#tyrion lannister x reader

[i-smoke-chapstick]

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒��𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁��

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

[cerseisluver]

Tyrion Lannister x fem!reader more fluff than angst

warnings: none really

words: ~200

note: I did some searching and saw that there's very little Tyrion stuff here. So I wanted to write it because I just feel like it👍

You were sitting together in his chambers drinking wine. For the past hour you were talking about life in general. But with each minute Tyrion was saying his deeper thoughts.

"You know...I feel like no one will ever truly love me. It bothers me. I could have a hundred whores, a wife. But none of them would ever love me." He drunkly confesses, sadness filling his voice.

"I love you." You look at him, your gaze softening.

"No you don't... I'm just your friend."

"Friends can't love each other?" You ask softly.

Silence filled the room for a while. "Well I guess they can."

"See, you don't have to be bothered anymore." You smile to him. He doesn't even know what to say. No one said that to him. There aren't any moments someone appreciates him like that without paying them to do so.

"How do you love me?"

"Well... I don't expect of you to be committed to me, or love me back. I don't think that I expect anything of you really...I just love you you know... Just that." You say while looking Tyrion in his eyes.

"Thank you..." A tear of happiness escapes his eye wich he quickly wipes away. And you smile lovingly in return.

[starsofjewels]

GREETINGS!! was wondering if you feel up for it if you could do a tyrion x autistic reader? idk how you could make autism fit into the GoT world but I always feel like an outsider even in the real world and i feel tyrion would be one of the few who'd actually be accepting and not judgemental

A Kitty Cat in the Lion’s Den

Tyrion Lannister x Autistic! Lannister! Reader

(Feat.) Tywin Lannister x Autistic! Lannister! Reader

CONTENT: Autistic meltdown, small! Mention of blood/ injury, self-deprecation, the Lannisters are their own warning

Word count: 1.5k (lil pookie bear)

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Hi, beautiful. I absolutely loved this request !! This was only semi triggering to write, and I hope you like it. <3

I’ve just started back at college, so the drip might be dry (not that it wasn’t to begin with). I may or may not have published this during a Free Study period…

This is proof I don’t just write Gregor Clegane fics. But I do love big squishy man and his cock.

I think I probably need to make a masterlist..

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

(A teeny PSA before we begin- I, unsurprisingly given the shit I upload on here, am autistic. I’ve struggled with it my whole life, and this is an interpretation of my own experience with autism. ASD is, as the name suggests, a spectrum, so this can’t really be a generalised fic. I put my own personal experiences with my condition into this, so if you’re also autistic/ otherwise neurodivergent and this doesn’t fit your vibes, that’s why. I can’t really explain it any other way, so yeah, here you go.)

Your entire life has served as a reminder that, whether by your own fault or some cruel will of the Gods, you are not wanted. You are the outsider, the youngest Lannister, not beautiful enough to marry off young and, decidedly, not male. Lord Tywin is consistently busy with his duties as the Hand, Tyrion hides with his wines and his whores, and Jaime has his own place in the Red Keep. You are forced to sit with your sister and her ladies, who talk too loudly and prattle on about nonsense.

Cersei, you have long established, does not like you. You aren’t really sure anyone likes you, in the traditional sense, but you know that your sister only keeps you around for fear of Tywin’s wrath. There is something in the back of your mind that remembers a younger, softer Cersei putting you in her lap, of brushing your hair and putting it in gold bows. But, that was before. Before you could walk or talk properly, before you spouted random facts on unasked for topics, before she realised you were different.

Everyone knows you are different, and no one can explain why. Not even you. All they know is to stay away from you, all they know is they’ll never understand how your little mind works.

So, you sit as nicely as you can on the outside of Cersei’s circle of ladies, and you try to focus on your sewing. You don’t like sewing, but it’s what all of the noblewomen do to pass the time, and all you want is to fit in.

“Your sewing is coming on well, my lady.”

The septa tilts your sewing slightly to look at it just a little more. It’s supposed to be a gift for your father, and it is not good. You see every uneven stitch, all of the oddities and bumps in your work that make it so you can hardly look at it. You hate it, and you hate that you can’t even sew properly.

“The stitching is all wrong…”

She takes your hands as you try, again, to pick out your newest stitch, a learned behaviour with you. Despite being with you near your whole life, since you weaned off of your nurse, you aren’t sure the septa completely understands your fascination of perfection,

“It is fine,” Her voice is soft, but you can feel her disappointment, “you are still learning, my lady, some mistakes are natural. You do not need to pull it apart- again.”

You jump when Cersei’s ladies giggle at some joke you haven’t heard, the woman beside you takes your hand, and you are reminded why you keep her so close. At least, in some way, she understands what you like and what upsets you.

Tea is served for the ladies. They give you what Cersei likes, what her ladies eat, green and red things that squish and squelch in your mouth and taste like you’ve eaten rags. And the queen sees you push them around your plate, and scoffs.

“At least try it, sister,” She sips from her wine. You feel each of her noblewomen shift, in turn, to look at you, “a Lannister lady can’t just survive off of the children’s food you eat, we can’t all eat nothing but cakes and plain bread all day.”

But you don’t, and you starve. Tywin will get you something later, you’re sure of it, as he sighs, and gently suggests you’ll need a more varied diet if you’re to marry a good husband.

The women’s giggles practically turn to cackles, which do not stop for what feels like hours. You wish they’d stop, or that you could understand what they find so utterly hilarious, so at least you may join their hysteria. You’ve put your sewing down in your lap, and you fiddle with your hair. The sept doesn’t like that, she guides your work back into your hands.

“Your father doesn’t like it if you mess your hair, sweet girl, you know that,” Her hands find your hair, carefully untangling the knots you’ve made, “try a few more stitches.”

And then, inevitably, it happens. You prick your finger on your needle, and a soft ruby comes from your noble, incomprehensible skin.

Throwing your project to the ground, you rush off as fast as your legs can manage. No one comes to find you.

You are long practised with the subtle art of trying not to cry. You pace back and forth, away from anything and everything, your hands in your hair as you do. The tears in your eyes hurt, they make you tired, and only add to your humiliation. You can do nothing right, why can you do nothing right?

You think of your sister, of perfect, beautiful, poised Cersei- She has a gaggle of women to do her bidding she is loved, and desires and you doubt she paces the halls trying not to cry. She is the lion queen, and you are her kitty-cat of a sister.

And then, you hear your name called. Followed by hurried footsteps toward you. Tyrion takes your hands in his, but you cannot even look at him.

“Has someone upset you? Cersei?”

All you can do is give him whines in response. You feel a sob bubbling in your throat, and you cannot give him the satisfaction of seeing you weak.

“Tell me.”

So you look down, you watch his eyes change from confusion, to the pity you are so used to seeing. But he is your older brother, and you know he won’t run back to Cersei, like Jaime would.

It comes in one, huge splurge, as tears fall against your skin and ruin the pretty powders your maids spent so long putting on you this morning,

“I- Was making a gift for Father-” You gasp, “And they didn’t give me anything to eat, and- and the sewing was terrible, but Septa is lying and saying it’s good and-” Another. “And I cut myself!”

His arms wrap around you, and he puts his head against you. Though much smaller than you, it offers greater comfort than he knows it does. All you can do is sob. You feel like a child.

No words are spoken as he takes you down to the kitchens, and puts you at the staff table. You are given something you eat with relish, and get a plate of pudding for your effort. There is no need for you to have any medical attention for your injury, but he has it wrapped anyway. A psychological comfort, if nothing else.

Tyrion helps you into bed, letting you reach out for the rag dolls your sister claims you’re too old for. You want your father, you want him to go and tell off Cersei, but you have your brother instead, and he at least semi-understands what it’s like to be different.

“I’m sorry,” you turn and look up at him,

“Sorry?”

He stands, walking to your window to look out at the courtyard below.

“When you look at me, what do you see?”

Tyrion is going somewhere with this, you know that much, but what, you are left wondering,

“I see… my brother.”

“Yes, you do. But the world? What does the world see? They see a drunk, lustful little man with a lion on his chest he doesn’t deserve.”

Something in you knows that it’s true. Tyrion is nothing more than his condition to the eyes of most in the Keep, most of the kingdom.

“You, you look like a Lannister. Your brokenness is inside. And I wish I could understand it.”

“It’s alright-” You sit up, clutching your doll, “It’s just… what it is. I have you, I have Father.”

Tyrion almost scoffs, he comes back from the window, passing you your water,

“Yes, you get Father, but that’s because you are utterly adorable.”

“I am adorable, aren’t I?”

“And humble, it appears.”

When Tyrion leaves, he kisses your forehead, and you know he is going to tell Father. You are the one thing they share something of a common interest in, and you suspect Tywin will make an appearance at some point. You’re right, of course.

It is Tywin’s heartbeat you listen to to calm yourself down for sleep. Your father strokes your hair, half-dozing himself. A soft, sweet moment that you are reminded Tyrion doesn’t have the privilege of.

Cersei is no longer allowed to be your main caretaker, you spend your afternoons out in the gardens, or sit entertaining yourself in Tywin’s solar. Tyrion takes you on walks, and there is something of a peaceful normality brought about.

You are still terribly disappointed in how Tywin’s gift turns out, it looks like a child made it, and when you become obviously quite upset over the manner, you have the Old Lion and his younger son to calm you. He loves it, he assures you, and Tyrion is so enamoured by it he requests his own. You know they are simply making you feel better, but you let it happen anyway.

And, perhaps, life is not so bad after all.

[charliedawn]

"Marry me."

How I think marriage proposals would go for those characters.

Sandor Clegane:

"…Wanna get married ?" You asked as both you and Sandor were sleeping side by side in the forest. Sandor blinked—half asleep. He had back pain and a headache. He had hoped that the wine would help him to fall asleep quicker, as to not have to hear you say any other crazy thing or request for the day. But, of course. He was mistaken.

"Huh ?" When the information seemed to eventually settle in his brain, his whole face seemed a perfect depiction of confusion. He finally turned around and you could see in his eyes that he wasn’t exactly sober either. You decided this was the perfect moment to ask—since he would probably not even remember you asked the next morning. It gave you courage to ask again.

"Wanna get married ?" You repeated with a little more determination and this time, he answered.

"No."

"Ah."

"…"

"…"

"…You. Wanna get married ?" He asked this time—more because he was curious than awaiting an actual answer. But, you took your chance and answered truthfully.

"Sure."

He was momentarily surprised by your confidence before he huffed a laugh and wrapped an arm around you.

"…Fine. We’ll get married in the morning. Now, hush."

There was then a moment of silence before you both bursted out laughing. Just two drunks having the most normal conversation ever. You knew that by tomorrow, he would have surely forgotten all about tonight. But for now, you were satisfied with the knowledge that his subconscience hadn’t said no.

Oberyn Martell:

"Would you like to marry me ?" You asked Oberyn while he wad writing and whose lips curved slightly into a small smirk at the request. He was used to your rather straightforward nature. He liked it even. It made him laugh and enjoy your presence at parties. You were curious and completely unashamed or afraid of any consequences your requests or demands would bring. This is why he always caved. But, he could also be playful and this is why he answered with a small grin:

"No."

He was curious to see your reaction, but his smile slightly faltered when he saw the hurt in your eyes at his rejection. It was the first time he had seen you so upset and he immediately regretted his words.

"Oh. Okay then." You were embarrassed and turned around quickly to get back to your own private quarters. But he was by your side in an instant and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"I was only kidding. I would LOVE to marry you, sweet peach."

He then kissed the back of your neck lovingly. You let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back against him.

"…Really ?"

He chuckled.

"Yes. Really."

He then kissed your temple and you stayed in his arms for a while before he started nuzzling the back of your neck.

"But what brought the subject, sweet peach ?"

You sighed before closing your eyes.

"…You’re the only one who truly enjoys my presence. You laugh and smile at me, even when my words are nonsense. So I thought…why not ask ?"

Oberyn seemed taken aback for a moment before his smile widened and he pressed your back further against him to kiss your shoulder and whisper in your ear.

"Let me tell you a little secret. I would marry you for your nonsense, my dear. Because your nonsense makes more sense to me than this whole world does…"

Tyrion Lannister:

"Do you want to marry me ?" You asked Tyrion one night and the man was so stunned that he spilled his cup of wine.

"What ?"

Tyrion was the most decent between all the Lannisters. He had helped you more than once and there was no doubt in your proposal. You would never find better husband.

"You heard me."

He stayed silent again and made you nervous. Would he refuse ? Would he tell you that he has already found someone ? Would he tell you that he has no interest in you ? But, he didn’t. He simply sighed.

"…Why ?"

Why ? You could tell him a thousand reasons why. Because he was one of the few good men you knew. Because you had no intention of marrying any other. Because you knew he could be gentle. Because he was funny. Because he could be brave. Because he had the heart of a true lion…but no. You wouldn’t tell him like that. Because even if you did, he wouldn’t believe you.

"Because I want to." You settled for instead and his eyes widened slightly in surprise before he smiled a little and shook his head.

"Why would you want to marry an imp ?"

"It is not an imp that I am marrying, but a prince." You retorted. You both stared at each other and his gaze softened as he started actually considering it for a moment.

"You would be miserable." You frowned in incomprehension at his words.

"Why ?" He glanced away for a second.

"Because I am not a good man."

You huffed a bitter laugh at his words.

"Haven’t you heard ? There are no good man left, my prince."

Tyrion seemed taken aback, but he couldn’t deny the truth behind your words and drank a little of his wine.

"Tell me, Tyrion. If I was to become your wife/husband. Would you hit me ? Would you abuse me ? Would you lie to me ?"

He shook his head with a small smile. No. He wouldn’t. You smiled back and Tyrion finally nodded understandingly. It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about finding a good man. It was always about finding the one who wouldn’t hurt you…And hence, he understood and maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a wife/husband ?

Jaime Lannister:

"Jaime…" You sat down next to him at the feast prepared for the Lannisters and even though you could feel Cersei glaring daggers at you—you grabbed his hand. He didn’t react, but you could feel his fingers slightly curving to hold yours.

"Hello, buttercup." He finally greeted you in a whisper and you couldn’t help but smile weakly. You knew of his heart and his loyalty to his sister. It wasn’t really your business to interfere, but you didn’t like how Cersei was treating him. And, you also knew that his heart could maybe be won over.

So, you did the most nonsense ever and challenged him. You stood up and faced him—catching the attention of everyone in the room as you declared loudly.

"Jaime Lannister. I challenge you to an arm wrestling competition !"

That ought to have gained his attention as his eyes finally met yours and what he found in there made his eyes widen in surprise. You were determined and even though he was a knight—you didn’t seem scared of losing. He tried to laugh and wave it off as a mere joke—but you didn’t back down and even provoked him.

"Are you perhaps not a lion ? But a scared chicken ?"

That oughta do it. He was up before you could even pronounce another word and the fury in his eyes made you smile. He had taken the bait.

"If I win, you must agree to one single demand of my choice without knowing what it is !"

"And if I win ?" He quickly shot back and you bit back a laugh.

"Then I will give you whatever you want."

In a matter of minutes, everything was settled and you were both in position. Everyone assumed you were mad or had consumed too much wine to challenge Jaime Lannister—but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You had planned it carefully. You had trained and trained your body and your mind. You had worn big sleeves to hide the muscles hidden underneath. This could be the most important challenge of your life and you wanted to win. More than anything.

The moment Jaime gripped your hand, his eyes stared straight at you as he realised what you had done. This was not the strength of the Y/N he was accustomed to…but it was too late to stop and in a matter of seconds—Jaime Lannister was on the floor.

Everyone was stunned.

But, you only gracefully stood up from your seat and looked down at him before smirking.

"…I will be waiting for that marriage proposal." And with that, you were out of the room—leaving a very confused Jaime and a very angry Cersei behind. But, you knew that a lion never backed down from his word. And Jaime would be yours.

Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger) :

"Marry me." Littlefinger didn’t even seem surprised by you sudden demand. Everyone knew that your father wished to marry you off to Ramsay Bolton. And even though Littlefinger wasn’t sure why you would come to him with such a request, he didn’t show it.

He didn’t even look up as he simply asked.

"Why ?"

You huffed a bitter laugh. The man would sell mother and father for a throne. And he dared to ask why ?

"Does it matter ?"

He licked his thumb to turn the page of the book he was reading nonchalantly, even though you knew that he was secretly weighing the pros and cons of such an alliance.

"Depends. What will it bring me ?"

You looked away.

"Don’t pretend not to realise how advantageous it would be for you to be a part of the Lannister family. You’d have an easy access to the iron throne."

He hummed and pretended to think about it. It was true marrying you would be a fast way to get access to all the nice advantages of being a part of the so-called prestigious Lannister family. But, it had its own set of disadvantages to consider. He would become more than just a little man in the shadows that no one would deem worthy of being a threat, he would become a lion. A black lion.

"…Tell me why you would lower yourself to such an alliance with me. Surely, there would be one handsome young man who would say yes to such a proposal without even blinking. Why go to me, princess/prince ?"

You hesitated before sighing in defeat.

"…Because if I am to marry a snake, better be one I know than one chosen by Tywin Lannister."

At that, Petyr finally dignified you with a glance. You held his gaze and after a few seconds, he smiled.

"Very well, my beauty. Lead the snake to the lion’s den then."

Sansa Stark:

You and Sansa had been longtime allies and friends. You were maybe the only friend she had ever had after the almost complete destruction of House Stark. You had developed feeling for her over time and knew that asking her for her hand wouldn’t be easy—but you were willing to try.

"Please, Sansa of House Stark." You knelt on one knee before her with a rose in your hand and the other hand on your heart. "Would you marry me ?"

Sansa was surprised by the proposal. She had married twice and both marriages weren’t a success. She had lived through nightmares and pain out of such a dream as marriage. She used to want to get married with someone she loved so badly, but not anymore.

"My heart is not so easily won by a rose and pretty words anymore." She replied instead—thinking that she would succeed in breaking your resolve. But, she was mistaken.

"I know. I know that I may never be worthy of even your eyes on me. But…I am a fool, and my heart beats for you. And if you want it ? Then it’s yours. And even if you don’t want it. Let me fight for you. And prove my loyalty to the most beautiful and strong lady the North has ever seen." You pleaded and Sansa was rendered speechless.

She looked into your eyes and saw only love and adoration. She then glanced down at the rose you offered her and after a moment of hesitation, she finally took it.

"…You may try to win my heart, Y/N. But, I cannot promise you success."

You smiled and shook your head.

"Just having you acknowledge my feelings is enough for hope to enter my heart."

Sansa smiled back.

Maybe…romance wasn’t utterly dead.

Jon Snow: (Before the tragedy 😭)

"Marry me." It was said with such confidence that Jon himself was stunned as he looked up at you with widened eyes.

"What ?"

"You heard me."

There was a moment of silence before Jon smiled and he suddenly pulled you into his arms. There was no yes or no. Just a moment of pure euphoria as he couldn’t stop laughing as he buried his face in your chest. He was so happy, he forgot to form words.

When he was finally calm once more, he kissed you passionately.

"Yes. Yes. Yes, I will."

You both started laughing together and Jon even fell back on the snow as you held him tightly.

Daenerys:

"Marry me." You demanded and Daenerys looked back at you. She didn’t seem surprised or even mildly confused by the demand. She knew of your feelings for her—and she was more than happy to reciprocate.

But, marriage ?

Marriage meant boundaries. Marriage meant attachment. Marriage meant she would have to think about you and a possible future where she wasn’t all powerful.

She sighed before stroking your cheek and offering you an apologetic smile.

"My dear Y/N…If only I could, do not believe for a second that I would say no. But, as the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms…I cannot."

You closed your eyes and a few tears rolled down your cheeks. You had expected such an answer of course, but still…your heart ached.

"I…understand." You forced yourself to say and Daenerys nodded. She was a queen. A khaleesi. And you were just…human.

Ser Jorah:

"Please. Marry me." Ser Jorah was stunned at the unexpected request and turned towards you with widened eyes. He was about to answer when you quickly added.

"Love me. Hate me. I want you and you want her. But, I am not asking for your love. But for your protection, kind ser Jorah." He closes his mouth and seemed to think about it for a moment. He knew that you were a young lady/man who had left her/his family to join Daenerys. He had no idea you held such feelings for him…

"You can have my protection, but why go to such lengths to have it ?" He finally asked and you sighed before taking his hand in yours.

"Because it is not only physical protection I seek." You then laid his hand flat upon your heart and Ser Jorah seemed taken aback once more. He looked at you and you didn’t shy away from his gaze.

You knew Ser Jorah was honourable and even if he would never return your feelings, he would make a far greater husband than anyone you ever knew. He would respect you and your heart. And that was more than you could ever wish for…

Ser Jorah accepted.

After all, it was only his name that you were going to bear and his sword that would protect you. You would call him husband, but only in name.

[fandom-puff]

Can I please request “It’s not my fault you keep turning me on” with Tyrion Lannister?

Thank you for your request!!

Warnings: references to smut, no actual sex tho, morning after a wild night.

“Hmmm… good morning,” Tyrion mumbled as he nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling the sweet smell of your soap and sweat leftover from the night before.

“Mmmm…” was your response, your eyelids barely flickering open. Already you could feel the dull ache between your thighs as a result of your intense coupling, and Tyrion’s seed was smeared and dried on the inside of your legs. And more pressingly, you could feel the hardness of your Lion of Lannister pressing into your back. “Again?” You mumbled. “You’ve already worn me out, my lord,” you teased, though your hips circled temptingly on his cock.

Tyrion let out a gruff laugh. “It is not my fault you keep on arousing me, my Sweet,” he replied, his teeth already grazing against the back of your neck.

[k4marina]

— ix. The Dragon and the Wolf || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: finally, the day of the long awaited meeting is here. while everyone prepares for the face off, you're left the wonder if things will play out like they have before or not.

warning: cersei lannister, explicit language, mentions of gore and rape (nothing too graphic), game of thrones cannon themes and violence

all dialogue in italics is Valyrian

series masterlist || next part

word count 9.8k

game of thrones x fem!modern!reader

[gif found on Pinterest]

The sun had barely broken the horizon when I was woken up. Today was the day we were meeting Cersei and presenting her with the dead. For the last few days there’d been a heavy weight on the castle as everyone got ready, deep in their own thoughts about what would happen, the good, the bad, and the worst. 

It was an almost unspoken rule to even talk about what Cersei’s reaction would be. Would she agree or was this a trap and she’d been planning to kill us all right there? The tension was almost palpable.

Surprisingly, my bath was lavishly prepared by the maids. I almost told them to go empty the bathwater out and fill it with regular water, but instead I was chastised and ushered into the hot water with essential oils and rose petals mixed in. 

When the fuck did we have lavender oil and rose petals?

“You’re going to go meet the would-be queen, you have to put her in her place so you must look your best,” one of the maids spoke as she dunked the water over my head. The other two maids eagerly nodded, the both of them adding in their own remarks. 

“Everything must be perfect. You cannot appear to be losing sleep over her and her plotting.” 

“But I’m not?” I gave a perplexed look at them. 

“Exactly!”

After the bath they skillfully braided my hair, brading the top and letting the rest flow down my back in loose curls with two pieces of hair framing my face. Instead of my typical dark clothes I wore a long burgundy coat with a fitted bodice and leather detailing with a flared out waistline. My shoulders were covered in textured leather pauldrons and my forearms were covered in matching leather braces. The coat was secured at the waist with a belt and my hands were covered in leather gloves with the fingertips cut off. My dark wool pants were stuffed into knee high brown leather boots and a chain that slightly resembled Daenerys’ was pinned from one of my shoulders and across my chest with a small dragon pin sat high on my other shoulder.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, nodding in approval when there was a knock. The doors opened to Daenerys walking in and holding something long wrapped in a black cloth. The servants quietly left the two of us, closing the door shut behind them.

“How did you sleep?” She asks. 

“Alright.” I replied. “Had some tea the night before. You?”

“I slept a few hours, but it appears that I should have done as you did.” 

I walked over to the armor stand. “Are you ready to finally meet Cersei?” I grabbed the belt and my weapons and then turned back to her. “It’s been a long time coming after all.”

“I’m nervous.” She watches as I place my dagger in its holster by my thigh. “I can’t believe the fate of the world relies on Cersei Lannister.” 

I nodded, reaching for my belt. “Crazy times we’re’a livin’ in.” 

She doesn’t reply, placing her hand atop of mine when I go to hook my sword. 

“Ever since you brought it back I’ve been thinking about what I should do with it.” Carefully, she unwraps the thing in her hands. “And I realize, after everything, I want you to have it.” 

She pulls out Dark Sister and moves my hand away from my sword and to the Valyrian blade, securing my fingers around it. 

“Daenerys.” My eyes flicked between her and the sword. “You can’t be serious.” 

“I am.” She squeezed hand. “And I’m certain that the only person in this world that deserves to wield it is you.” 

I took in a breath, shakily exhaling. I already took a gamble going to that cave in the first place, but this was something I’d never imagined. Slowly, I pulled the blade out of its scabbard, seeing my reflection in the Valyrian steel blade. She’s had the sword polished and the handle cleaned of any rust restoring it to its true glory. 

This wasn’t Daenerys just giving me a sword, she was giving me a piece of her family's history, a relic that’s passed down from generation to generation. The amount of trust she had for me almost made me cry. I could feel the sword double in weight in my hands, a new wave of responsibility falling over me. 

I let out a breath and tightened my grip. “I swear to you, that I will serve you until my dying breath.” I took a moment before continuing. “I swear to be your shield and keep your counsel, by the Old Gods and the New.”

Daenerys’ eyes shimmered as she said the next part, nearly choking over the words. “And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”

We both smiled, the both of us on the verge of crying. With a laugh we leaned in and embraced each other. 

I pulled back, sheathing Dark Sister and attaching it to my belt. “Alright,” I said, clearing my throat. “Let’s go meet Cersei Lannister.”

––

The ship was ready to leave by the time I’d arrived at the island docks. The sails were set, the three headed red dragon standing out against the black background. Someone shouts aloud, a final call for everyone to board before they’d set sail.

I stepped onto the ship, wearing the same black cloak I’d taken to Eastwatch flowing behind me. The crew worked efficiently to set sail, raising the anchor and leaving the port swiftly. I stood at the front of the ship, looking out into the sea. 

“You seem the most calm.” Jon says, coming to stand by me. 

“Would it help if I was hysterical?” 

He looks forward. “No. It’s good that you’re composed. Someone has to be.” 

I slowly nodded. “How did your men take you pledging your allegiance to Daenerys?” 

He looks down. “They were confused to say the least, but there’s not much they could do about it now.” 

“I take it Ser Davos already told you how he saw it coming?” 

He nods, smirking. “You could say.” 

I turned around, spotting Tyrion and Missandei walking down to the lower deck towards us. 

“Okay,” I grabbed everyone’s attention. “Let’s go over everything one last time.” 

“Grey Worm and the Unsullied are already at King’s Landing and the Dothraki should be arriving shortly.” Missandei says. 

“When we arrive we’ll be escorted by the City’s Watch to the Dragonpit. We will all arrive first then Daenerys with her dragons.” Tyrion adds. “I’ll get up and we’ll continue with our demonstration and hopefully, Cersei agrees to help us.”

“Right well, that sounds promising.” Ser Davos muttered. 

“It’s better than nothing.” I said, leaning back on the railing of the ship's bow. “We may have agreed to a mutual armistice for now, but that doesn’t mean that Cersei won’t blow us up with Wildfire, like she did to the Great Sept of Baelor.”

Missandei glanced down at my waist and frowned. “Is that a new sword?”

“New? Not technically.” I brought my sword forwards. Tyrion's eyes raked over the sword before staring wide eyed at me. 

Jon, also quickly realized what I had in my hand.

“Is that?” Jon askes.

“Dark Sister.” I finished. I nodded, holding it closer to him. “Her Grace gave it to me.” 

Tyrion looked like his jaw was stuck open. “How? It was lost North of the Wall.” 

“And now I’ve found it.” 

Jon carefully eyes the sword, finally understanding. “This is what you were looking for beyond the wall?”

I nodded, “it was. Truth be told I wasn’t expecting it to be there, so imagine my surprise when I did find it.” 

“Forgive me, what is Dark Sister?” Missandei asked. 

Tyrion’s quick to reply. “It’s one of the two ancestral swords of House Targaryen.” 

“It was first wielded by Queen Visenya Targaryen and then hundred of years later, Brynden Rivers, the last one to wield it, took it with him beyond the Wall and since then it’d been lost.” I said. “When Jon and his men were going to Eastwatch I took it as an opportunity to go look for this, as well.” 

I sheathed the sword, my left hand coming to rest on it naturally. “We’ve got one of the two in our possession now.”

“You think you can get the other one?” Ser Davos asks. 

“Where is it?” Jon asks aloud. 

“If I recall correctly, Aegor RIvers took the sword with him when he went to live in exile in Essos; however, nothing is known about it after that.” Varys replied. 

“Forget about it.” I waved my hand, dismissively. “We have other things to worry about, like a certain Lannister queen.” 

––

The long hours had dragged on but we were finally there. In the distance, we could see Aegon’s hill and the Red Keep. Next to the castle’s harbor were all the remaining ships of Euron Greyjoy, who was still rotting away in Dragonstone’s cells. Tyrion, Theon, and Varys stood on deck, looking off into the distance at the castle. Jon, Jorah, Missandei, and I stood on the foredeck, also taking in the sight in front of us.

“How many people live here?” Jon asks Tyrion. 

“A million, give or take.” He replied. 

“That’s more people than the entire North crammed into that. Why would anyone want to live that way.”  

“There’s more work in the city,” Tyrion says. He turned to Jon. “And their brothels are far superior.”

I shook my head. “I forget you used to be a connoisseur of brothels.”

Once we were docked and unloaded we were led through King’s Landing by carriage. I pulled my hood over my head, concealing myself. The less attention I attracted, the better our plan would go. 

The carriage halted and one of the City’s Watch’s men opened the door. Everyone stepped out, glancing up at the remains of the Dragonpit. 

“Follow this path,” a Gold Cloak ordered. 

We walked ahead of the Dothraki guards we’d brought along. Jon, Tyrion, Jorah, Missandei, and Davos walked ahead while Varys, Theon, and Sandor and I walked further back. Sandor was in charge of making sure the crate was not touched by anyone other than him. 

“Why did they build it?” Missandei asked aloud.

“Dragons don’t understand the difference between what is theirs and what isn’t.” Jorah explained, a slight sadness in his tone. “Land, livestock, children… Letting them roam free around a city was a problem.”

“I imagine it was a sad joke at the end.” Tyrion siad. “An entire area for a few sickly creatures smaller than dogs. But in the beginning when it was home to Balerion the Dread, it must have been the most dangerous place in the world.”

We approached a crossroad, spotting Lannister guards marching from the road that led to the Red Keep. They were led by Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and accompanied by Brienna of Tarth and Pocrick Payne. 

“Welcome, my lords.” Bronn said. “Your friends arrived before you did.” 

The Dothraki and their leader, Qhono, looked at them with suspicion while Brienne and Sandor exchanged looks, the former surprised that the latter wasn’t dead. 

“I’ve been sent to escort you all to the meeting.” Bronn waves his hand and the Lannister guards part, clearing the path for us. Tyrion motions to Qhono to take the lead, the rest of the Dothraki moving forwards with the rest of us behind. 

“A pleasant surprise in an unpleasant situation.” Tyrion says to Podrick. 

“I never thought I’d see you again, My Lord.” Pordrick gives him a small smile. 

“Supporting the enemy, no less.” Tyrion jests. 

“Hard to blame you.” 

“Cersei will anyway.”

They share a glance before Podrick sets his eyes forwards. “I’m glad you’re alive.” 

“Come on!” Bronn looks back at the two. “You can suck his magic cock later.” 

The Lannister guards behind us eyed the crate with curiosity, muttering amongst themselves before one of them had the courage to ask. 

“What’s in there?” 

Sandro glared back at him and let out a gruff, “fuck off.” 

Ahead, Brienne slowed her pace to match Sandor’s, “I thought you were dead.” 

“Not yet.” He said. “You came pretty close.” 

“I was only trying to protect her.” She reasoned. 

“You and me both.” 

“She’s alive.” She turned to him. “Arya.” 

Surprised, Sandro asks, “where?”

“Winterfell.”

“Who’s protecting her if you’re here?”

Brienne shook her head. “The only one that needs protecting is the one who gets in her way.” 

“It won’t be me.” They both smiled like proud parents, falling into a comfortable silence between the two. 

Tyrion and Bronn shared quips at one another for the rest of the walk uphill. The remains of the once beautiful arena came into sight. Lannister banners were hung up high, as a show of power. Sandor attends to the cart that was transporting the wight, bringing it down to the lower level of the pit. 

“Anyone touches it, I’ll kill you first.” 

The rest of the party entered the ruined pits taking their seats while they waited for Cersei to arrive. Like clockwork, she, the Mountain, Qyburn, and Jaime arrived. Cersei and Tyrion exchanged glances, Cersei glaring daggers directly at him. The “royal” party seats themselves on their respective sides, stoic. The Hound and the Mountain glare at each other from across the pit ready for a throwdown. 

The Cleganes size each other up before the dais. 

“Remember me?” Sandor glared at his brother's bloodshot and glazed eyes. “Yeah you do. You’re even fucking uglier than I am now. What did they do to you? Doesn’t matter. That’s not how it ends for you, brother. You know who’s coming for you. You’ve always known.” 

With a final glare, Sandor walks away, the Mountain watches him go before taking his place behind Cersei. 

“Where is she?” Cersei asks Tyrion, who’s eyes had been on his fiddling hands.

“She’ll be here soon.” 

“She didn’t travel with you?” She nearly scoffs. 

“No.” Tyrion replied. 

In the distance footsteps could be heard, Cersei raising her head to see who it was. I walked up the stairs to the Dragonpit, my clock long left behind. I held her hostile gaze as I spoke. 

“Her Grace will be here shortly.” 

She masks her confusion well as I take a seat next to Daenerys’ empty seat. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs, my eyes staring running across the Lannister banners hung up on the ruined walls that were hung up just for the summit. 

I had to give it to Cersei, she was good at emotional warfare. Holding the summit at the ruined Dragonpit was a way for her to remind Daenerys of her family and their dragon’s fate in a subtle way. This is what happened to your family, and I’ll make sure that the same happens to you, is what Cersei was trying to say. 

Everyone waits, Cersei growing more agitated by the minute. She folded her hands on her lap, gripping them tightly. Then, just as she was about to speak, dragons screech. Cersei finches while Jaime and Bronn rush to stand up and crane their necks to watch the dragons flying overhead. Viserion and Rhaegal circled around the Dragonpit. Drogon lets out a deep roar as he flys down, powerfully landing on the collapsed walls of the pit and shaking the ground. Jon and Davos look on as Drogon takes in a deep breath and roars loudly, nearly shaking the ground. He roars again, directly at Cersei, lowering his head to reveal Daenerys on his back. 

“Beautiful aren’t they?” I said to Cersei, keeping my eyes on the dragons. Drogon climbs down and Daenerys begins to dismount. I turned to meet Cersei’s eyes. “They’re so big that it’s hard to forget that they’re only six years old.” 

All of us, except for Cersei and her party, raise as Daenerys walks up the dais as Drogon flies away. I cleared my throat, preparing to take another jab at Cersei.

“We are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains.” 

The two queens eye one another as Danerys takes a seat between Tyrion and I. The rest of us sit down after her, the meeting finally beginning. Missandei gives me an amused look, happy that I’d added more salt to Cersei’s wound.

“We’ve been here for some time.” Cersei says, angry. 

“My apologies,” Daenerys replied, lacking any sympathy and refusing to elaborate. Daenerys looks to Tyrion who stands up in response. 

“We are all facing unique circumstances.” He steps to the middle of the dais. “We are a group of people who do not like one another. We have suffered at each other’s hands.” He holds Cersei’s gaze. “We have lost people who we love at each other’s hands. If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no need for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war against each other without meeting face-to-face.” 

“So instead, we should settle our differences and live together in harmony for the rest of our days?” Sarcasm and venom drips off of Cersei’s words.

“We all know that will never happen.” Tyrion folds his hands in front of him. 

“Then why are we here?”

Jon stands and walks forwards to make his case, Tyrion standing off to the side. “This isn’t about living in harmony. It’s just about living. The same thing is coming for all of us. A general you can’t negotiate with an army that doesn’t leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me a million people live in this city. They’re about to become a million more soldiers in the Army of the Dead.” 

“I imagine for more of them it would be an improvement.” Cersei says, poking fun at the poverty in King’s Landing.

“This is serious. I won’t be here if it weren’t” Jon pressed. 

“I don’t think it’s serious at all. I think it’s another bad joke.” She turns to Daenerys. “If my brother Jaime has informed me correctly, you’re asking me for a truce.”

“Yes. That’s all.” Daenerys replies. 

“That’s all?” She almost laughs. “Pull back my armies and stand down while you go on your monster hunt. Or while you solidify and expand your position. Hard for me to know which it is with my armies pulled back until you return and march on my capital with four times the men.”

“Your capital will be safe until the Northern threat is dealt with. You have my word.” 

“The word of a would-be usurper.” Cerseir grits her teeth, 

“Like your husband?” I jabbed. “Or do you mean yourself?”

Quickly, Tyrion continued to negotiate. “There is no conversation that will erase the past fifty years.” He looks directly at Cersei and Jaime. “We have something to show you.”

The Hound walks up the steps from the lower lever of the pit, carrying the crate on his back, secured by ropes. He brings it to the middle of the summit, both Jon and Tyrion standing far off to the side. Sandor staggers to his knees, dropping the crate down. He removed the chains and pins that secured the crate one by one, throwing them haphazardly to the side. He pries off the lid, fumbling as he gets nervous of what was in it, before fully removing it and throwing it to the side. He takes several steps back, eyes not once wavering away and his hand grips the hilt of his sword. 

Everyone watches the crate, but when nothing happens he kicks the crate forwards to reveal the wight, who immediately charges forwards to Cersei, screeching loudly. Cersei recoils, leaning back in her chair and frozen in fear as it got only an arm's length away from her. It goes to reach out for her but it’s roughly jerked back and thrown onto the floor. The Hound holds the chain attached to the wight's collar while the other end is attached to the bottom of the crate. 

The wight then sets his eyes on the Hound, now charging at him. Sandor draws his sword and cuts the wight in half right through the waist, but it does nothing as its legs keep kicking. I glance at Cersei who’s had a mix of confusion, disgust, and fear written on her face. She was seeing something that everyone thought was impossible. The wight’s toros crawls towards the Hound, still screeching terribly. The Hound brings his sword up and slices through the wight’s rotted hand as it reaches for him. 

Everyone watches in horror except for Qyburn who wordlessly steps forwards to pick up the still moving hand and forearm, examining it with pure fascination. 

Jon, grabs an until torch and Ser Davos lights with a flint. Jon takes the hand from Qyburn. “We can destroy them by burning them.” He moves the torch to the hand, igniting it. The other halves of the wight squirm and let out a high pitch scream. Jon drops the hand as it burns and hands the torch back to Ser Davos. 

He draws a dragonglass dagger from his side and grabs the wight's other hand holding up its torso. “And we can destroy them with dragonglass.” He drives the dagger into the wight's heart. It lets out a screech, scrambling to get away before falling still, lifeless. 

“If we don’t win this fight, then that,” he points at the dead wight, “is the fate of every person in the world.” 

He steps closer to Cersei. “There is only one war that matters: the Great War. And it is here.” 

Cersei, for once, finds herself at a loss for words. 

“We were ambushed by them,” I said to her. “When we traveled North of Eastwatch. They were everywhere, some of us thought that we were about to join the Night King’s army.” 

“How many?” Jaime asks. 

“Nearly two hundred-thousand, and growing by the minute.” 

His face falls, the reality of the situation now dawning on them. Everyone watched on bated breath for Cersei to finally speak. 

She keeps her hands folded, eyes on her lap. “If those things come for us, there will be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we’ve suffered will have been for nothing. Everything we’ve lost would be for nothing.” She raises her head to Daenerys. “The Crown accepts your truce. Until the dead are defeated, they are the true enemy.” 

Relief floods everyone, grateful that she’d seen the truth. I eyed her suspiciously, careful to not get too optimistic. 

She turned to Jon. “In return, the King in the North will extend this truce. He will remain in the North where he belongs, he will not take up arms against the Lannisters. He will not choose a side.” 

“Just the King in the North? Not me?” Daenerys says. 

Cersei gives her a bitter smile. “I would never ask it of you. You would never agree to it, and if you did I would trust you even less than I do now.” She turns back to Jon. “I only ask it of Ned Stark's son. I know Ned Stark's son will be true to his word.”

Cersei watched him, expecting him to agree while the rest of us prayed he would lie and not say a word about his allegiance to Daenerys. 

“I am true to my word, or I try to be.” He takes a moment to find his words. “That is what I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two queens. And I have already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen.” 

Daenerys sucks in a breath, clenching her jaw and Cersei abruptly stands. 

“Then there is nothing left to discuss. The dead will come for the North fist. Enjoy dealing with them. We will deal with whatever is left of you.” She walks away from the gathering, her Queensgaurd swifty following her. Bewildered, Jaime scrambles after her but is stopped by Brienne. 

“Ser Jaime,” she calls. 

“It’s been good to see you. I imagine the next time will be across a battlefield.” Jaime quickly moves, but Brienne goes to stand in his way. 

“We both saw what just happened. We both saw… that thing.” 

“Yes, I’m not looking forward to seeing more of them. But I’m loyal to the Queen, and you’re loyal to Sansa and her dolt brother so-” 

“Fuck loyalty,” she hits his shoulder. Jaime stops in his tracks at her words. 

“Fuck loyalty?” He echos.

“This is beyond houses and honor and oaths.” She pressed him further. “Talk to the Queen.” 

Jaime looks over Briennes' shoulder to see Cersei watching him stand there with Breinne, a twinge of jealousy in her eyes.

“And tell her what?” He doesn’t give her time to reply, rushing back to Cersei’s side, leaving the Dragonpit.

Ser Davos, staring at Jon, shakes his head. “I wish you hadn’t done that.” 

“I’m grateful for your loyalty,” Daenerys stands in front of Jon. “But we’ve risked far too much for all of this to mean nothing.” 

“I’m pleased you bend the knee, but have you ever considered learning how to lie? Every now and then, just a little?” Tyrion sighed. 

“I’m not going to swear an oath I can’t uphold. Talk about my father if you want, tell me that’s the attitude that got him killed. But when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies. And lies won’t help us in this fight.”

“That is indeed a problem. The more immediate problem is that we’re fucked.” Tyrion runs a hand down his beard. 

“Any idea as to how we might change that state of affairs?” Davos asks. 

“Only one,” Tyrion says. “Everyone stays here and I go talk to my sister.”

Daenerys shakes her head, hating the idea. “I didn’t come all this way to have my Hand murdered.”

“I don’t want Cersei to murder me either. I could have just stayed in my cell and saved a great deal of trouble.” Tyrion replied. 

“I did this, I should go.” Jon suggests. 

“She’ll definitely murder you.” Tyrion deadpanned. 

“I’ll go with him,” I stood from my chair, stretching out my back. Daenerys shoots me a glare, but I stop her from saything anything. “I’ll be there if she gets a little too trigger happy and stop it.” 

“You can’t. Neither of you can.” She argued. I grabbed her hand, leaning in so that only she could hear me. “Remember when I said that Jaime would be an asset?” She nods. “I think now might be the time.” 

“Besides,” I pulled away, going to stand my Tyrion. “If she even touches a hair on either of us you can burn down the Red Keep with her in it.”

“Shall we?” I look towards Tyrion. He nods, bowing to Daenerys and then the two of us were on our way. 

––

A group of Lannister guards stood outside the Dragonpit. Two Unsullied guards, who were sent by Dany, stood behind us. They glanced over to us as we stepped closer to them. 

Tyrion cleared his throat. “I need to speak with my sister.” 

The guards shared a few glances, but ultimately allowed it. They lead us down the hill silently, only sparingly glancing back to us. We walked along the Street of Flower to the Red Keep, the bustling city street rushing past us. Street vendors called out to potential customers, the merchant vendors flaunted their goods, and children ran up and down the street, playing with one another. 

“Not that I mind, My Lady, but you’ve come along to do more than make sure Cersie doesn’t put my head on a spike.” Tyrion glances towards me. 

“You are correct, My Lord.”

“Can I ask what your purpose is?”

“To talk to your brother and knock some sense into his big head.” 

“Ah, well, do have fun with that. It’s not as if I haven’t tried to do the same for my entire life.” He jests. He thinks back to the many times he’s had to sit down with his dear brother and talk him out of Cersei’s grasp, only for him to talk in circles and hit a brick wall, but something deep down told him that perhaps I might be the one to finally get him to listen.

The city streets of the Capital were far different than what I could have imagined. It was off putting, truth be told. I’d spent a good chunk of my life living in King’s Landing in the modern world, surrounded by cars, buses, skyscrapers, and highrises. Seeing how the city used to be hundreds of years ago was slightly dystopian. Everything seemed so familiar, yet so different, it was both off putting and comforting. 

We were led up into the castle through a side entrance, the Kingsgaurd not warning to grab any attention from the public anymore than they already had. We were led into an underground portion of the castle and down various different tunnels that Maegor the Cruel had built during his reign. It looked like over the many years as the tunnels were being rediscovered the guards had started to use them as a way of quickly moving around the castle. 

Out in the distance I could hear something shift around, as if it were trying to stay hidden from us. I paused, and looked around, catching everyone’s attention. I waited for the sound again, glancing around the tunnel. 

One of the Queensgaurd, annoyed, spoke up. “Keep walking, woman.” 

The Unsullied stepped closer to me, but I motioned for them to stand down, not wanting a blood bath. Just as I was about to give up, the sound arose again this time louder. I walked over to the darkness, where the torch's light couldn’t reach and peered into the darkness. 

Two feline eyes peeked out of the darkness, a low hissing sound coming from it. I crouched down, and held my hands open for the cat, having a sneaking suspicion I knew who it could be. 

“It’s okay,” I said as softly as I could. “No one’s going to hurt you. Come out, please.”

The cat hissing grew louder and louder, but the cat still cautiously stepped out of the shadows. It was a black tomcat with one ear. If you looked carefully, one ear was chewed and the other torn off. 

“It’s okay, honey, I’ll keep you safe. It’s okay to come out, Balerion.” 

The cat's hissing stopped, as if it had been pulled out of a trance. A look of familiarity glossed over the feline's eyes and its hostility dampened. After all these years he was addressed as “you” or “it” or “bastard” or anything else, he was finally addressed by his actual name. 

Balerion.

I reached out slowly and scooped the cat up in my hands, cradling it near my chest. Apprehensively, he turned itself closer to me, still worried that I might be a threat. I stood up and turned back to the men. One of the Queensgaurd shook his head and spat out a misogynistic comment and then started walking again. 

“I never took you as a cat person.” Tyrion said. 

“I like all kinds of animals, but this one,” I glanced down at the black cat, “this one's special.”

We finally emerged onto the Middle Bailey out by the armory and were led up the winding Serpentine Steps and into Maegor's Holdfast where the two Unsullied were told to stand outside. I handed off the cat to one of the men, ordering him to protect the cat with his life. The Mountain waited for us by the steps and wordlessly led us up the staircase to wherever Cersei was or possibly our death.

He led the two of us down a corridor of the Keep towards Cersei’s chamber. Oddly enough, the place hadn’t changed that much in my time. A portion of the Keep had been turned into a part of the University of King’s Landing, which I attended, and the rest was a museum. 

Tyrion looked up at the Mountain who towered over the two of us, and no doubt could kill either one of us. We turned to a corridor and at the end of it was Jaime, waiting for us, and the doors to Cersei’s chambers closed.

“You brought her,” Jaime's points out, eyeing me. 

I raised my hands up, showing I meant no harm to him. “Don’t worry, nothing up my sleeve. Just here as a delegate.”

“You spoke with her.” Tyrion states. 

“At her.” He corrected. “Until she kicked me out. She thinks I was an idiot to trust you. A lot of people seem to think that, actually.” 

“I’m about to step into a room with the most murderous woman in the world, who’s already tried to kill me. Twice. That I know of. Who’s an idiot?”

Jaime almost smiles, “I suppose we should say goodbye, one idiot to another.”

Tyrion nods and the Mountain opens the door. With a deep breath, Tyrion steps into the room to go speak with his sister with the Mountain following closely behind, closing the door behind him leaving Jaime and I alone. 

We stood in silence, the two of us glancing at each other when the other wasn’t looking. 

“I was there,” I began, leaning against the wall. 

Jaime frowns not knowing what I meant. 

“At Highgarden.” 

“On the other dragon?” He recounts. 

I nodded. “Yes and when you left Olenna’s room.” I said, catching him off guard. “I entered right after you’d left.” 

He suspiciously narrows his eyes towards me. “What are you trying to get at?” 

“Nothing, just wanted to give me condolences for the death of your child, well, all of them, really. Sweet Myrcella and Tommen, and I guess Joffrey too. No parent should ever have to outlive their children.” 

Jaime hardens his jaw, his throat’s apple bobs up as he swallows down. 

“But, I can’t help but wonder why you’re still with her. I mean, in some way she’s at fault for your kids' deaths, and you're still with her.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I’m afraid I do. Joffrey, he was a spoiled cunt, knew how to dress, but Gods still a cunt. He even tortured and murdered those prostitutes in his chambers just for sport. If she’d raised him right maybe he would have turned out better. And then Myrcella, Gods, poor her. Living her best life in Dorne only for her to be killed just so it would hurt Cersei. She died in your arms, right? You’d finally had that one father-daughter moment you’d been deprived of just for her to die in your arms. And Tommen, I mean what kind of mother is she? Rather than mourning the loss of her baby boy, like you were, she says that he betrayed her?” I shake my head. “I don’t get how you don’t blame her for their deaths, I know I would.” 

“How do you know all this?” He rasps out. 

Ignoring him, I continued. “I mean, I understand you fell in love with her when you were young. But when are you going to wake up and realize that she’s not the same Cersei anymore?”

“You’re wrong,” He shook his head. 

“No I’m not. Deep down, you know I’m right. What kind of “Queen” blows up the Great Sept of Baelor with hundreds of people in it? What kind of Queen allows her people to starve while she eats and drinks all day long? What kind of Queen puts her own ego above the good of mankind when faced with the Army of the Dead? A woman that doesn’t deserve to be a Queen.”

“And you think Daenerys is better?” He tried to defend Cersei. “She’s a foreigner-”

“She was born on Dragonstone and forced to live in exile or die. Her family has ruled Westeros for nearly three hundred years, and before that they lived on a little island in Blackwater Bay.” I said, exasperated. “I understand the Mad King has left some scars, and I don’t blame you for doing what you did, but you need to stop thinking with your cock and with your brain instead. They wouldn’t have let her live if she was on Dragonstone. That thing in there, the Mountain? He stabbed a little girl, her niece, over fifty times, bashed her little brothers head in and then raped their mother with their blood on them before killing her as well, and your sister parades him around as her Queensgaurd.” 

I took in a deep breath, composing myself. “Everything is laid out. You know which queen stands for what values and now it’s your turn to decide who you want to stand by.” 

The doors quickly open, revealing Cersei and Tyrion behind her. She looks between Jaime and I, but says nothing. Wordlessly, she walks, prompting the rest of us to follow her. The Mountain followed close by as we followed her out of the Red Keep and back to the Dragonpit. 

Jon and Daenerys were stood talking to each other when we arrived, shocked to see Cersei and her people back. 

“My armies will not stand down.” She begins. “I will not pull them back to the capital.” She paused for a moment. “I will march them north, to fight alongside you in the Great War. The darkness is coming for us all. We will face it together.” 

Shocked, everyone looks at Cersei and then Tyrion. “And when the Great War is over, perhaps you will remember I chose to help with no promises or assurances from any of you. I expect not.” She turns to Qyburn and gives the order, “call our banners. All of them.” 

With that, she turns to leave. Before Jaime can leave, I grab his arm, leaning in. “When she goes against her word, send a raven to me.” I let go of his arm and step up the dais to stand next to Daenerys, watching the rest of them leave.

––

Daenerys and I sat around the table watching Balerion walking along the Painted Table, knocking over the figurines we’d placed on it. It entertained himself well, pouncing on the Lion on King’s Landing and leaving an array of scratches on it, while it playfully toyed with the Dragon on Dragonstone.

“I can’t believe it.” Dany said. Her eyes never left the cat’s taking in it’s every move. 

I shake my head. “To think that that cat was the last living thing that saw your niece and nephew before their murder. I can’t imagine the horrors he’s had to see.” 

Balerion walked over to us and leaned in. Dany smiled and reached out to pet him only for him to recoil and hiss. Dany frowned, and moved her hand back, surprised. 

I laughed, reaching into my pocket. “I think he’s hungry.” I pulled a piece of dried fish out of a small bag and held it up to him. He sniffed the treat and immediately pounced on it. I handed another piece to Dany and encouraged her to feed him. Like before, Balerion sniffed the fish and then ate it happily.

The door’s opened and Jon and the rest of them entered, ready for the meeting. Startled, Balerion jumped down into my lap and hissed at the people who entered. I held him close, softly housing him as the others took their seat. I gave him another piece of dried fish as Daenerys started the meeting. 

“We’ve got our armies,” she spoke. “But how do we get to Winterfell?”

“If we have the Dothraki ride hard on the Kingsroad, they’ll arrive at Winterfell within a fortnight.” Jon suggested. 

Daenerys nods, “and the Unsullied?”

“We can sail with them to White Harbor and meet the Dothraki here on the Kings Road, then ride together to Winterfell.” Jon pointed to the long stretch of road that reached from the capital to Winterfell.

“Perhaps you should fly to Winterfell, Your Grace,” Jorah stepped forwards. “You have many enemies in the North. Thousands fell fighting your father. All it takes is one angry man with a crossbow– he’ll see your silver hair on the Kingsroad and know that one well placed bolt will make him a hero: The Man Who Killed the Conqueror.” 

Danerys nods, agreeing with Jorah's sentiments, and goes to speak, but is stopped by Jon. 

“It’s your decision, Your Grace. But if we’re going to be allies in this war, it’s important for the Northerners to see us as allies. If we sail to White Harbor together, I think it sends a better message.”

She weighed her options, seeing the logic and faults in both arguments. She turned to Jorah. “I’ve not come to conquer the North. I’m coming to save the North.” She turned to Jon, nodding, “we sail together.” 

Jon bows his head, a slight smile on his lips and Jorah back’s down. 

“When we arrive at White Harbor, I’ll have to make a detour.” I said. 

“For what?” Daenerys asks. 

“A young wolf’s crown,” I said cryptically. “I need to go to the Twins, but I will rejoin you all before we’ve stepped foot in Winterfell.” 

Understanding, Daenerys nods. It’s not the first time I’d gone off alone, and every time I’ve come back I’ve brought back something that has benefited her. 

“How is the dragon's food?” She asks Varys. 

“We’ve got plenty of food, Your Grace. Lady Vellarys’ suggestion to appeal to the island villagers worked. Almost all of them have offered to give two or three of their livestocks.” He reported. 

“Have a few sail boats with food ready for King’s Landing, we’ll be needing them soon.” I ordered. 

“For the city?” Tyrion asks. 

“Yes, they’re starving and we’re going to be their saving grace, well, Daenerys is.” I turned back to Varys. “And keep your eyes open for any ravens coming from the Red Keep.” 

Jon narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think she’ll send her army north.” 

I nodded, “I’m hoping she proves me wrong, given her current circumstance, but this is Cersei Lannister. She thinks she’s the smartest woman alive when in fact it’s the opposite.” 

The meeting ended smoothly, everyone knowing what they had to do now. I was the last to leave, spotting Jon and Theon having their long awaited talk. I decided to walk around the castle, needing to clear my head and plan what to do next. When I walked towards the docks I saw Theon giving orders to his men and Ironborn ships in the docks. 

“You’re leaving, I assume?” I asked. 

“Yes, My Lady. My sister has taken the Iron Islands and I must return to her.” He replied. 

“And your beloved uncle is going as well?” 

He nodded. “Euron will be punished for his crimes however Yara sees fit.”

“And your conversation with Jon?”

“Good,” he nods, fiddling with his hands. “We’ve..” He tried to find the right words. 

“Reconciled?” 

“Yes. Reconciled.” He looks down and then back up to me. “I want to thank you for.. that night. I almost.. lost my sister, and if it weren’t for your words I wouldn’t have found it in myself to speak to Jon again.” 

“There’s no need to thank me. I only said a few words, you were the one who found it in yourself to do those things.” 

An Ironborn, already aboard the ship, makes the final call for the crew, raising the sails. I stuck my hand out to Theon. “Stay safe, Lord Greyjoy.” 

Our fingers wrap around each other's forearms, giving a squeeze and light shake. 

“You as well, Lady Vellarys.” 

He walks up to the ramp of the ship, boarding and orders the vessel to start moving. I watched on as the Ironborn ships left the ports and further and further away. 

––––

It was late in the evening, Daenerys and I were sat together in her room, having our supper. The food was spread all over the table, meat, fruit, stew, bread, and deserts. A pitcher of wine sat in between us. I poured myself a glass, swirling the white almost golden wine and took a swig. 

“Arbor Gold,” I placed my glass down. “Do you know how much this would cost someone like me during my time? Thousands, hundreds maybe, millions. And here I am, sitting next to you, having dinner, and sipping on one of the finest wines in all of Westeros.”

“Now that we have control of Highgarden, you can drink all the Arbor Gold you what,” she smiled. 

“Oh, believe me, I will.” 

Daenerys sets her fork and knife down, folding her hands in front of her. “We’re going to be leaving for Winterfell soon.” 

“We will,” I mirrored her stance. 

“I want to know what I’ll be facing.” 

I raised my brows and thought back, “well. They don’t like you. Partly because of your father, but also because you’re an outsider, as in not being from the North. The main person you should be wary of is Sansa Stark, Ned’s eldest daughter. She, her father and her younger sister, Arya, traveled to King’s Landing almost seven years ago. Ned was to be Robert’s hand after Jon Arryn was killed and Sansa was Joffery Lannister’s betrothed, but we both know how that went. Her sister and her were separated the day of Ned’s execution and while Arya bounced around Westeros and Essos, Sansa was imprisoned in the Red Keep at Cersei and Joffrey’s mercy. She was humiliated and belittled by both and then forced to marry Tyrion-”

“Tyrion?!” She almost shouts, surprised.

I nodded. “Both of them didn’t want it, but he was a good husband, never made her do anything and defended her even at his own expense. After Joffrey was poisoned she escaped by the help of Littleginger, Pyter Baelish who’s a mess and a half himself, and the two escape to the Vale where Sansa’s aunt, Lysa, former widow of Jon Arryn, was waiting for them. Baelish and Lysa married, which made him Lord of the Vale, which was his main goal, and then he later killed Lysa, who killed her husband under Littlefinger's orders.” 

“What a charmer.” 

“Tell me about it. But don’t worry about him, he’s dead or should be by now.” 

“That’s comforting.” 

“Anyways,” I waved my hand. “After securing the Vale, he sells Sansa off to Ramsey Bolton, who’s one of the families that betrayed the Starks at the Red Wedding. Ramsey was a sadistic fuck, born a bastard and couldn’t seem to move past it and made it his entire personality. She was once again a prisoner, except in her own home. It wasn’t until Theon, who was also imprisoned and tortured by Ramsey, helped her escape as well as Brienne of Tarth, then she was reunited with Jon at Castle Black. Jon, enraged, pleaded to almost every house in the North for support, and got almost none, waged a war on Ramsey – we called it the Battle of the Bastards. Jon nearly died, but the Knights of the Vale came just in time to help, and Jon was able to take back Winterfell.” 

“I can’t imagine what horrors she’s seen.” Dany shook her head, her heart breaking for the poor girl. 

“We need to empathize with her, Dany. Share your experiences, show her that you’re not so different after all. Two girls, no family, alone in an unknown place trying to find themselves back home. It’s going to be difficult, she’s a Stark and Starks are hard headed, you’ve seen how Jon is.” 

She shakes her head, understanding my words and the importance of them. “You said her younger sister was in Essos?”

“Arya. She’s more like her aunt, Lyanna. Less “ladylike” and more “I want to be a knight and go on adventures,” her and Jon have a really close relationship. She went to Braavos to learn the way of the Faceless Men, once she did she came back to Westeros, laid waste to House Frey and then traveled to Winterfell.” 

“And what is her attitude towards us?”

“Positive, from what I recall. She still has her Northern mentality, but she looks up to strong female figures; Nymeria of Ny Sar and Visenya Targaryen to name a few.”

“And the Crown you referred to, of the wolf? Was it Robb Starks?”

“It’s still in the Twins, hidden in some treasure chest. I think if we give it to them, especially Sansa, as a sign of good faith to the Starks and the North they won’t be so hostile.” 

“And you think you can find it?” 

“I have to try.” I shrugged. “If I find it then we start off on the right foot with the Starks, if we don’t then we’re going to have to work harder.”

Daenerys’ eye trails off to the right, a servant just entering with a worried expression. 

“I apologize for the intruding, Your Grace, but a raven from King’s Landing has arrived for Lady Vellarys.”

–––

The tension in the room was palpable, everyone staring off, almost defeated. The message that we’d just received sat at the table in front of us. 

You were right. She’s refused to send the army North. Cersei has betrayed us. – J.L

 Jon stood at the end of the table, seething with anger, feeling foolish that he believed Cersei at all. Daenerys sat at the head of the table, hands folded in front of her. Tyrion looked defeated, a goblet of wine in one hand and the other ready to reach for the pitcher to pour more. Varys had an unreadable expression, standing there with his arms crossed and eyes on the floor. 

“Cersei said she’d send her armies North,” Tyrion muttered under his breath. 

Angrily, Daenerys turned to him. “You trusted her, Tyrion. You said that she would never betray family.”

“I believed her. I made a mistake– we all make mistakes.” His voice came out angry and defeated. 

Daenerys angrily stood up from her chair, the wooden feet scraping against the stone floor. Fire burned in her violet eyes. “She fooled you. You knew she was dangerous, but you still listened to her, trusted her.”

Tyrion shook his head, not at her words, but at his own foolishness, blinded by family. “I didn’t want to believe that she was capable of this. That she’d risk the fate of the world for the throne.”

Before Daenerys could lay into him even more I placed my hand on her shoulder, reeling her back. She turned to me and the look on my face was all she needed to know. 

“You knew.” She sneered. “You knew, and you still let us meet. How could you? You were supposed to help me–” 

“Daenerys.” 

“No! Tell me, did you–” 

“Of course I fucking knew!” I scoffed. “Did I have some hope that she’s turn a new leaf and be a good fucking human being? Yes. But deep down, just like all of you, I knew that that bitch would only think about herself.”

“What else do you think I’ve been preparing for?” I took in a deep breath, feeling a migraine approaching. Calmly, I turned to Daenerys. “We still have enough men, we still have the Dornish army, the Reach, three fucking dragons – Daenerys we have enough. We are going to win, and when we do we’re going to take the throne and put that whore’s neck on a chopping block.” 

I turned to Vayrs. “Put you little birds to work. Tell them what we know; The Army of the Dead march towards us and that Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow pleaded to Cersei Lannister to help defend the Realm, but she refused. Tell them that Daenerys is marching North to fight the dead with her army and dragons. Tell them to sing her praises. Tell them if anyone else wants to fight for all of humanity alongside the rightful Queen then to march North now. Send the ships filled with aid to King’s Landing, tell them it’s from their true Queen, that she can’t stand to see her people starving in the streets, that she thinks of them in her prayers while she’s off to fight against the Night King.”

Surprised at my outwards aggression, Varys stands there, shocked only snapping back to reality when Daenerys’ sharp eyes are on him He quickly bows his head, muttering a “as you wish, My Lady,” and scurried out of the room to do as he was commanded. I walked over to Daeneys, who was a bit more calm now than before, taking her hands in mine, reassuringly. 

“Don’t worry, we will prevail. Don’t let this get to you. You have to think forwards and to the battles ahead. I swear to you, we will win.” She closed her eyes as we brought our foreheads together. “Rest for now, I’ll handle everything.” 

Daenerys nodded. “Be sure to sleep, we have a long journey ahead of us.” She turns to leave, not sparing anyone a glance. Jon and Tyrion watch her go, wanting to say something but staying quiet at the end. 

I walked to Jon, “go, comfort her. She needs you.” Without a word he dashes out the room and towards Daenerys’ chamber.  

Exhausted, I take a seat at the table, closing my eyes. There's some shifting and metal clinking before Tyrion speaks. 

“You’re a lot better at being the Hand than I am.” I open my eyes and catch him placing a fresh cup of win in front of me. I reached over, taking it. 

“Trust me, I’m not.” I take a great swig, letting the Dornish Red run down my throat. “I wasn’t lying,” I played with the cup in my hand. “When I said that I believed her a little bit. I thought that after losing all of her children in horrific ways that she would join us to protect the one she’s pregnant with. But I guess not.”

“To be deceived by my sister,” Tyrion raises his glass as a toast. 

I grimace, raising mine in agreement. “Let's never toast to this ever again.” 

–––

Our day started off even before the sun had crossed the horizon. Begrudgingly, I got prepared for our long travel with the help of the servants. As the days went by, the weather got colder, and now with the Night King at our doorsteps, the days were going to get even worse.

Some servants hulled the last of my belongings down to the ships. I stood by the railing, looking down at the people working hard for our departure when Daenerys came to stand by my side. 

“You were right,” She says. “Deep down I knew that she was lying, but like everyone else, I believed her. I was deceived.” 

I turned to her, but spotted someone behind her. “Lord Varys.” 

He bowed, addressing us both. “You were right to prepare, My Lady. My little birds tell me that the people are growing more hostile to Cersei and favoring Daenerys. It won’t be long until riots start to break out and they storm the Red Keep.” 

“Do you think she will send her armies North now that the people have turned?” Daenerys asks me. 

“No. That woman fears no one, not even the Gods. If she sends her armies North now it would mean swallowing her ego and giving up the throne, which is inevitable at this point.” 

I glanced towards the oncoming sunrise. “By the time we’re finished with the Night King, the people of King’s Landing will open the city doors for us with welcoming arms.” 

––––

Snow falls from the sky, but that doesn’t deter the Army of the Dead from marching forwards. Nothing does. The wights come out of the treeline by the dozens, all itching to feed off of a living creature. They all stand there, mindlessly looking up at the seven hundred foot tall wall made of ice and magic, the only thing standing in between them and the Seven Kingdoms. 

Waves can be heard hitting the cliffside. The cold ocean wind carries all across Eastwatch. But that doesn’t do anything to them. The Army of the Dead relish in the bitter cold, they are the cold. They are the everlasting winter.

They part like the sea, letting the Night King and his entourage through. The snow crunched under the hooves of their undead horses. The Night King’s ice cold, glowing blue eyes took in the sight before him. Finally, after hundreds of years, after growing his army and his powers he was here ready to accomplish his task; utter annihilation of all mankind. 

And the only thing standing in his way was a wall made of ice, holding the same magic that ran through his frozen vines made by the same beings that birthed him into this world. 

He gets off his horse, leisurely walking to the ice wall. The White Walkers watch him bring his hand to the wall. He caresses it, taking in every second of this moment. Closing his eyes, he focuses his powers to a point under his hand, willing himself to break the wall. 

The ground violently shakes, trees rattling and swaying side to side, and a faint crackling sound grows by the minute. The wind blows around them, threatening to rip out the trees from the earth, it howls and lets out the deafening whistle as the Night King uses more of his power. He digs his nails into the ice and the chucks of the wall start to fall from the sky. Bit by bit, the wall crumbled, hitting the ground with loud thuds and shattering on impact to more ice shards. The Night King uses more of his power and the protective magic in the ice finally breaks causing the walls foundation to crumble and give away, finally collapsing.. 

The wights let out a shriveling screech and charge through the fallen wall, eager to feast and lay waste to everything in sight. The Night King walks back to his horse, mounting him and making his way over the remains of Branden the Builder's greatest creation. There’s almost an excited expression on his ice cold face. He grips onto the horse's leash and he can still feel the remnants of his power at the tips of his icy fingers. So close. He’s so close to finally achieving his goal. If he could, he'd smile triumphantly.  

Winter was coming. 

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @iilsenewman @ivyrose9194 @coffee-is-my-oxygen @mysterypotatoink @bitchycolletorvoid @nattysplatty @wifiatthetrainstation @nymeriiiia @llynx7 @pookynknowntranger @riley-625-bell @myathegoat @evilunicorns4minions @honeycola-umbra @nen-nyy

a/n: i'm back from my little vacation which means more chapters :))

[bellarkeselection]

I was woundering if could do a tyrion lannister short were there just newly wed and y/n bother is makeing a Speech about how his y/n is a trader to the family for agreeing to marry Tyrion

Could you also use this gif

Traitor to the Stark’s

Staring at myself in the mirror I brushed my hands over my dress I was so nervous. I was even more nervous than I was the day of my arranged marriage a few months ago. The chamber door opened and my husband Tyrion came in seeing that I hadn’t moved when he came to check on me once he was ready. “Y/n, my darling wife is everything okay?”

“I’m more nervous than I ever been in my whole life. Tyrion, I know I shouldn’t be since we are back in my childhood home. But…everything feels different now.” Running my hands through my straight hair I sighed heavily.

Tyrion moved away from the door taking my hands in his meeting my gaze when I was looking down at him. “You have absolutely nothing to fear dear wife. For it is I who should be more worried than you. Since this is the first time I shall be presented as your husband.”

“Tyrion, you have only ever been so kind and gentle to me. If my parents can’t see past the Lannister name then they are fools. I’ll be there for you.” Squeezing his hand in mine he let me lead him through the hallway since I knew the castle better than he did even though I hadn’t been there in a few months. We entered the great hall seeing my mother and father Lord and Lady Stark waiting with my twin brother Robb watching to,learn the duties if a Lord one day.

My father got to his feet bowing to greet us both with a smile on his face seeing me again. “Lord Tyrion, Lady Y/n, it’s so good to have you in our home as honorable guests.”

“As you it is you father - uh I mean Lord Stark.” I corrected myself blushing at the mistake I had made calling him something other than the Lord of Winterfell.

Tyrion nodded towards my mother even though she wasn’t quite as warmed up to him after what happened to Bran. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Stark. I know my darling wife has missed you both dearly.”

“I’m shocked she even remembers who we are. Considering she’s been transformed into a Lannister in the short mouths away from her former family. You can’t even recognize that she used to be a Stark with the way she dresses and she doesn’t even carry her dagger on her hip like she used to. I’d say she’s a traitor to the Stark name!” My twin brother got his feet snapping sharply at me.

Sucking in a breath I felt some tears falling down my face at his words thinking that he might be right. “Robb, I…I’m still your sister.”

“You may share my blood but you’re not even acting like your old self. You weren’t always proper and here you are in a dress rather than trousers and a tunic. I know my sister and you’re not acting like her right now!” He raised his voice stepping in from of me growling through his teeth.

Our mother finally came forward yanking him away for our father to talk alone with him. “Robb that’s quite enough. I’m so sorry Lord Tyrion. We will continue this visit later.” She walked out of the room to find my father and brother leaving us alone where it was just me and Tyrion.

“Y/n, Y/n, look at me. Please look at me.” Tyrion pulled me from my trance of tears and just watching the door that had already shut in my face. Seeing that I was crying through some tears and clutching my hands into fists at my side.

Shaking my head I cleared my throat yanking my head down to stare at him in those soft green eyes. “Yes Tyrion, what were you saying?”

“I said it’s not your fault that you’re brother looks at you differently. You were forced into a marriage with me but I thought I was doing a good job and letting you remain to be the girl I met that day I said our vows to the gods.” He dropped his gaze to the floor with a weak smile feeling like he had failed somehow.

Dropping to my knees so I could be eye level with him I didn’t care what happened to the now stained red Lannister dress. “Tyrion, don’t think for a moment that you have been a bad husband to me. I have heard the horror stories of girls my age marrying brutal men who are rough, who are old men like Walter Frey or who only spend time with their wives to put a heir in their belly. But you are none of these things.” Placing my hands on his shoulders he finally looks me in the eye.

“Thank you, Y/n my dear wolf. Even if your brother won’t see it. You will always be a Stark first and foremost before you were a Lannister.” Tyrion sent me a smile resting his hands on my face leaning down giving me a gentle kiss.

Kissing him back I squeezed his shoulders smiling into our soft kiss. “You will always be the best husband that I could have asked for, Tyrion.” We would be there for each other even if our families weren’t friends.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[jestergesturingfrantically]

me writing fanfics for shows like GOT: *ignores the whole plot because i can’t write angst and just want my babies happy*

[imaginationcamp]

IMAGINE Tyrion and Jaime making fun of your flirtatious drunk alter ego which they think is really adorable and cute, but also kinda hot.

[certifiedskywalker]

Stay With Me - Tyrion Lannister

dannydevitodevoted said:

Would you be willing to write something with Tyrion or Sandor where the reader is betrothed to some awful Southern man and they carry out a secret relationship?

Being the daughter of a proud house in the Westerlands, you had a duty to expand your family’s reach across Westeros. However, the idea of moving South to marry a man you despised was a duty you wanted to ignore. Luckily for you, Tyrion Lannister has a way of making you forget about your problems.

Warnings : Drinking (duh it’s Tyrion) and implied sex

As you gazed across the crowd, you found yourself needing a good long drink. The pressures of a visit to King’s Landing was enough, but knowing that you were to be wed here made your stomach twist into knots. You felt like a prized mare being doomed to abuse at an auction, and that was no way to live. Still fairly young, the idea of being anchored to one spot, by one person exhausted you. Especially now that you knew your betrothed.

“Lady Y/N Westerling, the last heiress of House Westerling, how strange it is to see a girl like you frowning during her engagement celebration.” You turned to find Tyrion Lannister, a long time friend, grinning up at you.

“I find there is hardly a thing to celebrate,” you sighed honestly, which caught Tyrion off guard. Ever since you were children he knew your sense of humor matched his; sardonic and sarcastic. It alarmed him you weren’t making light jokes out of this situation.

“Has Lord Dalt hurt you….touched you in anyway that-”

“Gods no, Tyrion,” you interrupted, “and he is my betrothed anyway. Soon he can do whatever he wants to me, like a mindless cow.” Tyrion frowned at your tone and reached up to brush his hand against yours.

“You’re better than a cow, Y/N,” he said sincerely, “at most you’re a sow.” You gasped in mock offense, but giggled nonetheless. It was always Tyrion that cheered you up when you needed it.

“Thank you, my Lord, that means ever so much,” you said mockingly. Tyrion grinned and bowed dramatically.

“At least in the South you’ll be in the sunshine, my dear, where you truly belong.” After Tyrion spoke, you noticed how he took a long drink of an Arbor Red you didn’t see him holding.

“Ah yes, House Dalt’s keep is perfectly constructed to where I can see the lemon groves each day break and again at night fall. Not to mention the company, I mean look at him!” You gestured across the crowd at your future husband. He was finely dressed, being a notable Lord, but he gawked at other women as they passed by. Drunkenly, he swayed from foot to foot, so much so that his surrounding guard stood close to keep him steady.

“That is what you’re marrying?” Tyrion asked, only half-joking this time. You nodded solemnly and glanced down at your feet.

“Indeed it is,” you said, not daring to look at your friend. Tyrion couldn’t help but look at you. You were dressed in a warm toned dress with purple detailing to represent House Dalt’s banner of lemons against a dark purple field. He longed to see you in red, or any other color that did not signify another man’s claim to you. Tyrion admired you for your free spirit and seeing you so gloomy and tied down hurt his heart deeply.

“House Westerling has been a loyal vassal to House Lannister for centuries,” Tyrion started, “I’m sure my father would be willing to organize a different match. One more suitable to your beauty, Y/N.”

“Tyrion,” you said softly, blushing at his words, “I-I…” You met his gaze and lost all words. His hazel eyes were full of a hope you had never seen before.

“I can help you, Y/N, let me help you,” he clasped your hand now and you wished you could tell him ‘yes’; but your family needed this. The mines in the Westerlands were running dry and your house, the Westerlings, needed something to reinvigorate it. Your marriage to a wealthier Lord fit the bill perfectly.

“It would have to be a far more rich Lord than Dalt to get my father to agree, Tyrion. There are not many who have deep pockets that are not bad, or worse, than Lord Dalt is now.”

“I’m far more wealthy than Lord Dalt,” Tyrion pointed out, “and I’d like to think I’m better than Lord Dalt even when I’m drunk. I can at least walk without aid.”

You let out a soft, almost bittersweet laugh, “you want me to marry you? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“Would it be so awful?” Tyrion asked honestly. You smiled down at him and shook your head. His hazel eyes brightened when he saw you lips turn upwards.

“No,” you said truthfully, “I would imagine it being rather fun.” Tyrion chuckled and nodded.

“I would be happy to go through with this plan if it meant you can stay here, in King’s Landing,” Tyrion said cheerfully, “with me of course.”

“And I would be happy if I could get something to drink,” you said, trying to change the subject. It wasn’t that the idea of being with Tyrion made you uncomfortable, it was entirely the opposite. You couldn’t remember a time where you didn’t have some semblance of feeling for your Lannister friend. Even as children you were quite taken by his intelligence and his true compassion. It pained you to watch as Tywin’s abuse towards him took its toll. Sleeping with whore left and right, drinking his days away alone.

Despite all the rumors about him, your loyalty and affections remained for Tyrion Lannister. He was the one person that could make you laugh whenever you needed to. The idea of moving South pained you, not because you would be leaving your blood family; it hurt you because the idea of leaving Tyrion alone to the snakes terrified you.

Sensing that you had grown lost in your own thoughts, Tyrion gave your hand a quick squeeze. You glanced at him once more and saw true concern in his eyes.

“I’ll get you that drink, come with me,” Tyrion said. You nodded and followed, hoping that a copious amount of liquor would let you forget your entanglement of feelings.

“Can you imagine it?! My wedding cake will taste like one big, sour lemon cake!” You held your forehead in one hand as you shouted and a glass of fine wine in the other. After the party had died out, Tyrion thought the best idea was to sneak you drinks from his own private collection. After three drinks of Westeros’ strongest wines, you were intoxicated.

“Lemon cakes aren’t bad,” Tyrion said, “it rests upon who makes them!” You shook your head and set down your glass for a moment.

“It’s not the taste I’m angry about, it’s the lack of choice. On my own wedding day I will have no control over the cake, even my dress is of Dalt style. Thank the Gods they didn’t put lemons on that!” Tyrion let out a chuckle and leaned closer to you, the space on his couch closing between you ever so slightly.

“What flavor would you like to have, my dear?” His drawl soothed your fried nerves and you allowed yourself to give into a fantasy of cake choosing.

“Maybe a honey cake, with candied plums and raspberries,” you said dreamily.

“I’ll note that for our wedding,” Tyrion said, but you couldn’t fully tell if he was joking. Granted, he was just as drunk as you were, so it was hard to tell if this wasn’t all some fevered dream.

“Do you know what else I would like? I would like to wear my mother’s wedding dress, not this Dornish style overcoat my lovely betrothed hand picked.” Tyrion nodded, listening to every word as if he were never going to hear your voice again.

“What else do you want, my dear? Say it and I can make it happen,” Tyrion said, encouraging more fake wedding planning; but as you thought, your mind grew dark.

“I want a husband that isn’t so bloody awful! Someone who cares about me, will let me walk alone if I wish, someone who isn’t Lord Dalt!” You felt tears stinging at your eyes now, but you couldn’t stop the words from pouring out your mouth. “I want a man who will let me speak, someone who, someone who loves me!”

You weren’t sobbing in that moment, but your heart ached so much you felt like you could have burst into a river of tears. If it wasn’t for the soft hand that reached your cheek, those tears would have rolled over. Through your eyelashes you saw Tyrion, his hand on the side of your face, looking at you with all the worry and care in the world.

“You can have that, my dear, you can have that with me,” his voice was so soothing and his hand was so warm. You closed your eyes and took a long breath.

“You’re a Lannister…” you whispered softly.

“That is only a name, just as yours is Westerling.” “You would be marrying down, Tyrion, that would never work with your father being the way that he is.”

“We wouldn’t need my father, I’ve gotten along quite well without him for many, many years.” He moved his hand to brush some hair out of your face. “Please Y/N, stay here with me and we can work this through together.”

“Then tell me what I need to hear,” you whispered, staring Tyrion in the eyes with an intensity you had never felt before. Tyrion smiled softly, knowing exactly what you needed.

“I have never been more in love with anyone as I am with you. Even in this drunk, crying state you’re in now, I’ve never loved someone more. I love you, Y/N.”

On the last syllable, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to Tyrion’s with such raw emotion it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. In your hazy state you could remember his lips everywhere; on your lips, cheeks, neck, and collarbones. Energy buzzed through your whole body as his hands left trails of fire down your skin.

“I love you too, Tyrion,” you groaned out, “I always have.” Your words sparked a force within him as he moved impossibly closer to you. The last thing you remember was his lips and body-trembling pleasure.

When you opened your eyes, your head was pounding just as loudly as your heart. Images of what occurred last night drifted in from your memory as you woke up beside Tyrion Lannister. All of the words, all of the tears and kisses became clear for you the instant Tyrion’s drowsy gaze met your own.

“Good morning,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse. The mere sound sent chills down your spine. “So what wedding plans should we make today?” You hit his chest lightly at the joke and he let out a soft hearted chuckle.

“You’re not funny,” you teased as you sat up to look for your dress.

“I think I’m quite funny,” Tyrion said as he watched you get dressed in your loose fitting under gown, “hilarious even.”

“Mmhmm,” you said, laying back down on his bed for a moment longer. You propped your head up and look down into his eyes softly. You reached towards him, brushing some messy hair away from his face.

“You’re not going to wed him, right?” Tyrion asked seriously, his eyes searching yours for the truth he wanted and not the one he felt was true.

“It’s two days until the wedding,” you murmured, “it’s...complicated.” Tyrion nodded and grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“I’m not going to be selfish and tell you to stay with me, even though I’ve made it clear I want you with me. All I ask is do what your heart tells you, not what your father decides.”

“It’s not that simple, Tyrion, you know that.” He let out a long sigh.

“Whenever you want,” he said softly, “we can run away. We can have that wedding you want so badly with honey cakes and your mother’s dress. I will always be that someone who will love you. Always, Y/N.” You felt tears stinging at your eyes again as he finished speaking. Rolling forward on your arms, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I will always love you, Tyrion,” you whispered, pulling away only slightly.

“And, I’ll have you know, Lady Westerling, I would not mind being your little secret.” You laughed, pressing one more kiss to his lips.

“I might have to take you up on that, Lord Lannister.” Tyrion smiled brightly and, for the first time since your betrothal, you felt truly happy.

[random-imagines-blog]

Imagine being in an arranged marriage to Tyrion but you convince him that you truly love him & cuddling.

The look on his face was clear enough - the embarrassment, the knowledge that rejection was coming, the question of whether he should even bother to say something. But you decided to break the break the ice and be the first one to say something to him. “Which side of the bed do you prefer? I’ve always been partial to the right.” You tilted your head as he looked at you with disbelief. No witty comeback. “What, did you think that I would make you sleep on the floor like a dog?”

“What you see is a dwarf, not a dog,” Tyrion said. He did so often use that word for himself, you wondered if he had to remind himself of it constantly. He did have the head of a fully-grown man, you could give him that.

“And does my dwarf husband consent to sleeping on the left side of the bed?” You ask, taking off the first of many layers of the wedding dress that you had been somehow squeezed into that morning.

His head tilted to the side as he looked up at you and then started to remove his boots. “He does,” He nodded, taking them off and then walked to the table to pour himself a glass of wine. “Do you want some? I have the feeling you’ll be needing it, if you are to sleep beside a -”

“Dwarf?” You asked, chuckling. “Yes, you do seem fond of calling yourself that. But no, I’ll have no trouble sleeping beside you while sober, as long as you don’t mind one thing.”

“Ahh, always a condition,” He said, drinking from his goblet. “A bag over my head, perhaps?”

“Are you always so insecure?” You asked, starting to let your hair free, now that you were just in your slip. “No, the condition being that I can still be the little spoon once in a while.”

He choked on his wine, nearly spilling his goblet in the process. But like most drinkers, he was skilled at keeping the cup steady. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t mind doing the cuddling, but I also enjoy being the cuddled,” You said, walking around to the bed and getting in your preferred side, the blankets over you. “That’s one of the reasons I’m glad for this marriage, you always looked ... warm, and I tend to run cold at night.”

He gave you the funniest expression of disbelief that you had ever seen in your life, and your smile grew wide. Then, he actually seemed to blush. Tyrion Lannister, known throughout all of the whorehouses, blushing. “Is this a joke?”

“I might be smiling, but I’m not laughing. Come, it’s been a long day, and with how much you drank, I have the feeling you’re not up to your ... husbandly duty.”

“I didn’t think you would want me to be,” Tyrion said, setting the goblet back on the table and walked towards the bed, still looking cautious as if it were a trap.

“Maybe you should ask before you assume, my husband.”

Requested by: @fantasylover4evr​

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist:

author's note + cast list

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

CHAPTER FIVE - WINTER IS COMING.

every time, i'd burn through the world — i'd see

that the world, it burns through me.

Between raising two children, training to become a better swordsman, and managing her duties as a lady — Lyarra had very little time to herself. If she wasn't with one of her own, she was looking after one of the other Stark children for Eddard and Catelyn. Since Gogni's death, she hadn't once left Winterfell. Even traveling down that train of thought had her seizing with fear. Instead, she spent her nights practicing her work with a blade. 

Reyne was seemingly growing taller by the minute. Her blonde locks reached down to her belly button by now, with similarly blonde lashes — almost a mirror image of the red-haired boy from years before. Initially, her appearance had caused a stir within the castle. Eddard had questioned her ceaselessly, but Lyarra never answered any of his inquiries. Similarly to when he had returned with Jon, she only told him that she couldn't answer him truthfully — pleading with him to not ask her to do so. Eventually, the man conceded. His wife did no such thing, however Lyarra paid her no mind. Reyne would be raised under Lyarra's care. In her eyes, she was a Stark — but neither she nor Jon would ever be able to take the name. Once she was old enough, it was decided that she would be given a job as a handmaiden. Lyarra argued that Reyne should be treated as her own daughter, and that she should not have to work to stay — but she had pushed her luck far enough already, and Eddard wouldn't do much more than blink at her. She had no Stark blood within her, unlike Jon. 

The two were thick as thieves from the moment that Lyarra brought her home. The gap between the two was minimal, and it was evident in the way they treated one another as equals. Jon quickly accepted Reyne as his family, as she did with him. It was oddly reminiscent of Lyarra's own relationship with Benjen, and the thought forced a bittersweet feeling to course through her. Benjen had returned only thrice now, and each time he waited at the gate for Jon to come running. He'd accepted Reyne into his heart as easily as Jon had, and had taken to picking the girl up and spinning her each time he saw her. As much as seeing her brother overjoyed Lyarra, she couldn't help the beat of trepidation each time she watched him speak with Jon. More than once now, he'd brought up the Night's Watch to her. He was still too young to be a member now, a thought that calmed her ever-so-slightly, but one could see his own anticipation building. He wanted to be like his Uncle Benjen, and Lyarra couldn't fault him for that — but that didn't make dealing with the fact any easier. 

While Lyarra was glad to see Jon have a friend — have family, even — other than Robb, it was growing increasingly evident that he wasn't any less of an outsider. He still longed to be Ned's true-born son, something that conflicted, as well as saddened her in equal measure. She viewed Jon as her own, and had since the moment he'd been placed in her arms. She knew in her heart that he wasn't hers, but to see him long to be someone else's entirely was not an easy thing for her to accept. Lyarra did her best to appease to her brother, coaxing him into allowing Jon into more familial settings. While Jon was never allowed to sit by the family at feasts, she herself would place herself next to him. It was torturous for Lyarra, watching the boy so desperately try to be a part of a family that he wasn't made for. 

Beyond Jon and Theon, Lyarra was not particularly close with any of the Stark children. They were her kin, so she had always had love for them. But, she'd never struck a proper bond with the rest. Robb was too eager, a trait that only Jon had been able to match. Oftentimes when the two sparred, she would stand at Theon's side — critiquing their form. Robb had brushed off her advice more than once, but Jon would always correct himself — listening to each word. Sansa, from the moment she was born, was meant to be a lady. She welcomed the fact with pride, something that Lyarra herself had never been able to do. Within a few years, it had been decided that Reyne would be her handmaiden. Initially, the two hadn't gotten along-- which came as no surprise to Lyarra, considering Sansa's other relationships with the 'help'. But overtime, the two grew closer than she'd expected. Sansa hadn't seem to have accepted Reyne into the family by any means, but the two were good friends — close enough that she allowed Reyne to travel with her wherever they went. 

It wasn't until the birth of Arya, that Lyarra found herself developing a true bond with one of the Stark children. Arya was the brasher, more cunning version of Lyanna Stark. There was a boundless list of similarities between the two, and yet Lyarra still felt as if she had never met someone like Arya. From the moment she was old enough, she wanted to learn to swing a blade. Jon had been hesitant, afraid of causing her any kind of harm — but Lyarra was more than willing.

Initially, Eddard had advised against it. He and Catelyn knew that Arya was also meant to be a lady of the court. Yet, in true fashion, Lyarra did nothing to heed his words. She only agreed to not allow Arya a true sword, instead promising to teach her with a wooden blade. Additionally, the two only ever practiced at night — just before Arya was meant to take herself to bed. Sometimes Jon would oversee their movements, chiming in to assist his sister. Other times, Eddard would watch from a distance — smiling softly in his own secretive way that Lyarra had come to know all too well. 

Arya, similar to Robb, had never seemed to look at Jon differently for being a 'bastard.' The day that she'd learned what it meant, she had laughed in Lyarra's face. In her eyes, Jon was her brother — whether they shared the same mother, or no. 

Catelyn, however, was a complicated figure. Lyarra sympathized with the woman, and tried to reach out to her more than once after the death of Brandon. Initially it had seemed as if Lyarra's connection with Jon had established resentment within Catelyn, however the woman did her best to maintain a connection between the two. More often than not, she would request Lyarra's assistance with the children — even if just to sit with her while she watched them. Lyarra longed to be closer with her, even if just to have a sister again. But their differences were too great. Again, she couldn't help but wonder how different things would have been if she had married Edmure Tully as she was meant to.

The birth of Brandon 'Bran' Stark served to surprise Lyarra further. The boy was even more adventurous than she had been at his age, often climbing whatever it was that he could find. She had half the heart to tell him of the clearing beyond the woods, before thinking better of it. Bran, who was hardly reminiscent of his namesake, had come to Lyarra more than once in the middle of the night — as if he knew he wouldn't be waking her from her slumber. He'd spend hours asking her about the world that she knew, asking her to tell him anything she could think of. Lyarra would spin her own stories more often than not, but there were a few times that she would tell the boy of the tales she'd heard with the Free Folk. Since she had fled from the camp, Lyarra never once mentioned any of their names. She wouldn't speak of any of it, not even to Reyne. When Bran had questioned where she'd heard the 'story of a man who had suckled at the teat of a Giant', Lyarra only shrugged — pushing him out of her chambers with a light smile. 

More often than not, Jon had found himself in her chambers as of late as well. His nightmares had been more frequent than ever, resulting in him pounding on her door in the middle of the night. By the third time it'd happened, Lyarra had learned to leave her door open a fraction — if only to save herself from the harrowing sound of his loud knocking. Every night since Jon could remember, he dreamt of a girl with hair so blonde it could've been white — with eyes of a violet hue, and a snow-white complexion. In Jon's eyes, it didn't appear to be a dream — on either side. The girl had seemed to notice him as well, though she never told him her name. Lyarra had never heard of someone sharing dreams, and had half the mind to question Maester Luwin — if not for Jon begging for her secrecy. He did not want the girl to go away, as if he was scared of what it meant. 

 

The Stark children had seemed to age at a speed beyond Lyarra's control. Before she knew it, Bran was standing tall at her hip — with Robb and Jon towering over her. Even Sansa had almost reached her in stature by now, though Arya seemed to have no such luck. 

Lyarra watched from the stone window of her chambers, as the boys helped Brandon nock his arrows. Eddard and Catelyn were also watching from the platform above the group, and she observed as they had warm smiles of their own. Each time, Bran had missed. Lyarra herself had never been proficient with a bow, but the boy barely reached the target itself. Jon, unsurprisingly, stepped forward to assist the boy each time — recommending a different approach whenever Brandon had missed.

She couldn't make out what Jon had said to the boy due to their distance, but when they both turned back to glance at her — Lyarra couldn't help but shoot the boy a supportive grin. Jon matched it with one of his own, patting Bran on the back as the boy turned to the target once more. Again, the boy missed after a moment — and chuckles echoed through the courtyard. Just barely, Lyarra could hear Eddard admonishing the boys — and couldn't help but let out a laugh of her own. 

Just as she had begun to settle down, Lyarra watched as an arrow met its mark — finally reaching the center of the target. She'd gone to clap instantly, before noticing the arrow still nocked in Bran's bow. From her spot, she couldn't see where the shot had come from — but after Jon's laugh echoed through the yard again, she could just barely make out Arya's retreating figure, with Bran on her tail. 

Lyarra took the chance to make her way down to the yard then, as she watched Ned move from his spot on the platform. Jon hadn't moved an inch, and instead he was cleaning up after the other boys — as Robb was removing the arrows from the target. Lyarra placed her hand on the boy's shoulder, gently notifying him of her presence. 

"You saw that, then?" Jon laughed, shaking his head as he replaced the arrows in the basket. Lyarra grinned, watching as the other Stark boys began to argue in the distance. Just barely, she could still make out Arya running in the distance — Bran not far behind her. 

"It was hard to miss." Lyarra admitted after a moment, tilting her head as she felt eyes burning into her. There, still above the two on the platform, stood Catelyn. Her glare towards the boy was sharp, the hate within her eyes evident. In an instant, Jon seemed to shrink in on himself. Before she could allow herself to do much else, Lyarra smiled at the woman above them — attempting to placate her nerves. Catelyn, remembering herself, did seem to calm at that — even shooting Lyarra a timid smile of her own, before she marched off. 

 

Lyarra rarely observed her brother's executions, so it came as no surprise when she'd only pulled Jon's furs tighter around him — before stomping off to find the girls. After Arya's stunt earlier, she was nowhere to be seen — but she was able to spot Reyne and Sansa together, as they were sewing something for Septa Mordane. Reyne's smile was instant, while Sansa's eyes only slightly brightened at her arrival. 

"Ah, my Lady! You must see Lady Sansa's work. It's simply beautiful. The stitching is near perfect, wouldn't you say?" Septa Mordane clasped her hands as she spoke, the cheerfulness in her tone almost sickening. Lyarra couldn't bring herself to do much more than nod, as she placed a hand on Sansa's shoulder. She'd never been very good at sewing herself, a fact that Old Nan had often criticized her for — but she did have to admit, her work was appealing. She stood there for only a moment longer, placing a kiss on the foreheads of the two girls — before she made her way through the castle. 

Lyarra had only just made her way back to the yard before she just barely made out the sound of light footsteps. She willed herself to be silent, only taking a short breath before she reached her hand out — plucking the girl up by her furs. Arya grunted, legs swinging wildly in the air. She yelled for the woman to put her down, and after another fit of laughs Lyarra conceded. She was met with Arya's frustrated grin, a sight that only further amused her. 

"That's no fair! You're twice my height, and then some. You don't see me kicking your ankles when you walk by, do you?" Arya's complaints were half-nonsense, as she grumbled to herself. Lyarra leaned back to watch the girl ramble in amusement. It was true, the action was unnecessary — and yet each time she had the opportunity, she found herself repeating it. Brandon was too large for her to successfully pick him up any more, which left only Arya for her to terrorize — as Rickon would cry each time she'd tried. 

"You're good with a bow. I didn't know you'd been practicing." Came Lyarra's reply after she'd wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. Arya reeled from the sudden topic change, as her arms came to cross themselves across her defensively. 

"Only when Bran leaves his behind." Arya muttered out, foot still swinging beneath her as she stomped. Lyarra's heart warmed at the sentiment. Had Bran left his bow out and Eddard noticed, the boy would have been admonished to no end. They were taught to have greater respect for their belongings. Arya knew this all too well, and took the opportunity to help both her brother and herself. 

The two were interrupted, then, by the sound of the gate creaking open. They made their way to the crowd together, only pausing when they noticed the creatures in the boys hands. Each one held a wolf pup — a direwolf, she'd later come to know.  While they were gone, they'd come upon a litter of pups — and Jon, she'd been told, was the one to suggest that each Stark child had one of their own. Robb had named his Grey-Wind, Sansa named her lady, Arya— Nymeria, Brandon— Summer, Rickon— Shaggydog, while Jon named his Ghost. Reyne had been delighted at the sight of the pup, and dashed forward to see him. At that, Ghost had almost cowered further into Jon's arms. From that day on, Jon rarely went anywhere without Ghost at his side. If he had to leave him behind for any reason, Lyarra was likely the one watching him. Reyne took the opportunity to visit more than once, normally when Sansa was at her lessons. 

The death of Jon Arryn came suddenly, without warning. Lyarra hadn't known the man well, but she knew of her brother's love for him. She admired the man for protecting her brother — as well as the King — with honor. She'd been beside Eddard at the weirwood tree, when Catelyn had approached. Lyarra had come to the same spot with Eddard more than once, after an execution, as he took the time to collect his thoughts as well as himself. She would never say anything, choosing only to relish her time outside of the castle itself. As Catelyn stepped forward, Lyarra turned herself in the slightest to give the two more space. 

"All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here," She'd heard, observing as Catelyn stared wondrously at the tree. She knew the feeling all too well. Although she was a Stark, through and through, she'd felt like an outsider every day of her life. Unlike Catelyn, however, this was one of the only places that she'd felt as if she did belong. 

"You have five northern children, you're not an outsider." Came Eddard's eventual reply. After that, Lyarra did her best to tune the two out. She had no part in their talks, and that much was apparent. She pulled her furs tighter around herself, sharpening her own blade as Eddard cleaned his. Lyarra only properly tuned back in, once she'd observed brother's sorrow — silent, but clear as day in the way his brow had pinched. Jon Arryn was dead. Though she'd only remembered Lysa Arryn as the girl who had glared at her in Riverrun, she was thankful to hear that the woman and her boy were alright. 

The brunt of the news came after. This time, Catelyn spoke to the two equally — meeting Lyarra's eyes with a gaze filled with sorrow of her own. The King, alongside his family, was riding to Winterfell. With the death of the hand, that could only mean one thing. The realization hadn't seemed to dawn on Ned, as he was too conflicted by his own emotions. Robert was Eddard's best friend, and despite his connection with Lyanna — he had never cared for the man any less. Lyarra, however, despised the man. Since the death of her sister, he'd only become worse in his own grief. The King was known as a drunk with a harsh temper. He married Cersei Lannister not long after the death of Lyanna, and within a few years they'd had their own litter of children. 

"If he's coming this far North, there's only one thing he's after." Ned trailed off, staring into the reflection of his sword rather than meeting the gaze of the two women beside him. Lyarra met Catelyn's eyes warily, a fraction of her own fear reminiscent of the other woman's eyes. 

"You don't have to agree, Ned." Lyarra all but whispered, as Catelyn had muttered her own words of agreement. The thought of her brother leaving to King's Landing, as Brandon had — as their father had, had her gut churning.

Once they had returned to the castle, Lyarra made her way to Jon within an instant. He'd been perched on a barrel, laughing as Theon demonstrated something vulgar with Robb. She'd seen this same act repeated between the boys more than once. Theon was the oldest of the group, and as such he felt obligated to teach the boys what he knew — more specifically, about the ways of women. When Lyarra had reached the group, she watched as Robb placed his hands on Theon's waist — leaning him towards the ground as if he meant to kiss him. They only stopped when Lyarra let out a light cough, raising her brow at their antics. Robb yanked Theon up with a laugh, patting Jon's back before he walked off. Theon, however, stood there for a moment — wobbling as if he couldn't stand properly. Lyarra could hardly hold back her laughter, as the boy's face was beet red. Robb called after him not long after, and she finally let out a chuckle once she noticed the speed Theon had chased after him. Jon only shook his head before he turned to face her properly 

"I didn't mean to interrupt your fun," Lyarra posed the statement as a question, her brow still raised as she observed Jon's expression. He only shrugged, letting out a laugh of his own. 

"I promise you, I wasn't the one having fun there." Lyarra couldn't help but agree, as she leaned against a post to look at the boy. Jon was unlike most boys his age. He never spoke of women, and when he did it was never in the way that Theon had. He seemed more interested in them as a concept, than as something to chase after. 

"The King is riding for Winterfell. With his family." She told him after a moment, raising her elbows to place herself on a barrel of her own. Jon's eyes widened a bit, but he nodded all the same. He had never met the royal family, a fact that Lyarra herself had been thankful for. Beyond the color of his eyes, Jon appeared to be Lyanna's mirror-image. She could only imagine Robert's reaction when he saw him for the first time. 

"You don't sound excited." Jon raised his own eyebrow at her then, tilting his head as if he didn't understand her intentions. Lyarra only shrugged, kicking her foot now that she had a bit of leverage. 

"Can't say I have much reason to be. I'll look forward to when they leave, and I no longer have Catelyn up my arse' every minute of every day." Jon's laughter was hesitant, as if he was afraid the woman in question would hear. Lyarra, however, paid that no mind. She spoke freely, a fact that had landed her in trouble more than once. Before she could say another word, a snap of a twig echoed around them — and within a moment, a head of blonde hair timidly approached. Reyne, once noticing who the two were, noticeably relaxed — coming to stand by the two with a light smile of her own. 

"What are they like? The Lannisters?" Reyne asked timidly, clutching the ends of her sleeves with her fingers. Lyarra paused at the question, thinking it over. She'd only ever truly met Jaime, and that was years prior. Now, he was a member of Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard. She'd only seen Cersei from a distance, and had never even met the notorious 'imp' of the family. 

"I suppose we'll all find out in the days to come. Now, off to bed with the both of you. We'll all have duties to attend to in the morning, and staying up until the sun rises won't make it any easier." With that, she placed a light kiss on their heads — before making her way to her own chambers. Lyarra did her best to not think the worst, but she dreaded the days to come. If Robert had his way, her brother would be leaving with the family by the end of their visit — no doubt with one of his children in tow. The thought only further sickened Lyarra, and she was only able to escape it once she shut her eyes — a feather pillow harshly placed over head to drown out the light.

The day of the King's arrival came all too soon. Throughout the morning she had been at Ghost's side, marveling at the size of the wolf. It'd only been a few weeks, and yet he was half her size. In the back of her mind, it reminded her of how quickly Jon grew. She only left the beast be when she heard Eddard calling for her. The family lined themselves up, standing in wait by the front gate. Lyarra herself stood on Catelyn's left. If she peaked past the two beside her, she could see Robb, followed by Sansa and Bran. Behind her stood Jory, Theon, and Jon. She longed to be at her boy's side, but Lyarra stood solemnly all the same. Just behind the two boys, she could see Reyne peaking over the crowd. Jon shifted, allowing her to see past him, and the sight brought a smile to her lips before she could control herself. After a moment Arya came barreling through with a helmet on her head. The girl's antics forced a reluctant chuckle from Lyarra's lips, though she was silenced with a glare from Catelyn. 

Rickon bristled beside her as the riders approached the family, and Lyarra couldn't help but place a comforting hand on his shoulder to stabilize him. She noticed first, that the King wasn't leading the line. An unsurprising fact, but it left Lyarra to scan over those she could see. In the front was a member of the Kingsguard, though she couldn't see beyond the helmet to further look over who exactly it could be. Behind him, rode a blonde boy — too proud to be anyone other than the prince. Joffrey, then, she decided. Catelyn had described the members of their traveling party in length, and Lyarra only forced herself to listen in order to relay the information to Reyne. 

The moment she looked beyond the Prince, Lyarra's breath caught in her throat. Catelyn glanced at her in concern, but she only waved the woman off. There, rode a man with chain-mail armor — with a helm resembling some sort of beast. As he opened his helm in the slightest, Lyarra found herself leaning forward to observe what was underneath it. She was only broken out of her stupor by the sudden movement beside her, as Catelyn tugged her sleeve down to kneel with the rest of the family. King Robert approached then, climbing off of his horse with a hefty grunt. 

His stomps could be heard from inside the castle, Lyarra thought to herself. Once Robert motioned for them to stand, Lyarra was the first on her feet. He'd glanced over at her in that moment, eyes widening as he scanned over her features. She had met with Robert a handful of times now, and each time he would pause as if he thought she truly was Lyanna. He seemingly shook himself out of his own shock then, as he only turned back to her brother with a glare. 

"You've got fat," Robert claimed after a beat of silence. Eddard only raised his brow, motioning towards the man himself. After another moment of quiet, the two laughed between themselves — hugging with joy that could only be found in reuniting with a loved one. Robert made his way to Catelyn then, pulling her close as well, as if the two were good friends. He paused when he came to stand in front of Lyarra, his smile slipping off of his face — making way for something uncertain. Lyarra forced a grin to tug at the corner of her lips, moving to curtsy in a way unbecoming of herself. 

"Your Grace," She greeted, voice tight as she did her best to appear jovial. Robert moved to hug her then, his arms snug around her waist as she was forced to lean into his furs.

"Ah, Lyarra. As beautiful as ever." Lyarra could hardly hold back the flash of disgust that bled through her, but she held her head high as ever. The man moved from her then, ruffling Rickon's hair before standing beside the other children. She'd glanced back at Jon, meeting his worried glance with a smile that she could only hope was convincing. 

As a woman with hair as blonde as the mane of a Lion stepped out of the carriage, Lyarra realized then that she could only be one person. Cersei Lannister. Her features were all too similar to that of Jaime's, though she could only vaguely recall them. She was beautiful, and carried herself in a way that Lyarra was certain she knew it. After a moment, more children climbed out as well. They all appeared to be smaller copies of herself, none even slightly resembling Robert Baratheon's round features. True lions, Lyarra thought to herself. She watched as the King made his way through the other Stark children, greeting them each with separate comments. 

She only stopped when the Kingsguard from before reached to remove his helmet, releasing a pile of golden locks. In an instant, Lyarra knew it was Jaime Lannister. He'd grown ten-fold since last she'd seen him, and yet his eyes were just as youthful as they had been before. She found herself growing concerned on whether he would recognize her — or even remember her, for that matter — after all this time. Her concerns were only buried when he met her eyes from across the yard, his gaze sparkling with familiarity. She smiled at him then, eyes conveying a message that only he could understand. Similar to before, amusement flooded into his expression as he communicated with her through glances alone. All at once, he shut himself off — moving to stand behind the Queen, as Cersei turned to look in confusion. Following her brother's gaze, she met Lyarra's eyes with distrust. Lyarra forced herself to smile at the woman, doing her best to not shrink at her intensity. This seemed to do nothing to placate her, however she approached nonetheless. 

Cersei held out an expectant hand to Eddard, as he leaned to kiss her hand. With the woman distracted, Lyarra turned to catch Jaime's gaze again — but he was all-too focused on the ground beneath him. She had no doubt that she wouldn't get the chance to even speak with him until later. Cersei came to stand in front of her then, moving into her line of sight with another curious glance. 

"My queen," She greeted, curtsying as Catelyn had. Cersei lingered for a moment, scanning over Lyarra in a way that only further discomforted the woman. After a moment, she'd stepped away — giving Lyarra the chance to take a breath. She took the time to search for the man with the beast-shaped helm again, furrowing her brow as she came to notice that he was already looking at her. She held his gaze for a moment too long. He seemed familiar, in a way that she could not quite decipher. Lyarra was certain she hadn't met the man before, and yet his eyes glimmered in a way that she knew all too well. Before she had the chance to further investigate the man, she was interrupted by her brother stepping away from the group. 

She shot him an inquisitive look, bordering on concern, but Eddard only smiled back at her — in a way that had not truly met his eyes. Lyarra took a breath then, choosing to listen in on the conversations beside her. 

"Where's the imp?" She overheard Arya questioning, her tone expectant as if she had asked the same thing only minutes prior. Lyarra was seemingly not the only one who'd heard, as Cersei then turned to ask Jaime of his whereabouts. He shot Lyarra another quick look before he turned. She took the opportunity to glance over at Jon and Reyne, who almost stood side by side now. Theon, who had previously been at Jon's side, stood just behind Robb. Catelyn shot the two boys wary looks, but they seemed to pay her no mind. Once the group had begun to disperse, Lyarra quickly moved to Jon's side. 

The rest of her night was spent preparing for the feast. While most ladies often had a handmaiden to take care of them — and ready them for most occasions, Lyarra had all but refused one. Instead, if she did need any help she would often ask for Reyne's assistance alone. Tonight in particular had been one of those nights. While the girl was braiding Lyarra's hair, Jon sat in the corner — perched on her dresser. 

"D'you know Ser Jaime?" Jon questioned after a moment, twirling a dagger in his fingers. The inquiry gave Lyarra pause, and she glanced over at the boy with a raised brow. 

"I knew him when we were children, yes. But it's been many years since we last spoke. Why do you ask?" She leaned back, wincing as Reyne tugged on the front of her hair. She liked to avoid these intricate designs when she had the chance, but Catelyn had all but demanded that everyone dress 'properly' for their guests. 

"He's sort of beautiful." Jon whispered, trailing off as if he hadn't realized he spoke at all. At Lyarra's inquisitive glance, he grunted — sitting up and placing the dagger beside him. "In the way that all Knights are, I mean. He looks like he fell out of one of Bran's stories." 

Lyarra couldn't help the laugh that followed. When she'd first seen Jaime, she'd traveled down a similar train of thought. It was hard to picture a man more perfect than Jaime Lannister. However, when she thought of the man there was far from attraction in her mind. She adored him, but not in the way that she'd felt for Gogni — nor Petyr, for that matter. Still, he was difficult to look away from. 

"You were right the first time, I think. He's beautiful." Reyne whispered, curling her hands around Lyarra's locks wistfully. With a sharp look, she returned to her previous movements. Jon's response was an audible chuckle, one that was only interrupted by the distant sound of Catelyn shouting after one of her children. Lyarra sat up then, pulling her furs tighter around herself. She was adorned with a white fur pelt, a red gown trailing down her figure. Jon solemnly nodded as he moved to open the door for her. Jon wasn't to attend the feast at all, while Reyne was not to leave Sansa's side. As they approached the hall, Lyarra paused to kiss Jon's forehead — before entering with Reyne at her side. She took her seat beside Eddard, while Reyne was placed next to Sansa. 

The feast itself passed agonizingly slow, as Lyarra had no choice but to mingle with guests. The man with the beast-shaped helm from earlier was nowhere to be found, a fact that only further suited to disappoint her. As she watched Eddard pour himself another drink, her heart only lightened when she heard a familiar voice. 

"You two at a feast.." Benjen announced his presence, "It's like a bear in a trap." The sight of her brother instantly filled Lyarra with joy, and she could hardly hold herself back as she jumped into the man's arms. With a grunt, he picked her up with just as much fervor. He only pulled back to pat Ned on the back, before he slung an arm around Lyarra's shoulder. 

Rather than meet Benjen with the same level of enthusiasm, Eddard had only forced a light — almost unnoticeable smile, on his lips. Within a moment, he was describing the beheading from earlier. Lyarra allowed herself to tune the two men out, taking the opportunity to peak over her brother's arm and gaze at the crowd. In the center was the King, with a woman on his lap. Beside him, men were cheering — arm in arm. 

"Direwolves south of the wall, talk of the walkers, and my brother might be the next Hand to the king." Lyarra allowed herself a light laugh, leaning further into Benjen's arm as he trailed on. "Winter is coming." He'd finished, watching in amusement was Ned let out a laugh of his own. 

"Winter is coming." Both she and Eddard repeated, nodding solemnly as the familiar words of their house poured from their lips. She'd said the same words so many times that Lyarra was convinced they'd lost their meaning, but they still held a weight in her chest each time. It was only when Robb approached to greet Benjen, that Lyarra allowed herself to slink away from her brothers. 

The bite of the cold air was a welcoming gift as she snuck out of the hall. Lyarra perched herself on a bench, watching as the men walked the ramparts. She'd half expected Jon to be out here when she arrived, but the thought that he'd taken an early night to himself wasn't altogether surprising either. Instead, she relished the chance for comfortable silence — until, of course, that was broken by a sharp voice. 

"Ah! The Lady Lyarra Stark. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you. The stories do not do you justice, I must say." In truth, Lyarra was growing quite sick of golden-haired men. As the man approached her, she took notice of his stature. There was only one person he could be, due to his height alone. 

"You must be Lord Tyrion, then?" She'd greeted, clasping her hands together on the wooden table to capture a bit of warmth. As he came closer, he'd taken her greeting as a warm welcome, placing himself on the bench across from her. 

"My, is it that obvious?" He'd questioned, mock-offense littering his tone. For the first time in hours, Lyarra found herself struggling not to grin. 

"All you Lannisters have the same hair. It's harder not to point you out." Sarcasm was heavy in her words, and she found herself longing for a drink to hide her smile in. As if he sensed her thought, Tyrion offered his cup of wine — presenting it as if he no longer wanted it. She had half the heart to wave him off, before she'd nodded and took it from his hands. 

"Oh, of course. The hair! Not the 'impish' bits, at all." 

"I've seen shorter." Lyarra admitted, shrugging as she took another sip of the wine. Her words brought an honest cackle out of the man, loud enough that she had to struggle not to startle where she sat. After she'd calmed, she found a giggle building its way in her chest.

"You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe." 

Lyarra only guffawed at his words, glancing longingly down at the now-empty cup of wine. As Tyrion noticed her now solemn state, he let out his own roar of laughter. Within minutes, the two were leaning against the table with tears in their eyes. 

"You two sound like a couple of fucking' drunks." A voice called out, then, harsh stomps following. It sounded distantly familiar, yet it was harsher than anything she'd heard in years. Lyarra forced herself to look up, taking in the large man's form. It was the man from earlier, who now only carried the helm in the crevice of his arm. Due to the lack of light in the yard, she couldn't properly see his face. 

"Takes a drunk to know a drunk, Clegane." Tyrion's words shot a chill through Lyarra's body, and although the effects of the liquor began to take hold of her — she forced her eyes to narrow on the man's features. The name Clegane was familiar, forcing Lyarra to return back to years prior. To Lord Whent's tourney at Harrenhal. She remembers the fear in her heart as Gregor Clegane approached her, and then the overwhelming relief as she was saved by a smaller boy. One with burns littering his cheek, and eyes that appeared to stare back at her in this very moment. The man in front of her was the boy she'd been longing to find all throughout the tourney, Lyarra realized suddenly. The thought was almost sobering, but his glare was enough to muddle her brain. 

The man before her seemed harsher than the boy who had come to her aid. His glare was heavy, though if she looked close enough — into the light of familiarity she had seen before in his eyes, she could see his own youth peaking through the cracks. Lyarra couldn't help the smile that came to her lips, as relief at finally finding the boy after years flooded through her. Her expression seemed to only further worry the man, and she only looked away when Tyrion coughed expectantly. 

"And, as a drunk, I can say with confidence that it would appear that our lady is rather inebriated. Would you mind?" Lyarra could distantly make out, as she rested her temple against the cool wood of the table. She'd felt so many emotions within the past few moments that it was hard to hold back her exhaustion now, and she felt sleep over coming her. Before her eyes could properly shut, she felt herself being raised into the air — pressed against someone's chest. The chain-mail pressing into her sent chills through her body, and Lyarra found herself leaning into the warmth of whoever had been carrying her. 

Distantly, she noticed the familiar feeling of her quilts, as she was seemingly placed within her bed. Just as quickly as the warmth had arrived, it disappeared. Lyarra was left to curl into her furs, and she couldn't fight back the sleep that overtook her this time. 

The remaining days of the King's stay were just as dreadful as the days leading up to it. Lyarra knew, the morning after his arrival, that her brother had decided to go back with him to King's Landing. He'd been standing in front of her door, silent as ever, as she'd gone to make her way to the yard for the morning. His presence was enough to startle her, and she had to clutch her dress to calm herself. 

"Forgive me, sister. I don't know how long I've been out here. Hours, maybe. I didn't want to disturb you, but.." Ned trailed off, avoiding her gaze as he readjusted his furs. Lyarra's own head was pounding after the night before, and she could hardly make out his words — but she did her best to focus, moving to place a comforting hand on her brother's arm. "I wouldn't ask this of you, had I another choice. I've asked too much of you as it is, I know that already." 

Lyarra's heart went cold, as the implications of his words sunk in. He intended for her to come to King's Landing with him, with his daughters. He only looked further from her as she admitted her realization. She took her hand from his arm as quickly as she'd placed it, moving to curl around herself instead. She'd have to leave Winterfell, leave the only home she'd ever known. She'd have to leave Jon. That alone was enough to have Lyarra shaking her head in denial, stepping back from the man in despair. She couldn't leave him, not in Winterfell. Not alone. Reyne would be coming with them to serve as Sansa's handmaiden, but Jon? A bastard had no place in the royal court, something that Lyarra knew all too well. 

"Maester Luwin came to me last night, just after the feast ended. He wants to join the Watch, Lyarra. Told Benjen so himself. He'll be safe among them. You know that, as well as I do. He'll be better off on the Wall, than here." Ned did his best to placate her, leaning down then to place his hands on her shoulders. She only shook her head, forcing herself to not allow tears to fall. 

"He's just a boy, Ned. He's not ready for the Watch. I'll never see him again." Her words were panicked, jumbled rambles coming from her lips as her hands began to shake. In an instant, she was met with overwhelming warmth — as Eddard wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him. She couldn't help the tears that came then, as she all but sobbed in her brother's arms. "You can't. Please, Ned. Please, don't do this." 

"I don't have a choice. I wish I did. I wish I was not asking this of you, but I am. I need your help." Eddard pulled back, wiping the pad of his glove against her cheeks as she closed her eyes to keep her tears at bay. "The Lannisters .. They had something to do with Jon Arryn's death, I know it. Robert needs my help, now more than ever. And I need yours." The revelation that the Lannisters could have done something so dastardly only had Lyarra's head shaking in disbelief. It was only when she peeled her eyes open, and was met with the true despair in Ned's eyes — that she knew he was telling the truth. He believed all that he was saying. 

Lyarra couldn't bring herself to say anything then, only choosing to stand upright as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Eddard retreated then, telling her to think about it — though they both knew he wasn't giving her a choice. 

Since that day, Lyarra had not left Jon's side. A fact that he seemed both grateful of, and annoyed by in equal measure. He did not know the life he was giving away. How could he, after all? She tried her best to not resent Benjen for the boy's decision, knowing that it was his alone to make — but if she found herself keeping away from her brother for a few days, that was her business alone. Jon was never her son. He was not her boy, though she would never see him as anything less. The fact alone only made his departure harder to handle. 

Each night, once she was certain Jon was asleep, Lyarra would meet Tyrion Lannister in the yard.  Despite her brother's best wishes, Lyarra couldn't force herself to be wary of the little lion. Some nights he would leave early to visit the closest brothel he could find. Other nights, they would be joined by the man from the previous night — the man she'd only come to know as 'Clegane'. Those nights, he would drink at Tyrion's side, chiming in only to let out a harsh laugh, or grunt. Despite how little she knew about the man, Lyarra couldn't hold back her fascination. More often than not, the man would scowl as she stared after him — likely assuming the worst. Yet Lyarra's face never held much more than a light smile, as she glanced over his features.

One night, when Tyrion had already slunk off, it was just the two sitting side-by-side on the bench. They hadn't spoke a word to one another, only passing the bottle back and forth when one needed a refill. After another beat of silence, the man grunted — sliding off of the bench as if to make his retreat. 

"Oh, er— Ser!" She called after him, climbing off of the bench in haste to catch him before he disappeared into the darkness. He'd turned back to her hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure she was calling for him. When he noticed her focus, he only grimaced — forcing another swig down his throat. 

"I'm no Ser," His words a familiar repetition of those that she'd heard years prior, and that alone was enough to shoot vigor through her. She only moved closer to him, a fact that made the large man seemingly shrink in on himself. 

"So, it was you, then. You were at the tourney. You saved me that night, from Ser Gregor." Lyarra whispered in wonder, her eyes widening as she processed her own words. She'd been looking for the man for so long, that it was almost laughable that they'd reunited here — now. 

"The fucks' it matter?" The man's words were harsh, but they alone were not enough for Lyarra to back down — and again, she took a step towards him, properly taking in his features. He was just as fascinating to her now, as he had been all those years ago. 

"I'd like to know your name, if you'd let me. I've only known you as 'Clegane' for all these years." The name itself seemed to force the man to flinch, and he moved to stand taller as he remembered himself. Again, silence stretched between them. Lyarra had half the mind to question if she had overstepped, before the man turned on his heel. He took no more than four steps, before he paused. 

"Sandor," he called over his shoulder, the name rough on his lips — as if he hadn't spoken it in years. With that, he was gone, and she couldn't have caught up to him if she wanted to. She tried the name on her lips a few times, before she turned to retreat to her own chambers. That night, she went to sleep a little lighter — a familiar name on her lips, and a certain weightlifted from her shoulders. 

The day that Ned had left to hunt alongside Robert-- with Benjen and Robb in tow, Lyarra had been practicing with Theon in the yard. Catelyn had advised her against any swordplay while the King was their guest, but she paid the woman no mind. Theon was not the most proficient with a  blade, but Lyarra relished the chance to spend time with him regardless. The boy was still harsh — particularly unkind to Jon. But she forced herself to push resentment aside. He was just a boy. And regardless of his less-than desirable attitude, she couldn't help but care for him. 

The two were only disrupted by a familiar grunt. Lyarra asked the boy to clean up, as she made her way to Tyrion. He was perched on a set of steps, leaning his head against a wooden door — with furs draped over him. He was hungover, no doubt, but her figure blocking the sun in the slightest seemed to flood him with relief. 

"Well, don't you just look lovely, my Lord Tyrion." Lyarra settled on his right, placing herself on the step just below him. He barely raised a brow at her, before leaning back against the door.

"Not all of us can handle our liquor as well as you, my Lady. Though, if I recall, you were the one who needed Clegane to carry you through your own castle." Tyrion grumbled out, though his words held no heat. Lyarra, however, felt heat course through her. She had thought it was Sandor who carried her to her bed, but she wasn't certain. Tyrion snickered to himself, as the two were interrupted by a rough stomp. Sandor all but threw himself down by the two, fastening his boots as he glanced over them both.

"Rough night, Imp?" He grunted after a moment, seemingly taking amusement at the disheveled state of the man. Tyrion only groaned, squinting to look at Sandor. 

"If I get through this without squirting from one end or the other, it'll be a miracle." Came his eventual reply, and Lyarra only just barely cringed at his description. Sandor let out a noise that bordered on another grunt, and a laugh — at her expression. 

"I didn't take you for a hunter, my Lord." Never once did the honorifics slip, though Lyarra had grown increasingly comfortable in the man's presence. Tyrion seemed to lean towards the direction of her voice, but didn't properly open his eyes to address her.

"On the contrary, my Lady, I am the greatest in the land. My spear never misses." Sandor, seemingly displeased at Tyrion's response, only grunted — standing to unsheathe his dagger. 

"It's not hunting if you pay for it." He admonished, turning to Lyarra with a curious look. She had half the heart to question it, before she noticed Theon making his way towards her brother. Lyarra paused then, standing before turning back to the two men at her side. 

"I wish you both good fortune." She declared, her gaze lingering on Sandor for a moment longer than necessary — before she bid them farewell, moving to follow Theon towards her brother. She delivered similar wishes to her brothers, making her way inside as they departed. The rest of her afternoon was spent at Reyne's side, as she, Sansa, and Catelyn were all sitting together. In the back of her mind, she thought over the location of the Queen — but made no motion to question her whereabouts. Catelyn seemingly had a similar thought, as she scanned over the hall. It was only when they heard a desperate cry ring through the castle, that any of them moved. 

Brandon had been discovered in the courtyard, unconscious — and alone. No doubt, he'd fallen from the wall he'd climbed so often. Lyarra did not allow herself to cry, and only moved to help the boy — if only so that his mother herself did not have to do so. Once Bran was safely placed in his bed, with Maesters pushing the women out of the room, Lyarra allowed herself to shed a tear. In an instant, Catelyn was in her arms — shedding tears of her own. 

She wasn't certain how long the two sat, wrapped in one another, muddled in their own sorrow. The only thing ringing through Lyarra's mind was the thought of how unfortunate it was, that she'd only once again found a sister through grief.

First proper episode of Game of Thrones.. AND a Sandor introduction. Guys are we winning or what. I loved writing this chapter and I am not sorry about it. Lyarra loves her two children (who aren't at all her children) so much. Theon as well, sometimes.

So. Lyarra can't hold her alcohol. Tyrion is too easy to drink with. Jon wants to leave. Ned does not want to leave. And Jaime is being weird ... what a great set-up! Stay tuned btw.. Reyne's storyline is not as predictable as I am setting it up today.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And as always, feel free to leave any comments you have.

Thank you,

Zevran.

[lumillsie]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ game of thrones masterlist. ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ robb stark, sansa stark, jon snow, daenerys targaryen, jaime lannister, margaery tyrell, cersei lannister, ramsay bolton, tywin lannister, tyrion lannister, joffrey baratheon, theon greyjoy, viserys targaryen, oberyn martell, bronn of the blackwater, edmure tully, ygritte

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ robb stark. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ sansa stark. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ jon snow. ੈ✩‧₊˚

all my life ( jon snow x f!arryn reader)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ daenerys targaryen. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ jaime lannister. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ margaery tyrell. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ cersei lannister. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ramsay bolton. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ tywin lannister. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ tyrion lannister. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ theon greyjoy. ੈ✩‧₊˚

theon greyjoy x mermaid!reader headcanons

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ viserys targaryen. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ oberyn martell. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ bronn of the blackwater. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ edmure tully. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ygritte. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

[charliedawn]

GOT characters x Reader

"Please. Dance with me."

Sandor Clegane :

Sandor was standing near the exit—ready to call it a night. He was tired of seeing all those high borns dancing and getting drunk on expensive Dornish wine. But when he was about to leave, he felt an arm wrap around his and looked down to find you—clinging to his arm. He was about to ask what the hell you were doing when he noticed how terrified you seemed.

"Please…Don’t let him take me."

You were on the verge of tears. He looked in the direction you were staring at and found some lord with a sleazy smile on his face. He was walking your way and Sandor instinctively raised his hand to clasp it on your arm.

"The lady’s taken. Piss off."

He felt you tense up next to him, but his hand on top of your arm kept you in place as the man decided to finally leave. Once he was gone, you wanted to thank him…But, Sandor pulled away and walked away.

…He needed a drink.

Daenerys Targaryen:

When a man offered you a dance, you smiled and tried to politely decline the offer. But, the man wasn’t having no for an answer. Finally, he grabbed your arm as you were about to leave. Fortunately, Daenerys arrived just in time and stood between the both of you.

"I believe she has been quite clear. She doesn’t want to dance with you."

The man was about to protest, but quickly reconsidered. He left and you let out a sigh of relief. But, as you were about to thank her, Daenerys turned towards you with a soft smile before offering you her hand.

"Would you like to dance with me instead ?"

Her hand was opened invitingly and her eyes showed nothing but good will. So, you took her hand with a smile.

"I would be honoured, khaleesi."

Ser Jorah :

"Would you dance with me, Ser Jorah?"

Jorah looked up at your hand and was about to politely decline your offer when he noticed your uneasy smile and the other man standing a few feet away behind you. He immediately understood the situation and smiled before taking your hand.

"It would be an honour, my lady."

He kissed the back of your hand and you smiled before being led away. You swayed left and tight slowly together and even though Ser Jorah only wanted to dance to help you—he found himself enjoying it as well. You closed your eyes and didn’t even think about your 'problem'.

You just enjoyed the dance until the very last moment when you had to part.

"Thank you."

Whether it was you or him who said it first—neither of you could tell.

Brienne of Tarth :

Brienne had just won her final battle for the tournament organised by your father. She had put to the ground many of your father’s best knights and when her face was revealed…You were immediately impressed. A woman of such strength on your side would surely end in a successful alliance.

So, you waited.

You waited and when it was time to celebrate, your eyes landed on the fiercest woman who had succeeded in defeating most fighters of the court. Her eyes didn’t settle on you however.

You felt a little disappointed by it, but the night was far from over. You tried again and again to get her to see you, but she always seemed to escape your sight. Finally, you decided to give up and sit down. But, you then felt a hand land on your shoulder and when you looked up, you found one of your father’s choices staring down at you with a malicious smile.

You tried to tell him no. He ignored your request.

But, he finally listened when the woman you had been trying to talk to suddenly appeared behind you in all her armoured glory. She didn’t need to speak a word as the man immediately released you and walked away.

"Are you alright, my lady ?" She asked you and you replied with a smile of your own.

"I am now."

Jon Snow :

Many people had warned you about Jon Snow. Some called him the King of the North—others a demon. You weren’t really interested in rumours though, but by the truth.

Hence, you had accepted to go and meet with him.

A war was brewing and you knew that strong allies were necessary. However, when you found yourself in front of the man who claimed to be Jon Snow, you immediately knew it couldn’t be him. The man before you couldn’t possibly be the King of the North. He wasn’t a giant. He wasn’t heavily armed. Or looked like a living dead. He seemed…normal.

"I am Jon Snow."

"..."

You looked him up and down.

Before he could say another word, you threw a dagger at him and he didn’t even flinch as it landed in a tree behind him. You both stared at each other for a minute until you finally smiled.

That man was Jon Snow.

For you saw no fear of death in his eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you, my King." You introduced yourself and bowed before him. "…The man who danced with Death and survived."

Tyrion Lannister:

"No."

Tyrion was aware of your situation. He knew perfectly well of the unfortunate circumstances of your upcoming betrothal. But…He couldn’t bring you even more dishonour by agreeing to dancing with you.

"Do not look so disappointed, my lady. Even though I am sure you are quite lovely, I wish you to spare yourself the humiliation of dancing with an imp."

Such harsh words which ignited a general hilarity that made you red in the face with fury. But, not against Tyrion. You didn’t blame him for his refusal. You knew how it sounded and the pain behind such a request. But, you didn’t want to give up. So…You did something that no person had ever dared. You knelt before him—your eyes staring at the floor in respect.

"I see no imp. I see a valorous and just prince. And I still wish to dance with you. Please."

It made the crowd around you fall silent. Tyrion’s eyes widened and he seemed speechless for a while. But, he finally smiled before slowly reaching for your chin to lift it up so your eyes may meet.

"…Don’t you lower your gaze. You hold more bravery and wit than anyone else in this room. And if that is truly your wish ? Then I would be more than happy to dance with you."

Jaime Lannister:

You were sitting down when you felt a presence in front of you as you ate. Your eyes looked up to find your ‘fiancé'. He was looking at you with such disgust that all food got stuck in your throat. You knew it was but an arranged marriage, but everyone knew that your betrothed hated your family with passion. Your eyes glanced away and met with another man. He smiled at you. You smiled back.

Unfortunately, your betrothed caught the exchange and suddenly grabbed your arm—ready to strike. But before he could as much as lay a finger on you, the tip of a sword was pressed against his throat.

The room fell silence as none other than Jaime Lannister had come to your rescue.

"I believe this is no way to treat a woman—even less a lady."

He then sat down next to you and smiled before eating next to you—an arm wrapped around you. The message was clear. And the man left.

"…You will get in trouble for this." You warned him, but Jaime replied with a cocky smile.

"I am a Lannister. And lions are not scared of insects."

Oberyn Martell :

You were trying to leave the party. This was too much. A man was persistently trying to get a dance with you, but you didn’t want to dance with a man who surely did not care about you. You were almost there when you collided with another man who grabbed you before you could fall to the floor.

You looked up and your eyes widened as you saw who it was.

"Prince Oberyn of Dorne…" You gasped and the man gave you a small smile before looking behind you at the man following you.

"Is this man bothering you, my lady ?"

You gulped and suddenly took his hand. If you were to say anything, your father would blame you.

"Please. Would you dance with me, Prince of Dorne ?" You asked and the man following you seethed.

"You were promised a dance with m—!"

"I believe the lady asked ME for a dance." Oberyn cut him off with his usual charismatic smile. "Unless your title happens to also be Prince of Dorne."

The man huffed before walking away and you let out a sigh of relief. You were about to leave when Prince Oberyn grabbed your wrist.

"Now now…Where are you going, little sunflower ?"

You frowned in incomprehension until Oberyn smiled again and pulled you flush against him.

"…I believe you owe me a dance."

Peter Baelish (Littlefinger) :

Lord Baelish had had your eyes on you for a while and he knew that being part of your powerful family would be extremely valuable. Hence, he asked your father for your hand. But, there were too many contenders for him to even be considered as a good choice. So…He observed you.

You were young, but promising as you danced with grace and proper etiquette with all your possible choices. But, he could see right through you. You weren’t exactly happy to be here. And when one of your possible betrothed stepped on your foot.

He stepped in.

He took your hand and almost pulled you away from the man. You were about to thank him, but Baelish had other plans.

"What will you give me for my rescue ?" Baelish asked you. You sighed. Of course he’d want a reward for acting like the hero he wasn’t.

"What do you want ?"

Baelish seemed to think about it before offering you his hand with a smirk.

"A dance."

Your eyes stared at his hand suspiciously. But, at this point ? You would have accepted anyone’s help in order to escape. He pulled you flush against him and started dancing with you. Your eyes widened as he led you away to the center or the room.

He knew everyone could see the both of you, but he didn’t stop—not even when you tried to pull away.

"Lord Baelish…That’s enough."

Your father tried to stop him, but Lord Baelish only smirked before surprising everyone by kissing you. Your eyes widened and you were momentarily took off guard. When he pulled away, he smirked before glancing challengingly at your father.

"Now…About my wedding proposal ?"

Sansa Stark :

"My lady…Would you please give me the chance of a dance ?" You asked Sansa who hesitated for a moment before smiling and slipping her hand in yours. You smiled before kissing the back of it and led her to the dance floor. Sansa had always wished for someone to take her hand and make her feel like a princess.

She had first thought Joffrey to be the one, but that felt like eons ago. She had long learned her mistake. But, it didn’t mean she didn’t still wish for someone to make her remember what it felt like when her innocence and virtue were still recognised.

And you were more than happy to make her remember who she used to be.

"You are beautiful." You told her truthfully and she smiled.

She even graced you with a small chuckle as you made her twirl and made sure not to touch her that might trigger her in any way. After her awful treatment under Ramsay, you only wanted her to feel at ease. At peace.

And she knew it.

When she looked at you and a smile graced her lips—your heart seemed to skip a beat.

The pretty wolf was still a stealer of hearts, and you couldn’t wait for her to devour yours.

[spxllcxstxr]

Being a Tully and in an Arranged Marriage with Tyrion Lannister • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: hi!! Would you consider writing headcanons for a Tully!fem!reader x Tyrion Lannister in an arranged marriage? you don’t have to & take your time if you do :)) — anon

Warnings: canon divergence - the timeline isn’t exact but oh well, fem!reader, derogatory names used for Tyrion (sometimes by reader until she learns to love him), drinking, no reader description as per usual

A.N: I hope these are alright!! I’m actually a Tyrion Lannister simp so I found this little thing pretty fun! Hope you all enjoy!!

•

“Absolutely not, father.” You say, your face screwed up in disgust, hands clenched into fists at the dinner table

He sits there, unfazed by your outburst

“Anyone but the imp, father, please!”

While you absolutely hated the idea of your father arranging a marriage for you, it certainly wasn’t a surprise; Catelyn, your older sister, had been married to Eddard Stark for a few years, and now it was finally your turn

You had never met the Lannisters but the stories you have heard of them throughout the Riverlands frightened you to your core

Their endless amount of riches and vast power was somehow overshadowed by the evil and danger that surrounded them

“It is final, daughter. You will be wed at Casterly Rock and from there…I do not know,”

It takes you time to really process this

You being married off to some wealthy lord is your duty, something you had come to terms with years ago

But marrying a Lannister?

Marrying the unloved and disgraced son of Tywin Lannister specifically?

You spend days in your room, writing letters to your sisters, crying about your loveless marriage

You do not see him until you arrive at Casterly Rock, he waits for you draped in red

You’re shocked to find that he’s not grotesque at all like you were led to believe…he’s actually quite…handsome

His Lannister blonde hair shines in the afternoon sun and the slight smirk on his face is quite attractive as well

But looks can be deceiving, you remind yourself

"My Lady, it is nice to finally meet you,"

"It is a pleasure, my Lord,"

"Please, call me Tyrion...since we are soon to be wed..."

He certainly does not seem excited about this marriage either

The two of you don't really see each other in the few weeks leading up to your wedding - Tyrion was frequently drunk and you were mostly left to your own devices

The wedding is beautiful, you must admit, the Lannister's loved flaunting their coin

Your family does not make the long journey from Riverrun to Casterly Rock and Tywin Lannister makes only a brief appearance

The dreaded bedding ceremony

Tyrion actually forbids anyone from touching you; he stays sober enough to get you back to your now shared quarters

"I will not bed you, my Lady wife, you should not be subjected to someone such as me"

"Tyrion, that is not why I wish not to bed you…” You’re nervous, his kindness out of the ordinary for men. “I simply wish to keep my maidenhood for someone…for someone I love.”

Your marriage starts off…well, actually

You and Tyrion start off getting to know each other, becoming friends first

You admire his quick wittedness and intellect, his jokes always land and you always laugh

He never pushes you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with and neither do you

You teach him about Riverrun and the streams you grew up by

And your sisters

He tells you about his childhood and his brother Jamie

You have quite a lot of differences in terms of upbringing and power, but you find it easy to laugh at each other’s childhood plights

You think you can learn to love him

After spending a few months at Casterly Rock you and Tyrion are moved to King’s Landing, which you absolutely dread

The entire ride there you and Tyrion talk in hushed tones about his family, he prepares you for the worst

The entire time he’s holding your hand, thumb slowly rubbing across your knuckles

Of course when you arrive you have to meet everyone in the Throne Room

The Iron Throne looking as menacing as the writings say it does

Cersei looks at you skeptically, before turning her calculated scowl towards her brother

“Back already brother? I was hoping your wretched little body would stay over at Casterly Rock.”

Unknowingly your hand tightens into a fist, disgusted with Cersei’s words

“Yes, always a pleasure to see you, sister. Now can me and my Lady Wife retire to our quarters?”

After brief introductions, you and Tyrion are back in your wing on the castle, resting on the bed

“She should not speak to you like that.” You tell him, your hand grabbing his. “It isn’t right.”

“Since the day I was born into this cruel world I was a wretched thing, so take no offense, I have not for years now…” He smiles at you.

“But Tyrion, you are not wretched or monstrous or any of these foul things…I do not see that. I see your kindness and bravery…” You smile, lifting your hand up to caress his face. “And quite handsome too, I must admit…”

“(Y/N)…May I kiss you?” He asks softly, his eyes glimmering

“I would love that, my husband…”

Your heart beats as you kiss him, and you know for sure that you could very easily love Tyrion Lannister

[k4marina]

— viii. Beyond the Wall || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: while you and jon lead a hunting party north of the wall, you come face to face with a being that you'd only read about in history books.

warning: game of thrones cannon violence and themes follows the episode Beyong the Wall [S7, Ep6]

all dialogue in italics is Valyrian

authors note at the end !!

series masterlist || next part

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

4.9k word count

[gif found on pinterest]

The weather had gotten slightly better, the sun was now up in the sky and the snow settled allowing you to see clearly again. The terrain had gotten more jagged the higher we climbed up the mountain. Piles of snow covered the already icy terrain, making it even harder to walk up the mountain. Had I’d known that I’d be brought back in time I would have packed my snowshoes. My feet felt numb and damp from the cold weather and the nonstop walking. 

Tormund led the group with Jon and I behind him. Gendry was by Jon’s side close by. Behind us were the Hound and Beric, another Wildling scout, and all the way in the back Jorah and Thoros who were busy talking amongst themselves. 

“Say we get what we came here for,” Jon glanced at me. “How are we supposed to get back to Eastwatch?”

“I’ll call Viserion and he’ll fly us back.”  

“He’ll hear you this far?” 

“I’ve instructed him to stay close. You may not be able to see him, but he’s a lot closer than you’d think."  

“Shouldn’t he be here with us so he can protect us?”

I thought for a moment before I replied. “The Night King can raise beings from the dead. You’ve seen what he can do with people and bears.” I turned to look at him. “Imagine what he could do with a dragon.” Jon stops for a moment but then nods, finally understanding why I was so protective of Viserion. 

I didn’t need to imagine like Jon, I knew exactly how the Night King raised Viserion and used him to burn down the Wall. I’ve already gotten rid of most of Euron’s fleet, lowering the chances of Rhaegal’s death, but the Night King was who I was the most worried about. If he could get his hands on a dragon then the destruction he would cause would be catastrophic.

Out in the distance, we could hear the sound of metal clinking. Tormund motions for everyone to stop and carefully walks forwards and peers over the edge of the cliff. He turns and motions for Jon and I to come see. A line of wights marched forwards led by a White Walker. 

“Where's the rest of them?” Jon asks no one in particular. 

“If we wait long enough we’ll find out.” Tormund says. The three of us walked back to the group once the undead were out of sight. 

“There’s a line of the undead marching to somewhere,” Tormund said to the group. 

“We need a plan, a good one.” I said. “Any ideas?” Everyone glanced at each other, waiting for someone to pipe up, but no one did.

I let out a breath, “alright, huddle up. Here’s what we’re going to do.” 

––

The undead marched in a line into a hilly area. The White Walker at the front of the line stopped hearing a crackling causing the other wights behind him to halt. It looks forwards and steps ahead, spotting a small burning fire. It cautiously walks towards it, assessing his surroundings. But before it could turn back, everyone sprung up from hiding, ambushing the wights. 

Jon takes on the White Walker while the rest of us fight the wights who relentlessly attack even after they’ve been cut down. Every time one of us cuts them down, they keep getting back up. As planned, Jon slays the White Walker, plunging Longclaw into his abdomen. It violently shakes and collapses into ice, causing the rest of the wights, except for one, to crumble to the ground. We huddled around the remaining wight, looking for an opportunity to grab onto it. 

Huffing, Tormund throws his axe down and punches the wight square in its mouth, knocking it down. Sandor jumps onto it as it screeches and writhes under the Hound while Beric, Thoros, and Gendry hold down its limbs. 

“Gag it!” Sandor yells. 

I reached into my pocket, quickly pulling out a makeshift gag and stuffing it into his mouth just in time, cutting its loud screeching. Sandor puts a bag around its head and ties it with rope while the rest of the men put chains around him and put it into the cage we brought. 

But it wasn’t quick enough. A low rumbling could be heard in the distance. Jon turns back, all of us knowing what that meant.  

“Call him!” Jon yells. 

I looked up to the sky, silently praying Viserion was nearby. “Come to me, now!” 

It’s silent for a moment, apart from the light rumbling, but then we can hear the sound of wings flapping and Viserion roaring out in the distance. 

“He’s too far! Run!” Jon screams, panicked. He turns and makes a run for it, all of us following after him. The rumbling grows louder and as the undead closes in on us. 

We ran into a clearing, a rock in the middle of it with the wights hot on our trail. The ground cracks as we run and climb onto the huge rock. There’s a scream behind us and I turn to see a wildling scout being grabbed by a wight, but when he falls to the ground the frozen lake gives way and the wildling and weight fall through. 

Everyone watched in horror as the army of the undead circled around us. The ice on top of the lake broke away, leaving us encircled by a line of broken ice and frigid water. The undead stood at the edge of the water, not daring to go any further, unless they wanted to drown and die. Their hollow eyes locked onto us watching our every move. 

“Where’s the dragon!” Someone shouts. 

I looked up, wondering the same thing. 

My heart beat loudly and my throat closed up. There were more wights surrounding us and if we stayed any longer the Night King would be here. I turned to face the others, who were clearly disheveled and panicking themselves. Jon stares off where the wights stood, almost anticipating an attack. 

Where the fuck was Viserion?

As if he heard me, there's a loud roar overhead and then fire rains down from the sky and burns the wights. Everyone's head snaps up as Viserion flies by, torching the undead and turning them into ash. 

“Move! Make way!” I flailed my arms around, motioning everyone to step back and create a clearing for Viserion to land. He lands onto the rock and everyone climbs up. I sat at the front with Jon, Tormund, Jorah and Gendry made sure the cage was properly secured while Beric and Sandor carefully helped the injured Thoros up onto the dragon.  

Swiftly, Visierion flies up and back towards Eastwatch. I looked down, watching the undead burn when something caught my eye. I squinted and spotted the Night King. 

In his hand was an ice spear and I felt my heart drop. My hands tightened around Viserion’s spikes. I turned back to the men behind me who were holding onto dear life. 

“Hold on tight! Do not let go!” 

They hunker down, some readjusting their grip. I look down again and see the Night King preparing his aim at us.

“Evade, Viserion. Do not let him touch you.”

Viserion dives down, burning as much as he could. He circles around and faces the Night King, who throws the spear towards us. Quickly, Viserion dodges, pivoting left and rains fire from where the attack came before retreating fully. 

I glanced back, but couldn’t see the Night King anywhere. 

––

When we arrived back at Eastwatch, night had fallen. The ship had been waiting for us, ready for immediate departure. Jorah and Sandor dragged the cage with the wight aboard while Jon said his goodbyes to Tormund. 

“Let’s go.” He turns to me. 

I shook my head. “You go, I still have something to do.” 

Jon, gobsmacked, shakes his head. “No, you saw what’s over that wall. You can’t go.”

“I have to.” I said. “And before you say anything, Daenerys knows that I’m doing this.” 

“Fine.” He huffs. “I’ll go with you.” 

“No you won't. You have to get back to Dany.” 

“And you don't?"

“I do. Just after I’ve done this.” 

He sighs, eyes darting back. “At least take Tormund with you.” 

“You know I can’t-”

“Please.” He cuts me off. He frowns and I sighed. 

“Fine, I’ll think about it.”

Satisfied, he backs down. “Good.” 

“Now go. You have a Dragon Queen waiting for you.” I lightly shoved him back towards the ship. He shakes his head but boards the ship. Tormund and I stood there watching as the ship finally sailed off. 

––

The sun had just risen when Tormund and I met again in the hall. We each had a bowl of hot stew in front of us. 

“Alright, tell me the plan.” Tormund says, shoving a spoonful of the stew into his mouth. 

I drank some of the ale we’d been given. “I need to find a cave.” 

“There are a lot of caves.” 

“I know that.” I crossed my arms on top of the table. “This one is about east of the Fist of the First Men and west of the headwaters of the Antler River. There should be a huge Weirwood tree on top of it in a huge clearing.” 

He stops eating, staring at me. “There’s something in the caves.” 

I nod. “Something very valuable.” 

“Is it a dragon egg?”

I shake my head. “No.” 

“Then what?” 

“I’ll show you when I have it. So, can you help me?” 

He keeps his intense eye contact with me while slowly bringing a spoonful of the stew to his mouth. He loudly slurped, dragging it on longer than he should have. 

“Aye.” 

–––

“There,” Tormund's hand stuck out, pointing down at a small clearing in a forest below us. “If you land there then we’ll only have to walk a distance.” 

I nod and Viserion ascends down, carefully landing. We get off and Tormund rummages in his pack, pulling out an unlit torch. He raises it up to Viserion, waiting. I furrowed my brows, wondering what he was doing when it dawned on me. 

Knowing as well, Viserion looks back to me and I nod. He turns back and lets out just enough fire to light the torch without burning the Wildlings hand. 

Ecstatic, Tormund looks back at me, like a child. “Look!” I had to stop myself from laughing how easily entertained he was. 

Is this what the man who first created fire looked like?

I turned back to Viserion. “Stay vigilant for the undead. And stay close, I may need you.” He purrs, understands and flies away.

“Why isn’t he coming?” 

“Too much attention.” 

“What if we see White Walkers?” 

“What? Tormund Giantsbane can’t take care of a few White Walkers?” 

He puffs his chest, holding onto the torch tighter. “Of course I can!”

“Then let's go,” I said. 

We started walking through the dense forest, Tormund leading the way. The land was rugged and snowy, like most of the terrain beyond the Wall. My eyes scanned ahead in case any White Walkers or wights tried to attack us. We walked for hours before finally coming across it.

There was a clearing in the forest. A jagged hill in the middle with boulders around it. At the top was a giant Weirwood tree. Its branches fanned far out and high, its red leaves glowing in the sun. The trunk of the three was thick, a testament to how old it was. Its roots spread all over, some even exposed and covered in layers of snow. At the base of the hill, behind the boulders was a secret entrance. It looked as if it was blown open and then covered in rocks.

“Well we’re fucked.” Tormund says. “What the fuck even happened here?”

“White Walkers.” I replied, looking for an alternative entrance. “They ravaged the place.” 

“Looks like they did more than ravage.” 

I looked around for an alternative way in, pushing back rocks and the snow around the hill, but couldn’t find anything. 

“Right there,” Tormund points to a small opening, just enough for one person to pass through. It was on the other side of the hill, behind a large boulder. 

“You’ll have to stay out here.” I reached for the torch, but he pulled it away. 

“You don’t know what’s in there.” 

“Yes I do.” A few dead bodies and what I came here for the first place. 

“You just said White Walkers were here. They could be inside right now.” 

“And if they are, then I’ll kill them with my dagger.” 

“But-” 

“Tormund,” I firmly squeezed his arm. “I need you to stand guard and watch for any threat.”  He stops talking and puffs up again, nodding. He hands me the torch and pulls out his axe. 

I carefully slipped through the entrance, holding the torch out in front of me. Was it wrong for me to play into Tormund’s almost himbo mindset to get him to stay out? Sure. But, he didn’t seem to mind that much, happy to play on as the ‘big strong guy.’ 

Vines and three roots covered every inch of the place, even the ceiling. The passageway was narrow but opened up the deeper you went. I spotted a corpse of a man on the heavier side hunched over by a wall, which I assumed led to the other entrance. A little ways ahead, a direwolf with a white belly and a light brown fur coat lay lifeless too. The passageway opened into a large room, covered in three roots coming from up above. Bits of sunlight shone through the walls and ceiling. It was like being inside of a huge tree. 

In the middle of the room a cluster of roots stood tall, reaching from the ceiling to the floor. Its wild tendrils mimicked the Iron Throne, and at the center was a frail, dead body of a man. He was entwined into the roots, having been there for a very long time, his nails long and jagged, arms and fingers boney, his silver white hair falling out. 

This was it. 

I searched the room, high and low, looking for what I came for. It wasn’t until I turned to look around the man did I spot it, covered in its black and red scabbard with faded gold detailing. I set the torch down, getting on my hands and knees to dig it out of the mess of tree roots. Finally free, I was able to fully admire it. 

I pulled the blade out of its sheath, the almost metallic liquid looking steel shining back at me, even after all these years of not being used it still looked to be in somewhat pristine condition. Its crossguard was made up of gold and in the design of dragonwings with a bright red ruby at the center above the rainguard. Its grip was leather bound, clearly worn with a scale pattern on them, and the pommel was made of two pieces; a golden piece mimicking fire and a chunk of Valyrian steel molded into a dragon egg. 

Quickly I sheathed the sword and grabbed the torch, making my way back. I walked briskly, feeling that something was off. As I approached the entrance I could hear grunting and an axe swinging before a thud. I hurried and got out, only to see Tormund on the ground, a wight on top of him while he tried to push it back. 

I work fast to pull the sword out of its scabbard, running to where Tormund was. I lift the sword high and bring it down onto the wight, killing it instantly. Panting, he pushes the wight off of him and back onto his feet, grabbing his axe. 

“Took you long enough.” He gets ready for another quip, but stops when he sees what’s in my hand. 

“What is that?”

“Dark Sister.”

––

“You’re not going to take a ship?” I shook my head at Tormund. “It’ll take too long.” 

“And on Dragon?” 

“Long, but still faster than a ship.” 

Viserion growls behind us, eager to leave and get back to his mother and two brothers.

“I’ll see you again.” I say.

“Stay safe, dragon women.” He sticks his hand out and we shake, holding onto each other forearms.

“You as well.”

I quickly mount Viserion, and take to the sky. The cold wind blew past me and I sighed, finally able to go home. 

–– 

Night had fallen by the time I had arrived back to Dragonstone. The moon lit my way from the cliff sides to the castle. Viserion quickly went to find his brothers, exhausted from flying in the North so much. 

I found Daenerys in the throne room, staring out of the large floor to ceiling windows, deep in thought. The door closed softly behind me, catching her attention. 

“You’re back. Was there any trouble?” 

“Had a brief encounter, but other than that nothing else.” 

She saw me covering the sword behind me. “What is that?”

“It’s yours.” I stepped closer, grabbing her hand and leading her up to the throne. “Nearly half a century ago, your family lost one of its ancestral swords. And it wasn’t until hundreds of years later was it found again by explorers.”

“I don’t understand.” 

I stood her in front of the throne, stepping back. “Brynden Rivers, bastard son of Aegon the Unworthy. In 233, he traveled to the wall with the sword and later became Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, but then he vanished while he was ranging beyond the wall, taking the sword with him.”

I pulled the sword from behind me, taking it out of its scabbard and presented it to her. The moonlight pouring into the throne room glistened against the blade. The gold detailing, despite its rust, stood out against the Valyrian steel detailing. And the bright ruby that already stood out, glowed a deep red. 

“Dark Sister,” Daenerys said, breathless. 

Carefully, she reached out, letting her fingers glide across the swirling steel. She finally grasped the slim handle, feeling the weight of the sword. Her eyes lingered on it before shifting towards me. 

“That’s why you went.” 

“Partially, but yes.” I replied. “Bit by bit, we’re going to restore your family back to its former glory. Starting with this sword.” 

––

Everyone stood in the open courtyard, eagerly waiting for the “demonstration.” 

Daenerys stood on the steps, Missandei, Tyrion, Varys, and I at her sides. Grey Worm and a few Unsullied stood close to them, ready for a sudden attack. Jon and his men stood in the middle of the courtyard, a box at their feet. 

“You said you wanted proof of the undead,” Jon looked at Daenerys. He motioned for Jorah to open the lid of the box, reaching in and pulling off the burlap sack. Sandor kicked the box and out fell a chained skeleton in rags. Everyone watched, intently, as the wight slowly woke up and let out a shrill. It tried to run and attack, but couldn’t as the chains kept him close to the box. 

Daenerys’ face drops, the full weight of the situation clear to her. This was more than a fight for the throne now, it was about life and death. Having seen enough she motions for Jon to cage the wight again. It screams when the Hound punches it in its face before being bound and caged again and then dragged away.

“All of you risked your life to bring the world proof of the undead.” Daenerys steps down the steps. She looks up at Jon. “We’re going to destroy the Night King and his army, together. You have my word.” 

There’s a weight lifted off of everyone, relieved that Daenerys had agreed to join sides with Jon. 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Jon tilts his head down and to everyone's surprise sinks down to one knee. Daenerys’ eyes widened, more surprised than anyone else. “I swear my allegiance to you, Daenerys Targaryen.” 

“What about those that swore allegiance to you?” 

“They’ll all come to see you for who you really are.” Jon replied. 

Daenerys squares her shoulders. “Rise, Jon Snow, Lord of Winterfell.” He stands and Daenerys takes his hands in hers, and the two share an intimate moment. 

Eventually, someone (me) loudly cleared their throat, pulling them back to reality. Awkwardly, they let go of each other, stepping back as if they’d been caught by their parents. 

“Let’s discuss this further in the painted chamber,” Daenerys says. She turns and walks down the hall. 

Daenerys sat at the head of the table with Missandei and I at her sides. Tyrion and Varys sat down as well, while Grey Worm and Jorah stood behind Dany at attention. Jon sat on the other end with Ser Davos at his side and his men behind him. 

“What is the progress on our armistice with Cersei?” Daenerys asks. 

“Cersei has agreed to it, surprisingly.” Tyrion replied. 

“That was easy.” Davos says. 

“She thinks we’re surrendering.” I turned to Tyrion. “Where are we meeting?”

“The old Dragonpit on Visenya's Hill. We’ll bring 300 Unsullied with us, half will be our escorts, the other half will stay by our ships. We’ll also be bringing 50 Dothraki with us.” He replied.

“We did say that we’d bring a small army to King's Landing.” I nodded towards Daenerys. I looked back at Grey Worm. “How were the upgrades to the Unsullied’s armor?”

“They have worked well. The armor is durable and the weapons are light and sharp. The enemy fell easily to us.” Grey Worm, nods, appreciative. 

“Good.” Daenerys says, bringing the attention back to her. “You all will arrive first with our gift while Y/n and I will arrive on Dragonback.” 

“Nope.” I shook my head. Daenerys turned to me, confused. 

“But-”

I shake my head again. “Nope. You need to assert your dominance on Cersei. Only you and Drogon will arrive together while I arrive with the rest. And, try to make it dramatic.”

Daenerys smiled, “I’ll do my best.” She turned back to the others, more serious now. “What is the progress on our travel to Winterfell?” 

“They’re fairing well, Your Grace.” Varys replied. “The servants have started packing all necessary items.” 

“What about food?” 

“We’ve got plenty now that Highgarden is ours.” 

“And for the dragons?” I ask. 

“We’ve filled as much as we can, but I’m afraid it’s not much. Perhaps the dragons can hunt while they’re North?” 

“We’re going as guests to the North and you’re suggesting that we slaughter their livestock?” I raised a brow. “The Northerners are already suspicious of other Westerosi, imagine what they’d think if a Targaryen brought her foreign army and three dragons to eat all their food, they’d never support us then. It doesn’t matter that we’re going to defend all of humanity along with them, the North will remember this. We’re going to defend the North and make nice with them.” 

Varys closes his mouth, looking towards Daenerys, who nodded at what I’d been saying. “I apologize, My Lady, Your Grace. It seems I may have misjudged.” 

I sighed through my nose, averting my gaze to Tyrion. “What about the villages on the island?” 

“The villages on Dragonstone?” 

I nod. “Ask them if we can take a few sheep from their herds, don’t say it’s an order, but as a sign of good luck or support towards Daenerys and her cause.” 

“Why would they do that?” Daenerys asks. 

“The Targaryens and the villagers have had a close relationship for many years. Some villagers are descendants of Targaryen bastards while others families used to tend to the dragons that have lived here. And second, you’re their Lord, anything you say they’ll do, within reason of course.” 

Daenerys seems to go over my words before nodding. “Alright,” she turned to Tyrion, “you have your orders.”

“We should also send ravens to Highgarden, Sunspear, and Pyke. We’re going to need all hands on deck if we’re going to go against the Night King and his army.” I say. 

Daenerys nods. “The meeting is in a few days and we’re set for Winterfell in a few weeks, we can not make any mistakes. This is more than a fight for the Iron Throne, this a fight for the Realm.” 

––––––

“Around eight-thousands Unsullied, nearly fifty-thousand Dothraki, one hundred Ironborn ships, two-thousand men from the Reach, and fifteen-hundred Dornish. That’s what, sixty one-thousand five hundred men?” I read aloud, 

“And Cersei?” Daenerys asks, back to me and facing the window.

I sighed, looking down at the paper. “Around twenty-thousand Lannister soldiers, four-thousand in the City’s Watch, one hundred and fifty Ironborn ships, and if she’s lucky, which I doubt, twenty-thousand soldiers from the Golden Company. Making the grand total, forty four-thousand with the Company and twenty four-thousand without.” 

“She’s out numbers either way.” 

“She is, but that doesn’t mean she’s that less of a threat. Cersei’s forces may be smaller than yours, but she’s strategic and resourceful which is why when we’re in King’s Landing it’s important to keep your head on a swivel, you can’t underestimate her.” 

“Head on a swivel?” She turns, frowning. “Is this another one of your ‘figures of speech’?” 

“Yes, something like that.” I smiled. “But I’m being serious, Dany. Keep your eyes open for anything. It could be a remark or a gesture, you are our number one priority.” 

She nods, sitting down next to me. “What about Jon?” 

“His numbers?” 

“Yes.” 

I turned over the paper, “ten-thousand men from Northern houses, three-thousand Wildlings, and four-thousand Knights of the Vale.” 

“Which means seventeen-thousand in total.” She adds up. “Making my total forces seventy eight-thousand five hundred soldiers. How many would I lose after fighting the Night King?”

“Half at best. All of them at worst.” I stretched my back. “From what I remember, it’s estimated that he has almost two hundred-thousand in his army.”  

Daenerys looks at me, bewildered, “How are we supposed to win if she says no? We'd be greatly outnumbered.” 

I placed a hand over hers. “Well, for starters, we have three dragons, and once we’ve slain the Night King the rest of his army will fall. So the quicker we can shank him to death, the better our numbers.” 

She sighs, squeezing my hand. “It seems all you’ve been doing as of late is comforting me when I should be comforting you. You’ve fought in battle after battle, yet you don’t seem all that affected.” 

“It’s no big deal.” I gave her a small smile. 

She studies my face, frowning. “What is it?” 

I looked away, contemplating. “I had a dream the night before we’d arrived at Eastwatch. I doubt that it was a Dragondream, or it would have come true, or it was me remembering the future, but I dreamt about it.”

“What was it?” 

I faced her fully, grabbing her hands. “Originally, Jon and his men were supposed to go to Eastwatch. Once they’d gotten the wight, they were surrounded by the Night King and his army. Jon had sent one of the men with him back to send you a raven of what was happening. You and all of your dragons arrived to rescue them, but while fleeing the Night King threw a spear at Viserion, killing him.” I felt Daenerys’ grip on my hand tighten. “The rest of you managed to escape, but then the Night King resurrected Viserion and turned him into a wight. After that, he used Viserion to melt down the wall and march south.” 

Daenerys lets out a shaky breath. “But now he doesn’t have him, so he won’t be able to march south, right?” 

I shrugged. “In theory, but we live in a world of dragons and the undead walking.” I sighed, rubbing my face. “The Wall and him are made of the same magic, his is just darker, I guess? His sole reason for being alive is to cause destruction and plunge the world into a long and bitter winter. He’ll find a way south, it may take him some time, but it will happen.” 

She nodded, taking the information in as well as anyone would in her situation. 

“Hey,” I said. “No frowning, come on. We have a big day coming, so no frowning, okay?” 

She smiles, nodding. “Alight, no frowning.”

“So,” I smiled, my tone lighter. “How are you and Jon doing?” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied quickly, turning away from me. 

“Oh, yeah?” I laughed. “Then that little scene in the courtyard was nothing? The way you two looked into each other's eyes.” I leaned in, placing my chin on her shoulder, looking over at her. “They way you two affectionately held onto each other's hands.” 

Her face turned red. “He was merely swearing his allegiance to me, nothing more.” 

“Uh-huh. And it has nothing to do with the fact that you two fancy each other?” 

“Jon likes me?” She quickly turns, trying her best to hide her smile. 

I huffed. “For someone who has nothing going on with him, you sure do look happy that he’s attracted to you.”

She looked like she'd been caught with her hand down the cookie jar. 

“Be honest, do you like him?”

She tried to hide her smile, looking down at her lap. “Yes.”

I smiled. “Finally, she admits it. I’m not against it,” I hummed. “You two would make a good couple, dare I say perfect.” 

She gasped, face red. “Alright, enough. Go, shoo, leave me be.” 

I laughed, getting up. “Fine, fine. But I’m not wrong. Maybe you should put some thought into it.” 

a/n: i know i'm horrible for updating late (like always), but i was soo stressed from shopping and packing everything that i kinda forgot about it ngl. but who cares lol.

i've suddenly gotten a bit more motivated to write some of my other series so perhaps i'll upload that, but it all depends on if the motherlands network allows me to.

anyways, i'll be back with another chapter once i'm back home. see you all!

taglist: @wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @iilsenewman @ivyrose9194 @coffee-is-my-oxygen @mysterypotatoink @bitchycolletorvoid @nattysplatty @wifiatthetrainstation @nymeriiiia @llynx7 @pookynknowntranger @riley-625-bell @myathegoat @evilunicorns4minions @honeycola-umbra