#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

[silcntsinners]

Jaime did not pull back when feeling Catelyn take hold of his hand, he simple allowed the gesture of kindness and brought him a light wave of comfort. It felt strange, Catelyn of all people was the one to offer a gentle touch when they once classed themselves as enemies. He never thought he would have a civil conversation with her again let alone be married to her after pushing her son out of a tower. Maybe one day he would get the chance to apologise to Bran even though Jaime knew apologies would never be enough for the crime he committed.

His eyes fell on hers when she spoke, a slight smile tugging on the corner of his lips. "I'm glad your perception of me has changed. I have changed even though sometimes I find myself correcting my old ways. I don't want to fall back into my old habits" the kingslayer spoke truthfully before letting out a deep sigh.

"I know neither of us wanted this and we are both prisoners of my father but I want to make this as less miserable as possible for both our sakes. I know my sister will visit soon which I am anxious for, I don't want her to try kill you which I wouldn't put it past her" he said and sighed a little.

"She does seem capable," Cat said softly and nodded. But Catelyn knew even if Brienne did bring her daughters back in one piece, they would be prisoners still. Tywin would still find a way to use her children against her, even if Jamie promised to keep them safe. For another thing, her children did not belong in the South. They were Northerners, like their father. They belonged in the North. Everything seemed to have gone wrong with her family when they went South. Now Cat was there forever.

Catelyn looked up from her sewing and watched her husband gently as he spoke about his children. His children he was never allowed to claim, children he was never allowed to truly love. She imagined it weighed on him. How could it not?

Without thinking, Cat reached over and gently placed her hand over Jamie's. She saw how speaking about his children, and his daughter saddened him, and she felt sorry for the Kingslayer. It took Catelyn by surprise in truth. The feelings she was developing for Jamie were odd. Her view of him was changing, albeit, perhaps not enough.

Her eyes focused on Jamie for another few moments, before gently removing her hand and picking up her sewing again, "I...I do not think you are a monster...at least not like I thought once...I..." She paused, trying to figure out how to explain how she was feeling when she herself didn't even know what she was feeling.

[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

[horizon-verizon]

Lyanna & Rhaegar "Master Post"

*Will be updated probably many times*

Yes, this is narratively/IN-WORLD a love story and a love pairing. This post gives the reasons why it is meant to be so, and does so from a Watsonian vs a Doylist approach.

A List of Different Posts

ozymalek/Phoenix Ashes's Breakdown of How the story of Rhaegar and Lyanna is MEANT to be a Love Story, with Evidence from Text

A Claim that they were similar to Aemond and Alys under the War Prize = R*pe Context

My Reblog of a Thread: The Actual Timeline of Rhaegar, Lyanna, Aerys, etc to show how Aerys and not Rhaegar is Responsible for Elia's being in KL; Elia's Possible Reactions to Lyanna and Rhaegar; Political Marriage; The Dornish's Relationship w/the rest of Westeros

la-pheacienne's Words abt how fallacious it is to expect war from Rhaegar's actions alone....Aerys caused the war, not Rhaegar; The Queen of Love and Beuaty; "Ethical Authenticity" when Rhaegar Ran Off w/Lyanna // MY REBLOG OF IT -- this post

la-pheacienne's Response to my question: "What do you think about Rhaegar and Lyanna?"

Duty vs Love in ASoIaF

Consummation & Age of Majority in Westeros

An ask to ladymorgana91: "Do you think that Lyanna and Rhaegar were seriously in love?" -> ORIG // MY REBLOG

Cersei vs Elia & Fandom's Love for the Dead Ladies

More Reiterations of Certain Textual and Contextual Evidence for it Being a Romance Pair

An ask about how Game of Thrones Muddled People's View of Legitimization vs Acknowledgement, Polygamy, and Jon Snow being Rhaegar's Heir or Named "Aegon"

Elia is not PoC, bc the Dornish are not "PoC" but "spicy whites" even with there being discrimination against Dornish people..."white" people can be racist/ethnically dehumanizing against certain other "white" people; but even with all that, Rhaegar the man himself has never displayed any disfavor towards Elia purely or partly from her being Dornish just because Aerys did...we must remember that these two (Aerys and Rhaegar) had a very strained relationship, possibly and likely abusive, so it's very unlikely that Rhaegar shared his father's complete disregard for others in this way, esp when all his description form both not-so-great to pretty moral characters have thus far described Rhaegar as melancholy do-gooder

an ask to dragonsfromthemoon: "It says a lot about the hypocrisy of fandom when they hate Rhaegar for "abandoning" his wife and kids to fight in war but don't hate Ned for doing the same to his pregnant bride Catelyn. Rhaegar was an able-bodied prince who knew how to fight and ride a horse; to not fight would have branded him a coward. The reason Jaime and the other Kingsguard stayed behind is because they are sworn to protect the royal family which is why Rhaegar tasked them to protect Lyanna and Elia." // MY REBLOG

a reblog about Wuthering Heights and how people tend to approach Love in fiction, by la-pheacienne // MY REBLOG of it

Further Notes

One can argue that there is a power imbalance for every single relationship or relationship-to-be in this world, because women almost never have the same authorities or access to resources that a man automatically can inherit and use to exert authority over women...that's how feudal-monarchial hierarchies work. Rhaegar and Lyanna's age difference reflects a common Westerosi phenomenon that comes form this particular real-world and Westerosi phenomenon. Dany's relationship to Irri doesn't have an age difference nor a gender inequality factor, but many have also cited how Dany's position over Irri (both are former sex slaves but Dany is Irri's queen and Irri is Dany's handmaid) has troubling possible issues for Irri anyway....but this relationship is very clearly written to be 100% consensual, and just bc Irri/people might not be exactly in love or attracted to Dany or other people, doesn't mean she can't consent to sex (as many asexuals are not attracted to their partners but they can def consent).

Obviously, when we are trying to say what actually happens in the story (not from a writer's perspective, but literally what are the characters-as-if-Westeros-were-real), we need to look at the books/the "text" with some degree of remove from out own world to understand what the characters are doing and why they do it. Our own expectations of social context is not going to inform the entire text...bc this is not a text/work/series set in the modern era, thus that characters are not going to have lived under your modern context for them to really think X is this and that. That's not to say predators don't exist in Westeros & Planetos; GRRM gives very clear examples (Robert, Craster, Roose Bolton, Walder Frey, those slave masters who have child slaves, etc.). It's to say do not rush to label some characters as a very specific sort of predator when some textual details tell us both directly and indirectly that some situations show they functionally cannot.

All in all, yes GRRM frequently includes large age differences in romantic relationships as he wrote during a time where he and many others weren't really thinking about how such a power imbalance often spells trouble for the much younger (esp teenaged) partner, esp when its older boy/man and younger woman/girl...

BUT

"I don't think GRRM should have presented a 16 yr old and 22-24 year old as a tragic love story, esp when it resulted in her being physically separated from her family & dying from childbirth at such a young age."

DOES NOT EQUAL

"Rhaegar groomed, raped, & imprisoned her in a tower to force her to have his child or just because he's a pedophile and left her to die. He didn't understand true responsibility and duty. And he hated his wife and kids.

because the latter says that this actually happens in the actual narrative. The first one says GRRM PRESENTS a story that:

they think could have detrimental effects on some readers' perception of real-life relationships

or/and it makes them too uncomfortable with the very notion of such a age difference for what they know would be a power imbalance out of context/the story (esp when people frequently ignore context, which leads to misunderstandings to misunderstand)

Both readings still don't really absorb or consider the textual and ASoIaF/Westerosi social contexts both out and in the specific events before Robert's Rebellion, but they still aren't the same bc the second one is claiming that it is what is actually happening in-world.

What specific details prevent LyannaxRhaegar from being straight up grooming/rape? Because:

Lyanna clearly did not want to marry Robert; she was very likely the Knight of the Laughing Tree, who Aerys was looking for to likely kill; Rhaegar is very much her type, considering how she had a specific outlook on justice compatible with Rhaegar's goal towards refashioning Westeros from its destructive historical actions, including in the hands of his own family -- she more than likely (read "definitely") ran away with Rhaegar

we know intimately abt how power imbalances where there's a teen involved has disastrous effects we take measures against it with laws preventing what we've constructed are "teens" marrying non-teen adults (bc the concept of "teen" didn't exist until very recently in human history) and these people do not have such a concept to even be held accountable for staying away from 16 year olds, who were considered adults [however, even for them and I mean Westeros not real history, certain age differences are not favorable or good]; this is a fantasy series set in a pseudo-medieval feudalistic society whose characters cannot exist in their own world without the author's intent...they literally do not exist in our world]

You can dislike some of the characters & GRRM, but to misinterpret them as searching for teens for the mere sake of searching for teens in the way real pedos and groomers do and thus make Rhaegar the same as someone like Craster is ridiculous. The story is about particular nuances of feudalistic duty vs romantic/platonic/altruistic/self love.

[claymoresword]

Come Out And Haunt Me

Cersei Lannister x Catelyn Tully Stark

Summary: When her raven goes unanswered, queen Cersei Lannister decides to pay the Starks a visit herself.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Disclaimers: omegaverse, alpha!cersei, omega!catelyn, cheating, angst & fluff, robert baratheon does not exist

Note: hi! so i initially only planned to post this on Ao3 but I've decided to share it here as well

honestly not sure what this is i just had a random burst of energy one night and decided to write it lol

to all 2 of you who clicked on this, welcome! hope you enjoy <3

The parchment clutched tightly in her hands, Catelyn skims the letter once more. As though dwelling would make a difference to the words already etched into the page.

An egregious insult.

Nine years; Catelyn had been forced to wallow in the harsh and cold North. Nine years and she had just managed to find a sort of peace amidst her sorrow.

Ned no longer insists on sharing her bed and her children, aside for Rickon, have all outgrown her attention.

She is finally comfortable.

Perhaps even happy.

Now the queen intends to summon her to King's Landing– like a dog.

The alpha is as bold as she is cruel.

I am not meant to be Hand any more than Cersei is fit to be queen.

Catelyn traces the crimson seal with the pad of her thumb, a war raging within her.

It is a cruel jape, even after everything, she still yearns to be in the alpha's presence once more.

To thread her fingers through golden curls, look upon delicate features in which time has certainly only made more beautiful.

Catelyn scoffs at her own feebleness, she harshly wipes the tears that have already began drying upon her cheeks.

This is all folly.

The omega allows her eyes flutter shut for a moment; she banishes Cersei from her mind.

Wringing the letter in her hands as she rises from her seat, Catelyn storms towards the hearth, eventually feeding the crumpled parchment to the fire.

Cersei Lannister; ever delicate and enchanting. The worst person Catelyn has ever met, once the love of her life.

This is what it has come to; for all of her sins, the Gods see fit to mock her.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

A month has come and gone since the queen sent a raven, and Catelyn is content with the knowledge that Cersei has taken her silence for an answer.

She will not go to King's Landing. She cannot set eyes on the queen once more– for the omega is certain she will not survive it.

"Brandon Stark! How many times must I tell you? No climbing." Catelyn exclaims, she watches her son descend clumsily from the roof.

Bran appears unfazed by his mother's warnings, as always. A genial expression covers his features; the careless joy of a young boy.

"I just saw hundreds of people riding down our road." The boy exclaims amidst a grunt, hoisting himself off the parapet before finally landing on his feet in front of his mother. "I saw a large wheelhouse, with horses.. and men in armor."

"It must be your uncle Benjen and his men who have come to visit your father again." Catelyn decides, but her son pays her no mind as he continues.

"They were carrying crimson banners, with a lion–” Catelyn's expression falls at his son's words. Suddenly she senses a gnawing in her belly, as though she might wretch.

"What did you say– about the banner?" The omega asks as she grabs her son by the shoulder, urging him to look up at her.

"It was crimson, with a yellow lion." Bran repeats as he stares at his mother.

"–Lannisters." Maester Luwin emerges, overhearing their exchange. "Is it possible the queen has come to Winterfell?"

The man asks as he searches Catelyn's expression; she has gone quiet, all colour drained from her face.

"My Lady.." Maester Luwin then attempts to coax a response, with a light hand on Catelyn's forearm.

It restores Cat to her senses just enough to muster a single sentence. "Please, inform my Lord husband. Tell him, the queen is on her way."

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Catelyn smooths out her gown for the dozenth time, not having been given much option or time, she was forced to don a dark blue gown, one that her Lord husband often insists match her eyes.

Although the dye on the fabric has now faded, and the sleeves wrinkled– but it matters not. Most of her dress remains covered by her sheepskin cloak.

Nearly all of her dresses always are. The weather in the North does not warrant beauty, only practicality.

Catelyn breath catches in her throat as she observes the queen's approach. Cersei leads the assembly on a gold and white palfrey, she halts infront of the gates before dismounting her horse with grace.

It is no secret that the years have since done its work on them both. The queen is no longer the young woman she had served at court, the same way Catelyn is no longer a girl of ten and five.

Cersei wears a few wrinkles around her eyes, yet, her beauty remains as ethereal as Catelyn remembers it to be. More than anything, the sight of the alpha makes her ache; she has no choice but to focus her gaze elsewhere.

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.” Ned declares after placing a chaste kiss on the back of the queen's hand.

He remains kneeling on the ground as Cersei studies him. She regards him with a piercing emerald stare before instructing him to rise.

“I hope you can forgive my sudden attendance, I have rather urgent business with your wife.” The queen avows, not appearing to be sorry at all.

Whilst Ned is visibly taken aback by Cersei's declaration, any doubt or query he may have on the matter– he keeps to himself.

The Lord of Winterfell steps aside as the queen swiftly turns her attention towards his wife.

“My queen.” Catelyn greets the golden haired woman with a curtsey. The omega only manages to hold Cersei's gaze for a heartbeat before once again, willing herself to look elsewhere.

The alpha moves to reach for Catelyn's hand, but as though just only recalling the importance of propriety, she stops herself.

Cersei is not given a chance to do much else before her wife falls in next to her.

Taena smiles brightly as she envelopes Catelyn within her embrace, without much warning. “Cat, it's been far too long!” The Myrish woman exclaims.

Catelyn feigns a smile of her own, out of courtesy, she embraces the queen consort in return.

“You are just glowing.” Taena states as she breaks away to look at her. Catelyn soon feels a hand upon her cheek.

The omega wears a bashful expression; one that is just as contrived as the other woman's attempt at a compliment.

She gently pries Taena's hand away from her face. “You are far too gracious.. you look well yourself, Your Grace.”

Taena sighs, as though she wishes for Catelyn's words to be true. “Oh, please, I look a fright.”

“We have been travelling for weeks.” She adds, and the glare Taena throws at her wife calls attention to the barely concealed asperity within her tone.

Yet, Cersei only smiles in return, no doubt her way of retaliating to Taena's grievance is to simply ignore it entirely.

She addresses Ned instead. “My Lady wife and I hope to lay in a proper bed tonight.”

“Of course, Your Grace. We have rooms enough to accommodate you both.. and your children, if it please you.” Ned states curtly as he ushers the queen through the gates.

“Good, I look forward to seeing your castle.”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

After a busy morning, Catelyn had decided to lock herself away in her solar for the remainder of the day. In truth, aside for a desperate solution to escaping the queen and her lady wife– solitude was also the only way Catelyn could avoid Ned's incessant questioning.

Of course his confusion is warranted, and her husband means well, to be sure, Ned always does– but Catelyn cannot stand to lie to him anymore.

-

As the lady of Winterfell sits by her window, she manages to get a view of Bran and Arya, currently playing in the yard; their direwolf pups by their feet.

The queen’s children have since joined them. Tommen and Myrcella are no doubt every bit like their mothers, both with emerald green eyes of the Lannisters and olive skinned like their Myrish mother.

The sight of their children playing together strikes Catelyn as something that was painfully ironic. In fact, it was nearly amusing, in a rather bleak way.

Lost in her thoughts, the omega fails to hear the latch on the door behind her.

The oak doors open, and soon shuts. It is only when Catelyn notices shuffling behind her that she turns around to inspect the cause.

“Are you hiding from me?” Cersei asks. with her question, she tilts her head slightly. The same way she used to when they were mere children together.

The sight unsettles Catelyn in a way she does not care to acknowledge. She scrambles to her feet, hugging her robe around her slender frame.

"Your Grace. I- no, I'm just not well." She tells a half-truth and she prays for a miracle.

Catelyn hopes, stupidly, that the other woman will decide to leave her alone, without much interrogation.

"Are you ill?" Cersei asks, as expected, approaching her.

The alpha's tone of genuine concern only makes Catelyn want to weep, but she shakes her head, forcibly suppressing the urge. "It must be something I ate." She lies.

"Oh, then you must rest.” Cersei suggests in response, a smirk tugging on the corners of her mouth.

The omega's brows furrow at the sight. She mocks me. Catelyn observes.

The lady of Winterfell decides she no longer possesses the will for feigned courtesies. All she has the strength to do now is stare at the other woman, unamused.

This works to unnerve the queen slightly, as though thrown off balance, Cersei clears her throat.

The alpha averts her gaze before resting her hand on the hilt of her longsword, assuming a confident stance once more.

“Have you given any thought to my proposal?” Cersei finally states it plainly, and Catelyn scoffs in response.

The alpha possesses just enough audacity to appear confused by the other woman's reaction. “What?”

“Stop that. Don't pretend as though you have given me a choice.” Catelyn hisses, and she watches as Cersei opens her mouth to retaliate, but she swiftly cuts off the attempt.

“If that was true, you would not be here.” Cat challenges and Cersei merely shrugs, unconcerned yet dignified.

The queen always does so in a way that managed to make others seem small, inconsequential.

It was infuriating.

“Come to King's Landing, serve as my Hand.” “and you should take Sansa, our daughter will do well in the capital.” Cersei renders aloud as she advances forward.

Now standing close enough that Catelyn can smell the lavender oil in her hair.

“Such beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here.” Cersei continues, reaching up to caress the omega's cheek.

Catelyn stiffens and then sighs involuntarily against her touch. Once again she feels the urge to weep, to scream. The omega wants to lean in and kiss the other woman, to feel her warm embrace.

Instead, she slaps her hand away, bristling. “Don't. do not do that.”

“and don't call her your daughter.. as if you have ever been a sire to her.” She mutters, a scowl covers Catelyn's features as she tries to slip past the alpha.

Although Cersei quickly catches her by the arm before she can go far at all, forcing a proximity between them once more.

"You know that I regret– I regret how it all ended between us.” The queen utters, her voice low, only for Catelyn to hear.

The sincerity in which Cersei speaks her sweet words does nothing to douse the rage within her.

Years of longing and wanting for a woman that has no regard for her honor, no respect for her feelings. Cersei has been nothing if not careless with her; with her heart.

Catelyn does not believe a word the alpha says– she cannot allow herself to.

“Do you?” She challenges, her jaw clenched in anger.

“Nine years without a word from you.. not so much as a raven.” She adds with a raised voice, though Cersei appears entirely unfazed by it, this time her arm slips around Catelyn's waist.

“Don't touch me.” She tries, attempting to wriggle out of the alpha's hold, but it is no use.

"I missed you.. I wanted to write to you, I truly did.” Cersei reveals, cupping the other woman's cheek once more.

“I just thought–”

“What?” Catelyn provokes, unsatisfied.

“You thought what?” Despite herself, she feels her eyes begin to well with tears.

“You told me you loved me... I gave myself to you, and then you chose her.”

Cersei own expression shifts at the other woman's declaration. She wipes away the omega's tears with the pads of her thumbs tenderly.

“I had no choice.” The queen insists, her tone gentle and sincere– almost vulnerable.

“I assume you are happier.. with your husband.” Cersei alleges, and Catelyn feels the urge to laugh in her face.

“How could you possibly think that?” She questions, and Cersei acknowledges the mistake she had made, at long last.

“Forgive me.. I never meant to hurt you.” The queen articulates, threading her fingers through auburn locks.

Catelyn allows herself to lean into the other woman's touch, her brows still furrowed as she speaks. “Well, you did. You broke my heart.”

The omega attempts to shove Cersei away once more, but still, she refuses to budge.

The alpha is stronger, and far more determined.

“I know, I am sorry.” The queen says again, this time she boldly kisses the shell of Catelyn's ear.

As the omega continues to try and fight out of her hold, Cersei kisses her again, this time further down, her tender lips meeting her jaw.

Catelyn shivers at the sensation, just as instinctively, she rests her hand on the nape of Cersei's neck.

“I'm sorry.” The alpha mutters once more as she kisses the corner of Catelyn's mouth.

This time, she does not fight the urge. Catelyn turns her head, capturing the other woman's lips with her own for a real kiss.

As their mouths moved against each other with aching familiarity, Cersei's hand shifts to the small of the omega's back, causing the other woman to lean further into her.

They kiss for what feels like an eternity; only breaking apart when both their lungs clamour for air.

Catelyn's face burns from the intensity of the moment, she soon wraps both her arms around the other woman properly, concealing her face in the crook of Cersei's neck.

“I despise you.” The omega mutters, almost petulantly.

Cersei merely lets out a light chuckle at that. A kind of acceptance and forbearance; a quality she truly only finds less of a challenge to display around Catelyn.

“I know.”

[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.”

[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.

[dreammakcr]

"I can only imagine what you've had to endure." Her words are just as quiet, a frown appearing on her features. Hands folded in her lap, fingers playing lightly with the sage fabric of her gown. "Women like us don't get many choices in our lives. But we persevere — for the children."

open to: anyone. can take place at any time.

"i never wanted any of this - none of this. not for myself or for anyone." the words are a soft confession as vacant eyes stare ahead, words that had been simmering beneath the surface yet buried beneath the ambitions of others.

[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.