stumbled over so many delicate feet in a single dance that his father yanked him off the floor himself. She learned that she enjoyed these moments when the laughter flowed easily from her belly while he smiled at her. A smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made them sparkle.

So she was surprised at her own surprise when she discovered that her day no longer involved Robb, and just Robb. That she caught herself thinking of Ned. Of his quiet solitude on the godswood after taking a life, if his old wounds were hurting that day, if he dressed warm enough for the weather. She did not plead with him again.

It seemed she was thawing. Her bitterness, settling somewhere dark and buried within her, where the guilt scratched and chafed her raw.

And yet, some days, her thoughts lingered. On the weeks after his return, on their fall out, on the night she woke to her husband yelling in his sleep. But she did not ask Ned about his nightmare, because it did not happen again. Some nights, she made sure he fell asleep first just to watch him, to trace the smooth lines of his face and ensure they stayed that way. To confirm that it was a one night occurrence borne of a once tumultuous marriage.

That is why Catelyn smiled as she tucked herself into bed alone, knowing that her husband would soon join her as soon as he finished up in his solar, and they would rest together. The bed was cold without him, even after she shut her window, but she did not worry. Soon Ned will be there to warm it up. But the minutes bled into hours, and Catelyn could not keep herself awake. Eventually her eyes drooped shut, and she vaguely recalled a whisper of worry at her husband’s absence, one that was quenched by a dream of summer and rivers.

She woke in the night with a jolt, knowing something was wrong. Her window was open, cold air spilling from it in tides, making her shiver. Thick mist formed from her mouth from between chattering lips. Her eyes hazily moved around the black and blue room, blurry with sleep. The moon was past its zenith, and yet her husband was not in her bed. She threw her legs over the side of the bed, and wrenched the covers off her, welcoming the ice that drenched her awake.

The walk to Ned’s rooms grew colder and darker by the step. She wrapped her arms around herself, regretting taking the journey barefoot. When she reached his doorstep, she stopped, hesitating. She had never seen his room. I am his wife. She reminded herself. But did that word change anything between them? They spoke to each other softly in the confines of her room, perhaps his room was his haven away from his duties, including her. The thought made her ache, but still, she turned away. It was only when she placed her hand on the stone walls, did she come to a sudden halt. It did not just feel colder there, it actually was colder in this part of Winterfell. The stones in her room were never that cold, even with fire running low in the hearth. She glanced back warily at her husband’s door. Then, with renewed vigour, she picked up the hem of her nightgown and marched back. She did not even have the time to knock, the door opened revealing Ned, shirtless and purple eyed Ned.

He blinked several times, clearing the blur from his eyes. Her heart melted. He had only just stopped shaving for her sake, but the dark stubble on his jaw and the inward curve of his shoulders made him haggard beyond his years. He was shivering.

“Cat.” He said, surprised. His voice was rough from sleep, or from something else. Dread settled into her chest, taking him in from the bruises under his eyes, to the sweat running down the valleys of his chest.

“Ned.” She sighed, “What-Why didn’t come to bed?” She grimaced as she said the words. He was free to sleep in whichever rooms he desired, and was under no obligation to tell her about something as common as keeping a separate bed for the night. But she could not ask what happened to him, he would not answer her in any meaningful way.

He did not seem surprised by her question, but he stiffened his shoulders like he expected a fight. It hurt, but she stood her ground. “I did not wish to disturb your sleep, My Lady.”

“You were unsuccessful.”

He straightened.

“Are you angry with me?”

Catelyn averted her eyes, took a deep breath, “May I come inside?”

Ned looked at her for a long moment, and she did not know what he was thinking. It was as if the months they’ve spent together turned to mist before her eyes. Still, he opened the door wider, and stepped to the side to let her through. She held her breath walking past him, and didn’t release it until the door was shut and he stood in front of her by the bed.

His room was tidier than hers, she noticed. It smelled like him, like leather and woods and the musky scent of a fireplace. His desk was littered with papers and unfinished letters, and the lamp was still on. He had opened his window, letting the brisk night air bite at her fingers and bare toes, something assumed he only did in her chambers which he claimed were too warm for the Stark men. If the sweat on his body was any indication, he had just opened it, he had just woken up.

“Are you well, Cat?” Ned said, breaking the silence. She glanced at him. A cold draft gusted through the room, she wrapped her arms around herself. He stepped closer to her.

She took a step back, “Are you well, husband?”

He stopped, a hand in the air reaching for her dropped back to his side. He stared at her long and hard, clenching his jaw. But he only swallowed and turned away from her.

Catelyn found the last of her pitiful patience mist along with anything she knew of her husband. She threw her hands up, huffing an incredulous laugh, “Gods be good, Ned! Am I to believe all Stark men must choke on their words if they come from the heart. Will this be my son’s fate under your guidance?”

“Our son. Our son, Catelyn.” He whips towards her, eyes blazing.

She starts, stepping back, “That is what harrows you, my error in wording?”

“Yes. That is what harrows me.” Ned took a large step closer, so fast she had no time to step away. His eyes bulged in their sunken pockets, the pupils constricted as if staring into a pit of darkness, “My son is a hostage in my wife’s arms. He is so far away from me, it haunts me even in my sleep.”

Catelyn steps closer, and looks up so they are nose to nose. Molten, fiery rage courses her veins, far removed from the icy deflections he aims her way. “Listen to yourself, husband. You cannot face your own mind, so you turn the blame on me. I can take your indiscretions with a heavy heart, gods know I have, but I will not let you accuse me of depriving our son from his own father.”

He flinches at the mention of his infidelity, as if she offended him. “ Let me?”

“Diversions are unbecoming of you, Ned. You are no man built of desert sand so as to remain blind beyond what’s right in front of you for the sake of your own pride and ego.”

He growled, turning away and grabbing a fistful of the sweaty strands of his hair. She watched him, helpless, confused by his own emotions, and she pitied him. She truly pitied this man she once thought built from stone and iron who could not bend his own will for his sake.

“You dreamed of Robb tonight.” He didn’t answer her, but it’s all the answer she needed. Her breath wavered, “Did I take him from you?”

He paused for only moment, “No. No, It was my doing.” His back was still to her, muscles quivering, “Some…choices I’ve made, that I do not regret in daylight. They unfold in the night like a cursed scroll I do nothing to stop.”

Catelyn swallows an outburst, but her blood thrums. He has kept secrets from her, it was hardly news. Dangerous secrets, ones that would put Robb on the chopper’s block? The thought of it turned her stomach inside out.

He turned back, as if hearing her thoughts. His face was red, and his chest was gleaming like he’d emerged from a fight. Through the fog that clouded his eyes, she saw the fear, and solitude he kept from her. The effort it took to say his next words. “I do not know what comes next. It is easier to believe what I see, even if what I see is in the darkness.” His voice broke, “What am I not seeing, wife?”

She looked up at him, and it burned like it would on the brightest day of Winter. The words stuck like stones in her throat, “Me.” His jaw clenched, maybe he expected that answer. She hesitated, then reached for the clenched hand at his side, pulling it to her chest over her pounding heart. He watched her, lips parting as she breathed her words over his warm skin, “I have always been here, Ned. Beside you. Since our wedding day, I’ve been bound to you-”

“Bound to me , not to my pains.” He tried to pull his hand away, but she held fast.

“You and your pains.” She pried his fingers to spread flat on her chest, “And whatever fears ail you in the night. Whatever kept you from coming to me tonight and every other night we spent apart.”

His eyes flickered over her face, and when he gently pulled his hand away, she let him. He sat on the edge of the bed facing her, resting his head in his clasped hands. A shaky sigh left him, Catelyn stiffened thinking he was about to cry, but his voice was as clear as rain when he spoke. “I am haunted by memories, Cat.” She swallowed, and dropped to her knees in front of him, where his eyes met hers. They were red rimmed, hollow and dark. “I can’t talk about it-I can’t think about it.” He breathed a deep, hot breath into his palm, “The darkness-” He shook his head, the air of shame thickening around him.

Catelyn reached for him, and he fell into her arms, shaking. She knew he would not weep, but the terror would simply leech from his skin while she held him close. Her heart ached for her husband, who was not cold or unfeeling, but a man who had seen terrors and held them close to his heart. Her heart sang with fear, for her son, who’s threatened by a danger she’s unaware of, and likely won’t ever be. But she kept on stroking Ned’s damp hair and rubbing his stiff back, until it felt like hours had passed, and the darkness was chased by rays of sunlight sprinkled through the room. She nuzzled his neck and whispered into his ear.

“Come back to bed, Ned.”

His head came away from her neck. He avoided looking at her, but he looked at the window, where golden flecks danced in the air. A breath left him, the gust of a new day. He turned to her, looking lighter than a feather as the sunlight brightened his face. All of his sharp edges melted away.

Catelyn was standing up, pulling him to his feet, but he tugged on her arm, stopping her. His eyes were soft, he licked his lips before asking. “Did I…hurt you when I woke you that night? I- I know I move-” Catelyn put her fingers on his lips and drew him up, so that his body was aligned with hers and she could look up at him. He nodded, but he didn’t smile.

“It’s better with you. Lately it feels like most things are, but this, me and my pains…It’s been better” He said, “It’s not as real. And I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

They’re simple words but they warmed Catelyn’s chest, cracking her open, thawing whatever sourness remained in her. She suppressed a halfway giddy smile, and eyed the shape of his face, “Maybe that’s for the best.”

His lips twitched, and he nodded more surely, “Yes. Maybe it is.”

They would be woken in less than an hour, so they did not sleep. They spent the hour in Ned’s bed, with his fingers twirling the auburn strands of her hair, and her hand stracing the scars on his chest. They did not speak of his nightmares, and they didn’t need to. While she calmed his fears, she would not ask what they were, and while he held her close, she knew he would never answer her if she did.

This warmth was enough for now, she was content. And perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps one day he would tell her, when she wasn’t the Shepherd’s wife, when she wasn’t the Lord of Winterfell’s wife, when she became Ned Stark’s wife, the only one he loved.